Patricia Rice (44 page)

“You didn’t earn the last lot.” Thomas gestured
dismissively at the two solicitors. “If you will excuse us, we have some
private business to discuss.”

Golden shrugged and lifted his cup. “By all means.” He didn’t move a muscle.

Morgan watched the nobleman fume, calculating his
best offense. He knew how to threaten a man out of his jewels. He knew
how to wield a sword. He knew how to aim a pistol at a man’s heart and
pull the trigger without a qualm. But none of these tactics seemed
suitable to this time and place. Besides, he had promised Faith that he
would do nothing to sully their son’s name. That did limit the field.
How did one go about conquering an enemy by wit alone?

“What we have to say can be said before my friends,
Montague. Either take a seat or be gone. I can assure you that you won’t
get to Faith without going through me.”

With a savage glare, Thomas jerked out the chair and sat down. “I am not in the custom of sitting with your sort.”

“Ahhh, sitting down with thieves and all that. Well,
to be honest, these gentlemen aren’t accustomed to sitting down with
your sort either. Miles, wouldn’t you prefer an honest thief to a
dastardly scoundrel?”

Miles shrugged and gestured for his tankard to be
refilled. “I don’t much care where the money comes from, but generally
speaking, it’s a waste of time to sit down with a bankrupt.”

Thomas spluttered, and Morgan folded his arms across
his chest. “Now we see where we all stand, Montague. What can we do for
you?”

“I have a warrant for your arrest, O’Neill. You’re
not the only one who knows people in high places. I can have what passes
for the local constabulary to lock you in chains and send you back to
London for trial, where you will almost certainly be hanged this time,
or we can make more satisfactory arrangements.”

Morgan smiled lazily. “Take me away, if you will. It
is a trifle tedious to have to make that journey again so soon, but the
weather should be fairer. I cannot imagine what more satisfactory
arrangement could be made.”

Just by the billowing smoke of the long pipes being
drawn behind him and the sudden lull in the conversation, Morgan knew
that all attention was focused on their table. He would rather they not
be overheard, but it seemed the entire town would know his life soon
enough. He waited fatalistically for the charges to be named.

Thomas shoved aside the mug placed in front of him.
“And where will your doxy be while you’re waiting in chains? Have you
given that any thought?”

Those were fighting words, and Morgan was ready for
any excuse to vent his anger on this encroaching Sassenach. Frowning, he
placed his hands on the table and raised his six-foot frame until it
towered over the scoundrel. “I suggest you rephrase your question, sir.”

The low murmurs in the room grew silent. Suddenly
aware of his surroundings, Thomas backtracked. “Don’t be ridiculous.
What would you have me call her, then?”

“My wife! Your cousin! You will speak politely of her or I’ll slit your throat while you’re sitting here.”

“Sit down, man!” Thomas sent a nervous gaze to the
ominously silent crowd. “So, you married her. Fine, then. That doesn’t
change matters any. You’ll hang, regardless. You can make this easier on
both of us and hand her over or you can do it the hard way and I’ll
have her anyway. It makes no difference to me. All I mean to do is take
her back to the lonely old lady who wishes to know her last living
kinfolk. She’ll be smothered in riches. What objections can you have to
that?”

Morgan sat and smirked. “You. I’ve decided I very
much object to you. When you’re six feet under, Faith can visit her
granny. How does that sound?”

“Why you damned insolent...”

A deep, languid voice broke the surrounding silence.
“I wouldn’t speak that way to the earl if I were you, Thomas. He might
take objection.”

Were it possible, the silence in the tavern grew
more profound as the massive newcomer strolled in. A few speculative
gazes swung to Morgan. An
earl
. Eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Not French?

To everyone’s surprise, Morgan rose at the approach
of the portly gentleman garbed in immaculate linen and embroidered gold
coat. His wig had obviously been made to fit, and there wasn’t a lock
out of place. Tight stockings neatly tied at his breeches knee didn’t
dare to sag, and despite the man’s size, he strode across the uneven
floor with grace. Morgan matched him in height, but his trim, muscular
frame was dwarfed by his visitor.

