Four Days Later: The Rusty Hook Tavern, Blackpool
Four days later, MacLeod and Stonebridge entered the Rusty Hook Tavern near the sandy beaches of the little hamlet town of Blackpool. Through a thick haze of smoke, they spotted their quarry seated at a table nursing a pint of ale. Both men were surprised to see he was alone.
As they approached, Dansbury kicked out one of the two empty chairs at his table. “How did you find me?”
Stonebridge remained standing, his hands on his hips, and said, “Believe me. You don’t really want to know. Rest assured it wasn’t easy. We’ve been on the road for six days.”
Dansbury toasted them their success and took a healthy swig of his ale. “In all honesty, it matters not. I dispatched a note two days ago that would have brought you here, at any rate. You’re only a few days early, is all.”
“Where’s Lady Beatryce?” asked MacLeod, convinced she was somewhere nearby.
Dansbury cracked a smile at the question and glanced at the ceiling. “She’s upstairs.”
Of course. While he and Stonebridge were tracking him down, concerned he’d gone off half-cocked, Dansbury was settled here having a grand old time with his new wife.
Stonebridge shook his head and scanned the room. “Is there someplace private we can talk? We have matters to discuss.”
“Nothing, save for the rooms above. But trust me, I’ve been watching these people for days. They’re not interested in anything we have to say. We won’t be bothered.”
MacLeod picked one of the vacant chairs and sat.
Stonebridge did the same and got right to the point. “I assume Kelly is here.”
Dansbury nodded his head. “Yes. In fact, he’s been staying at this hotel; I’ve seen him myself.”
MacLeod was genuinely surprised.
Stonebridge appeared relieved. “I must commend you for your restraint. I’m thankful we didn’t arrive to find you in gaol for murder.”
“Ha! Please. Had I acted on my impulses, my friend, I wouldn’t have been caught. You know this.”
The duke shrugged. “I suppose I do.”
“Och, so what have you learned?” This from MacLeod who was irritable from days in the saddle and a lack of sleep.
Not to mention beautiful liars.
Dansbury took another sip of his ale and smiled at MacLeod. “Ah, moody as ever, MacLeod? Someone been ruffling your feathers?”
Before MacLeod could respond, likely with a regrettable remark, Stonebridge interceded. “That’s a question best left for another day.”
Dansbury threw MacLeod a curious look, then proceeded to brief them on what he knew. “Kelly is in Blackpool as are several suspected members of the Society. Kelly has a room here. The others have just left and are en route to Liverpool and a ship docked there. An ex-war ship I might add, the HMS Nightingale.”
They both froze at that tidbit of information. A Royal Navy ship in use by the Society? And not a small ship, at that. The HMS Nightingale was over 175 feet in length and more than 50 feet in width with six floors.
“Did you recognize anyone? The man in charge?” asked Stonebridge.
“Unfortunately, no. I believe he was here, but I have no proof. I cannot imagine them going through all this trouble—the ship, the meeting locations, the secrecy—if he weren’t.”
“Do you have a plan?” asked Stonebridge.
“I do. We wrap up here, then head to Liverpool and search the ship.”
MacLeod barely refrained from groaning out loud. Liverpool meant crowds.
“And Kelly?”
Dansbury fiddled with a small knife he held in his hands. “We leave him for now.”
Stonebridge smiled, obviously pleased. MacLeod wasn’t so magnanimous, but he understood. Despite everything, those men in charge were the priority.
MacLeod stood. “Guid. Let’s end this.”
“Hold up there, my friend. I believe we have something to discuss.”
MacLeod crossed his arms, a defensive move at best, and remained standing. “Such as?”
“My sister. I believe I left you in charge of her welfare. So I must ask, is she here, and if not, where is she?”
“Don’t answer that,” interjected the duke.
Dansbury turned to Stonebridge. “Why not? I have a right to know. This man assured me he would guarantee her safety.” Dansbury turned back to MacLeod and narrowed his eyes. “She is safe, isn’t she? You haven’t hurt her?”
It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Dansbury he’d fucked her then kicked her out of his home for being a lying thief. It was essentially the truth.
But he feared everyone would see right through him should he do so, and then they would all know he’d been brought low by a woman once more. That he’d fallen and was finding it damn difficult to pull himself back up.
Instead, he said, “I’m going for a walk,” which brought forth a few curses from both Stonebridge and Dansbury.
Still, he turned to go, leaving Stonebridge to manage Dansbury’s wrath.
Aye. Better Stonebridge than he. Else he risked saying something that would forever destroy his friendship with one of the few people he considered a friend.
