Page 8 of Bargaining with the Devil

He didn’t want to leave Lucy here in her remote cottage alone, not with that dead look on her face. Not with where he’d found her an hour ago.

She’d had wounds they hadn’t needed to open two years ago, but he was here now to do just that. Open the wounds. But not just yet—it could wait a little, but only a little. ’Twould take an hour or more to fetch his scant belongings from the Auchencairn Arms.

What to do . . . He’d planned on her being safe here with Blackmore while he did it. Safe from the outside threats. If she locked up her cottage now, she’d be safe enough for an hour.

But he didn’t believe her about why she’d been out there letting the water lap her skirts. Mayhap she believed it. But he didn’t.

And he didn’t want anyone to know he’d be staying here alone with her. ’Twasn’t even about her reputation, if anyone hereabouts cared for such things. He didn’t want anyone knowing he was staying on because he didn’t want them guessing why, but it might be inevitable.

“Tell me . . .” She drew a slow, ragged breath and released it fully. “It will do me no good to stick my head in the sand. It would be foolish of me . . . and cowardly. I don’t wish to be a coward.”

He’d never thought her that. She was a lot of things; coward wasn’t one of them.

“Tell me about . . .” She swallowed hard. “His brother.”

She couldn’t bring herself to say Compton’s name? “His brother’s name is Stephen Lymington. He’s stepped into the smuggling enterprises running goods to the Isle of Man. One of them runs from the Solway.”

“I . . . see. And he knows I’m here? Is that why my life is in danger?”

“Yes.” Not just her life in danger: Blackmore’s as well, and his wife and daughter by extension. Lymington would have pieced it all together by now, using whatever sources gave him Lucy’s name in the first place. He’d know by now ’twas Blackmore that took down Compton because he knew ’twas Lucy who made it possible.

“Tell me what you know of him. Lymington.” She was rallying, color returning to her face. “If, that is, it is not so secretive a mere mortal like myself cannot be told.”

He smiled at her dry tone. “’Tisn’t as secret as that.”

“There are many events in my brother-in-law’s past of which I am sure he cannot speak.” Very briefly her mouth curved. “Even presuming he wished to. Nathaniel is not a man much given to extra words.”

No, Blackmore had never been what one might call loquacious. “There are a few details that Customs has me holding back, but I can tell you most of it. We know that Lymington has hooked into the smuggling network hereabouts for a good while now. ’Twas here long before him, the network, running just fine, but he’s stirred it up, made it something with more reach. We know that there are at least two men who are running goods for him in particular. Their names we don’t have yet, but ’tis from them Lymington knows of you. That, we learned from a man in London we have on the inside, receiving smuggled goods.”

“I thought the revenue men had cracked down on smuggling. It used to be quite common here, I believe, several decades ago. Most of the families had a hand in it. That large house at the edge of Balcary Bay, overlooking all of Auchencairn Bay, is outfitted especially for it. Mr. Bairden—that’s the innkeep at the Arms—likely you met him? He mentioned it to us one day as a piece of Kirkcudbrightshire history. He told us—myself and Isobel and Nathaniel—that smuggling was the purpose for which it was built in the first place almost two hundred years ago.”

“Mayhap ’tis less smuggling now than before, but there will always be men who look to profit by subverting authority.” He didn’t have a particular issue with free trade himself if one got right down to it. Kept a roof over many a coastal family’s heads.

’Twas just as well he wasn’t a Customs man, in all honesty.

“Yes, I’m quite aware of the lengths men go to for their own profit.” Her voice was acidic, but her face quickly softened. “That was harsher than I meant it to be. I apologize. I know you know that and further that you know of—” She dropped her gaze.

Compton. Again, ’twas like she couldn’t bring herself to say his name aloud.

He wouldn’t make her; no reason to. She’d said plenty in France, and he believed her, that she’d told them all she knew of Compton’s illegal activities and his intrigues in France. ’Twas in his mind though that she hadn’t told them everything to do with Compton. The expression that crossed her face each time she carefully didn’t say the man’s name, a look like someone had crawled over her grave, told him that she’d held something back, mayhap something more personal than Compton’s treason.

But to the matter presently at hand. He cleared his throat. “’Tis tobacco and spirits run locally here mainly, from what Customs told us. There’s legal import for both into Kirkcudbright, but that being just up the Solway only makes it easier to slip goods into the revenue stream. Customs is nearly certain there’s a revenue cutter captain on the take, but as I said, they don’t know names yet. The local men involved. Free traders are a closemouthed lot.”

“Am I to be kept under lock and key until such time as these men are identified? Or just until Isobel and Nathaniel return?”

“I’ll not tie you to the bed.” And why had he said that? The sudden image that accompanied those words was one he hastily shoved away for several reasons. “But the closer you stay to the cottage, the better. I’d rather not advertise my presence here, not unless it becomes necessary.”

“But if you don’t know who the men are yet, isn’t it probable they don’t know who you are either?”

A good question. And probably true. ’Twas but one likely scenario he’d planned to take advantage of, thinking he could do a bit of covert investigating while relying upon Blackmore to see to Lucy’s safety. Now the burden of both tasks fell on him, at least for the moment. If he was seen to be guarding Lucy, it might raise suspicion. On the other hand, he knew for a fact that Lymington was going to be moving major goods through here shortly. Something to do with the North Atlantic trade, Customs thought.

“I don’t quite understand why you are involved with this. Nathaniel did not work for Customs. I don’t know a great deal about what all he might have done once he left the Rifles, but I believe most of his work was organized through the Foreign Office? I assumed yours was as well, seeing as you were . . . compatriots.”

“Aye, most of it was for the Foreign Office. Doesn’t mean I’m not occasionally put to use elsewhere. On loan, as it were.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And so you are on loan now?”

“Aye. Because of my connection to the case involving Compton and because I’m known to Blackmore.” More than known to him—they’d worked together closely off and on for four years.