“Mind me, Marjorie,” he gritted out. “And stop this stubbornness. ”
“Mind you? Mind you?” Her heart beat double time with her pique; she felt it glitter in her eyes, suffuse her cheeks.
“Aye. ” He spun to face her but then froze. He consumed her with his gaze, and her skin seemed to tighten over her body in response to the predatory scrutiny. Finally, he spoke again, and it came out a snarl. “Mind me”
“I promise to mind every word you say, the moment we set foot through these doors. ” She placed a hand on the heavy iron latch as though ready to begin then and there. “But as for my clothing, folk might recognize me from the work I do at Saint Machar, so no, Cormac,” she said, backing against the door to shove it open. “A costume makes sense, and a costume I shall have. ”
He growled in frustration. “You're stubborn and impudent and… “
“And? And what, Cormac? I'll have you know I am still the same Marjorie after all these years. ”
“But you're not the same Marjorie,” he shouted. Taking a deep breath, he devoured the sight of her hips, her legs. He spoke again, this time more subdued. “Believe me, the years have brought quite a few changes. Changes that aren't nearly hidden enough. ”
She sputtered, battling embarrassment, shame, and hot awareness. She remembered an older, greater shame, from that day so long ago.
“At least find yourself a cloak,” he said.
“Fine. I'll wear a cloak. ” She'd weather his blame for the loss of his brother, but she'd not abide his intolerance. She would help find Davie. She would redeem herself. “But I don't trust you won't leave while I search for one. You may ask Angus to fetch me a man's cloak. One of his should suffice. ” And, in the end, she was glad she had it. The thick wool of the man's bonnet and cloak didn't just warm her, they made her feel safer, too; the docks were a much grittier and more frightening place than she'd anticipated.
They'd reached the head of North Pier, stone pilings topped with rotting wooden planks that stretched like an arm into the sea. A sloop had newly docked, and he wanted to investigate.
The wind whipped off the water and found its way straight to her bones. The place smelled thick and briny, like sea creatures caught and left to rot. The morning sky was as gray as the water.
She was thankful it was daylight and thankful she had Cormac by her side. She thought about wee Davie. He was somewhere out there, facing all this alone. She was a grown woman, in daylight, and still the docks made her nervous. Young Davie, alone for days, and God only knew where? The boy would be terrified.
“Wait here,” Cormac told her.
She gripped his arm. “Can't I come with you?”
“They have the look of smugglers about them. ” He nodded to the end of the pier. “I'd feel better if you stayed back. ”
“Is it safe for you?”
He barked a cynical and incredulous laugh. “Aye, lass, safe enough. Now truly,” he added, scanning the area one last time, “you'll be fine for a few minutes. I'd not have a boatload of smugglers lay eyes on you. One clout on my head, and they'd have you on board before you knew what they were about. And then it'd be you I'd have to come searching for. ”
The thought terrified her. She'd never felt in true peril before in her life. At least not since the day Aidan was taken. But then she registered his last sentence. “You'd come to search for me?”
“Come for you?” Something gentle flickered in his eyes for the briefest of moments. “How could I not?” The words warmed Marjorie to her soul. If he'd come for her, he didn't hate her. He might bear her blame, or resentment, but somewhere down deep he still valued her. “Fine, then. I'll wait here. But don't be long. ” With a brisk nod, he was off down the pier, and in no time she was watching him talk to a shadowy figure on board the sloop.
A rustling of activity slowly emerged behind her, but Marjorie pretended to be engrossed only in a single point at the end of the dock. It wasn't so much an act, either. She refused to let Cormac out of her sight. And to think she'd threatened to come down here by herself.
A legless man on a cart rolled himself in front of her, staring up for a time before moving on. Shivering, she pulled the cloak's hood lower over her head. She wondered if, when they returned safely home, she should swallow her pride and thank Cormac for making her wear it.
“Aren't you a pretty laddie?” The voice was a slurred rasp, coming from over her shoulder. There was a laugh in response.
Her heart kicked against her chest. She felt the presence of two men standing behind her. She refused to tear her eyes away from Cormac. Surely he'd be done soon.
A hand brushed at her cloak. “What brings a pretty boy like you to the quays?”
“What are you looking at, laddie?” the second man asked, coming to stand shoulder to shoulder by her. Eyeing the sloop, he told his companion, “If laddie here has business with those runners, he's got money in his purse. ” She ducked her head. So these men knew about the smugglers. Might they know something else? But how could she ask?
His companion came to stand on her other side. She could see both of them in her peripheral vision, one hulking, one tall and rangy. They smelled of ale gone foul.
“I'll wager we've got a wee lordling, fancying himself in for some sport, eh, Fergal? You don't mind if we have a look-see, do you now?” A hand tugged the hood from her head.
“Well, would you look here? 'Tisn't a laddie at all!” The tall man gripped her chin and gave it a wiggle, and she bit her lip not to scream. “What's a lovely crumpet like yourself doing here? Why don't you give us a peek under your coat, eh?”
“I am not a crumpet. ” She pulled from his grip, fighting to regulate her breathing, refusing to panic.