Gifted Thief (Highland Magic #1)(21)

He stood there for another moment or two as I prayed he’d piss off. Eventually he got the message.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I sipped my drink and covertly checked the time. It was still early evening but I was feeling the effects of my sleepless night. It would be really nice if Byron could show up right about now. If he waited until later – or, worse, if he didn’t make an appearance at all – I was liable to end up snoozing on the bar before I could put any of my plans into action.

‘You alright there?’ the bartender asked.

I nodded, looking him over. He was human but wearing the Fairlie Clan badge. That was unsurprising considering the Fairlies owned this hotel. No Sidhe – even a lower-class member – would be caught dead serving drinks. It was typical for the Clans to press others into service to do the jobs they had no desire to do themselves. The bartender might have pledged allegiance to the Fairlies but that didn’t mean he was blindly loyal to them.

I dropped a tenner and raised my eyebrows. He glanced from the money to me and back again. ‘What can I do for you?’ he asked finally.

I kept my tone casual. ‘You got many Sidhe staying here this weekend?’

He shrugged, sliding his hand over the note and palming it with professional ease. ‘Quite a few. They usually end up down here. Which Clan are you?’

I tapped the side of my nose as if it were a secret and winked. I might have been honest about my origins with the Wild Man but that was in pursuit of a greater cause. Advertising that I was the last remaining member of the Adair Clan wouldn’t serve me now. Fortunately, the bartender got the memo and nodded knowingly. If he was curious about my reasons for keeping my Clan secret, he was too polite to show it.

I passed over another ten-pound note and lowered my voice. ‘I might sit here for a while,’ I said. ‘I like people-watching.’ I tilted my head. ‘I don’t particularly enjoy getting drunk though.’

The bartender stroked his chin. ‘We have a wonderful sparkling cider that’s entirely alcohol free. And it’s very similar in colour to champagne.’

I grinned, briefly forgetting my role as temptress in favour of acknowledging the bartender’s understanding. ‘That sounds wonderful.’

He smiled in return. ‘Last night, Byron Moncrieffe arrived around seven,’ he told me.

I decided to brazen it out. ‘Am I that obvious?’

‘You’re not the first woman who’s heard that he’s in town. You’re not even the first Sidhe.’ He jerked his head to a table over to the right. I discreetly followed his movement, registering the three young Sidhe girls dressed up to the nines and giggling.

I lifted a shoulder in rueful acknowledgment that he’d caught me out. As if. ‘Any tips?’

The bartender’s looked quickly left and right, as if someone might be listening in. Then he leaned over. ‘He prefers doing the chasing himself.’

‘Noted.’ By the sound of things, the playboy princeling was as predictable as I had imagined. I had no idea what the bartender thought of me trailing after royalty and I didn’t much care. It would suit my purpose if he lumped me in with all the other hangers on.

Less than twenty minutes later, when my champagne glass had been helpfully filled with cider rather than anything that might cause inebriation, three snooty-looking Sidhe swept into the bar. I was in luck. A helpful nod from the bartender confirmed my suspicions.

The Sidhe ejected a family from the best table in the centre of the room and set about checking the surface for minute traces of dirt and ordering drinks. Ah ha. The advance entourage.

I straightened my posture and angled myself away from the table. Just as another group entered, Byron Moncrieffe included, I flipped out my hair in a move calculated to garner attention. Then I pointedly ignored them all.

The hum of voices from the other patrons quieted to a hush, although the group of giggly Sidhe girls found it impossible to stifle their excited laughter. I was almost surprised that there wasn’t a trumpet to herald his arrival. Honestly, for someone who was in his position for no other reason than the circumstances of his birth, the reaction he received was ridiculous.

I twisted my head slightly so that I could see the table reflected in the mirror hanging across the bar. I counted seven people in total: the three who’d entered first, two women, a cheeky-looking dimpled friend and Byron himself. They were all Sidhe and, by the insignia they were sporting, all from Clan Moncrieffe. That was good. A tight-knit group who kept to themselves would be less likely to know about me – even if I had once had the displeasure of meeting Byron himself.

Surreptitiously – and still using the reflection in the mirror – I eyed him. He had an easy smile which contradicted my memory of him. His bronze hair and golden skin remained the same but he’d definitely grown into his body. Trying to remain dispassionate, I took in the roped muscles on his arms. His clothing, while casual, was as well-designed to display his buff physique as my dress was designed to show off other, uh, attributes. Nah. He wasn’t that good-looking. Maybe he was alright if you liked your men golden and muscled and charismatic. Shite. Okay, he was as sexy as hell.

I noted a small scar underneath his eye that I didn’t remember. It must be fairly recent. Unfortunately, it worked for him, taking away his disturbing perfection and giving him more of a rakish air. Probably the same air that the stubble around his jawline was meant to provide. I leaned slightly to one side to get a better glimpse of it. And that was when I realised he was watching me right back.