Page 69 of Bargaining with the Devil

The boy yawned, leaning back against his mother—’twas apparent that was the relationship there. Pereira glanced at them. “Let me see Eva and Edmund settled. If that’s your wish?”

The woman set a hand on her son’s shoulder. “Yes. Edmund is exhausted. I’m not in much better condition. Perhaps if a tray of food could be sent up . . .? But truly, just a bed would be most welcome.”

“’Tis plenty of food here tonight, sure. ’Tis a céilí in progress. A communal night,” he elaborated, because as far as he knew, Gaeilge was one language not in Pereira’s impressive linguistic repertoire. “Ah, Blackmore’s coming this way. He’ll know who to ask.”

“Mrs. Bairden,” Blackmore said when the question was put to him. “She’ll settle you in. If you’d like, I’ll take you to her.”

“I would be very grateful.” Eva’s diction was upper-class English with a hint of something else. How Pereira came to be escorting her and her son had him curious.

“I’ll check on the two of you in a short while,” Pereira told her. “And I’ll remain here with you tonight.”

She smiled wearily at him. “Thank you, Santiago.”

“What’s the story there?” he asked Pereira once she and her son were trailing Blackmore to the innkeeper’s wife.

“Something I certainly didn’t expect, leaving London to find you and Blackmore.”

He raised an eyebrow, but when Pereira merely returned a bland look, he let the cryptic remark pass for the moment. “It can’t be good, you turning up here.”

Pereira glanced around, checking that they were far enough removed from other persons so that the low words remained between them. “Or perhaps it’s very good. I have the name of the revenue cutter and her captain. But I’ll wait till I can speak more openly with you and Blackmore to share what I know. Tomorrow, perhaps.” He nodded towards the crowd.

“Aye, ’tis wise.”

“Are you staying with Blackmore?”

“A crofter’s cottage down the hill from the main cottage, part of the property. Lucy Muir is living separate in that, so ’tis where I’m staying as well.”

Pereira nodded, rubbing a hand across his forehead.

“Eva says you’re married?” Blackmore’s question to Pereira, when he returned, was delivered in a neutral tone.

“Sí.”

’Twasn’t the case a month before in London, when he’d last been in touch with Pereira. In fact, he’d been under the distinct impression that Pereira, who’d lost a wife and child early in the conflict on the Peninsula, had no plans to ever remarry.

“’Tis a honeymoon tour of Scotland, I suppose, for your new wife and her son,” he said.

Pereira acknowledged the facetious comment with a shrug. “I met her two days ago. I married her last night. A month from now, if all goes as hoped, we’ll part ways and I’ll never see her again.”

The slight surprise painting Blackmore’s features suggested similar puzzlement to his own. “There must be quite a story there.”

Pereira smiled wryly. “Sí, a bit of one. Tonight isn’t the time for the full tale, and most of it is hers to share in any case. Suffice it to say for now that her life and her son’s life have been in grave danger for several months.”

“They’ll be safe enough here for a night,” Blackmore said.

“Sí. I’ll remain with them, but I will speak with Eva in the morning and determine what her wishes are.”

“I’ll speak to Isobel, but I’m sure she’ll not object to the three of you staying with us, should Eva accept. We have room for guests. You have the direction to our home?”

Pereira nodded.

“Tomorrow will be soon enough for the three of us to put our heads together,” Blackmore said. “To discuss matters”—his gaze swept both of them—“and to see if there’s anything to be done for whatever Eva’s situation is.”

“’Tis good you’re here now,” he added, looking at Pereira. They’d been a motley crew on the Continent, ranged apart in age by fifteen years in all with himself Irish and the youngest; Blackmore, English; Pereira, the eldest and Galician. They’d always worked well together. He’d been wishing for another man here, and that wish was met in the form of Pereira. He couldn’t have handpicked anyone else he trusted more. And now it seemed they might finally have more concrete information.

’Twas all starting to come together. With a bit of luck, ’twould come together even quicker before Lucy’s or anyone else’s lives were put back in danger. ’Twas his ardent hope anyway.

“The crooked cutter captain is Ronald Lees. His vessel is the Bonxie."