MacMartin tossed down the required bet and stared at his cards, his face immovable as Gibraltar despite the pinpricks of perspiration blooming on his brow. But MacMartin’s seasickness made it more difficult for Alexander to read him when he bluffed. At any other time, Alexander might have had sympathy for MacMartin since he suffered so from mal de mer the man had spent the better part of the voyage leaning over the gunwale. Sir Darren MacMartin dabbed his face with a perfumed handkerchief. The stakes of this poque game were ridiculously high, but Alexander had his reasons for allowing it to spiral out of control. That’s one hundred pounds to you, MacMartin, he said. It was good that the table was bolted to the teak or the whole thing might have toppled over. Lord Alexander Mallory splayed his hand across the coins and banknotes in the center of the table to keep them from cascading to the plank floor. The Agatha May rolled with a monstrous swell. Until a son of Scotland who has once disowned his true self finds that self again, the curse on Bonniebroch Castle canna be lifted.įrom the secret journal of Callum Farquhar, Our chance of redemption slips away with each passing sunrise. Looking back, it’s but a watch in the night. Three hundred years seems a long time when one is looking forward.
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