like Shanna and Gille had taken the child with them. “What was the lad’s name?”
“That I do no’ know. They never addressed him, and he did no’ speak. Once they had their cabin, the lad did no’ come out of it.”
“But he did debark with them in Ireland?” Malcolm clarified.
“Aye.”
Thank goodness for Malcolm because Lorne was ready to wrap his fingers around the man’s neck. It was like pulling teeth to get him to give them any information.
“Is there anything else ye can tell us about the three of them?” Malcolm’s tone was steady.
“For newlyweds, they did no’ seem all that happy with each other. Kept bickering, and barely a smile passed between them.” Miles scratched his nose, perhaps thought about picking it, too.
“Anything else?” Malcolm urged.
“Aye. The man had a lot of coin. Paid us all to keep quiet.”
“And yet here ye are, speaking to us.” Lorne was surprised his voice came out jovial.
The captain grinned. “Got a family to feed. He did no’ pay me enough.”
Malcolm nodded. “We’ll be back if we have more questions.”
“Why do ye no’ give me your names in case memory serves?”
“No.” Lorne was adamant about it. There was no way he wanted the captain to be able to tell Gille about their questions. “We’ll come back if we have need to speak to ye.”
“Suit yourself.”
Lorne handed the captain the other coin, and then he and Malcolm made their way off the ship. Down the gangway they went, with Lorne’s gaze drifting down the wharf, wondering if Jaime had remained in her office or if she’d left already. He had half a mind to walk down there and find out. But she’d made it clear this morning she wanted distance, and besides, he didn’t want to disappoint her with how little he knew. Aye, they’d discovered the direction in which Gille had run off with Shanna and the lad, but they didn’t know anything else. It was best to wait and approach her when he could tell her something concrete.
There was also the fact that if he did see her, he would want to kiss her again. Badly.
Blimey…
“Care for a boxing match?” he asked Malcolm.
“I thought ye’d never ask.”
Jaime’s head pounded after visiting the very last shipping company to share that side of the quay with her. She wasn’t certain if her head ached from the worry of the accusation or the fact that she’d seen Lorne handing coins to one of the captains, the Dueling Brothers.
She’d had her coachman stop long enough for her to confirm it was him. Even if he were trying to be inconspicuous, the man could not hide. Along with his companion, the duke descended from the ship, looking as if he owned every vessel in the wharf, and then climbed into a carriage with a crest slightly different than his own but also quite regal.
“Follow that carriage.”
“Aye, miss.”
They wove their way through the quickly crowding streets of Edinburgh until they reached Sutherland Gate, where the previously seen carriage had gone through the access to the stable.
“Circle around. I’ll be back,” she said, alighting from the carriage without waiting for her groom to put down the stool.
Acutely aware of what had happened the last time she visited the duke at his place of residence, she still managed to hold her head high as she approached the door, lifted the unicorn and let it fall with a resounding thud.
Jaime didn’t turn around, though she could feel eyes on her, watching her. Waiting for her to be disgraced again. Thank goodness she’d not gone home first, or else Aunt Beatrice would have made certain she didn’t leave the house without a proper chaperone, and the last place they would have gone was to the Sutherland manse.
The door swung open, revealing Mungo there, looking at her with something akin to amusement.
“Did ye come to fight?” he asked.
She cocked her head to the side to stare at the man. “Well, I had hoped to have a civil conversation with His Grace for once.”
“I’ve heard that before.” Mungo beckoned her inside and then left her in the grand entrance, slipping into the shadows.
What the devil had he meant this time? The butler was full of riddles. But she didn’t have time or the current brain capacity to decipher the puzzle of his words. Seconds later, Lorne appeared, sweat slicking his brown hair, his shirtsleeves rolled up to expose the strong, corded muscles of his arms. Was there anything more delicious than a man’s forearms?