"Why don't we take that table near the bar and see what we can overhear?" James suggested.

"Why don't I just go ask him?" Anthony countered.

"Men of this ilk don't like to be questioned, dear boy. They've usually, every one of them, got something or other to hide. Haven't you surmised that yet?"

Anthony scowled but nodded. James was right. They had had deuced little cooperation from everyone they'd questioned today, but blister it all, he wanted this done with so he could go home. He had a wife waiting for him, and this was not how he had imagined spending the second day of his marriage.

What was supposed to have taken only a few hours' time at the most this morning had turned into a comedy of exasperation. Anthony had been in the process of explaining to James about Geordie Cameron, the reason that he had married in such haste, when his man John had interrupted their breakfast with the fellow's address, having successfully followed Cameron's hirelings yesterday to his lair.

It must have been the look of predatory delight on Anthony's face that prompted James to offer to come along. Not that Anthony was going to really harm the scoundrel. No, just impress him with a sound thrashing, give him the good news that Roslynn was out of his reach, since he wasn't taking any chances that Cameron might miss the notice of her marriage in the papers, and send him off with a warning to

trouble her no more. Very simple. He didn't need James' help, but he was glad of his company as the day wore on.

The first in a long list of frustrations was to find Cameron vacated from the flat he had rented. That he hadn't left until last night, when Roslynn had escaped him the day before, was interesting. He was either confident that she wouldn't alert the authorities of her kidnapping or just plain stupid. Whichever, he had smartened up by last night and had changed locations. And since it was too soon for him to have found out about Roslynn's marrying, Anthony doubted the chap had given up to return to Scotland, which was why he had spent the rest of the day making inquiries at every lodging and tavern in the vicinity, albeit fruitlessly.

All he had was Geordie Cameron's description from his landlady, but this fitted the fellow at the bar.

Tall, carrot-red hair, light blue eyes, presentable, and oh, yes, very good-looking, according to Mrs.

Pym. Anthony couldn't see the eyes yet, and whether the chap was good-looking or not was a matter of opinion, but the rest agreed with him, even to the halfway decent togs he was sporting. The man had a companion, perhaps one of his hirelings, standing there with him, a short chap with a woolen cap pulled so far down over his head, his features were obscured even from a side angle.

They were talking together, at any rate, and James' suggestion to listen in on the conversation was reasonable, despite the fact that Anthony's patience was worn thin. After all the trouble he had been through today, he was no longer just looking forward to thrashing the fellow, but pleasantly contemplating an alternative of a more permanent nature. Missed his lunch, missed his dinner, missed making love to his wife all day. He bloody well hoped she would appreciate his efforts on her behalf.

He followed his brother across the room to a table already occupied by two rough-looking men and felt a small bit of his humor returning as he watched James stop there and stare the fellows into hastily vacating their seats. "Amazing how you do that, old man."

James grinned innocently. "Do what?"

"Put murder and mayhem in those two little green orbs of yours."

"Can I help it if the chaps thought I meant them bodily harm? I didn't, you know. I am the most peaceable fellow this side of—"

"Hell?" Anthony suggested with a wry smile. "It's a good thing Connie's not here, or he'd choke on that fairy tale."

"Put a lid on it, puppy. We need a drink if we're not to look any more inconspicuous than we already do."

Anthony turned around to locate a barmaid and got more than he bargained for. The wench was curvaceous without being plump, amazingly pretty for such a rough establishment, and had set herself down on his lap, wrapping soft arms about his neck in blatant invitation. It was done too quickly for him to discourage her, and he was so surprised by her action that he drew a blank for a moment on how to get rid of her.

James took pity on him, however, vastly amused at Anthony's dilemma. "You've chosen the wrong lap, dear girl." His dry tone brought the barmaid's head around to him, and at her bemused look, James grinned. "You see before you one of the world's most pitiable creatures—a married man—also one very preoccupied this evening. Now, if you'd care to bounce your pretty little backside over to this side of the

table, you might get a rise for your trouble."

