Reading Online Novel

Dark Duke(45)



Edward sidestepped a reeling combatant as he wheeled past spouting profanities. His gut wrenched. The thought of Violet here, held captive by such ignoble creatures, was revolting.

“Wait here,” the hulk growled. “I’ll fetch the McCloud.” He stomped up the stairs and disappeared into the gloom of the keep.

“Hell,” Ned muttered.

Edward dropped an arm around his shoulders. Ned was shaking. “Fortitude, my lad. Try to remain calm.”

“But Violet—”

“I know. The most important thing is getting her back. Let’s keep that in mind.”

Transom cleared his throat. “It might be best if we do the talking.”

Ned nodded, but he didn’t seem persuaded. As he took in the unruly scene, he went from pale to looking a little green. “If they’ve hurt her…” His fingers flexed in and out of a belligerent fist.

Edward frowned. He’d been on the receiving end of that fist. If Ned lost his temper and hit one of these men, there was no telling what kind of disaster it could provoke. They did not appear to be as civilized as he was.

“Remain calm. Remember, Transom and I know the McCloud. He owes me a debt. We shall get her back.”

“But if they hurt her—”

“I know, my boy. I know.”

Ewan McCloud descended the stairs. Edward studied him. He was still the same brawny, handsome man, but for the jagged scar he’d always worn like a badge on his left cheek. But he was older. There was a weariness about him that was unfamiliar.

When he saw them, his eyes widened with surprise. “Transom? Weston? By all that is holy. I never thought to see you here!” He shot a look over his shoulder and laughed. “The place is something of a mess. Had I known you were coming, I would have tidied up. How long has it been?”

He shook hands with each man in turn but when he came to Ned, their host’s outstretched hand faltered. Probably because Ned was snarling at him.

“We need to talk,” Edward said. No point in wasting time with the niceties. He frowned at the bacchanal. “Someplace private.”

The smile drifted from Ewan’s face. “Of course. My study.”

It was hardly a study, the chamber he took them to. Oh, it had a desk and several chairs and decanters on a rickety table by the window. But it had clearly once been nothing but a storage room, hewn of stone. The wind whistled through a crack in the walls, nearly guttering the lamp.

“Sit. Sit. May I offer you a drink?”

“No thank you. Our business is rather urgent.”

“Oh?” The McCloud’s brow arched. “Urgent business? After so many years? I’m intrigued.”

“Where’s my sister?” Ah blast. This from Ned who, of all of them, had refused to sit. He paced, his fingers a’twitch, which made Edward nervous. If Ned started pummeling the McCloud that would probably slow down the negotiations.

Ewan’s features hardened. “Who are you?”

Ned bristled. “I am Edward Wyeth.”

The McCloud’s eyes narrowed. His lips curled downward. Menace wafted from him. “Edward Wyeth.” This he said as though the words tasted bad.

Edward raked his fingers through his hair. “Ned, please. Let me handle this.”

Ned lurched forward, bracing his hands on the table and hissing, “I want her back, you bastard.”

Ewan leaned back in his chair and poured himself a drink, sipping it slowly. “What makes you think your sister is here?”

Ned opened his mouth to respond, but Edward glared him down. With a surly frown, Ned plopped into a chair. “Callum MacAllister.”

A dark brow winged upward. “Callum told you she was here? I may need to squash that little bug.”

“He didn’t tell us anything, that filthy cur,” Ned spat. “We found you all on our own.”

The McCloud ignored this outburst. He poured a drink for Edward and Transom, though they had declined. “So tell me, Weston. What’s your part in all of this?”

Edward cleared his throat. “The name is not Weston, actually.”

“It’s not? How unsettling.” A smile curled Ewan’s lips. It did not reach his eyes. “Never say you lied to us all those years ago.”

“I didn’t lie so much as pose as someone I was not.”

“Hardly a difference.” The McCloud reached for the bottle to pour himself another drink. “So…who are you?” he asked in a silky voice.

“Also Edward Wyeth.” He glanced at Ned. “It’s a family name.”

The bottle stilled. Ewan’s gaze flicked up. His cheek bunched.

“Violet is my…cousin.”

The McCloud carefully set the bottle down and took a slow sip of his whiskey. “I take it your father was, in fact, not a bookseller.”