Devil in Tartan (Highland Grooms #4)(45)

Aulay arched a brow.

“I donna care what happens to me, but if you ruin this chance for us, all is lost for the Livingstones. I canna allow that to happen.”

One side of his mouth curved into a smile. “Aye, lass, you’ve made that abundantly clear.” She was mad to think she could stop him, or anyone for that matter. But he said agreeably, “I consider myself warned,” tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow and led her to the inn.





CHAPTER THIRTEEN

THE PUBLIC ROOM of the inn was crowded. With its low ceilings and thick walls, the din was nearly deafening. What little light there was came from a pair of small windows at the street front and a candle here and there in wall sconces. The burning tallow did not mask the smell of damp rot. They had to maneuver through tables crowded with rowdy sailors and dockhands, brushing past greatcoats hung on pegs on the wall, women serving tankards of ale, and the occasional dog.

At the back of the inn, Lottie approached a man busy hanging empty tankards on hooks in the ceiling. “I beg your pardon?”

The man interjected a string of something in Danish.

Lottie blinked. “Ingoff Holm,” she said.

The man pointed to one of two rooms off the public room near the kitchen.

Lottie and Aulay exchanged a look, but Aulay put his hand to her back and guided her through the crowd to the first room. He knocked, and hearing no reply, opened the door. It was empty. At the next door, he heard a muffled reply to his knock. He opened the door and stepped into the room.

Two men were seated at a table, one of them was considerably older than the other, with a thick tuft of white hair that reminded Aulay of the snow that topped the Highlands in winter, and jowls that hung like small satchels on either side of his face. The other gentleman, tall and lanky, had not bothered to remove his greatcoat and cocked hat.

The older man watched them impassively as they stepped deeper into the room, and Aulay pulled the door to, shutting out the noise. Snowtop squinted at Lottie. “Kvinde,” he said. Whatever that meant, it seemed to amuse him and disgust him at once. “Ja?”

Lottie stepped forward. “Do you, by chance, speak English?”

The man looked her up and down, then slowly stood from his chair. He was a thick man, but a head shorter than Aulay. “Ja.”

Lottie suddenly smiled—with relief or affectation, Aulay wasn’t certain—but it had the effect of lighting that room. “If you please, I’m looking for Mr. Ingoff Holm.”

“Hvem? Who?” the old man asked as he came around the table.

“Mr. Ingoff Holm,” she repeated.

Just then, the door behind them swung open, and another man stepped in, ducking under the low header. He brushed past Aulay and eyed Lottie curiously. He smelled as if he’d not bathed in weeks. He muttered something under his breath in Danish and Snowtop responded without taking his gaze from Lottie.

“My colleague would like to know what is your business with Herre Holm?” he asked as the third man took a seat at the table.

Aulay’s misgivings ratcheted. There was something sinister about these men and this room.

“I beg your pardon, but it is a private matter,” Lottie said politely.

“There are no matters for Mr. Holm that do not include me, ja?” Snowtop dipped his head so he could see Lottie under the brim of her hat. “Ja, meget smuk...a pretty thing you are.”

Lottie took a small step backward, bumping up against Aulay. “Is Mr. Holm about, then?”

The man glanced curiously at Aulay. “Why is the lady the one to speak?” he asked, and to Lottie, “What is he, your mute?”

“I’m no mute,” Aulay said, and moved, intending to step before her, but Lottie swung her arm down and clamped his inner thigh before he could make any progress.

“He’s naugh’ to do with this. ’Tis my private business.”

Diah, but her na?veté was on full display.

Snowtop sneered. “A woman with business.” He settled back against the table, casually taking her in, as if she were a fat little lamb for sale. “No good can come of that.”

Aulay ignored Lottie’s insistent hand and put himself between her and the men, but the stubborn little wench pushed around him. The room was so small that there was no space between Aulay and the table, and she stood with her back pressed against half of him. “Is he here, then?” she insisted. “Mr. Holm?”

“Tell me your business and I’ll tell you if he is present or not. How about that?”

“You may tell him I’m selling fine Scotch whisky—”

“Uist,” Aulay said, warning her to say no more. The less this man knew, the better.

“You’ve brought fine Scotch whisky all the way to Aalborg, have you?” Snowtop asked, one brow rising. “Was it no’ good enough for you Scots? Why would a pretty little miss bring whisky all the way to Denmark?”

“My family hails from Denmark.”

“Ah,” the man said, and looked around to his companions. “Hun er dansk.”

The two men chuckled.

“And where is this whisky you’d like to sell?” Snowtop asked.

“We’ll leave that for Holm,” Aulay said, although it was fairly easy to guess that it was likely a Scottish ship in the harbor. He hoped Lottie did not offer which ship.