Elspeth wanted to know what was going on here. She also wanted to hear about the sword. “Yes, thank you.”
It appeared Mr. Kerr and Tavish had been seated across from each other, which meant she had to take one of the other sides of the square table and sit next to Tavish.
Pursing her lips, Elspeth moved to one of the chairs. Tavish rushed to hold it for her. “It’s a pleasure to see you, Miss Marshall.”
“Ye ken each other?” Mr. Kerr asked, sounding relieved.
“We met briefly at the inn,” Elspeth said tightly.
“She is someone you can trust,” Tavish said, and finally Elspeth understood Mr. Kerr’s anxiety as well as the unspoken communication between the two men. “Like me.” It appeared Tavish had already persuaded Mr. Kerr he was trustworthy. Well, Elspeth wasn’t convinced.
Mr. Kerr nodded at Tavish, then offered to take her cloak. After undoing the clasp, Elspeth handed the garment to him, and he went to hang it on a hook near the door.
While he was completing the task, Tavish bent his head toward hers. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was coming here.”
“Later,” she whispered before giving him a dark stare. “And you will tell me everything.”
He held her chair as she sat. Her back brushed against his fingers, and she bristled.
Tavish withdrew his hands and retook his chair. He did not look in her direction. He did, however, take a drink of ale, his body completely relaxed as if nothing was amiss. Why did he have to look so calm and collected? His dark hair was pulled back today in a neat queue, and he wore a burgundy waistcoat that made the brown of his coat far less drab. In fact, she almost thought it was a different garment altogether.
She jerked her gaze away lest he catch her studying him.
Mr. Kerr returned to the table. “Would ye care for ale, Miss Marshall?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Their host went to the small kitchen area and, a moment later, returned with a small cup of ale. “I get it from Balthazar at the inn, so ye may recognize it.” He took his chair and glanced between them. “It’s a bit odd that ye both came here today.”
“Your story is a bit odd,” Elspeth said. “I would be more surprised if no one questioned you further about what was said yesterday regarding your brother.” She took a sip of the ale.
Kerr ran a hand through his dark hair, tousling the strands atop his head. His face creased with worry. “Ye really just want to know about the sword?” Mr. Kerr asked her, his tone dubious.
“Yes, nothing more. I only want to hear the story as your brother told it to you—if that’s acceptable to you. If not, I will take my leave and understand completely.” She tipped her head toward Tavish. “Mr. MacLean desires other information?”
“I wish to help his brother,” Tavish said. He had said he helped other soldiers from Culloden. Was that actually true?
Mr. Kerr angled himself to face Elspeth. “I was just explaining to Mr. MacLean that my brother, Neil, came home from Culloden and told me the story about seeing the flaming sword. He said those that saw it stopped fighting. The man who was wielding it fell, and the flame stopped.”
“Was the man killed?” Elspeth asked.
“I asked Neil the same thing, but he didna ken. He was wounded a few minutes later and barely dragged himself from the battlefield. Someone cared for him afterward, and he managed to find his way here a few weeks later.”
“Where is he now?” Tavish asked.
“Right, that is what we were getting to when Miss Marshall arrived.” Mr. Kerr sent a quick glance in her direction. His brow was still furrowed. Elspeth could sense his agitation.
“You can trust me, Mr. Kerr. I am not going to share your brother’s location with anyone.” Tavish put his hand on the table, his palm flat. “As I said earlier, that is not my intent either. I’d like to help your brother if I can. I’ve helped other Jacobites from Culloden.”
“How?” Mr. Kerr asked what Elspeth wanted to know too.
“I hide them—sometimes far away. We change their names and sometimes their appearances, as much as we can.”
Mr. Kerr looked at Tavish intently. “How far away?”
“I’ve helped several sail to the American colonies.”
How had he done that? Had they signed a contract to work for a number of years in exchange for the transport?
Mr. Kerr’s eyes widened. “Do they sign indentures?”
“No.” The single word carried a weight that snaked up Elspeth’s spine.
“I’ve considered doing that,” Mr. Kerr admitted before taking a drink of ale.
Elspeth’s chest ached. She supposed it was an opportunity for some who were looking to change their fortune.
“How do ye help them get ta America, then?” Mr. Kerr asked.
“I have…contacts,” Tavish answered rather enigmatically. Elspeth added that question to the several bouncing around in her head that she intended to ask him when they left. “Do you know where your brother is? I could help him.”
Mr. Kerr cupped his hands around his ale and looked down. “I dinna ken. He was here with me for a fortnight, until he felt strong enough to leave. Soldiers were looking for those who had fought. He didna want ta be caught here with me.” Mr. Kerr lifted his gaze, and it was filled with stark pain. “I didna fight, because I was a coward. My brother is younger, taller, stronger. I have no skills useful in battle. Still, I should have gone.” His head dropped as he fixed on the table once more.
Elspeth reached over and touched his forearm. “Not everyone is a soldier.”
“No, but I could have done something else. I could have helped tend ta the wounded, perhaps.”
“Miss Marshall is right,” Tavish said quietly. “Not everyone can—or should—be a soldier. Do you have any idea where your brother might have gone? Family, a friend, something else?”
Mr. Kerr lifted his gaze. “Ye really do just want to help him? Ye aren’t an English soldier in disguise?”
“I am not,” Tavish assured him.
“I heard ye were talking to those soldiers last night,” Mr. Kerr said, his gaze narrowing.
Tavish didn’t look at all bothered by Mr. Kerr’s doubt. “I was, but only to ascertain their movements. They are on leave and going back to England. They were not looking for difficulty—or lost Jacobites.” He leaned slightly forward. “I promise you can trust me, Mr. Kerr. I was at Culloden too. I have the scars to prove it.”
He did? Elspeth turned her head to stare at him, wondering—rather inappropriately—where those scars were.
“Ye seem like a kind man, Mr. MacLean.”
“I try to be, Mr. Kerr. If you can think of anything that might help me find your brother, it would be my honor to see him safe. He can come with me to Glasgow. I’ve had success finding work for a few men there.”
“We dinna have any other family, and our friends are here. I think I’d ken if he were in Calvine.”
Tavish smiled with understanding. “Probably. It’s a rather small village. I’ll be at the inn for at least one more night should you think of something.” He looked toward Elspeth and almost imperceptibly inclined his head toward the door.