Devil in Tartan (Highland Grooms #4)(46)
“I’ve a taste for Mr. Holm, if you’d be so kind as to bring him round,” Lottie said primly.
The man clucked his tongue and shook his head. “That’s not how we conduct our business, ja? I’ll have a taste of it, and if I think it is as fine as you say, I shall bring you to Herre Holm.”
Lottie jerked the flagon from her shoulder and tossed it at him. The man caught it deftly with one hand and grinned at her. “There’s a good pige,” he said. He handed the flagon to the man behind him, who took the first swig, then passed it to the next man. He drank, too, then held the flagon out to Snowtop. That one held it up and said “Sk?l,” and then drank.
When he’d tasted it, the three men discussed in their native tongue. When it looked as if they’d come to some agreement, Snowtop tossed the flagon to Lottie and returned to his seat. “How much do you have?”
“Twenty-two casks.”
He smiled in a manner that made Aulay’s skin crawl. “Very well, then, miss. You may wait in the public room until Herre Holm arrives.”
“Will it be long?” she asked. “We’ve others who are interested.”
Snowtop chuckled. “Go and enjoy a tankard of ale, pige, you and your mute. We’ll summon you.”
Still, Lottie hesitated. Aulay put his hand on her waist, forcing her backward and to the door, then taking her hand and yanking her out of the room.
“What are you doing?” she insisted, pulling her hand free when they were outside. “I donna trust him. I want to keep a close eye on that one.”
“Thank the saints you donna trust him. He’s a scoundrel, that one—”
“I know!” she said angrily, her eyes flashing. “You were no’ to speak!”
He grabbed her elbow and yanked her close. “You hold my ship hostage with this farce, and I canna trust that you’ve enough sense to recognize a liar and a thief when you lay eyes on him.”
“I’ll no’ leave,” she said stubbornly. “He might be a thief, and then again, he might no’, aye?” She pressed her lips together and stared down at her boots, her hands on her hips. “I am doing the best that I know to do,” she said stiffly. “But I donna know what to do, Captain. I rather thought my father would be the one to sell it.”
Aulay sighed. He brushed his knuckles against her cheek. “You do ken, do you no’, that Snowtop is up to no good?”
“Snowtop?”
“The older man. You canna trust the word of a stranger in a strange port about who to sell your whisky to.”
“What choice have I?” she said, her voice pleading. “Please, Captain, give me another choice!”
“It’s too late for another choice, Lottie.” Any reasonable choice should have been made on Lismore Island before they’d ever made sail. He muttered something about foolish women under his breath, but then wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “If you refuse to leave, then I’ll have a pint for all my trouble, and so will you.”
“I havena any coin,” she said, allowing him to lead her through the throng.
“Aye, Lottie, I am painfully aware you have no coin. Your lack of it has bedeviled me for three days now,” he said, and took her firmly by the hand and pushed through that throng to a table near the kitchen.
He didn’t notice the way she was looking at him as he pulled out a chair for her, but then he saw the shine in her eyes and felt the flow of something that felt intimate and slightly carnal between them.
He did not notice, at least not in that moment, that he had forgotten he was her captive.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
A HARRIED WOMAN appeared tableside and spoke to them in Danish.
“Ale,” the captain said, and held up two fingers.
“We’ve no coin,” Lottie sternly reminded him as the woman went off to fetch the ales.
He cast an impatient look at her as he reached into the pocket of his coat and withdrew a small purse.
Lottie flushed with shame and slumped back in her seat. Her first foray into the world at large had been an utter disaster, but she’d hoped—prayed—that at least she could sell the whisky. Unfortunately, the events of this day had nearly drained her of all heart.
She removed the blasted hat and rubbed her eyes. Strands of her hair fell down around her face.
“What’s the matter?” the captain asked, and reached across the little table to brush crumbs from her sleeve.
“What’s the matter? Everything.” She averted her gaze. “I’m ashamed,” she said bluntly. “It’s no’ always been like this for us.”
The captain did not speak, and when Lottie glanced at him, his attention was on something across the room. He didn’t want to hear her excuses, of course not. He’d never be brought so low as this. She didn’t want to hear her excuses, either—it made her feel weak, and she despised that feeling.
The woman returned with the ale, slapping down the tankards without care for how the ale slopped over the sides and spilled onto the crude wooden table. The captain handed her a pair of coins, which she quickly pocketed, then just as quickly disappeared.
Lottie had no appetite or thirst. She felt nothing but bone weariness. The captain, however, drank heartily from his tankard, draining at least half of it before he put it down. He looked curiously at her untouched tankard and gestured to it. “Do you no’ want it?”