The maid giggled at James' crudity, words she was used to but not expecting from such an elegant-looking nabob. Yet she gave a last wistful look at Anthony, the one who had first boggled her eyes when the men walked in. He was worth at least another try, though the other one was just as appealing, now she'd had a better look at him.

She ignored Anthony's frown of displeasure, caused by James' words, and wrapped her long blond hair around his neck to pull him closer to her, while below the table, her buttocks wiggled in his lap provocatively. "Sure ye don't want some, luv. I'd be 'appy-"

His wits returningtooquickly, Anthony lifted her up and set her on her feet, giving her a little shove in James' direction. "Another time, luv," he said not unkindly, but his eyes were narrowed when he met James' amused gaze.

James wasn't in the least perturbed. He caught the girl around the waist, caressed her backside with promise, whispered a few words in her ear, and sent her off with their order for two ales.

"Caught your fancy?" Anthony sneered.

"Whether this is your man or not, dear boy, I'm done for the day. I might as well have some compensation for my trouble, and she'll do nicely."

Anthony finally smiled. "Yes, I suppose she will. But you'll recall whose lap she preferred."

"Your recent victory has apparently gone to your head, lad. I hate to bring you back to earth, but you obviously need to be reminded that all you can do is look from now on—while I on the other hand can still sample to my heart's content."

"You don't see me bemoaning my state, do you?"

"Remember those words when you do. Women are to be savored for the moment. Anything longer is a threat to a man's sanity."

Anthony smiled serenely, even though those used to be his own sentiments as well. James didn't notice.

His eyes had drifted to the two at the bar in such intimate conversation, particularly to the shorter fellow, and he frowned, looking at the cutest little backside to ever grace a supposedly male anatomy.

Anthony was distracted as well a moment later when the redhead, no more than six feet away, raised his voice a little. The thick Scottish brogue was unmistakable, reminding him forcefully of why they were here.

"I've heard enough," Anthony said tersely, swiftly rising to his feet.

James grabbed his arm, hissing, "You've heard nothing. Be sensible, Tony. There's no telling how many of these chaps in here might be in his pay. We can bloody well wait a little more to see if he might leave the premises."

"Youcan wait a little more. I have a new wife at home I've kept waiting long enough."

Before he took another step, however, James sensibly called out, "Cameron?" hoping for no response

since Anthony was no longer in a reasonable state of mind. Unfortunately, he got ample response, both characters swinging around at once and searching the room, one fearful, the other assuming an aggressive stance. Both pairs of eyes lit on Anthony as he shook off James' hand and closed the distance in two steps, but he had eyes only for the tall Scot.

"Cameron?" he asked in a deceptively quiet tone.

"The name's MacDonell, mon, Ian MacDonell."

"You're lying," Anthony growled, catching the man's lapels in his fists and jerking him forward and up, until their eyes were at a level only inches apart.

Too late, Anthony saw his mistake. The narrowed eyes now blazing at him were light gray, not blue. But at the same moment Anthony realized it, the little man next to them slipped a knife out of his sleeve.

James intervened at this point, since Anthony was too involved with the redhead to take notice of his companion. He neatly knocked the knife aside, only to be attacked for his trouble, fists and feet both flying his way. Hardly any damage ensued. The little bugger had no more strength than a child. But James was not about to just stand there and take this barrage. With no effort at all, he flipped his opponent about and hefted him off his feet. Somehow he wasn't surprised to find a full, soft breast cupped in his hand.

Anthony had glanced their way at the start of the commotion, but now his eyes widened as he took in the delicate chin, smooth lips, and pert little nose. The cap had come down further to completely cover the eyes, but the perfectly molded cheekbones were unmistakably feminine too.

His voice was a trifle loud in his surprise. "Good God,he'sa woman!"

James grinned. "I know."

