April Moon by Susan King, Merline Lovelace, MIRANDA JARRETT Page A

“Huh. That’s good cloth—Flemish weave, I’d say. And gold buttons, too, by the de’il.” He leaned closer. “What gives you such means? Free trade along the coast somewhere? French brandy and costly laces? Nae the whisky trade, or I’d have heard about it.”
    “I practice the law now,” Simon answered.
    “Nahhh,” Jock growled, disbelieving.
    “You knew I had a university education, on my father’s wishes. I’m a Writer to the Signet in Edinburgh. Or was, for two years. Lately I’ve accepted a new post.”
    “Have you come to argue my case and set me free?”
    “Your case has been argued and decided, Jock.”
    “What’re you doing here, then? You didna come to chat.”
    Simon paused. “I’ve just been appointed a preventive officer along the Solway coast—to this very region, actually.”
    Jock laughed, a harsh explosion. “An excise man? A gauger? That’s a bitter stab indeed! The cleverest free trader I ever knew, gone like a fox down a hole for four years—now ready to hunt those who gave him board and bread when he was a lad.”
    “Jock, it’s not that way—” He stopped, unable to explain how it really was. Not here. Not now.
    “Do they know, Simon Lockhart? Do they know they’ve set a wolf to watch after their sheep?” Jock hissed.
    “They know,” Simon said curtly.
    Jock narrowed his eyes. “Then you made a devil’s bargain, to escape a hanging or prison.”
    “Something like that.”
    “Something like a traitor. Go away, then,” Jock growled.
    “I signed a commission to patrol for illicit distillers and any who avoid paying judicious fees to the Crown for traded goods. I’m authorized to find horse thieves, too.” Simon stared hard at him.
    “I ne’er took that horse,” Jock said, “but they’ll hang me for it. They’d hang me on smuggling charges if they could prove them, too.” He huffed.
    “I’m told you boldly took a Connemara gray mare from the magistrate’s own stable, and sold it on a ship bound for France, and were seen doing so by witnesses.”
    “Aye…’twas Angus MacSorley’s old cousin who saw me…that half-blind rapscallion. I wasna out that night at all, even if he could see past his nose. So I’m innocent. There. Now open the door, lad.” He gestured through the grille.
    “I cannot do that. But when I learned of your situation, I came straightaway, though I knew you might not want to see me. Is there anything you need?”
    “Aye. The key,” Jock said pragmatically.
    Simon huffed a reluctant laugh. “The sheriff would not trust me with it, so soon in my new position. He knows I once ran with rogues. It’s why they were so eager to have me take this post. I know all the secrets, Jock,” he added.
    “Huh. So you might. Why did you come back? To watch me hang?” He leaned close. “Or to break my daughter’s heart again?”
    Simon lifted his chin and flared his nostrils in silence.
    “I’m glad Jenny left before you came,” Jock said.
    “She was here?” Simon asked quickly.
    “Aye, and went away in tears to see me in here.My heart broke, too, for Jenny is a fiery lass and a brave one. I havena seen her cry…since you left.”
    Simon frowned. “I came back hoping to make amends.”
    “Too late for amends. She’ll never forgive you what you did. Nor will I.” Jock took hold of the bars. “Laird o’ Lockhart, you listen close to me. For all the ill between us, I must ask two things of you now.”
    “Aye.” Simon waited.
    “Since you’re the new gauger, find the vipers that put me in here. I’m a free trader, aye, I dinna deny it. But excise men often look away when a man smuggles only to maintain his household. I’ve been a weaver most of my life, and I make scarce more than a croft hand at that, though I be an artist at the loom, and I can read and write some. I canna pay the king’s duties on my own private still. What choice but free trading in whisky and other goods?”
    “It’s not whisky smuggling that put you