Page 81 of Bargaining with the Devil

The man who’d fired the shot stooped beside the motionless body, looking it over, and then spat beside it. “He went after Annie, my oldest. Thought she was part o’ th’ fare at th’ tavern. As for their leader, thon slimy English bastard Lymington, he laughed. Says next time he’d show him th’ way tae go about it, tae no’ get caught. Promised my lass as much.”

“Wisn’t only her they went after,” said one of the remaining men, the one with his arm around Lymington’s man’s neck. “My wife told me there were at least twa other lasses.”

Not surprising, really; the company a man like that kept was usually like to like. “What about him?” He nodded towards the man held fast.

The Solway leader spat again. “Th’ same.”

“What do you plan to do with him?” Blackmore asked.

“Depends.” The leader looked at them, then beyond. Likely Pereira back there, coming into view, likely also with his hand on a weapon. “Th’ world is better off without them in it.”

“’Tis no argument, as far as I see it.” He looked over to Blackmore, who shrugged one shoulder in agreement. “Do what you like, and we’ll not stop you unless you plan to join up with Lymington after.”

The third man, the one who had yet to talk, whipped an arm out, a knife in it.

He and Blackmore and Pereira didn’t move throughout. Didn’t lower their weapons just yet but didn’t do a fucking thing but watch. ’Twas messy work, with the knife pulled out a couple of times, but the man got the job done.

“It’ll be better off without Lymington in it, as well,” the first man said. “Ye get rid o’ him for us, we’ll be thankin’ ye rather than th’ other way ’round.”

“Where is Lymington anyway?” Blackmore asked.

“Didnae show when we picked up th’ goods. Jist his twa men here.”

His neck itched, the way it did when something was wrong. “Is that usual?”

“He said in th’ pub, th’ nicht before last, he’d be here,” the second man said.

So ’twasn’t that he was still ship-bound from his injury or staying behind in the Isle of Man. “Did he seem well?”

“Hale, do ye mean? I heard he caught th’ wrong edge o’ a knife, no’ long ago.”

“Aye. Mine. Was he suffering from it?”

“No’ sae I noticed. Wisnae movin’ like it hampered him.”

“What do you know about Lucy Muir?” Blackmore asked.

The man straightened up, caution stilling his features. “Lymington wanted tae know her whereabouts.”

He tamped down on the urge to step closer. Kept his finger curled ready on his pistol. “And is that still of interest to you, Lymington’s men here dead and with our plans to apprehend Lymington? See, ’tis a problem for me that you set her up to fall into his hands, knowing what was happening with the women in your own community.”

“It wisnae just th’ women.” The third man was wiping his knife clean using sea plants that had washed ashore. “He threatened my grandson. Had a knife tae him. It wis give him whit he wanted or see Jamie gutted. I’m sorry it put th’ Muir girl in harm’s way. He’d just have come after Jamie later if I’d no’ done as he wanted or gave him half-truths.”

’Twas sensible, in its way, but didn’t change that Lucy was imperiled as a result.

“Do we have trouble ower it now?” the man asked warily.

He lowered his pistol but didn’t put it away yet. “You’d best tell us that.”

“I wish her no harm at all.” The man held his eyes.

“And my family?” Blackmore asked.

“Them either. Blackmore,” the man added, confirming that he did know Blackmore on sight.

“’Tis an acceptable answer to me for the moment,” he said while Blackmore’s gaze stayed locked onto the man, “but ’tisn’t my family.” No matter what Lucy meant to him, when this wrapped up, he’d be gone. Blackmore would still be here.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Blackmore said softly to the man. “And if I learn anything to the contrary, I’ll be paying you a visit.”