Chapter 3 #2
RUBY TURNED SHARPLY as the man addressed her. Three men sat at a table near the back. Two were rough-looking—one wiry with a tangled black beard and a scar that carved its way up his cheek, the other with thinning red hair. The third was altogether different.
He lounged against the bench as though the entire room were his to command, long legs stretched out in front of him.
Sandy-colored curls caught the glow of the firelight, framing a sharp-boned, handsome face, his mouth quirked in a smile that never reached his eyes.
And those eyes—storm-gray and watchful—met hers for only a heartbeat before flicking away.
“Over here, lass,” the scarred man called. “We dinna know this Niall Campbell ye are looking for. But this fellow might.” He jerked his thumb at the man with the curls. “He’s a Campbell, too.”
Ruby’s heart leapt. Relief, sudden and fierce, rushed through her. She hurried over, the bottom of her dress brushing the damp rushes. “Oh! Niall Campbell is my cousin’s husband—Charlotte Douglas. Or Charlotte Campbell now I suppose. Do you know where I can find her?”
The handsome one stiffened almost imperceptibly. Then he leaned forward, resting his clasped hands on the table.
“Never heard of either of them,” he said lightly. “Plenty of Campbells about, lass. I’m no kin to the ones ye are seeking.”
The words landed like stones in her stomach.
Before she could press further, Scarred-Face’s hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. “Sit.” He yanked her down onto the bench beside him with such force her hip jarred painfully against the wood. The red-haired one leered across at her, showing the gaps in his teeth.
“What are ye about, eh?” Scarred-Face growled. “Storming in here, spouting names, all wide-eyed like a lamb. Think we’d not see through it?”
Ruby blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Dinna play daft,” he snapped. “Campbell here takes our silver, then ye turn up—a bonnie wee distraction so he can slip away without delivering the cargo. Ye are part of his crew.” He turned his glare on the handsome man. “Isnae she?”
Campbell scowled. “I havenae seen this woman before in my—”
“Shut it! I’ve heard enough of yer smooth tongue.”
Crew? Cargo? Ruby glanced at Campbell, but his expression gave nothing away.
“I...I don’t know what you mean,” she stammered.
Scarred-Face shoved a squat bottle toward her and pulled out the cork.
“Really? Is that so? Ye must think we are idiots. I’ll tell ye how this is going to go down, shall I?
” He poured out four measures of drink into pottery beakers and pushed one towards her and one towards Campbell then he and Red-Hair took one each.
“Just to show there are no hard feelings, we are going to drink a toast of this finest French brandy to seal our deal, and then the two of ye are going to take us down to where yer cargo is stowed. Oh, and ye are going to knock ten silvers off the price for trying to dupe us.”
“I’ve told ye, this lass is naught to do with me,” Campbell growled. “The price stays the same.”
Scarred-Face shrugged. “Weren’t ye the one saying ye didnae want to make a scene? Then do the smart thing and accept the deal. It’s the best ye will get.”
Campbell scowled at him but then reluctantly nodded.
“Excellent! To our deal then!” He raised his cup. “Well?” Scarred-Face said to her and Campbell. “Will ye not drink to our prosperity?”
Ruby had no idea what was going on but her instincts told her not to antagonize these men. Grabbing her cup, she pressed it to her lips and knocked it back in one. The alcohol burned like fire as it went down. She gagged and coughed, clutching the edge of the table for support.
“That—” She choked, wiping her sleeve across her lips. “Is not French brandy.” Her voice rose, indignant despite her watering eyes. “I should know—I tried enough samples. I was supposed to have finest French brandy at my reception!”
Her words silenced the table. Scarred-Face’s features twisted into fury. Red-hair’s hand went to the hilt of his knife.
Ruby’s heart lurched—what had she said?
But before she could move, Campbell was on his feet.
With a speed that shocked her, he caught Red-Hair’s wrist just as the man lunged towards him.
He twisted until Red-Hair yelped, his knife clattering onto the table.
Campbell shoved him back hard, sending him sprawling to the floor.
Scarred-Face surged to his feet, swinging his fist towards Campbell’s face, but Campbell ducked and met him with a brutal fist to the ribs, then slammed his head against the wall with a sickening crack.
The inn erupted into shouts as patrons scrambled out of the way. Ruby scrabbled backwards, staring at the chaos, heart slamming against her ribs.
Red-Hair groaned on the floor, clutching his arm. Scarred-Face slid unconscious to the rushes, blood trickling from his temple.
Campbell shook out his hand, flexing bloodied knuckles. Without so much as a glance at Ruby, he tossed a handful of coins onto the table, the silver scattering across spilled ale.
“For the damage,” he said curtly to the woman at the bar.
Then he turned on his heel and strode out, cloak swirling.
Ruby stared at the two downed men, hardly daring to believe what she had just witnessed. Then her gaze snapped in the direction Campbell had gone. She scrambled after him, nearly tripping on her skirts.
“Wait!” she called, pushing past gawking faces and out into crisp sea air. The wind tore at her hair as she spotted him heading for the harbor, his strides long and furious. “Do you know Charlotte Campbell or not?”
When no answer was forthcoming, she gritted her teeth, and hurried after him.