Hey guys – hearing from some of you as you go through T&F is so much fun. It’s always funny how the characters I pinned as those people would love aren’t, and those I never thought they’d like, they do! Anyway, for this Sneak Peak Sunday, I’m gonna give you a taste of one of the book’s nasty villains – the nefarious Alan, Sheriff of Edinburgh!
If you like what you read, grab the rest of Thistle and Flame at Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00BQI8VUQ
“That’s not Alan, is it?” John said to Gavin. “He sounds like he’s two drams from a pint.”
“Shh!” Gavin urged. “It’s him alright. We were talking about making a game of this, right? Seems like we’ve got the chance to have a little fun with our friendly neighborhood sheriff and we didn’t even have to work at it. Come on, this way.”
Silently, except for the gentle jingles of the jewelry box under John’s cloak, the three men crept around to the side of the Macdonald estate, hiding low behind an ornamental wall. Sure enough, as the men watched, the self-appointed Sheriff of Edinburgh wandered back and forth, thumbs hitched in his thin belt.
“Ramsay!” His slurring was a bit more pronounced the closer he got. “Come out here!”
Gavin stuck his head around the wall and signaled to the others with his finger across his lips. He was laughing so hard that his shoulders shook.
“I’m not going to say anything…I won’t say anything, uh…”
“What’s wrong with him?” John said, edging up next to Gavin.
“He’s pissed, what do you think’s wrong with him? Look at that rosy glow to his cheeks. Look at how his finely powdered wig is sitting halfway off the back of his head. I bet if he tries to whip off that hat, the wig will come right after it.”
Sure enough, the next time Alan shouted at the closed door, he stomped his finely hosed and shoed foot, balled his fists and yanked his hat off. The wig slid down his back to reveal a head as bald as a snooker cue and very nearly as pale.
“It’ll be crowded with three of us on the back of a single horse, but I think we can manage.” Gavin had an impish grin.
“Oh don’t worry about me. I’ve got work to do around here. Can’t heave off just yet. I just want to see what happens,” Red Ben said with a laugh under his voice.
“What are you thinking, Gavin? Don’t tell me you’re –”
Grinning, Gavin pulled his pistol from his belt and crept along the house nearer where the hooting sheriff was screeching drunkenly at someone who was almost two days to the north of him. He looked back at John, waved him forward, and tipped his head to Red Ben Black.
Gavin tightened his belt, snugged down the loose-hanging part of his kilt, and palmed the sgain dubh he always kept in his stocking.
“You gonna kill him?”