Read Online Moon Dreams by Patricia Rice - Free Book Online Page B

into?
    Well, Alyson and Deirdre should be safely installed at Lady Hamilton’s
by now. He wouldn’t have to worry about Cranville immediately. Pulling out his
watch, Rory considered the hour and decided there had been time enough for
Dougall to get back to the inn. They could map out a plan to sail the brandy
out of here, after disposing of the obnoxious earl.
    Tugging his tricorne over his brow and pulling the caped
greatcoat close, he stepped over the sprawling lines and set out for his
meeting in Bishopsgate.
    Once there, Rory halted in the doorway of the inn to survey
the inhabitants. A man in his occupation learned to be careful. Besides every
variety of illegal goods, information could be bought and sold in these
waterfront taverns. The man sitting at the bar could be a customs officer
looking for the owner of the Sea Witch, or just another retired navy man
reliving his youth. The secret was to know which was which, and after fifteen
years on the run, Rory Maclean had a pretty clear idea of which men wanted his
scalp.
    He also had an exceedingly low opinion of British revenue
officers. Not one of them had the imagination to search for him here. That old
tar was just what he seemed. Rory relaxed and searched for some sight of
Dougall in the dim recesses of the low-ceilinged, lantern-lit room.
    The sight that greeted him instead roiled his stomach in
horror, nearly turning him white-haired in the space of a moment. He thought at
first he was hallucinating. Had he caught some fever that had him seeing an
angelic apparition where there was none?
    But seeing the filthy vermin laughing as she groggily tried
to hold up her head with a wrist tied to the table, he quickly disposed of all
fanciful notions.
    Ignoring his first urge to pull his sword and decapitate
every man in his path, Rory stepped back into the shadows, removed his gold-braided
hat, untied his queue, loosened his jabot, and grabbed a mug of ale from an
astonished barmaid. Then, disheveled and rolling drunkenly, he made his way
across the room to the table where his particular angel awaited.
    Pulling up a chair, Rory sat down without ceremony,
splashing ale from his mug as he slapped it against the worn planks. “Looks
like you gents got a morsel of trouble on your hands.”
    A young, sharp-faced excuse for a man poked his prisoner
further into the darkened corner between bench and wall. Alyson moaned
unconsciously, and Rory gritted his teeth. The bastards had drugged her, and
from the torn state of her bodice, that wasn’t all they had done.
    Pain washed through him, not a crippling pain, but a
vengeful, murderous one. He came from a breed of warriors with tempers fiercer
than the winter snows of his home. He would slit their throats slowly, giving
them time to swallow their tongues in fear. Then he would go after Cranville.
Planning what he would do to that unlucky earl kept him calm as his new
companions objected to his intrusion.
    “Move on, mate. We ain’t lookin’ fer trouble. We’re just
havin’ this ’ere friendly discussion.” The sturdier rogue stood unsteadily to
block the newcomer’s view of their troublesome prize.
    Rory modified his accent to match theirs. “If I were you
gents, I’d get ’er off me ’ands just as soon as I could. The word’s out for ’er.
Daughter of a bleedin’ earl or some such. They’ll probably draw and quarter the
blokes unlucky enough to be found with ’er. Plannin’ on shippin’ ’er out to
France, was ye now?”
    The older man blanched and pulled his sturdy companion back
down to his chair. Neither of them looked at the skinny young one guarding his
prize with a possessive grip.
    “We talked uv that, but we ain’t found a likely prospect to
pay us what she’s worth. We figured Molly would ’ave ’er, but if word’s out,
Molly ain’t goin’ to pay ’arf what we ought to get. I’m for takin’ ’er back to ’er
bleedin’ old man what’s offered to pay for ’er.”
    Rage roiled Rory’s