Chapter 5
Evan stalked through the port with long strides, his mood blacker than a storm cloud over the Cuillin Hills.
The din of the harbor grated in his ears—hawkers crying their wares, ropes creaking, gulls screaming overhead.
Normally, he found comfort in the bustle of ships and commerce.
But today he felt strangely out of sorts.
It was all the damned lass’s fault. The way she’d looked at him as he’d left her at the beach—those deep, dark eyes of her so full of...what? Disappointment? Why should that bother him so? He’d been disappointing people all his life.
But for some reason, he couldn’t get her expression out of his mind. He should never have gotten involved with her. What had she been doing anyway, blundering into his business deal like that? He should have taken the locket in payment for her ruining his deal and left her there on the island.
Yet he’d had half a mind to give it her back when they’d landed. Half a mind—but the weight of it in his pocket reminded him why he hadn’t. Fine gold, delicate work, worth enough coin to keep him afloat until he found steadier ground.
She’d live, and he’d move on. That was how the world worked.
He ducked into a narrow wynd that led to a tavern overlooking the water, the sort of place where smugglers liked to drink in the afternoon when decent folk were still about their business.
Sure enough, when he pushed open the warped wooden door, the sour tang of ale and unwashed bodies hit him like a wall.
“Campbell!” A voice hailed him from a corner table.
Evan spotted two familiar faces: Murchadh Howe, broad as a bull with arms thick as anchor rope, and Thomas Macrae, lean and sly, his eyes always darting like a rat’s. Old acquaintances, men who’d shifted more than a few casks of contraband with him in the past. Exactly the kind of men he needed.
He forced a smile and swaggered over. “Murchadh, Thomas. I was hoping I’d find ye in here.”
They eyed him as he pulled up a stool. No hearty handshakes, no claps on the back—and that immediately put Evan on edge.
“I hear ye’ve been busy,” Thomas said.
“Aye,” Evan replied easily. “Always. Business never waits.”
“Nay, it doesnae,” Murchadh agreed. “But we heard ye’ve been stirring up trouble. Something about a deal gone bad up north and the fishermen who’ve just come in have brought rumors of trouble out on the island as well.”
Evan waved a hand as if to brush the notion aside, even as his stomach knotted.
Damn it. How had word gotten here so quickly?
Gossip, it seemed, had the ability to materialize out of thin air.
“It was nothing. The trouble up north was just a wee misunderstanding with some ruffians who didnae agree with my price, that’s all.
And the business on the island was nothing either.
I’ve twenty casks ready to move, fine quality. All I need is passage for them—”
But Thomas leaned in, his eyes narrowing. “I couldnae give two shits about what went down on the island. But that business up north? Sounds like more than a misunderstanding. Word is that ye’ve royally pissed off someone ye really dinna want to piss off—Seoras MacInnes.”
Evan’s words faltered and he felt his easy smile slip for a heartbeat. “MacInnes?”
“Aye,” Murchadh said, his voice dropping. “The warlord himself. And he’s looking for ye.”
Evan’s mouth went dry. Seoras MacInnes was no petty smuggler.
He ruled a huge swathe of the criminal underworld up north like his own kingdom, every smuggler and petty criminal paying him tribute.
Men whispered of his cruelty—how he nailed thieves to walls, and made widows of the wives of any who dared cheat him.
Aye, Evan had run into a spot of bother with his men up north, but he’d hoped MacInnes would have forgotten about that.
Shite.
He forced a laugh, though it sounded hollow to his own ears. “Dinna fash. I’ll smooth it over.”
But Murchadh and Thomas exchanged a look, and Thomas shook his head. “Maybe. I’ve heard that smooth tongue of yers could charm a snail out of its shell but we’ll not be seen dealing with ye, Campbell. Not with MacInnes on yer tail.”
The finality in his tone was like a door slammed in Evan’s face. He leaned back, every muscle taut with the effort of keeping calm. “Fine. I’ll find other partners.” He pushed his stool back and stood.
And that was when he saw her.
Through the grimy tavern window, across the sunlit quay, the lass—Ruby—wandered past. She moved with the stiff awkwardness of someone out of place, skirts dragging on the stones, hair loose and shining in the light.
She stopped at ship after ship, speaking to the captains, gesturing southward, only to be waved away.
Thomas followed his gaze. “Who’s that then?”
“Looks like a fine prize,” Murchadh muttered, his grin dark.
Evan scowled. “She’s nobody.” He tossed the words too quickly, and their eyes narrowed.