“This is an occasion, Lord Stepney. To what do I owe
this stunning courtesy?” Morgan’s mockery was light and aimed at
himself as well as Edward Montague. He waited for the man to sit before
taking his own chair.

Edward kept his chair well back from the table and
balanced his meaty hands on the head of his walking stick as he gravely
considered the company. “I wish to see my niece. Where is she?”

“Unavailable.” Equally poised, Morgan nodded to the
tavern maid to take Edward’s order. She fumbled a curtsy and darted away
as soon as Edward demanded the town’s best canary wine.

Edward grimaced as he followed her progress. “Extraordinary. And this is where you dare allow a Montague to be seen?”

“This is where your father allows a Montague to be
seen. This, and worse.” Morgan eyed his adversary with caution. To all
appearances, he was an idle fop, but appearances were deceiving. This
was the man who had put him behind bars.

Disliking being ignored, Thomas intervened with a sneer. “It is as I told you, Edward. She is naught but a common whore—”

A sword flashed to his throat before the cane came
crashing down across the table in front of him. Morgan grinned at Edward
Montague and lowered his blade. “Why haven’t you slit his throat by
now?”

Edward shrugged and accepted the glass of wine. He
inspected the glass before sipping. “He is family, not that he has much
care for such niceties. I really must insist on seeing my niece, you
know.”

“I really don’t think you deserve to, you know.”
Morgan mocked the man’s superior tone. “She has been nigh on twenty
years on this planet without your caring to meet her. From what I can
see, she is better off leaving it that way.”

Edward gave their surroundings another languid
survey and sniffed. “Surely you jest. I will admit, until we received
word of George’s death, I had no idea of her existence, but that cannot
be sufficient reason to allow her to live in such circumstances. I had
rather thought you a better man than that.”

Outraged, Thomas glared at him. “Have you lost your wits? Have you forgotten to whom you are talking? He’s a damned—”

This time, it was the cane alone that smacked down
threateningly near Thomas’ knuckles. The ale sloshed and splattered the
table. Edward didn’t raise a muscle to frown, he simply leaned back in
his chair. “You are speaking of the Earl de Lacy, am I not correct?” He
nodded affably to Morgan.

This time, Morgan lost his insouciance and glowered.
“The would-be Earl de Lacy, my lord. A man cannot lord over lands he
does not possess.”

Edward beamed approvingly. “That can be corrected. Now, where is my niece?”

The crowd behind them grew restless. They had come
for a bit of action, but this bandying of words, while admittedly
interesting, was not what they were in the mood for. A chair scraped,
and a low mutter began to rise.

Morgan knew his advantage already lost. Montague had
won another round. But so far, he could not see what the man had won.
He sent a quick glance to Miles, who merely lifted his shoulders in
equal puzzlement. Together the two Montagues might make a difficult
enemy to conquer, but apart they accomplished nothing. Thomas sat and
fumed, while Edward sipped his wine.

They had reached stalemate. The slamming of a door
and the sound of a cheery voice from farther inside the building brought
every man to attention, however. Toby was first to his feet and on the
way to the door, but he was too late.

Faith blithely floated into the room to greet their
usual noon crowd and came to an instant standstill at the sight of the
stiff, uneasy men bunched together over their tables. Her gaze swept to
Morgan, and she froze at the sight of the strangers with him.

“My word, the bitch has a whelp!” Thomas rose triumphantly to confront the source of all his troubles.

Before he could take two steps, Morgan grabbed his
coat from behind. He jerked Thomas around and plowed a fist into his jaw
with a resounding crack. The elegant aristocrat flew backward. His wig
tumbled askew and his satin coat ripped on the rough planks. A few of
the onlookers moved aside to allow him room to sprawl.

Edward sent his relative’s unconscious form a bored
glance as Morgan rubbed his bruised fist. “Very effective. I broke a
perfectly good walking stick over his pate the last time he asked for
that. Thank you for saving me the trouble.”

Carefully he rose from the chair to greet the woman staring with arrested fascination at them.

Bareheaded, wearing her thick curls caught in a
ribbon at her nape, Faith looked no older than a schoolgirl. Her
diminutive size added to the illusion. But her poise and grace was more
accomplished than that of any schoolgirl. The wide-eyed infant in her
arms reminded every man there that she was a woman and already taken.

