“There are some who would like to change the laws, but they’re in the minority. No one here is harassin’ women, killin’ doctors, or burnin’ clinics to the ground.”
“Clive doesn’t strike me as an activist.”
“He was probably off his heid wi’ drink, saw somethin’ on the news that upset him, and went off.”
Elizabeth’s intuition told her there was more to it than that.
Twenty minutes later, Elizabeth found herself seated at a window staring out at Edinburgh Castle, floodlights playing over its stone walls. “I love how they’ve lighted it.”
It loomed over the city, ancient and massive.
Quinn’s lips curved in a lopsided grin that made her belly flutter. “There wouldnae be much to see otherwise, aye?”
She had kissed those lips today. God, it had been hot. “I wish it were open.”
“The castle? We can come back later in the week.”
They server came with their drinks. Quinn ordered the shepherd’s pie, and Elizabeth ordered the roasted duck breast.
After the server walked away, Quinn grew quiet, his brow furrowed. “Sorry about earlier. I was just havin’ a wee bitch.”
Elizabeth reached across the table, took his hand, awareness arcing between them. “You don’t have to apologize, Quinn. I’m grateful that you explained. I didn’t know you’d had such a rough childhood.”
Then again, she couldn’t remember him ever talking about his childhood or his family. Now she understood why. Poverty left its mark on a person.
“Others had it worse.” Quinn took a sip of his scotch. “Thank you for trustin’ me with what happened at the Agency. I’ll crush that bastard’s balls if I meet him.”
“You say the sweetest things.” Elizabeth sipped her wine, Quinn watching her through smoky blue eyes. “I guess we both learned something new about each other today.”
“Aye, so we did.” His lips curved in a smug and sexy grin. “I learned that the restrained and self-possessed Ms. Shields can be very …impulsive.”
Elizabeth’s cheeks burned.
8
Quinn poured the whisky in the sink, tears blurring his vision, his hands shaking. If his da wanted to drink himself to death, that was fine. But drinking made him angry and mean, and Quinn wouldn’t let the bastard strike him again.
He’d told the other boys that he’d gotten his black eye in a fight against another gang and that the boy who’d hit him had paid dearly. He couldn’t bear to tell them that it was his own da who’d struck him.
“What the fuck do ye think yer doin’?”
Quinn turned on the spot, heart in his throat, the half-empty bottle falling to the floor, spilling whisky on the chipped and dirty tile. He stood his ground. “I dumped it—all of it. You’re mean when you drink, Da. I’ll never let you work me over again. You already drove Ma and Paige away. You—”
“Fuckin’ bastard!”
Quinn blocked the first blow and the next. “I’m bigger than you now. I’m no’ just a wee boy you can thrash.”
“I’ll break you, boy.” His da left the kitchen.
Quinn reached for a bit of kitchen roll to wipe up the spilled whisky unaware that his da had returned until a shadow fell across the floor.
The blow of the belt took him by surprise, pain lashing across his back.
“You’re nae so big now, are ye?” His da glared down at him. “You think you’re better than I am, all high and mighty, but you’re the same. That’s why your ma left you wi’ me. You didn’t know?”
White hot fury and adrenaline had Quinn on his feet. He jerked the belt out of his da’s hands and slammed the bastard in the face with his fist, splitting his lip and sending him staggering. “Shut your fuckin’ gob!”
Christ, it felt good to hit back, so Quinn did it again and again, until blood flowed from his da’s nose and the bastard looked dazed.