He’d said she was nobody, but she’d paid him with a locket worth a fortune, and she was standing out there like a lamb among wolves. Sooner or later, someone would notice her soft hands and her fine speech, and then she’d be in serious trouble.
And damn him, if he didn’t feel a twist of guilt in his gut. He’d left her with nothing but her determination, and determination was a thin shield in a place like this.
He turned back to Murchadh and Thomas, forced another grin. “Gentlemen, as ever, it’s been a pleasure. But I’ve business elsewhere.”
Before they could press him further, he slipped out into the sunlight.
The noise of the quay hit him again, gulls shrieking, sailors bellowing, ropes slapping against hulls. Ruby was only a few steps ahead, frowning as another captain shook his head and turned away. She bit her lip, squared her shoulders, and marched toward the next ship.
Evan watched her for a moment, that stubborn set to her jaw, the determination in the way she held her shoulders.
He found himself wondering who she truly was.
No common lass, that much was certain. A noblewoman?
But what noblewoman visited back-water islands alone, bargained with smugglers, and bandied with ship’s captains like a merchant at a market?
She wanted to go to Edinburgh. His fingers brushed the locket in his tunic. Maybe he’d been too hasty.
Seoras MacInnes’ shadow was stretching longer every minute he lingered here.
Who knew how many of the warlord’s men were watching him right now?
The word was that he had eyes everywhere.
Evan needed to get out of here, lie low for a while.
Edinburgh wasn’t where he’d planned to vanish to—too many memories there, too many eyes who remembered him—but the city was big enough to hide in, at least for a while.
And this would give him the chance to ease his guilt over abandoning the lass.
Decision made, he strode after Ruby.
THE HARBOR WAS CHAOS. Sounds. Smells. So many different sights that Ruby could barely take it all in.
Sailors with sunburnt faces and rotted teeth laughed and shouted, their voices rough as gravel.
Fishmongers sloshed buckets of water across the boards, the smell of salt and fish guts stinging her nose.
Everywhere, eyes followed her—curious, lingering, some openly appraising in a way that made her stomach knot.
She didn’t like this at all. She felt so out of place she might as well have been walking about with a placard reading, Hey! I’m from the future!
But she had no choice but to press on. Edinburgh couldn’t be that far, could it? Somebody had to be heading in that direction.
She approached another captain, a tall man with a leather cap pulled low. “Excuse me,” she said, forcing herself to meet his gaze and keeping her voice calm with an effort. “Are you sailing south? To Edinburgh, perhaps?”
He looked her up and down, then spat a stream of brown liquid onto the stone at her feet. “Nay.”
Ruby flinched back, cheeks burning. Fine. She turned toward a broader vessel, crew bustling about with ropes and crates. Its master was a hulking figure with a scarred jaw and a coarse wool coat. He looked like the sort who knew the seas.
She swallowed hard and forced her feet to move. “Sir—”
Before she could finish, his hand shot out and clamped around her wrist. His grip was iron, his eyes glinting with something that made her skin crawl.
“Well now,” he drawled, breath rank with ale. “What’s a fine lass like ye doing wandering about all on her own?”
Ruby’s heart leapt into her throat. She yanked, but his hold only tightened, his nails biting into her skin.
“Let go!”
He chuckled, low and ugly. “Soft hands, fine speech. Not a common wench, are ye?”
Panic clawed at her chest. She twisted again, fear spilling into her voice. “I said let go!”
And then another voice cut through, sharp as a blade. “I’d do as she says if I were ye.”
The grip on her wrist vanished so suddenly Ruby stumbled back. She turned and saw Evan standing behind her.
The sailor sneered. “And who might ye be?”
“The man who’ll split yer skull if ye touch her again.” Evan took a step closer, one hand resting on the hilt of a knife at his belt. The casual confidence in his stance sent a ripple of silence through the nearby sailors.
The man weighed him a moment, then spat on the boards and backed off with a muttered curse. “She isnae worth the trouble.”
He turned away and the crowd’s attention melted back into the rhythm of harbor life.
Evan’s gaze flicked to her. “Ye’ve a talent for finding trouble, lass.”
She glared at him. “I wouldn’t have to if you hadn’t abandoned me here!”
He had the decency to look a little chastised. A little. “Aye, about that. I’ve been reconsidering.”
Ruby blinked. “Reconsidering?”
“I’ll take ye south.”
Her breath caught, equal parts relief and fury. “Why should I trust you now, after you dumped me and ran off the moment you’d taken my locket?”