Page 117 of My Highland Love

Marcus strode into the Single Penny tavern with Steven behind him. Marcus glanced back at his young companion. They'd spent seven days on the road and the boy looked none the worse for wear. No one would suspect he wasn't a regular in the establishment. The deception went beyond the rough clothes he wore. The metamorphosis from upper-class gentleman to the rough, bawdy character ready to yank his knife from its sheath and open the gullet of any man who looked in his direction was complete. Steven certainly wasn't the typical wealthy American.

The boy's gaze rested for an instant on a table in the far corner of the room, then moved on. Marcus glanced in the same direction and realized he had seen Justin sitting with another man. Even in the shadows of the dimly lit room, Marcus understood what had snagged Steven's attention. Despite the rough clothes Justin wore, the way his manicured fingers curled around the beer mug he drank from gave away the fact he wasn't a typical river rat.

Steven looked at Marcus. Marcus gave a small jerk of his head and Steven followed as he strode to the table. Justin set the mug of ale on the table and looked up at their approach. Marcus slid into the seat to his right. Steven circled the table and took the seat to Justin's left.

“Marcus,” Justin's cultured English accent remained evident despite the hoarse quality he injected into his voice.

“Justin,” Marcus greeted in a thick, Scottish brogue.

“Meet William Sheldon of the Boston police department,” Justin said.

“Shhh,” Sheldon hissed, ducking his head down.

“Mr Sheldon,” Justin said, “tell my friend what you told me.”

Mr Sheldon looked about. He sat back suddenly and Marcus would have urged him on, but a tavern maid approached the table, two ales in hand.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” she said, setting an ale before Marcus, then going around William to place the other in front of Steven. She straightened, saying, “You have a choice of jackrabbit stew or roast pig.”

“Jackrabbit stew, my girl, all around,” Steven spoke up.

Marcus hid his surprise at hearing the guttural accent Steven employed and nodded to the girl in assent when she looked at him. She started for the bar at the back of the room and Marcus focused on William.

“Lad,” he said in low tones, “proceed with your tale, if ye please.”

William cast a nervous glance about the room, then leaned forward. “Your friend here,” he nodded toward Justin, “promised the remainder of the fee.”

“Aye,” Marcus said. “Whatever he agreed to, you'll get.”

“If you don't mind, sir,” William said, “I'll have my payment now.”

Justin pulled forth a small pouch and set it on the table. William reached for it, but Marcus laid a hand on his when it covered the pouch. “The money stays where it is until I've heard what you have to say.”

William nodded, and Marcus withdrew his hand. William released the pouch and placed his elbows on the table. “There's a place up north, a hundred and fifty miles or so, Bainbridge Hospital. A month ago, a man incarcerated his wife there because she believes she was Cleopatra in a past life.”

“And what makes ye think this woman is the one we are looking for?” Marcus asked.

“The description your friend here gave. The woman is dark haired, late twenties and slim of build. The man is much older and seems to fit your description. He's rich, sure enough.”

William sat back and Marcus saw the tavern maid approach again, tray in hand with four bowls of stew on it.

She set a bowl before each of them and looked at the men. “Anything else?”

“That'll be all,” Steven said, and hunched over his bowl. He began clinking the spoon loudly against the side of the bowl.

The woman turned as he took a hearty mouthful. William gulped a spoonful of stew. He chewed, his gaze following her until she was out of hearing range. He took one more bite of food as two men passed, headed for a nearby table.

William pushed the bowl forward. “As I was saying, the man is rich. He's left strict orders that no one is to visit his wife and she is to be kept under heavy sedation.”

Marcus's hand balled into a fist and, before realizing it, he started to push to his feet.

Justin grasped his shoulder and shoved him back into his seat. “Easy there, my fellow,” he said, his voice all amusement. “You would think it was your own wife there instead of—well”—Justin flashed a grin—”you know how it is, Mr Sheldon, when a woman cuckolds a man.”

William nodded. “Indeed, I do.”

“Seems the lady was burning both ends of the candle,” Justin said. “It's my guess her husband is teaching the wench a lesson far beyond that you could serve up, my boy.” He gave Marcus a hearty clap on the shoulder.

Marcus slumped back into his chair. “She didna' cuckold me,” he muttered in a sullen a voice, and looked at William. “'Tis no' enough to be sure she's the one.”