Betrayed by Arnette Lamb Read Free Book Online Page B

chilled him to his bones, but he’d walk before he’d ask his mother for the use of the family carriage.
    A sedanchairman called out, but Michael waved him off. He couldn’t abide the confinement of those wobbly, upright caskets. His teeth were chattering by the time he found what looked like a familiar landmark, a pair of lampposts with griffins on top.
    Hoping the inn was around the next corner, Michael hunched his shoulders and kept going. The windfluttered his kilt and sent icy bursts of air to his private parts. Tradition be damned; henceforth he would wear trews beneath his plaid.
    â€œFancy this, a gentleman who lacks the coin for a sedanchair.”
    Cold forgotten, Michael stopped and searched for the sound of the voice. From the shadows emerged a stooped man, a blanket cloaking his shoulders and dragging the ground. In one hand he held a broom.
    Was he truly a streetsweeper or a criminal bent on evil? Michael didn’t know. He summoned the voice he reserved for Calcutta’s most tenacious beggars. “What do you want?”
    Waving an arm expansively in the dim light, the man declared, “A coronet on my head and a chest of gold would make me smile. That and a castle full of bonnie Highland lassies to call my own.”
    The absurdity did not lessen Michael’s apprehension. He was alone on a dimly lighted street in a city he’d visited only a few times years ago. Darting a glance over his shoulder, he looked for accomplices.
    The man laughed. “The thin purse of an Elliot ain’t worth the bother.”
    â€œNeither is losing your teeth,” Michael warned, noticing that the man had a full set. “Be on your way.”
    â€œI’ll go about my business when you leave Lady Sarah out of yours.”
    The man’s intervention was so preposterous, Michael almost laughed. But he couldn’t; his jaws were on the verge of cracking with cold. Clamping his jaw tight, he said, “Listen well, whoever you are. I won’t be—”
    â€œCholly.” His head came up. “That’s my name.”Then he stepped back into the shadows, but not before Michael glimpsed his eyes.
    Their youthful gleam belied his wretched form, and the hand holding the broom looked strong. For a man of the streets, he had a sober expression and well-tended, straight teeth. Michael brushed off the contradictions. This was not the slum warrens of Calcutta, but Edinburgh, where a man was recognized and judged by the sett of his family plaid. It also felt like the most frigid city in the world.
    He stomped his feet and anticipated roasting his backside before a roaring fire. Turning, he retraced his steps.
    The broom handle thunked on the damp cobblestones. “Ain’t that way,” the sweeper called out. “You were headed in the right direction. The Dragoon Inn’s just past Pearson’s Close. Unless you’re afraid of an old man with a broom and a care for a well-bred lass on her own in Auld Reekie.”
    Michael spun around. “How do you know so much about Sarah MacKenzie?”
    The man lurked in the gloomy shadows. “From the lad Notch. His tongue’s as loose as an Elliot’s morals. We’ll all champion the lass. So have a care or keep the Complement at your back.”
    Again, Michael looked behind him. The street was empty. A blessing, for he couldn’t think past his rattling bones and shriveling parts.
    â€œYes, well.” He moved around the streetsweeper and toward the next lamppost. “A pleasant good evening to you, too.”
    â€œThe tailor in Putnam Close has smallclothes for them that wears the kilts, to keep your noble ballocks toasty warm.”
    Ignoring the taunt, Michael forged ahead. Relief came when he spied the sign above the arched doors of the Dragoon Inn.
    *  *  *
    The next evening, Sarah thumbed through her notes to refresh her memory. She must present a convincing appeal to Mayor Fordyce.