The Legend of a Rogue - Darcy Burke Page 0,12

heart. Morning couldn’t come soon enough.

Chapter Three

Tavish had arisen early. He wanted to make sure the soldiers left on horseback. Once they were gone, he breathed more easily. Now he could focus on finding Lann Dhearg.

To that end, he went in search of the innkeeper, Mr. Pitagowan, and found him behind the bar in the common room. It was still early, but his daughter was busy preparing the room for breakfast. The innkeeper perched on a stool, his bald pate gleaming as he brushed—brushed?—his full auburn beard.

“Good morning, Mr. Pitagowan,” Tavish said cheerfully, trying not to fixate on the man’s odd behavior. He supposed brushing a beard of that volume was a necessity—Tavish’s hadn’t been that…bushy—but he wondered if there might be a better place to conduct such matters.

“Ye must call me Balthazar,” the innkeeper said as he set his brush beneath the bar. “How did you pass your night, MacLean?”

“Quite well, thank you.” He’d devoured every word of Miss Marshall’s story before seeking his rest. She was as gifted a storyteller in writing as she was in the spoken word, which he’d heard when they’d met. In fact, if not for her storytelling, he might not have stopped and made her acquaintance at all.

Tavish continued, “I hope you won’t mind if I stay another night. I’d rather not travel in the snow.”

Balthazar grunted. “Ye can stay as long as ye like. I’m happy ta take yer money.”

Tavish chuckled. “I won’t be staying indefinitely.” He wanted to get home before the new year. It had been some time since he’d seen his grandmother. As Miss Marshall had pointed out, family was important.

Miss Marshall. If he found Lann Dhearg today, would he still leave tomorrow, knowing he could spend one more day in her company?

“Carrie said ye were from Glasgow. Is that right?”

That was close enough. “Yes.” It was time to obtain the information he needed to track down Lann Dhearg, starting with the man whose brother had seen it at Culloden. “I wonder if you might tell me where I can find one of the men who was here yesterday. We chatted briefly, and I found him quite interesting. He left before we could continue our conversation. Shorter fellow with wide shoulders and brown hair? Perhaps twenty-five years or so?”

Balthazar stroked his impressive—and tidy—beard. “Ye must mean Dougal. Dougal Kerr. Lives in a cottage on the northeast edge of town.”

“By himself?” Tavish liked to know what to expect.

“Now he does. His brother seems to have moved on.” He shook his head sadly.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Tavish said.

Balthazar’s gaze moved past him toward the stairs. He jumped off the stool. “Time for breakfast!” He bustled back toward the kitchen.

Tavish turned to see Miss Marshall step into the common room. Gowned in a blue wool dress, she looked fresh and lovely. She surveyed the surroundings until her gaze found him. Her heart-shaped face lit as a smile pushed at her pink lips.

She was not alone. A more petite woman with dark hair stood at her side. That must be her aunt.

Tavish left the bar and went toward them. “Good morning, ladies.”

“Good morning, Mr. MacLean,” Miss Marshall said smoothly. Tavish inclined his head slightly in appreciation that she went along with his alias. She flicked a glance toward the woman at her side. “Aunt Leah, this is Mr. MacLean, whom I told you about. Mr. MacLean, this is my aunt, Leah Craig.”

Tavish took her hand and bowed. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Craig.”

“Oh, he is as charming as you said, dear.” Mrs. Craig gave her niece an approving wink.

Carrie had arrived and was now staring at Tavish with something that might have been desire. “Very charming,” she murmured.

Miss Marshall, her aunt, and Tavish all looked at the serving maid.

“Do ye want breakfast?” she asked.

“We do,” Miss Marshall answered.

“Take a seat, then.” Carrie waved toward the tables.

“Shall we sit near the fire?” Tavish asked. “The dogs are not about.”

“That would be lovely,” Aunt Leah said.

Tavish offered his arms to both ladies and then guided them to the table. He held a chair for Miss Marshall’s aunt first and then Miss Marshall.

“It looks like we’re going to be here another day,” Mrs. Craig said. “What about you, Mr. MacLean?”

“The same, but I can’t say I mind.” He smiled at Miss Marshall, whose cheeks tinged pink. “I enjoyed your story about Culloden very much.” He wanted to say more, that her descriptions had evoked his memory of the day in a visceral way.

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