Devil's Own

There was a distant commotion on the quay below, and scrubbing a hand over his face, Aidan remembered himself. He was in Aberdeen for one purpose alone, and it wasn’t to ponder some peculiarly bookish farm girl.



The yeoman. He needed to find the man with the pearl earring, and with no clues to hand, he’d start at the bot-tom, and at the bottom lurked the yeoman.



Logically, he knew that it wouldn’t be the same strongarm who’d nabbed him from Humphrey Keith’s home so many years past, but even so, he stifled a shudder when he finally tracked the man down in a seedy tavern off Justice Port.



Bluebeard’s Ghost was a hole like any other, with all manner of foulness littering the floor, a smoking chimney, and the reek of ale and bodies within. He’d been told merely that the yeoman was “the bald one,” and he knew the man at once, beefy arms, fat neck, and a pate as shining as a cue ball.



“I have a boat,” Aidan said, diving straight to the heart of the matter.



The yeoman put his tankard down and looked up slowly. “Bully for you, laddie. Now you’ll be wanting to move along. This here’s a table for men only. Or are you the new alewife?” His table erupted in laughter.



Aidan had expected just that sort of a response, and smiled wide. “A merry andrew, I see. I look forward to passing your jest along to your boss.” He put an easy hand on his hip, crooking his thumb in his jacket just enough to reveal the sack of coin at his belt. He wasn’t so foolish as to bring his entire savings, but with the help of a bit of sand and some well-situated coin, the bag was full and clinked enough to catch the attention of any criminal worth his salt. “Or should I tell him instead that you stood in the way of new business?”



The yeoman’s laughing eyes hardened. “You’re a braw one, coming in here, flashing your wee purse about. What if I’ve a mind just to take it from you?”



A dagger appeared in Aidan’s hand and he plunged it hard and fast, stabbing the yeoman’s sleeve to the table before the man realized what was happening. “And what if I’ve a mind just to take your hand from you?”



The yeoman tugged at his arm, but the knife was planted too deeply in the wood. He rested his hands back on the table as though being affixed to pub furniture were an everyday occurrence. “Leave us,” he snapped to his companions.



The other men scattered. Retrieving his blade, Aidan plopped onto a stool, kicking his feet out in front of him. “As I was saying before you so unwisely interrupted, I’ve a ship, and I’ve a mind to fill her hold with able-bodied men and have a sail to the Indies.”



The yeoman fingered the hole in his sleeve, scowling. “And what’s this ship to me?”



“Don’t play dim with me.” Aidan’s patience was flagging. He knew in his heart the man with the pearl earring was out there somewhere. Plantations in the Indies and Americas were booming, which meant the slave trade was too, and his enemy wouldn’t walk away from such potential profits.



Assuming he was still alive. But Aidan had spent thirteen long years living for this moment—he refused to entertain the notion that his enemy had up and died on him.



No, he’d tease the man out of hiding, and how better to do so than by applying pressure where his enemy would feel it most: on his purse.



“I know you’re the muscle who gathers the slaves. But I’m not a patient man. I want a fast start out of the gate, and will raise the stakes if it fills my hold the sooner.” It was a game of economics. He’d pose as a big spender, eager for slaves and ready to pay double the current rate.



The yeoman sucked on his teeth, looking thoughtful. “If you want to set up a collection, you’ll need to talk to the boss. He’s our benefactor, like. No business happens without his saying so.”



“What’s his name?”



The man shrugged. “Our man’s a respectable fellow, see, who don’t like to give his name. By the docks, we just call him the Bishop.”



“And this Bishop, he’s in charge of the whole business?” Though Aidan knew it wasn’t the man he sought, it was one step closer to the man he did.



“He’s in charge of the money, and that’s all I need to know.” The yeoman pulled a greasy wad of papers from his breast pocket and riffled through till he found what he was looking for. “Here,” he said, pinning a scribbled address with his beefy finger. “You can find him here.”



Aidan felt the yeoman’s eyes on him as he considered the meaningless scrawl he pretended to read.



“You can find it, aye?” the yeoman asked, a hint of insolent humor in his tone.



Aidan peeled his lips into a snarl and simply grabbed the paper out of the man’s hand. “I can now.”



Chapter 11



Elspeth sat alone in the cavernous Dunnottar dining hall with naught to do but fidget. She knew she should’ve waited for Aidan to come to her, but when Anya casually mentioned that her brother had returned from his trip, she couldn’t wait. She had to seek him out.



