He peeked inside, not surprised to see the room as ravaged as the lower level had been. He spoke over his shoulder. “Would she have hidden anythin’ of value in here?”
“I dinna think so.” Eyes narrowed in consideration, Emeline shook her head. “Aunt Jeneva was paranoid. She wouldna even move the table below until after she’d hung an extra panel across the window, locked the doors, and waited until the wee mornin’ hours.”
Turns out she had good reason to be distrustful. Which, again, begged the question: what did Jeneva LeClaire know and when did she know it?
Swiftly retracing his steps, he took mental note of Emeline’s progress before surreptitiously glancing out her bedchamber window.
Broden, hat lowered and ankles crossed, lounged against a milliner’s shop across the street.
Liam couldn’t see Logan Rutherford from this angle.
He veered Emeline a quick glance.
She swiftly shoved a few more garments into her valise. After searching the floor for a handful of breaths, she spotted her hair brush. She seized it and plopped it atop the pile inside the valise. Her furrowed brows and pursed mouth were silent testament to her distress as she cast a wary eye about her chamber.
He returned his attention to the wynd below.
Hell.
Two scruffy men ambled down the cobblestones. Another unkept pair of scunners joined them. Each looked like a down-on-his-luck beggar rather than hired mercenaries. A calculated ploy so Liam would underestimate them, or were they the only riffraff the Frenchman cold find to do his dirty work?
Hopefully, the latter.
The miscreants shuffled to a stop several feet away from the modiste shop. One, attired in a too-big moth-eaten coat spat, and another who wasn’t wearing stockings picked his teeth while they listened to something their apparent leader said.
Broden casually pushed his tam up his forehead, his flinty gaze trained on the quartet. He drew upright as two more unsavory reprobates ambled toward the foursome.
Christ.
“Emeline, we need to go. I’ll send someone back to collect the rest of yer belongin’s.”
She raised her head, a question in her eyes.
“We must leave at once.” He wasn’t going to tell her about the men outside. She’d find out soon enough.
He took the valise from her. After placing the containers from beneath the floorboard inside, he closed the top with a quiet snick. He tapped the bag’s handles. “I believe the contents of those boxes are the most critical. But just in case there’s somethin’ else here we’ve overlooked, I’ll ask Logan and Coburn to thoroughly search both levels later. If that’s acceptable to ye.”
Even if it wasn’t.
Sadness crimped the corners of her eyes and pulled her dainty mouth downward. “Aye. ’Tis still so hard to believe she’s really gone. That I’ll never see her again. And that someone—God only kens who—is so vile, they’d do this, and try to kill me, too.”
“I ken, leannan. I ken.” He drew her into a swift hug, kissing her forehead. She leaned into him, her cheek against his chest, and he closed his eyes for two blinks, savoring the moment. “Come, jo. We must be off.”
He turned her toward the landing then proceeded her down the stairs.
Graeme step forward. “Liam, I dinna like this. Somethin’ feels off.”
Camden nodded in agreement, his steely gaze repeatedly sweeping from the front door to the window to the back entrance.
“It is. I spied six men from the window upstairs. Broden noticed them, too, so he’ll have alerted the others.” Liam made certain to keep the alarm from seeping into his voice. He’d never known Emeline to dissolve into histrionics but didn’t want to chance her doing so now.
“Liam, why didna ye say somethin’?” The color fled her face except for two crimson spots on her cheeks. “I told ye no’ to take any chances.”
Merely coming to Edinburgh had been a huge risk. Nevertheless, if there were answers to be found, he’d vow they’d be in the valise she clutched to her chest.
“We’re leavin’ now. Dinna worry.”
“Do stop sayin’ that. I can nae more stop frettin’ than ye can stop eatin’,” she snapped, the strain obviously testing her self-possession. “And we both ken that is never happenin’.”
“Och, an impossibility, to be sure.” Graeme chuckled, earning him a sour look from Liam.
“Do exactly as I say, Emeline—”
“Liam MacKay!” Her irritation had transformed to outright anger. “I am no’ a bairn, nor am I a lackwit. I’d appreciate bein’ asked and no’ ordered about.”
This fiery-tempered version of Emeline was breathtaking. Nevertheless, her tender sensibilities would have to suffer a bit of bruising.
He speared the Kennedys a glance. “As before, we’ll keep Emeline between us. Graeme, ye take the bag. Camden open the door and take a look around. They’ll be to yer left.” He caught each of their eyes. “Ye ken what to do.”
Camden complied with a severe downward thrust of his chin.
“I can carry the valise—” Emeline started to object, a mutinous tilt to her pert chin Liam hadn’t seen before.
“If ye need to lift yer skirts to run, I’d rather ye had both hands free, lass,” he said, holding onto his patience by a thread.
“Oh,” she murmured taken aback, her expression contrite.
She obviously hadn’t considered that possibility. God knew he had. He angled his head toward Graeme and, wordlessly, she extended the valise.
The four of them had no sooner stepped from the shop than the half-dozen armed ruffians descended upon them, weapons drawn. Matrons screamed, mothers clutched their children close, and terrified people scattered in all directions. Reeking of unwashed bodies and stale ale, the band of hirelings approached, menace in each confident, swaggering step.
As Liam had planned in the event something of this nature occurred, Camden swept a startled Emeline into his arms and bolted toward the carriage a few feet away.
Graeme followed, hot on his heels, wielding his own gun. His horse stood beside the carriage, and the coachmen were poised to take off, their pistols drawn and pointed directly at the scourge determined to kill Emeline.
“Nae. What are ye doin’? I willna leave him! Put me down,” she screamed, pounding Camden’s back. “Li…am! Nae. Nae! I canna leave him.”
Without slowing his pace, Camden grunted, “Sorry, lass. I gave my word.”
“Shite, dinna let her escape again!” one gunman shouted, aiming his firearm at Camden’s back.
Liam slammed his hand down on the cur’s forearm while smashing his fist into the man’s face. Dropping his blunderbuss, the sod crumpled into an insensate heap.
That’s one. Five more to go.
Camden all but tossed Emeline inside the carriage before diving in after her. His gun drawn, Graeme threw the bag inside the equipage and jumped atop his mount. As the carriage sprang forward, the door still gaping wide open, Liam growled his satisfaction.
Emeline was safe. For now.
The other five louts advanced on him, and he grinned as he yanked his dirk from his waist and his sword from its sheath. “Come on then, ye devil’s spawn.”
He’d enjoy seeking vengeance on Emeline’s behalf.