Page 57 of A Rogue to Watch Over Me
She met his gaze, her eyes wide and luminous. “Most impressive, Mr. MacLain,” she whispered, gracing him with the most teasing of smiles. “Most impressive, indeed.”
Chapter Seventeen
Sunlight broke througha haze of clouds as Logan escorted Amelia through bustling streets to the Rogue’s Lair. Close by her side, he remained alert for any sign of a threat while taking in the ordinary acts of people going about their business, plying their trades and hawking their wares. He’d take no chances with her safety. The bastard who’d invaded her library had lurked about under cover of night. But there was no reason to believe he would not make a more risky move.
A white-haired bird of a woman standing on the corner of a street not far from the tavern caught his eye. Her small peddler’s cart was laden with bouquets of flowers. Smiling to himself, he decided to take a detour. Leading Amelia to the rickety cart which had seen better days, he selected a handful of violets tied with a slender blue ribbon. When he pressed a coin into the old woman’s hand, she stared down at it, brows furrowing in confusion. Lifting her pale, gray gaze, she offered an adamant shake of her head.
“Sir, you’ve made a mistake,” she said as she tried to return the coin.
He smiled. “It’s not an error.”
“But . . . you’ve paid too much.”
“’Tis money well spent,” he said and placed the bouquet in Amelia’s hand.
The flower peddler’s eyes twinkled with understanding. “Bless you. And the pretty lady.”
Moments after they’d left the flower peddler, still smiling by her cart, Amelia lowered her voice to a near whisper. “That was most generous.”
“She’s too proud for charity,” he said.
Amelia lifted the modest bouquet to her nose. “Well done, Mr. MacLain.”
Continuing to the tavern, Logan wondered at the unusual quiet as they stepped through the door. To his ears, the place was still as a tomb. Peculiar, even given the mid-morning hour. The thud of his boots against the gleaming wood floor was magnified by the near silence. Neither Murray nor Tilly, the barmaid, stood behind the counter.
Bloody odd.
The door to the backroom swung open with a squawk of the hinges. The barkeep carried a platter filled with clean glasses. Logan felt the tension in his muscles ease.
“Oh, it’s ye.” Murray set the tray on the counter, turning to stack tumblers on a shelf behind him. “When I heard the door open, I thought Caldwell had returned.”
“He was here?”
“Not quite an hour ago.” The tension in the barkeep’s expression contradicted his bland tone. He seemed to be avoiding eye contact. “I take it ye have not heard the news.”
Logan leaned an elbow on the bar. “What in blazes is going on?”
Murray frowned. “I don’t know if this is fitting conversation... with the lady present.”
Amelia squared her shoulders. “I urge you to speak freely. Please, tell us what you’ve learned.”
Murray cleared his throat. Why was he stalling?
Logan’s patience frayed. “Out with it, Murray.”
“Finn brought news.” The barkeep raked a hand through his hair. “There’s been another death.”
Amelia curved her hand around Logan’s forearm, seeming to steady herself. “Good heavens.”
A chill slid over the back of Logan’s neck. “What are ye saying, Murray?”
The barkeep set another glass on the shelf. His hand shaking, he nearly toppled the stack. “A woman died last night.” He glanced at Amelia, then quickly looked away. “Finn said she was an acquaintance of yers.”
“He must have told ye her name.” Logan pressed.
Murray nodded grimly. “Helen. Helen Tanner.”
Amelia’s gasp sounded like an alarm in his ears. “Dear God.” Leaning against his shoulder for comfort, her voice quivered. “Did he tell you... did he say how she died?”
