Page 7 of A Rogue to Watch Over Me
Chapter Three
Behind the barat the Rogue’s Lair tavern, Logan poured good scotch into an amber glass and slugged it down. What in the name of Robbie Burns had he got himself into? God knew he was nobody’s hero. He could cast aside the vow he had uttered as a foolish young man, the debt he’d never truly expected to settle. He had no one to answer to, and blast it all, honor had never been his stock in trade.
He could walk away before he was in too deep.
Too bloody late.
Now that he’d seen the fire in Amelia Stewart’s dark blue eyes, he couldn’t turn his back on her. If Paul was right—if Amelia was in danger—he had to protect her.
Blasted shame she’d looked at him as if he was a cheat and a conniver.
Kirk Murray’s gruff voice pulled Logan out of his thoughts. The barkeep swiped a rag over the counter, making a show of cleaning it. “What the hell’s got ye thinking so hard, lad?”
“Lad?” Logan deflected the question. “Ye forgetting I’m the one paying yer wages?”
Murray shrugged his bony shoulders. “Bollocks. I’ve known ye since ye were in nappies. What’s troubling ye?”
Logan rubbed a nagging ache in the back of his neck. “Not a damned thing.”
“Ye’re a poor liar. Like yer da before ye.” Murray scrubbed a hand over his gray beard. “A good man, he was. Ye’re the spitting image of him.”
The barkeep’s words brought a smile, even as a sense of regret washed over Logan. His father had been a good man, an ambitious merchant who’d built his family a fine home in the city. But Da had worked himself into an early grave. He had not lived to see his son grow to manhood. The loss still cut like a dull blade to the gut.
“I had little time to know my father.”
“He would be proud of ye.”
“Ye’ve had too much whisky for one night.”
“Ye doubt my words?” Murray went on.
“If he could see me now, Da would roll over in his grave. He wore his collar buttoned tight... respectability at all costs. That’s not me.”
“Ye’re wrong. But ye always were headstrong. Like yer da.”
Setting his glass upon the bar, Logan glanced at the clock. It’d be dark soon enough. The regulars would pile in, and thankfully, there’d be no more time for drivel he didn’t want to hear.
Murray poured himself a drink. “Ye’re going to check on the lass?”
Logan nodded. “What in hell was in her brother’s head, sending the likes of me to watch over her?”
“He knew he could count on ye, MacLain. Whatever in hell is truly going on, whoever is behind the twisted riddle ye’ve received, ye will not let the woman face the threat alone.”
*
As the doorclosed behind the day’s last patron, Amelia slidthe latch into place. At the end of an ordinary afternoon, she would relish this time, allowing the quiet to settle in around her, finding a sense of contentment in the simple tasks of shelving books and tidying up the library that was her haven.
But this evening felt different. Nightfall had filled her with a sense of wariness she couldn’t cast aside. Logan MacLain’s unexpected appearance at her doorstep had troubled her far more deeply than she’d let on. Even now, apprehension prickled her skin like a draft of icy air.
Had his claims been yet another attempt to frighten her into abandoning the building that housed her library? Since her brother’s death, others had tried to convince her to leave. But why would Logan MacLain be interested in this place? Surely he’d have no use for a small shop that barely had room to house her collection.
Immersed in her thoughts, she took the watch from her skirt pocket and grazed her fingertips over the etched gold. The feel of her brother’s carved initials offered a gentle, calming connection. Had a sense of integrity led Mr. MacLain to return it? Or had he intended to gain her trust with a gesture of goodwill?
The question gnawed at her, unraveling the momentary peace. MacLain’s claims had been wild and utterly unexpected. But was it possible he was telling the truth?
Enough.She would not dwell on her nagging doubts. Before long, she’d go up to her flat, pour a cup of tea, grab a bite to eat, and hopefully she’d be able to put the events of the afternoon out of her mind.
She slipped the watch back into her pocket and turned her attention to a stack of recent acquisitions. Scooping up the books, she carried them to a table near the front of the library. Memories of her brother flashed through her thoughts. Paul had always supported her endeavors. When she’d set out to establisha lending library for the women of the community, he had never questioned the cost. For years, funding the library had posed no difficulty. Their father had spent his life building a minor fortune through hard work and shrewd investments. He’d left behind a substantial inheritance, trusting her brother to manage the funds to both their benefits.
