“Because we stopped and paid to reserve our lodging on our way north, Mr. Pitagowan—rather, Balthazar, as he prefers to be called—made sure to give us a suite of adjoined rooms.” Aunt Leah removed her hat, revealing her glossy dark hair. Her gloves followed, and she deposited her items on the vacant chair where Elspeth had placed hers.
“How pleasant,” Elspeth said. Aunt Leah preferred to sleep in her own bed and her own chamber whenever possible. A restless sleeper, she snored so loudly that Elspeth could often hear her even from the next room. Her aunt hated disturbing people.
“I asked for tea,” Aunt Leah continued. “And for dinner to be delivered to our rooms. I’m rather tired. I hope you don’t mind.” She flashed Elspeth an apologetic smile.
“Not at all.” Elspeth hid her disappointment. She would just have to soak up the atmosphere before they went upstairs. She listened intently to the conversations humming around her. One rose above the others. She wasn’t sure it was due to the volume or the content. The words “flaming sword” drew her instant and rapt attention.
The man who’d uttered the phrase sat to her left. He shared his small table with a second man, who appeared as captivated by his words as Elspeth. She leaned in their direction as she strained to hear more. Thankfully, they did not speak quietly.
“Was it a torch?” the other man, a younger fellow but still older than Elspeth, asked.
“I said it was a sword, did I not?” the first man said crossly. With a shock of bright blond hair, he was perhaps five years older than the other.
The younger man, who had a hooked nose, waved his hand. “Bah, ye weren’t there. How could ye know?”
The blond man, who was about thirty, narrowed his eyes at the other. “I heard it from Russell.”
“He heard it too.” A man at the next table over—between the two men and the solitary man in the corner—gestured to his tablemate. “His brother fought at Culloden.” He looked to the man whose face had turned gray. “Didna ye say he saw a sword that burst inta bright orange flame?”
Elspeth didn’t bother trying to hide her interest any longer. In fact, half the common room now seemed riveted to the discussion.
“What’s this about a flaming sword?” Aunt Leah asked only to Elspeth as she leaned across the table.
Elspeth set her jaw with determination. “I don’t know yet, but I’m going to find out.”
“Oh, here’s the tea.” Aunt Leah thanked the serving maid who set the pot and cups on the table.
“We don’t get many requests for tea,” the young woman said, her bright red curls bouncing against her temples.
“I can’t imagine you do, dear,” Aunt Leah murmured.
Elspeth ignored the rest of their conversation as she focused on the far more interesting one going on to her left.
One of the English soldiers stood and glowered at the men who were discussing the sword. “Eh now, enough talk of Culloden!”
The blond man at the table next to Elspeth curled his lip. “Ye can’t keep us from talking.”
“I most certainly can. On your feet, Highlander!”
The common room fell silent as fear raced across the blond man’s features. Elspeth’s gut clenched.
The hooded man in the corner leapt to his feet and weaved through the tables to where the soldier stood. “Now then, Captain, I don’t think these men mean any harm. They’re drinking ale and sharing fantastical stories. Surely there’s no trouble in that?”
“Sedition is a crime,” the captain said, glaring at the men who remained seated.
“It is indeed,” the hooded man agreed in a smooth, placating tone. “But they aren’t doing that. Are you?” He turned his head to look at the men, and the movement caused the hood to fall.
Elspeth’s eyes nearly popped out. Though the man’s loose sable hair was shorter, probably just long enough to be tied back, there was no mistaking his blue gaze. It was him. Roy Bloody Williams.
The men shook their heads.
“We didn’t fight,” the blond man said, his eyes wide and fixed on the soldiers.
“See?” Williams said. “Let us all return to our ale.”
Ale? Elspeth wanted to hear about the flaming sword. No, she wanted to interrogate Mr. Williams as to why he’d never returned to Dunkeld. She’d thought the kisses they’d shared meant something.
She covertly watched him as he sat back down in the corner. He didn’t pull the hood back up over his head. His gaze swept the room and didn’t even pause on Elspeth. There was no look of recognition, no hesitation, nothing.
Elspeth sucked in a breath and stirred sugar into her tea before taking a sip. She glowered at the liquid before setting the cup back onto the saucer.
“Is something amiss, Elspeth?” Aunt Leah asked.
“The man in the corner is Mr. Williams,” she said quietly with barely contained anger—and hurt.
Aunt Leah’s gaze strayed toward him before snapping back to Elspeth. “That Mr. Williams?”
Elspeth had told her aunt about him, in part because Aunt Leah kept questioning when Elspeth might consider marriage. It wasn’t that Elspeth wasn’t considering that she should wed, it was that she fancied she’d already met the man she wanted to. Which was foolish since they’d spent only a matter of hours in each other’s company. It hadn’t felt foolish, however. Not until today.
Clearly, she was the only one who’d been affected by their time together. He didn’t even appear to remember her.
“Yes, him,” Elspeth said tightly. She sat up straighter and took a deep breath. “Ignore him. I shall. I have much more important things to attend to.”
Aunt Leah arched a dark brow. “Such as?” She shot another glance toward Williams in the corner.
“Such as learning everything I can about this flaming sword that was seen at Culloden.”
“You don’t think it’s real?” Aunt Leah’s blue eyes narrowed slightly as her brow creased with confusion. “I know you like stories, but it’s absurd.”
“No, I don’t think it’s real.” Probably. “But it’s reminiscent of one of the Thirteen Treasures of Britain.” Which were also likely not real. This flaming sword sounded like the one Roy Williams had told her about—Lann Dhearg. What did he think of these stories and rumors flying around the common room? “You know I can’t turn my back on a story. It doesn’t have to be true.”
Aunt Leah smiled warmly. “Sounds like you have work to do.” She glanced around. “Should we invite someone to join us?”
“Perhaps. But first…” Elspeth turned to the two men seated at the table next to theirs. “Excuse me, might I trouble you to tell me what you specifically heard about this flaming sword at Culloden? I record oral stories, and this sounds like an amazing tale.”
The blond man eyed the soldiers apprehensively, then scooted his chair closer to Elspeth’s. “My cousin was there. He told me all about it. Ye want to write it down?”
“I would. What can you tell me? Starting with your name, so I can give you credit for the information.”
The man flicked another guarded glance toward the soldiers. He spoke in a low voice. “I don’t think I want to give ye my name. But ye could just call me…George.” That he used the name of the king wasn’t lost on Elspeth. “My cousin fought for the Jacobites. He was injured in the battle, but he saw a man wielding a sword that lit with an orange flame.”