Chapter Twenty Five
“Get yer hands off my sister.”
Rose blinked, her heart pounding. “Ian?” she gasped, unable to believe her eyes. Her youngest brother had her pretend husband pushed against the wall with a dagger pressed against his throat.
“Ian,” Rose shouted, coming to her senses.
“Let him go.” An instant later, she strained her neck back and locked eyes with Ramsay, Scottish rebel and blacksmith.
His long blond hair was coiled into several thick braids that hung past his massive shoulders.
He smiled down at her, his blue eyes kind, despite the firm grip with which he held her.
“Release me,” she snapped, but the blacksmith only shook his head.
“Who are you?” Ian snarled.
She jerked her head around. Ian gritted his teeth at Tristan.
“That is a bit complicated,” Tristan said, his voice strained.
“Leave him alone, Ian,” she shouted, struggling against the strong hands holding her captive. “Ramsay MacTavish, ye let me go this instant, ye bull of a man.”
He smiled down at her. “Forgive me, Rose, but I’m not releasing ye until Ian tells me to.”
She frowned up at his stubborn face. She knew there was naught she could say that would convince the large man to let her go. She turned her attention back to her brother whose hand was now squeezing Tristan’s throat.
“Ian!”
“What are ye doing here, Rose?” he said, his gaze never leaving Tristan’s face. His voice rose in desperation. “What in God’s holy name is going on?”
“I will explain everything. Just let him go!”
Tristan was beginning to turn purple. “Ian, ye’re killing him.”
“He was kissing ye,” he snarled. “He had his hands all over ye.”
“He’s supposed to kiss me. He’s my husband,” she shouted.
Ian jerked his head around and looked at her with wide eyes before he lowered his dirk and released Tristan’s neck.
Tristan collapsed to his knees, sputtering and coughing.
At that moment, Ramsay let her go. She rushed to Tristan’s side.
“Are ye all right?” she asked. He leaned back against the wall, his hand gently cradling his throat as he tried to catch his breath.
Behind her Ian spoke. “I left ye not a month ago, Rose. How is it that ye’re married!”
“Not now,” she snapped at him, then shifted her gaze back to Tristan. His normal color was returning, and the raspy sound in his throat was gone.
“Are ye all right?” she repeated.
He nodded, still cradling his throat.
“Ye should have walloped him,” she told Tristan.
He shook his head, a smile playing at his lips.
“It is never wise to wallop a brother when there are four others, although I do appreciate your confidence in me.” He squeezed her hand reassuringly.
“I’m all right,” he said again before straining to stand.
Looking past her to Ian, he stretched out his hand.
“This is not how I envisioned our first meeting, but given the rare woman Rose is, I should have known you’d be protective. I know I am.”
Ian ignored Tristan’s hand.
“Who the hell are ye?” Then he turned fierce eyes on Rose. “And what in blazes are ye doing in London?” He gripped his head with his hands, making his red curls even wilder. He turned to Ramsay. “Am I dreaming?”
Ramsay lifted his broad shoulders. “If ye are, then get out of my head, because I see her, too.”
She put her hands on her hips. “Do ye both think I should just stay on my island and wait for death to take me?”
Ramsay backed away. “I know better than to argue with a red-haired MacVie.” The blacksmith turned to Tristan. “Ye’d best stay quiet until these two calm down. They’re mean as second skimmings when they’re mad.”
“I’ll take my chances,” Tristan replied. Then he stepped forward, his hands outstretched as he approached Ian and Rose as if he were handling spooked horses. “Why don’t we find a quiet place where we can all sit down and talk.”
Rose’s hands remained on her hips, her stance unyielding.
Ian stood with his arms crossed over his chest, glaring at his sister.
Then, suddenly, his features softened, and he seized her, pulling her into a fierce embrace.
“I didn’t mean to yell at ye, but ye can imagine my surprise.
I was just walking by and there ye were, my sister, being groped by a bleeding Englishman.
” He lifted his head and glared at Tristan before he turned his gaze back to her. “Ye’re supposed to be leagues away.”
“’Tis I who am sorry,” Rose said, hugging him back. “I ken ye were just trying to protect me, and ye didn’t mean to almost kill my husband.”
“Yer husband,” Ian said, stiffening as he turned once more to look at Tristan. “Well, he seems to have some sense, for a sassenach.” Then he took Rose’s hand and started to lead her out of the alley. “I know a place we can go.”
Rose glanced back at Tristan who had earned Ramsay’s watchful eye. “Be nice to him, Ramsay. He is important to me.”
They wound through a maze of narrow, dirt streets before Ian stopped in front of a two-story stone building.
