A Dangerous Damsel (The Countess Scandals) (4 page)

Chapter 5

Sneaking into the flat was easy enough. Deidre hadn’t chosen their home in the poorest section of town solely to be frugal. The warren-like collection of lean-tos and temporary structures made it difficult keep track of all the ways a person could get in and out. There were toughs watching the front and back entrances, but they hadn’t thought to watch the next building over.

It was slightly more difficult with an enormous Highlander in tow, but he had insisted on coming with her. He made the jump from the neighboring roof with room to spare. The drop down into the abandoned flat with a section of roof missing gave him a bit of trouble with only one good arm, but he didn’t make enough noise to give them away. Making sure the hall was clear, she ushered him over to the tiny space she called home.

After she closed the door behind them, she was hit with an uncharacteristic self-consciousness. What would he think of where she lived? The sheer size of him would have told her he came from money, even if the things she’d taken from him hadn’t. It took a lifetime of eating well to produce that kind of vitality.

“Ye live here?”

“Yes.”

His gaze took in the small space, the single chair, the empty cupboard. “It’s nice.”

“No, it’s not. But it’s mine.”

“I dinnae—”

She waved off whatever he was going to say. It didn’t matter anyway. She was leaving, for good. After she found Tristan, it would be just another abandoned hovel until some other poor soul found it. “Help me move the cupboard.”

They shifted the cabinet away from the wall. Deidre pulled out a brick, revealing the hollow space within it. She took out the money she’d been saving and the pocket watch that had belonged to her father. Out of habit, she returned the brick and had Ewan help her put the cupboard back in place. Fishing into the flour bag, she pulled out the sporran she hadn’t had a chance to fence yet. She handed it him. “Yours.”

He frowned at it but didn’t say anything. She was in the second room, reaching under the bed for the packages of spare clothes she’d managed to collect for herself and Tristan, when voices sounded outside the door. Tris? No, the voices weren’t familiar. The hope she’d felt turned to immediate fear. Ewan looked like he might try to fight, but that would certainly draw attention, assuming he even could. She looked around the tiny space. The only place he might stand a chance of fitting was under the bed. She gestured for him to get under it.

His brow rose skeptically, but he did it while moving. With scarcely a breath to spare, she got them both hidden and the blanket dragged mostly off the bed to obscure the gap when the latch clicked.

Boots scuffed the floorboards in the first room. “Where’d Tris say it was?”

“Behind the cupboard. Should be a hollowed-out brick somewhere.”

Deidre tensed. Did they have Tristan? Had they hurt him? They must have, since they knew about her stash.

“I thought he was in deep with Alastair. What’s he doin’ with a pile of scratch hid away?” The cupboard dragged across the floorboards as they moved it.

“Dinnae ken and dinnae care. He says tonight’s on him if we go get it, so we’re getting it.”

“How many whores do ye think we’ll be able to buy?”

Her fists clenched. He couldn’t have, could he? Of course he could. In the dusty confines of the space under her bed, smashed up against a stranger who had been more decent to her than her own blood, Deidre was forced to be honest. Her baby brother, the only family she had left in this world, had sold out their savings to finance a night on the town.

“Depends on whether he was full of shite. Tris isnae exactly known for making modest claims.”

The scraping of a brick told her they’d found the right one. A round of cursing followed.

“I knew that braggy son of a bitch was having us on.”

“Maybe his sister cleaned it out.”

“Why would she do that?”

“If ye had a brother like Tris, would ye tell him where ye put yer haul?”

Their combined laughter answered that question. Deidre hated them almost as much as she hated Tristan right now. It must have been coming off her in waves, because Ewan reached out with two fingers—all he could likely manage to move—and squeezed. It was oddly comforting.

“If I had Tris’s sister, I’d be living like a king. She’d make me a fortune on her back, and I sure as hell wouldn’t mind a tumble now and then.”

Like hell. A swift kick to the groin is what he could have.

“Dinnae let Alastair hear you say that. He’s the jealous type.”

“What’s he care? He’s got her out rolling hay with every well-heeled blighter from here to London.”

Oh, no. No, no, no. She squeezed her eyes tight and prayed the building would collapse on top of them.

