She jumped back. “Good grief, was that a cat?”
“I didn’t see anything,” I said, not willing to get the cat in trouble, too. “Thank you for your help. You’re very kind.”
I limped down the hall to the street entrance, where the cat sat waiting patiently. I opened the door and walked outside and the cat followed. On the sidewalk, the cat looked up at me and meowed once, then took off running.
“Thanks, kitty,” I said, and smiled as the cat disappeared down an alley. “Adios, amigo.”
The wind had died down and the sun felt wonderful on my back. It was a beautiful day for a walk, or a slow shuffle, in my case. The fact that I could put pressure on my foot told me I hadn’t broken anything. It was just sore and bruised, along with the rest of me. Frankly, my butt ached more than my ankle. I couldn’t wait to get back to the hotel and take a couple of aspirin and a long, hot bath.
As I limped across the George IV Bridge street at the High Road, a black taxi screeched to a stop. I jumped to the sidewalk to avoid being hit and landed on my bad foot.
“Gaaaahh!” I cried.
A man stepped out from the backseat and grabbed hold of me. “Ah, now that’s a shame, isn’t it? Let me help you, miss.”
He was really good-looking, with closely cropped dark reddish hair, and was nicely dressed in black wool trousers and a black turtleneck sweater. Normally I would’ve been more polite, but I was tired and in pain and just wanted to get back to the hotel.
“I’m fine,” I said. “The cab startled me.” I started to leave, but he held my arm.
“There, now, miss,” he crooned. “You must be more careful.”
I smiled. “Yes, I’ll be careful. Thanks.” If the cab hadn’t spooked me, I wouldn’t have to be so careful. I pulled my arm away, but he wouldn’t let me go.
I no longer cared how cute he was. I was getting mad. “I don’t have time for-”
“You’ll make time,” he said, and shoved something hard against my back.
A gun?
I froze. I couldn’t breathe.
“There, now, I think we understand each other. Let me help you to the cab.”
“No way,” I said, knowing that if I got in, I might never be seen again.
“Get in the cab or I’ll-”
“I’ll scream.”
“It’ll do you no good.”
I screamed anyway, as loud as I could.
“Jesus, that’s not necessary,” he said, wincing.
I kept screaming as the back door swung open and another man yanked me into the backseat next to him. The gunman jumped in after me, and the driver peeled off around the corner.
If I weren’t so scared to death I’d be totally pissed off. I was already in pain, and now I was being kidnapped? Who were these guys? I glanced at the two sitting on either side of me. They looked like nice guys who enjoyed a whisky at the pub once or twice a week, not hired gunmen.
“I don’t have any money,” I said. Not on me, anyway.
The good-looking guy next to me frowned. “We don’t want your money.”
“What do you want? Where are you taking me? I need to get back to my hotel. People are waiting for me. And there were witnesses. Somebody had to have seen me and they’ll-”
“Darlin’, please,” the driver said, meeting my gaze through his rearview mirror. “We’re just wanting your word that ye’ll not be making a mackedy of our Rabbie.”
“A mackedy?” I repeated. “What’s a mackedy?”
“It’s what we’re stopping you from doing,” the third guy said firmly.
The driver turned and glared at me. “Ye’ll not be mocking our beloved hero.”
“Oh.” Mockery, he’d said. Not mackedy. So much for a common language.
“I would never mock your hero,” I protested.
Frowning, the gunman eyed me. “The society looks askance at such disrespect.”
“You have a society?”
“Aye, the Robert Burns Society,” the third man said, beaming. “We’re Freemasons, sworn to uphold the dignity and good name of our own best man.”
“Aye, Rabbie Burns,” the gunman said, nodding.
“Miss, are ye familiar with the sights of our fair town?” the driver asked.
“I beg your pardon?”
He pointed out the window. “If ye’ll look between the two hills, you’ll catch a glimpse of the engineering marvel that is the Forth Bridge.”
“Crosses the Firth of Forth,” the gunman elucidated, then leaned back to give me a better view out the window.
“Can you see it now?” he asked.
“A beautiful sight, that,” the driver said proudly.
“Um, yeah.” I stared out the window to my right. “It’s beautiful.” And it was. Dramatic and impressive. On my last visit to Edinburgh I’d taken a tour of the city, during which I’d learned firsthand that Scotsmen were fiercely proud and knowledgeable of their history and heritage-and their bridge. The tour guide had positively gushed as he explained that the Forth Bridge was one of the world’s first major steel bridges. Its unique cantilever design was considered a miracle of modern technology back in the 1890s.
But what in hell did that have to do with me and these men and this cab? What was I doing here? I furtively checked my watch. I’d been on the road with these would-be kidnappers for less than ten minutes and still had no idea what they wanted from me.
The cute gunman noticed me looking at my watch and tapped the driver’s shoulder. “We should get her back.”
“Aye,” the driver said.
“But we’ll need your word on this matter, miss,” the third man said.
“Okay,” I said hesitantly. I was willing to agree to almost anything, but God only knew what he was going to insist upon. They all seemed a little nutty, as though I’d stumbled upon a Freemasons’ mad tea party.
The gunman held up his finger. “First, this notion that our Rabbie might’ve loved a royal Sassenach bitch?”
The third man glared at the gunman, then said pointedly, “You’ll pardon Tommy’s French.”
The gunman, Tommy, grimaced. “Ach, pardon my French, miss. But it’s daft.”
“Makes no sense a’tall,” said the third man, shaking his head.
The driver nodded. “Aye, Rabbie was a great lover, but he would’ve drawn the line at a snooty English royal.”
“Och, aye, he was a lover, he was,” Tommy agreed, chuckling. “He loved many a lass.”
The third man laughed. “Aye, that’s our boy Rabbie.”
The laughter stopped abruptly as the driver wrenched the wheel. The cab lurched to the side of the road and stopped. The two men beside me tensed up, and I started to panic as the driver maneuvered himself around to face me.
“Understand, miss,” he said. “Robert Burns was a Freemason, a well-known dissenter who supported both the French resistance and your own American Revolution. He was a Scottish nationalist and a harsh critic of the Church of England. He never would’ve consorted with the auld enemy, and that goes double for the royal family. This you must believe.”
“All right,” I said, talking slowly as I nodded. “I see your point. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m not very familiar with the history of your country, so I appreciate your patience with me.” I would’ve said anything at that moment to get back to the hotel. But the more I thought about it, the more it seemed that the legend of Robert Burns and the princess was too good to be true.
“Do you mean it, miss?” the driver said.
“Absolutely,” I said. “And I want to apologize for upsetting you. I didn’t realize that what I was saying might be so offensive.”
“Ah, see there?” said the third man, slapping the back of the driver’s seat. “She didn’t realize what she was saying.”
“I didn’t,” I said promptly. “I swear. I’m so glad you’ve enlightened me. And now that I know the truth, please believe I’ll never again say anything contradictory to the facts.”
“There’s a fine lass,” Tommy said, patting my knee fondly.