MacLeod walked out of the Rusty Hook Tavern amid a swirl of angry shouts and heavy cursing. So be it. He knew what was at stake. He would be ready, but for the moment, he was unsettled and needed to walk off his frustration. Hopefully, a walk along Blackpool’s sandy stretch of beach would be just the thing.
He wasn’t so senseless as to not realize the source of his ill-humor. He’d thought of nothing else for six days. Mrs. Amelia Chase. Bold. Beautiful. Absolute Trouble. Just as he’d suspected that first time he’d seen her across a crowded inn.
And ever since that fateful day some four months past, she’d consumed his waking thoughts with regular occurrence. But not all those thoughts were good, rational, or hell, even sane. Just persistent.
MacLeod stepped out onto the sand and headed south, dismayed by the number of people present to take in the waters and salty air. He couldn’t walk a straight line without sidestepping a bather or hard-working servant. Frustrated, MacLeod looked further ahead. To his consternation, what he saw was more of the same. People, pets, and servants everywhere.
A group of people parted ways and his entire world came crashing to a halt.
For there she was: Amelia Chase. Still bold. Still beautiful. Still trouble. But a damn sight to see. His first instinct was to crack a smile, a telling and unwanted predisposition.
Then reality set in. Mrs. Chase’s presence in Blackpool meant nothing but absolute trouble. For her to even know where to find him—because there was no way this was a coincidence—suggested she colluded with the enemy. The thought threatened to break him.
God, if he’d had any doubt about her culpability—to which he’d never admit—she’d dashed those thoughts completely.
And still he wanted to wrap his arms around her and kiss her senseless; she was a sight for sore eyes.
Bugger.
Before he knew it, she was standing before him. The same smile. The same light in her eyes. The same confident presence.
“MacLeod.” A gust of wind blew her hair into her face. His fingers itched to brush the loose strands away. Instead he crossed his arms, the better to keep his hands to himself.
She watched the motion, a look of apprehension crossed her face but a moment, then she met his gaze with a worried frown. She hesitated, which was quite unlike her.
He had no such reservation. “You might as well spit it out. Every moment you hesitate, I become further convinced your presence here is not a coincidence.”
“But of course, it’s not. I came here to find you.”
Damn, that was precisely what he didn’t want to hear.
“Right. So how did you manage it this time? Dumb luck? Another anonymous, bullshit message?”
She held up her hand to halt his barrage of questions. “Look, MacLeod. You’re angry. I get it. So why don’t you practice your usual stoic silence and give me a chance to tell you?”
He dipped his head in acquiescence. The truth did sometimes bite.
“Spyder led me to you.”
MacLeod looked up and scanned his surroundings. “Spyder? He’s here?”
“Yes and no.”
“Of course.” He didn’t try to hide his exasperation.
“He’s here, you see, but you won’t find him. Not if he doesn’t want to be found.”
“Ah. Such faith in my capabilities.”
She shook her head in obvious exasperation. “Spyder isn’t important right now.”
“I beg to differ. There’s quite a few people aboot who would relish a chance to speak to Spyder. Why, we’ve more of an interest in apprehending him than you.”
She ignored his purposeful barb. Like a child, he wanted to yell at her to fight back. He knew she had it in her to slay him with nothing more than words. Instead, she said, “We came to warn you that you’re walking into a trap.”
“Is that all?”
“You don’t believe me?”
“Quite honestly, I don’t know what to believe anymore. All I hear are words colored with lies. Everything you say is suspect at this point and with good reason.”
“Why would I risk coming here if it wasn’t important? Risk your wrath? Risk capture? I wouldn’t have unless I thought you were in real danger. Please, MacLeod, please consider what I’m saying.”
“I’ll take it under advisement, I’m sure.” Which she correctly understood to mean he wouldn’t heed her words at all.
She reached out and grabbed his arms. “MacLeod, please don’t. Just because I’m a damn good actress, and just because I’ve done the things I’ve done, doesn’t mean I’m not scared or unsure or just plain cracked up sometimes. Please hear me. I-I love you.”
Och, she burned him with her words, with her touch. His eyes locked with hers, mirror expressions of shock and heated attraction arched between them. He clenched his fists lest he throw her over his shoulder and haul her away. And in that moment, he nearly hated himself for still harboring that desire. For her. For them.
For a life that never actually existed, for it was all a lie.
“Well, that’s foolish.”
Mel tightened her grip. Her voice cracked when she pleaded, “MacLeod…”
It nearly killed him to respond, but he broke free of her grip then and said, “Jus’ go,” and walked away, a furious ache in his chest that he feared would haunt him for the rest of his days.