“Nah, she just riles them up and fleeces them when they ain’t paying attention.”

“Yer lying. Just last week, I saw a cove’s hand so far up her skirt I thought he was checkin’ her teeth.”

Shattering pottery sounded. So much for her one good plate. Deidre had never bothered to keep track of the lesser members of Alastair’s gang. She wished now she had so she would know who to murder when she got out from under this bed.

“Alastair gets a kick out of them gettin’ all hot for it, but the last man to plow her field ended up in a ditch with his throat slit.”

Te bisterdon tumare anava
, she cursed silently.
May God forget their names
. So much for mystery. When Ewan had asked her if she “thieved and the like” for Alastair, she’d hoped to leave it at that. Not that he couldn’t guess, but she’d rather not have it spelled out for him.

The door closed. She turned her head toward Ewan while she waited to make sure they weren’t coming back. It was dark under the bed, and Deidre was suddenly glad she couldn’t see his face.

“Ewan—”

“Yer Alastair sounds like a real charmer.”

“It’s not . . .” It wasn’t what? Everything they’d said had been true. “It’s not like that anymore. I’m not . . . I’m trying to leave him.”

The silence stretched out. Deidre was cursing her luck when those two fingers suddenly gave a second, comforting squeeze.

“Let’s go find yer brother then so ye can finish.”

***

Angus was waiting for them when they snuck back into their room at the inn. A young man with black hair and a sullen frown waited with him. He was older than Ewan would have guessed from Deidre’s description—about sixteen, Ewan would wager. He bore a strong resemblance to his sister, which made him a bit too pretty by masculine accounting.

“Tristan!” Deidre rushed to him, checking his face and limbs for damage.

“Leave off, Dee.” He tried to brush her hands away, but she was determined.

When she’d satisfied herself that he was unharmed, her hand whipped out, slapping him with enough force to snap his head back.

“What the hell, Dee?” His shock told Ewan she’d never hit him before.

“I was at home when your friends showed up.”

The rest of his face turned red to match the handprint forming on his cheek. “It’s not—”

“Isn’t it? So you didn’t send your friends to rob me so you could spend the night drinking and whoring?”

“I was going to pay it—”

“Don’t. Don’t you say another word to me.” She turned to Ewan. “We’re all here. When can we leave?”

“As soon as the horses are saddled. If we ride all night, we should be well away by sun-up.”

Tristan didn’t like the sound of that. “Leave? I’m not leav—”

The second slap cracked like a thunderclap. Two pairs of black eyes glared at each other in the resulting silence.

Ewan decided to give them some space to sort it out. He didn’t anticipate the boy winning that battle of wills, but he wouldn’t mourn the loss of him if he did. “Angus, help me with the horses?”

“Aye.”

They made it out of the inn and into the yard before Angus voiced his objection. “So we’re taking them with us.”

“Aye.” Ewan knew that wouldn’t be the end of it.

“I don’t suppose telling ye that’s a shite idea would make any difference.”

He grinned. “Nae much, no.”

The older man spit into a pile of hay. “Ye’ve no notion of how things will play out at Broch Murdo.”

Ewan stopped saddling his horse for a moment. Broch Murdo. In all the excitement, he’d forgotten that was why he was here. In his mind, he’d been thinking he’d take Deidre back to Dalreoch Castle. “Aye.”

“And ye still mean to bring them.”

He couldn’t leave her behind, even if he were inclined to do so. “Aye.”

“The woman’s a siren. Ye cannae trust her.”

Ewan smiled again. It was one of the things he liked about her. “Aye.”

“And it’ll take more than a couple slaps to get the brother in line.” Angus led his horse out of the stable. “That one’s full of piss and laziness and nae much else.”

Ewan followed with his own newly recovered mount and the mare they’d retrieved for Deidre on their way back from her rooms. “Aye, I suspect it will.”

The object of their discussion was sulking in front of the inn as they approached.

“Where’s your sister?” Ewan didn’t imagine she’d abandon her brother after all her efforts to find him.

“Do I look like her nursemaid?”

Oh, aye. It was going to be a long night. “Ye can give up the insolence, boy. I’ve had it far longer from a far greater jackass.”