"Now you've done it, you miserable curs!" the girl snarled at them both as several men within hearing glanced their way. "Mac, do something!"

MacDonell did. He pulled back his arm and swung at Anthony. The decision was made quickly not to fight, much as Anthony needed that outlet to let off some of his frustration. He caught the fist and slammed it down on the bar.

"There's no need for that, MacDonell," Anthony said. "I made a mistake. I apologize."

MacDonell was disconcerted at how easily he had been outmaneuvered. He wasn't that much smaller than the Englishman, yet he couldn't raise his fist off the bar to save his soul. And he had the feeling that even if he could, it wouldn't do him much good.

Prudently, the Scotsman nodded his acceptance and got his release by doing so. But his companion was still held tight, and it was to James his aggression turned now.

"Ye'll be letting go, mon, if ye ken what's good fer ye. I canna let ye monhandle—"

"Be easy, MacDonell," Anthony interjected in a hushed tone. "He means the lass no harm. Perhaps you'll let us accompany you outside?"

"There's nae need—"

"Look around you, dear fellow," James interrupted the Scot. "There appears to be every need, thanks to my brother's loud blunder."

So saying, he hefted the wench under his arm and started for the door. Her protest died with a tight squeeze about the ribs, and since MacDonell heard no complaint from her, he followed behind. Anthony did as well, after tossing a few coins on the table for the ales that had never arrived. He spared a glance for the room to see that most eyes were still on James and the girl, or rather, just on the girl. He wondered how long she had been in the tavern before her disguise was uncovered. It didn't matter.

Dressed as she was in skin-tight breeches, even if her sweater was baggy in the extreme, there probably wasn't a man there who wouldn't have made a try for her if James didn't have her firmly in hand.

Anthony supposed it was too much to hope that they could exit the place without some further incident occurring. He caught up with the others only because the barmaid had appeared out of nowhere, it seemed, and latched possessively onto James' arm, stopping him.

Anthony arrived to hear her demand, " 'Ere now, ye're not leavin', are ye?"

James, instead of brushing her off, gave her a smile to quite dazzle her. "I'll be back later, my dear."

She brightened, not even bothering to glance at the bundle under his arm. "I finish work at two."

"Then two it is."

"Two's one too many, I'm thinking." This from a brawny sailor who had stood up and was now blocking James' path to the door.

Anthony sighed, coming up to stand next to his brother. "I don't suppose you'd care to put her down and take care of this, James."

"Not particularly."

"I didn't think so."

"Stay out of this, mate," the sailor warned Anthony. "He's got no right coming in here and stealing not one but two of our women."

"Two? Is this little ragamuffin yours?" Anthony glanced at the bundle in dispute, who had pulled her wool cap up enough to see by and was peering at them with murder in her eyes. He was almost hesitant to put it to the test. "Are you his, sweetheart?"

She was wise enough to give a negative shake of her head. Fortunately, the sailor was an ugly-looking brute, or she might have given a different answer, she was so angry at the way she was being manhandled. Anthony couldn't blame her. James was holding on a bit tighter than necessary, and the position he had her in was far from dignified.

"I believe that settles it, doesn't it." It was not a question by any means. Anthony was tired of the whole affair, especially when he had no one to blame but himself for being there in the first place. "Now be a good chap and move out of the way.''

Surprisingly, the sailor stood firm. "He's not taking her out of here."

"Oh, bloody hell," Anthony said wearily just before flattening his fist on the fellow's jaw.

The sailor landed several feet away from them, out cold. The man he had been sitting with rose from their table with a growl, but not soon enough. A short jab and he fell back in his chair, his hand flying up to stanch the blood now seeping from his nose.

Anthony turned around slowly, one black brow arched questioningly. "Any more comers?"

MacDonell was grinning behind him, realizing now how fortunate he had been not to take on the Englishman. Not another man in the room made a move to accept the challenge, drawing the same conclusion. It had happened too quickly. They recognized a skilled pugilist when they saw one.