Rogue of the Borders (37 page)

Richard arranged a smile on his face as MacLeod and his skinny wife came in.

“I am glad you are back, sir. We have encountered a bit of a problem here.”

Shane gave him a cold look. “I had a wee bit of a problem in London too. Would ye ken anything about that?”

Feigning innocence, Richard shook his head. “I have no idea.”

“You knew very well Shane had been arrested,” Abigail said. “Donald came north specifically to inform us about the smuggling charge.”

“Yes, of course I knew
that
. But I have no idea how it could have happened.” Richard moved to the filing cabinet, extracted a folder and opened it. “The bill of lading listed only cases of cognac.”

“I ken
that
,” Shane replied. “Where are Donald and Albert? I need to be brought up to date on what is happening with my other ships.”

“Your quartermaster took ill a few days ago,” Richard said, “and Albert had to return home to aid his wife. I can—”

“What do ye mean Donald is ill? The man has nae been sick a day in his life.”

Richard shrugged. “Dysentery, I think. Several of the men have it.” It certainly had been easier mixing a little rotted food into the sailor’s stew than it was adding laudanum to drinks. He’d just been careful he hadn’t eaten any of his own concoction.

“What is wrong with Janet?” Abigail piped in. “She was fine when we left.”

“From what I heard, she had a nasty fall,” Richard said smoothly. “I am not aware of the details.” He’d just ordered his henchman to make sure the
fall
was severe enough to keep the meddling bookkeeper husband out of Richard’s hair. All he needed was a few more days to tidy up some loose ends.

“It is a good think I am back then,” Abigail said. “With Fiona staying in London, that means Shauna has had to take care of everything.”

Richard tucked that piece of information away and placed a ledger book on the counter. “I can go over the accounts with you, sir, if you like.”

“Not now. I want to find out what the status of my ships are,” Shane said as he turned to door. “You come with me.”

“I will look over the books while you are gone,” Abigail said, setting her reticule on the counter and removing her pelisse.

“Good idea,” Shane replied.

“Of course.” Richard tried to keep the sneer out of his voice. He doubted the English bitch would ever be able to decipher what he had done—at least, not at this point. He had covered his tracks too well. Forcing a smile on his face, he accompanied MacLeod out the door, already plotting his next move.

That Fiona MacLeod had remained in London was interesting.

Very interesting indeed.

Abigail watched them walk towards the far end of the dock where the English agents were advancing on the
Border Lass
. At this distance, they looked like so many black ants crawling up the gangplank. What did they hope to find? The ship had nearly been torn apart being inspected in London.

Shaking her head, she turned away. She collected the files that held the invoices for each ship and seated herself at the desk Richard claimed for his own. For the next hour, she painstakingly compared the quantity of stock on each invoice to what was entered in the ledgers. The income for each shipment tallied with the postings. The expenses on each varied only slightly from the past six to twelve months. As she flipped through the previous pages, she noticed the quantity of shipments had been somewhat higher a year ago than recently. Why would that be? After Napoleon had been defeated, Britain had gone into a recession—she’d heard her father discuss it. But nearly a year later, trade had picked up, especially since the seas were considered safe again. So why were quantities—and profits—down?

Abigail picked up the papers, smoothing the older crinkled ones so they would fit neatly back into the folders and then she paused. Why were some of the invoices wrinkled and others not? Paperwork on board a ship would invariably be exposed to both salt air and water. Even the captain’s log showed signs of wear and tear. Yet some of the papers looked as though they had been kept in dry storage—a feat almost impossible since goods were literally checked off as they were loaded and unloaded on docks in any kind of weather.

Pushing her spectacles up, she flipped back through the bills, separating the wrinkled ones from the smooth. The later invoices were all new, within the last three months, except for the
Border Lass
. Donald’s paperwork looked as rumpled as the rest.

Abigail leaned back and frowned. The smooth invoices had all been done since Richard arrived. She knew he was fastidious from the neatness of his ledger entries. Had he made copies?

Copies.
Abigail jolted upright in the chair.
Copies!
If Richard made copies of invoices and bills of lading, he could change the quantity amounts so they would tally with the income. No one had been available to supervise him full time. Could he have been skimming profits?

She forced herself to take a deep breath. Just because she didn’t like Richard—and he didn’t like her—didn’t mean the man was a thief. She couldn’t just go around accusing him of such. But what if he had a second set of books somewhere? She doubted he’d be dim enough to hide them within plain sight, and a cursory inspection of the sparsely furnished room proved her right—but Richard did have sleeping quarters directly upstairs. What if—?

Abigail walked to the window and looked down the quay. The agents were still aboard the
Border Lass
,
and she could make out Shane’s tall, muscular figure towering over most of them. It would take her only a few minutes to look around Richard’s room. Her conscience pinged her. Did she have the right to search his room?

But Shane suspected Richard had played some part in the smuggling incident. What if there was
something
in his quarters that would implicate him? Even if Abigail didn’t find a second set of books, maybe she could find proof of conspiracy. She knew how much Shane wanted to prove his innocence and clear his name.

Resolved, Abigail stepped outside and walked around to the stairs that led up to the second floor. The door was not locked, which Abigail took as omen that right was on her side. She slipped inside, leaving it ajar.

Abigail squinted her eyes, adjusting to the gloominess of the room. The one small window had been boarded shut, leaving only the dim light from the shaded doorway, but she didn’t dare light a candle. Looking around, everything seemed to be in order. The cot was neatly made. Two wooden chairs sat in place beside a cleared table. Even the water in the washing basin on the counter had been emptied. The room was nearly as austere as a monk’s cell—not that Abigail had actually seen a monk’s cell—but this was what she imagined it to be. Getting down on her knees, she felt under the cot. Nothing there. Next, she checked behind the cushions of the single armchair and then opened the two cupboards above the counter. They were bare. It was as though no one lived here.