Angus chuckled. Ewan’s cousin Gavan had spent the better part of thirty years irritating everyone he came in contact with. It was only after meeting his new wife that he’d become slightly tolerable.

The boy scowled. “She’s taking care of the lookout.”

Ewan wasn’t certain what that entailed, and he wasn’t certain he wanted to know, so the three of them waited in silence. She reappeared unharmed a few minutes later.

When she saw them standing together, she smiled. “Ready?”

***

Traveling at night was slow. They had only three horses, so Deidre had the privilege of listening to her brother complain in her ear for the majority of the ride. She should have slapped him harder.

Guilt flooded through her. She’d hit Tristan. Twice. In the twelve years they’d been on their own, she had never laid a hand to him. A small voice in the back of her mind wondered if he mightn’t have turned out better if she had.

“I’m hungry.”

“You’re always hungry,” she answered.

“What did you bring to eat?”

Ewan’s horse slowed its pace. “We’ll eat at sunrise when we stop to sleep.”

“That’s hours from now!”

“Ye’ll survive.”

Deidre expected her brother to say something petulant, but he didn’t. Instead, he rested his forehead on her shoulder and gave every impression of going to sleep. Without his grumbling, Deidre was able to enjoy the uniqueness of night in the wilderness. The breeze rustled through tree leaves, insects sang in droves, even the occasional screech of an owl on the hunt hit her ears. Moonlight turned everything to silver, making it feel otherworldly.

Ewan nudged his horse closer. “Yer smiling.”

“We used to travel at night like this when I was a child,” she said, matching his low tone. “I forgot how much I enjoy it.”

He didn’t ask her why and she was grateful for that. Their father had been a man much like she imagined her brother would turn out to be—extremely charming with an easy smile, but not known for excesses of responsibility. This was not the first town they’d had to leave under the cover of darkness. Deidre had loved her father dearly, but it would have been difficult to explain to someone who hadn’t known him.

“Aye, it’s strange and peaceful at the same time. It’s got a sort of magic to it,” he said.

She looked at Ewan, careful not to jostle her brother. The moonlight brought out the angles in his face, drawing attention to his strong jaw and the rigid line of his nose. She’d felt those angles in the stable when she kissed him. It had been an impulsive thing to do, but she didn’t regret it. After everything that had gone wrong, all the loneliness and the worry since she’d decided to leave Alastair, to have Ewan say “we” without a thought to leaving them behind—she’d been undone.

Temporarily undone, she reminded herself. She couldn’t afford to let her guard down in any permanent way. “I haven’t yet thanked you for helping me.”

“There’s no need.” He said it like he actually meant it.

In Deidre’s experience, everything came with a price. She wondered what his would be when it came. She wondered if she would even mind paying it. “Where are we headed?”

“Broch Murdo.”

The name sounded familiar. It took a moment to remember where she’d heard it. “Ewan . . .”

“Aye?”

“Are you actually Lord Broch Murdo?”

He took his time answering. “Aye, I suppose I am.”

Oh, he supposed he was. Nothing to fuss over, just a title and some bloody place in the world that was named after him.

Ewan sighed. “It’s only just happened. It’s taking some getting used to.”

“How did—”

“My father died. I dinnae hear until recently.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Dinnae be. No one else is.”

Deidre laughed. She shouldn’t have—a man was dead—but the way he said it was so matter of fact. “I take it the two of you weren’t close?”

“If there’s any justice in the afterlife, even the devil won’t have him.”

There was a story there, but he hadn’t pried into her business. She would do him the same courtesy. They lapsed into silence, letting the night swallow the soft thudding of their horses’ hooves on the dirt. They rode like that for a long time, until the sky started to lighten on the horizon.

Angus dropped back from his place at the head of their small party. “There should be a trail east a little ways. Willnae need to take it too far to be out of sight in case someone decided to chase ye.”

“Aye, let’s see if it’s still there.”

The two Highlanders rode off. Deidre let her mare continue at a lazy plod.

“Look at you. Caught an earl and you weren’t even trying,” her brother said in Romani.

The space between Deidre’s eyebrows started aching immediately. “Good morning, Tris.”

“He seems the type to spoil his women and you’ve already got him wrapped around your finger.”