Faith glanced up to her tall husband as Morgan
caught her waist and tried to draw her away from the taproom. He was
frowning, but she knew the frown wasn’t for herself. Although he wore
dark blue and not black today, he still appeared every inch the
dangerous brigand. She touched the linen at his throat and turned a
questioning gaze to the massive man in the taproom.

“What is this all about, Morgan?” She had seen
barroom brawls before. The man sprawled across the floor had no interest
to her, except in why Morgan had sent him there.

With a gesture of resignation he indicated the
nobleman waiting for an introduction. “Faith, your uncle and your cousin
have arrived.” At her startled jerk, he led her toward the table.
“Edward, Lord Stepney, my wife, Faith Henrietta de Lacy.” With a grimace
of distaste Morgan indicated the man on the floor. “And that, my dear,
is your cousin Thomas.”

Faith glanced at the man on the floor, then up to
her towering uncle. She bridled at the stare. “My lord,” she answered,
making only the briefest sketch of a curtsy. Then she noticed the other
men at the table and broke into a delighted grin. “Miles! What are you
doing here? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Miles had risen with the others. He bowed and
studied the infant in her arms with interest. He poked the tiny hands
curled around the blanket, and smiled when they grasped his finger.
“Looks just like his father. What a pity.”

Faith laughed, and her uncle watched with almost a
look of longing. Morgan registered that with surprise, but as the
culprit on the floor was stirring, he turned his attention elsewhere.

“Toby, why don’t you and some of the others entertain Faith’s
cousin
for a while? I’d recommend a gag and rope, myself, but suit yourselves. I need to remove my wife from this company.”

Edward watched with interest as the patrons of the
taproom acted as one upon this command. Nothing could have more
effectively indicated the danger he had been in while sitting in this
room at the mercy of the Irish earl.

“Perhaps a private parlor...?” he suggested.

Morgan nodded, then gestured toward Miles. “You’ll understand if my solicitor joins us?”

“Probably not, but I can see the choice is not mine
to make. Let us proceed.” Edward stalked toward the taproom door,
leaving the room in a buzz of speculation.

“Perhaps I should ask Bess to take George...?” Faith
hurried after the two men, each of whom seemed determined to
out-arrogance the other. She had seen Morgan in chains and with sword in
hand and knew his pride, but never had she seen this coldly haughty
expression. Even the formal Edward had met his match.

Her
uncle
was the one to
answer. Turning more quickly than his size should allow, he offered his
arm. “Bring the child. The heir to two fortunes deserves the best
nannies. Bring him here and let me have a look at him.”

Wrapping both arms protectively around her son,
Faith warily regarded this stranger who would bestow fortunes upon a
child he had never seen. He was either mad or wicked, but she could find
no sign of either on his face. Edward’s gaze was keen and almost amused
by her defensive posture. Reluctantly she held George aloft for his
perusal.

Amazingly, instead of taking him, he raised a
quizzing glass to inspect the babe. Morgan grinned at her outrage that
the man would not hold her infant son and lifted the bundle from her
arms.

“Your credibility has just plummeted irreparably, my
lord. Let us go inside and see if we can restore it.” He nodded toward
the side room that served as private parlor.

Once inside with the door closed, Morgan offered the
infant to the big man to hold. “He’s quite tame. I won’t promise how
long that will last, so you had best take advantage of it while you
can.”

Edward gingerly accepted the infant, clutching the
blankets as if he feared the creature would escape at a moment’s notice.
George solemnly eyed his massive relation, waved a tiny fist, and
popped it into his mouth. Edward managed a paternal smile.

“He is quite handsome, so far as these things go. You will, of course, want what is best for him.”

That struck the mode for the remainder of their
brief conversation. Faith indignantly removed her son and moved closer
to Morgan’s side. “Indeed, I will. He will fare much better than I did,
thank you.”

Morgan circled her shoulders and rubbed his hand up
and down her arm. He was less certain that the question could be easily
answered, and he regarded the Sassenach lord with misgiving. He knew all
the arguments in advance. He had used them all on himself already. His
place at Faith’s side was precarious at best, and too newly won to hold
with certainty. He waited for the blows to follow.