Highland Heiress - By Margaret Moore Page 0,36

dabbing. “None of your bones were broken and you have only a few cuts and bruises. I’ve tended to others the Titan’s fought who came out of it much worse.”

“How is the Titan? Not badly hurt, I hope,” Gordon said, having asked the doctor to check his opponent first.

“Not bad at all,” the doctor replied as he finished putting the witch hazel and leftover bandages back into his black valise. “He’s below in the taproom, holding court with Sir Robert. I daresay he’s not saying much of anything about today’s fight, though. More likely he’s reliving past glories.”

Gordon rose with slow deliberation, reached into his jacket and pulled out his wallet. “How much do I owe you?”

The doctor named a very reasonable sum, which Gordon gladly paid.

“You’ll be a little sore for the next few days,” the doctor advised, “but otherwise, you should be right as rain soon. Now I give you good day, Mr. McHeath, and I wish you a safe journey back to Edinburgh.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Gordon replied as the man departed.

The solicitor pulled on his jacket and made his way to the stairs. Judging from the raised voices, the Titan wasn’t the only person holding court below. Robbie had obviously had more to drink—something that became even more obvious when Gordon entered the taproom and saw his friend lounging in a chair by the hearth, with a barmaid on his lap.

Chapter Ten

“Gordo!” Robbie cried, pushing the barmaid off his lap and sitting up straighter.

Instead of looking annoyed by his cavalier treatment, the freckled, brown-haired barmaid giggled and sashayed toward a keg to fetch more ale for another table of men clamouring for her attention.

“All tended to, I see,” Robbie said, running a satisfied gaze over Gordon. “Come and have a victory drink—on me, of course.”

“Robbie, it’s time to go,” Gordon said, wondering how much of his winnings Robbie still had, if any.

“It’s the shank of the evening!” Robbie protested, setting his wineglass down with a bang. “I was just going to tell them about the time you stole that money and—”

“I’d prefer you didn’t,” Gordon snapped. His shame and the mistake that could have altered the course of his life for the worse weren’t just a funny anecdote to him. “I’m tired and sore, and you’ve had more than enough to drink already.”

As Robbie’s brows lowered ominously, Gordon realized he shouldn’t have let his frustration get the better of him and spoken in haste.

“You can go if you wish, but I’m staying,” his friend said with an all-too-familiar glint of stubbornness in his eyes.

Once Robbie got that look, no power on heaven or earth would change his mind. Robbie would stay and drink until he passed out, even if it took all night.

“Very well, then,” Gordon said, declining to argue or try to persuade him. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Or not, because I’m leaving for Edinburgh at dawn and you had better honor your promise or….

Or what? He had no power over Robbie, or what he might do. All he could control was his own involvement with Sir Robert McStuart, and he would decline to have any more.

So Gordon decided as he walked out of the tavern, ignoring the protests of some of the other patrons and Robbie’s claims that his friend had always been a grim sort of fellow. He headed straight for the livery stable, where Robbie’s driver waited near the barouche, along with other drivers and grooms and linkboys.

“Sir Robert intends to stay awhile yet,” he told the driver. “You might as well wait in the tavern.”

“What about you, sir?” the driver asked. “Are you staying, too?”

“No. I’ll walk.” He was tired, but used to walking, and McStuart House wasn’t more than a mile away. Besides, Robbie was going to need the carriage more than he did.

“It’s looking to be a cold, damp evening and the night air’s not good for a body,” the driver warned, and others around him nodded their agreement, showing more concern for Gordon’s health than Robbie had. “Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you? I can come right back for Sir Robert afterward.”

“No, thank you. I do appreciate your concern,” he sincerely replied. “I know the way, and it’s not far. I’ll risk the night air.”

In no small part because it would be fresh and clear, not redolent of ale, smoke and beef. “I’ll take a torch, though,” he added.

One of the linkboys offered his. Accepting it with thanks, Gordon started walking down the road