Page 7 of The Lyon’s Lass

“Aye. I know of just the place.”

Iain should have known better than to go anywhere with Hodge when he had that gleam in his eye, but unfortunately, he didn’t listen to his instincts on the matter.

Soon they were at an establishment called The Lyon’s Den. It was a fine place with a solid glass of drink and an honest game, from what he could tell. Iain didn’t play too deeply to make his situation worse, but he hadn’t won enough to avoid the parson’s noose.

Then a cheer went up when a woman with a stern fortitude and the respect of the room came forth. She wore widow black from her toes to the veil covering her face. He took from the whispers going around that this woman, Mrs. Dove-Lyon, was the proprietress.

Play stopped at the tables and the women wandering about paused their flirting with the patrons. In fact, everyone turned as if in anticipation. Excited to hear what the woman would say. A number of men stood at her flanks. Soldiers if he was right. No one in this room would dare insult the woman in their company.

“What a fine group of gentlemen we have here this night. But are you courageous as well?” the woman called out.

The men rumbled and a few shoved a friend.

“I seek a man of good balance. Whomever can outlast their peers by standing on the banister yon will win a coveted prize. But those who fall, will owe me.”

“What does she mean by that?” Iain whispered to Hodge.

“It’s of no matter because you can’t lose. These men have not spent most of their lives on a ship. I’ve seen you walk a rope between the masts on The Rue. Surely you can outlast one of these fops on a sturdy banister.”

Iain looked up to the second floor where a shiny beam of wood haloed into the room. It looked to be six inches wide, which as Hodge had pointed out would give him no trouble at all. He’d only had one glass of whisky so he’d be surefooted whereas many of the men around the tables were already swaying with drink.

“You’re right. This prize will be the answer to my matter of funds. I can’t lose.”

Iain called out, accepting the wager. He was escorted to a room with two other men who’d taken up the challenge. Iain frowned when each of them were handed a sheet of paper to read and sign.

A contract of sorts. One he would rather have Hodge read to him so he could be sure he wasn’t signing away more than he had. But Hodge was not invited to come with him to the imposing room. Iain would have to do this on his own.

He studied the words as best he could, but eventually skipped down to a number. Thirty-thousand pounds.

It would be enough to cover the repairs to Kesson Castle and still have enough to buy the cargo for his next voyage outright.

The winnings would be sufficient, but what if he lost? He couldn’t find anything specifically on that, the words jumbled and twisted together, taunting him. He remembered Hodge’s words and decided he was right. It wouldn’t matter. Iain would surely win against Lord Daniels and Lord Sampson who were already scratching their names eagerly on the page.

Iain took up a quill and did the same.

As soon as the ink seeped into the parchment, the wolf—as the lady had called him—bellowed that they follow him from the room.

Rather than go down the corridor where the banister waited, Titan led them to another flight of stairs. They would not complete this challenge from the second floor, but the third. The stakes had just grown heavier. If he or the other lords fell…

Well, he wouldn’t need to worry about repairs to the castle if he lost. But he wouldn’t lose. Standing on a steady banister would be an easy feat for him.

Chapter Four

Maisy waited in the room where Mrs. Dove-Lyon had left her. A large man brought in a tray with tea and biscuits, but she’d been too queasy to eat anything. Somewhere out there, her fate was being decided.

The lady entered the room alone, and Maisy stood. Was it time to meet the man that would be her husband?

“The game has been set. Do you wish to watch the lords compete for your hand?”

“Compete?” Maisy questioned. She’d had no idea how any of this worked. Perhaps if Caroline would have come with her she would not be so ill-prepared.

“Yes. Three lords have agreed to stand on the third-floor banister. The last man standing wins your hand.”

She didn’t dare to ask what happened to the men who fell. She thought it would be far worse than just losing. She also wondered if the victor wouldn’t feel as though he’d lost as well when he met her.

Maisy had not much considered what she had to offer a man. She was of usual height and size. Her hair was dark, only the light betrayed the red tinge. She didn’t think herself beautiful, but she was not dowdy either. She just… was.

Boring by anyone’s standards. She read and was able to see to the ledgers when they’d lived in Cornwall, since her father and brother never came by to see to anything. But no gentleman would care for such a skill as that.