I’ve not met your like before. The words had been a constant hum in her head since he’d left a week past. Her body, a constant hum, as she remembered the look in his eyes as they’d lingered on her mouth.



He’d had a sort of serious aspect, gazing at her with purpose, like he’d wanted to kiss her. Could such a thing be true? Never had a man studied her in such a manner, but then again, she’d never been kissed. What sort of expression did a man get before kissing a woman?



She nervously adjusted her quill and ink again, shuffling her pile of papers, again. What would he think of her appearing like this on his doorstep? What madness had overtaken her? It was time for another lesson, certainly, but to show up so shamelessly unsolicited?



Elspeth replayed their moment once more. I’ve not met your like.



Why had memory infused such simple words with such pretty meaning? Of course he’d never met her like— she was the awkward and bookish daughter of a poor farmer. He was used to exotic women, who’d wear richly brocaded gowns, draping ropes of gold along their sunkissed skin, with giant gems nestled in lush décolletage.



When she walked away from that silly hanging tree, she’d felt so close to him, like they were connected. But it wasn’t as though he’d really touched her, like a man touched a woman, so why did it feel as though he must have? Truly, she was the only one who’d been doing the touching, roving her hands down his arms like some Jezebel.



She looked nervously around the dining hall, feeling like a bird who’d had its wings clipped. She could simply leave, though if Aidan’s siblings found him, then they’d surely embark on a search for her.



Elspeth heard disembodied voices coming down the hallway.



She needed to fashion some pretext for coming. Fisting her hands in her skirts, she racked her mind for possible excuses.



“Did I misunderstand?” She smiled coyly. “Did you not say we should meet today?”



“If I didn’t make such a suggestion, then more fool I.” Aidan took the room in three great strides, grasping her hands in his. “It is lovely to see you again, Elspeth. I’ve thought of little else but this moment.”



“I don’t know where that girl has got to. Hiding like a church mouse. Such a strange creature! Who’s to understand the ways of … Ah!” Bridget leaned against the doorjamb, sticking her head through the door. She called back over her shoulder, “Here she is.”



Elspeth sat tall, imagining refinement, poise. She’d be cool and collected.



Aidan appeared in the doorway, his magnetic presence eclipsing all else around him. Despite her preparations, she knew a dizzying rush. It was so good—and so terrifying—to see him again.



She’d begun to wonder if she’d imagined his virtues, if Aidan wasn’t really some boor, shorter or stouter than the man in her fantasies. But he wasn’t. He was better than she’d remembered.



He was tall and strong, and though the tan of his skin had faded, the sun had left behind fine lines at his eyes and mouth. His eyes narrowed on her, looking much like a dashing buccaneer.



She opened her mouth to speak, but feared she resembled a gasping fish more than a genteel lady, which had been the effect she’d hoped for. She forced words out. “I’m afraid … it seems …”



Aidan swooped past his sister, his expression dark and dour, storming in like a Viking set on plunder. “Just the woman I’d been wishing to see.”



“Did I misunderst—” Elspeth froze. “Me? You’d been wishing to see … me?”



He held a rolled blanket and adjusted the awkward bundle in his arms. “There’s no lassies hiding under the table, are there?” Kicking a chair away from the table, he sat next to her. “I feel you at my back, girl. You can leave us now.”



As Bridget scurried from the doorway, Aidan grumbled, “If Gregor were ever here, he’d realize the only course is to marry that brat off and make her some other man’s virago.”



Elspeth half gasped, half laughed. She’d always envied Bridget her beauty and bold sass, and it was a pleasure to hear her criticized, even if had come from her brother.



“I’ve something to show you,” he said, looking stern. She prepared herself for the worst.



His bundle began to wriggle, and Elspeth straightened in her chair.



“Don’t be afraid,” he ordered.



“No, it’s not …” She hated how he always assumed she was a shrinking miss of a thing. “I’m not scared.”



“Good.” He opened the blanket and a tiny puppy burst out, clambering onto the floor.



Elspeth yelped in surprise. The creature was a blur of bushy black fur, with white and brown spots, and a long narrow nose. It was the most darling sight she’d ever seen, but Aidan mistook her reaction and snatched the pup back off the floor. “He’s a bit of a mongrel,” he apologized.



“No, no! He’s a wonder!” She leaned forward in her chair, dying to stretch a hand to where Aidan held the dog in his arms, but too shy to.