He smiled down at Rose. “I never thought I would ever bring ye here.” Rose looked up at the carved wooden sign hanging above the door, The Anchor Tavern.
She looked through the window with interest. “I’ve never been to a tavern,” she said to Tristan.
Ian’s smile faded as he glanced at her so-called husband. “Follow me,” he said, stepping inside.
Rose scanned the large room. The Anchor Tavern teemed with men, mostly fishermen and sailors judging by the smell.
The din took her by surprise. Booming laughter blasted her ears.
Barmaids squeezed between the tables and chairs while maneuvering their full trays, all the while smiling and swinging their hips to the pipers playing on the far side of the room.
“Mary keeps a lively room,” Ian said, smiling down at her.
“Ian,” a woman called out from across the room.
He smiled. “Here she is now.”
Rose’s eyes widened when she saw the tavern’s proprietor. Her unbound red curls skimmed her waist as she crossed the room to welcome them. Rose wagered they were roughly the same age. She also had bright blue eyes.
“I wasn’t expecting to see you today,” Mary said to Ian. Her accent was refined like Tristan’s, and she walked with a regal grace.
“Good evening,” Ian said, leaning in to press a kiss to her cheek. “We were hoping to use the back room,” he said in a low voice.
Mary smiled. “Of course,” she said and winked at Rose. “Follow me.”
Ian led the way through the packed room. Rose glanced back to make sure Tristan and Ramsay followed, but Ramsay held Tristan back.
“Don’t fash yerself,” Ian said. “Ramsay will bring yer...er...”
“My husband,” Rose said pointedly.
“Aye, yer husband will join us in a few minutes.”
Mary led them behind the bar to a door half hidden behind a stack of barrels. Rose watched as the tavernkeeper reached into the bosom of her tunic and pulled out a small key. She unlocked the door, then turned to Rose. “Follow me, lass,” she whispered, her accent suddenly as Scottish as Rose’s.
Eyes wide, Rose followed Mary down a long hallway, then inside a room that was comfortably appointed with a large table and several chairs.
When the door shut behind Ian, Mary seized Rose in a crushing embrace. “I would know ye anywhere, Rose MacVie!”
Astonished by Mary’s sudden transformation, Rose didn’t know what to say to the woman hugging her like they were old friends.
“Yer brothers said we resembled each other, but looking at ye now, why ‘tis like looking in a mirror!”
Ian chuckled. “Rose, this is Moira. She is one of us, one of Abbot Matthew’s rebels.
She maintains this tavern under the guise of English Mary, a refined and wealthy widow.
‘Tis a safe place for Scotland’s rebels to meet and rest. Her tavern is actually one of several in London maintained by the Abbot. ”
“I know all yer brothers,” Moira said, her eyes bright. “All handsome devils, to be sure. And they all talk about ye, the eldest MacVie. They say ye’re the one who’s truly in charge.”
Rose laughed outright. “Someone has to keep them in line.”
“Did the Abbot send ye here on a mission?” Moira asked.
Rose shook her head. “Not exactly.”
“That’s why I’ve brought her here,” Ian explained, arching his brow at Rose. “To learn how she came to be in London.”
Moira’s gaze darted between the two red-haired MacVies. She cleared her throat, clearly having sensed the current tension. “I will give ye some privacy to catch up.”
“Thank ye, Moira,” Ian said. “And would ye be a dear and send in Ramsay and the Englishman.”
“Aye,” Moira agreed. “I’ll send them in with full tankards. Ye both look like ye could use a drop.”
After Moira left, Ian turned to Rose and quickly said, “I kept yer...er...husband away so ye could meet Moira. She’s always wanted the chance. I don’t know how much he kens about the cause.”
“I’ve told Tristan nothing,” she said. “Not because I don’t trust him or worry that he wouldn’t be sympathetic to our cause. He has no love for his king or the ruling class. But I worried the knowledge could be dangerous, not just to him but also to his family.”
Ian nodded his approval.
“Quickly,” she said. “Before they come. Are ye and Ramsay here on a mission?”
He nodded. “We are.”
She squeezed his hand. “When I see our brothers again, can I tell them ye’re well?
” she asked, feeling suddenly anxious for her wee brother’s safety.
She was used to her brothers carrying out dangerous missions, but it never ceased to worry her.
She knew they risked their lives, but they did it for the cause—they did it for Scotland.
He smiled and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Do not fash yerself, Rose. I’ll be fine.”
A moment later the door swung open, and Tristan and Ramsay came inside.
Rose looked at the three oversized men. “Yer all big as oxen,” she said, chuckling.
Ian motioned to the chair across from him. “Sit down,” he said to Tristan.