Abigail walked toward the armoire. It was the only place she hadn’t looked. A few items of clothing hung inside and a valise sat at the bottom. She picked it up, hoping it would contain the ledger she was looking for, but it was empty. Kneeling down, she felt the boards inside, searching for a false bottom, but it seemed to be in one piece. Disappointed, she stood. Had she been wrong? She had been so sure Richard kept a second set of books, but nothing was here. Sighing, she reached for the handle and heard a slight noise. The hair on her nape suddenly prickled and she turned around.

Richard stood in the doorway, his eyes glittering like blue steel. The knife in his hand glittered as well.

Chapter Thirty Two

As if the Customs men in London had not already done enough damage to the
Border Lass
,
the two sent to Edinburgh seemed determined to search every centimeter of space again. Shane’s temper was close to the boiling point and he bit back retorts to routine questions, forcing himself to be civil. Wishing Donald were here to keep an eye on the one who was removing maps and charts from the locker behind the helm, Shane followed the other agent to the captain’s cabin. At least he’d nailed down the plank in his cabin that hid the documents—and the faeries must have been with him, for he’d had the foresight to use old nails that would nae draw attention.

After an inspection more ardent than anything the military on either side of the border would have done, the custom’s mon made a disgruntled sound. “Nothing here.”

“Perhaps we could go back on deck then?”

The agent gave the cabin another look and Shane knew the man was hoping to spot something he’d missed. Shane took two steps to place a boot carefully over the plank that did, indeed, contain something.

“I will inspect the other cabin first.”

With a muffled sigh, Shane followed him across the small passageway that was less than a meter wide. The cabin was Donald’s, although the quartermaster was in the hospital at the moment. After another painstakingly slow investigation, the agent grunted again but headed for the companionway.

Once on deck, his partner joined him. “I found nothing.”

“Neither did I.”

Shane could have told both of them and saved everyone a great deal of time, but he knew they wouldn’t listen. He looked around. Where in the hell had Richard gone? Shane had given him orders to stay with the other agent. “Where did my clerk go?”

The customs mon shrugged. “He left about five minutes ago. Said he had to take care of something in the office.”

“If ye will excuse me?” Shane said, not waiting for a reply as he started down the gangplank. Abigail was alone in the office working on the books. If Richard intended to insult her skills as a bookkeeper, Shane would end that tirade quickly.

To his surprise, the office was empty when he entered a few minutes later. The ledgers were stacked on the desk, a pile of folders beside them. Where in the world had Abigail gone off to? Her reticule and pelisse still lay on the counter, so she must not have gone far.

And where the hell was Richard? The mon dinnae like Abigail any more than she liked him, so Shane doubted they’d have taken a stroll anywhere. Maybe the customs agent had been mistaken—

Abigail’s shrill scream rent the air like a cleaver slicing meat.

Turning, Shane bolted out the door and around to the steps on the side of the building, leaping them two or three at a time. The door at the top stood open, but the scene made Shane’s blood turn to ice.

Her back to the wall, Abigail was holding a chair in front of her while Richard advanced, a knife in his hand.

Shane lunged, hurling himself through the air and taking Richard down. The mon twisted and Abigail screamed again as Richard swung his arm, the blade aimed for Shane’s throat. Shane dodged, grappling with Richard, the knife flashing dangerously between them.

In his peripheral vision, Shane noticed Abigail begin to move, holding out the chair and trying to come around to his flank. He hoped the lass wasnae thinking about using the chair as a club because she was likely to do as much damage to him as to the French clout. “Stand back!” he commanded.

Abigail moved closer, chair raised.

Would the lass ne’er learn to heed him? Right now he needed to concentrate on getting that knife without endangering his wife.

Richard snarled, taking advantage of the momentary lapse to slash at Shane, this time managing to slice his arm, causing a thin line of blood to seep through his sleeve. Shane grabbed Richard’s wrist and gave it an ugly twist that sent the blade flying just as Abigail’s chair came crashing down. Shane barely had time to roll out of the way before it made a satisfyingly hard clunk on Richard’s head. The man fell back, eyes rolling upward.

Abigail took a step back, setting down the chair and putting a hand to her mouth. “Did I…kill him?”

Shane stood and gave Richard a kick, causing him to groan. “Nae, lass. He’ll live.” Holding out his arms, Abigail ran to him and clung tight. He could feel her trembling. “Ye should have left the fight to me.”

“He hurt you!”

Shane turned up a corner of his mouth. “’Tis a scratch. I have gotten worse scrambling with Ian or Jamie. Now let me handle this.”

Helping Abigail to a chair safely in a corner of the room, Shane gave Richard another good kick, making the other man clutch his side, even as he opened his eyes.

“Sit up.” Shane resisted the urge to knock the mon back down when he obeyed. “Before I have ye arrested, tell me why ye were trying to murder my wife.”

“I did not know who she was… She…she had her back to me. I thought she was an intruder.”

“Liar. She was facing you when I came in.”

“It…it is dark in here. I could not see well.”

“That is true,” Abigail said.

Shane gave her an exasperated look. “What are ye saying?”

“I do…do not know. Richard scared me.”

“You had no right to be in my quarters,” he muttered from the floor.

Shane frowned. “Why were ye in the mon’s rooms?”

Abigail shook her head. “I was…looking for a second set of books.”

Even in the dim light, Shane could see Richard’s eyes widen in shock—or guilt?

Shane turned back to Abigail. “What did ye find?”