of a card. But they didn’t even notice the hungry eyes of those watching. Keir felt his disgust rise another notch. Edmund Knyvett was so arrogant, so expectant of being given his noble due that the man never entertained the idea of having to fend for himself.
It sickened Keir. His own men surrounded him, but he did not plan to lead them without having the same skills that they all did. The day he was their weakest link was the day that he was dead and buried.
“If you want to lose some more. Fine with me, Edmund.”
Ronchford’s hair was greasy and his once-fine doublet was a tattered rag. His men looked like dockside thugs and they were eyeing the growing pile of coins with bright eyes. Edmund was too drunk to recognize the signs of an impending ambush, and his men were busy fondling the prostitutes. A slight motion caught Keir’s attention and he watched as one of Ronchford’s men pressed a silver penny into a girl’s hand. She hid it quickly and then unlaced her bodice, to the delight of the Knyvett retainers.
“That’s a sorry excuse for a man.” Farrell shook his head.
“Aye, indeed it is.”
“He’s no’ even worth thrashing in that condition. He’d no’ feel it until he sobered up.”
“Aye.”
But there was always more than one way to settle a score. Keir bit back the urge to punch the arrogant bastard in spite of how intoxicated he was. He’d learned under his father’s rule to plan his attacks wisely or taste bitter defeat. Sometimes, getting what you wanted meant looking for another route.
“Tell the lads to keep their eyes open and their mouths closed. We’ll do our drinking someplace less likely to end us with slit throats.”
“Aye, that’s for sure.” Farrell glanced behind them and shook his head. “What’s yer plan?”
“I’m going to join the game.”
Farrell raised an eyebrow. “Is that a fact?”
“It is.” Keir walked forward and took a chair before the two men bothered to investigate who was invading their space. Edmund slammed his tankard down with a thud, but Keir tossed a full bag of coins onto the table. The sound of money drew more interest from Ronchford than Edmund’s displeasure.
“You’re not welcome at this table…Scot!” Edmund sneered and lifted his tankard to take another huge swallow.
Keir patted his purse. “Is that a fact?” The coins hit one another, giving off a faint tinkling sound. It drew smiles from Ronchford’s men and even some of Edmund’s. The lordling tried to remain disgruntled but his gaze strayed to the leather bag, greed flickering in his eyes.
“I like him well enough. His money is my kind of friend.” Ronchford snapped his fingers and a wench bent over the table to deliver a tankard to Keir. Her breasts almost brushed his nose but the scent of her unwashed skin made it simple to ignore her.
Helena was so much sweeter….
Keir shook off the thought, banishing Helena to a corner of his mind. He needed his attention on the men in front of him.
Edmund growled but his eyes shifted to the money. “Fine. You want to lose your money? I’ll be happy to take it.”
There might have only been three of them playing, but the game was the center of attention. Keir studied Edmund and Ronchford, but only Ronchford was as intent as he was. Edmund had dismissed him already, believing himself superior. Keir lost the first hand just to encourage that assumption. But it was Ronchford who scraped the money toward himself. Keir almost felt sorry for Edmund Knyvett. The boy wasn’t the first noble to run into men like Ronchford: men who made their fortunes by stripping it from noblemen who had never been anywhere that their blue blood didn’t pave the way to success for them.
He also wasn’t the first to believe that being born into a noble family made him better than those around him.
But Helena’s face rose to the front of his thoughts and all mercy died. The cards were dealt out again and Keir tightened his attention to the task at hand. An hour later Ronchford’s men were growling at his own. Every McQuade clansman was becoming more eager to give them what their grumbling asked for. Edmund’s money had dwindled to a few coins.
“I’m bored.” He waved his hand over the table.
“Don’t be a sore loser, laddie.” Keir patted the pile in front of him. “Mind ye, I’ll be happy to give you a round to take it back from me.”