Page 44 of Hit Me With Your Best Scot
“Again, that’s not necess—”
“Ye wield yer words like a lass who’s accustomed to people doing as she says,” he murmured, still holding her hand, still keeping her there beside him. “I dunnae ken who ye are, Persephone Jones, but I dunnae think ye are who ye say ye are. If that’s what’s putting ye in danger, then I suggest ye decide if ye can trust me or nae.” With that, he released her and headed off toward the rear of the theater.
Ice splintered down her spine. “You don’t owe me anything, Coll. Go find yourself a wife.”
He paused mid-step. “Dunnae fling that at me just when I’ve decided I like spending time with ye. If ye’re scared, it’s because ye should be. But I’m nae the one out to harm ye.”
She watched until he disappeared behind the growing set of Birnham Woods, trying not to feel as if she’d just run off her only ally. With her friends here, she didn’t need allies. The bucket and the sandbags had only beenaccidents, perhaps brought about by the Scottish play, just as she’d suggested. Coll had been fun and arousing, but as she’d surmised, he was also trouble. And she didn’t need more trouble. Any trouble.
Wisps of thoughts she’d kept shoved far to the back of her mind continued pushing at her, trying to come forward, but she shoved back just as hard. She’d just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Accidents could happen in a large, busy theater, especially with the workers taking down and putting up sets. Thinking anything else was just silly and useless, and it stole away time she needed to spend learning her lines.
The rest of the afternoon, though, was a disaster. Every time she had to wait for someone else to speak their lines, Coll’s words rang through her skull, saying that he knew she wasn’t who she claimed to be. If he’d come to that conclusion after being acquainted with her for three days, had anyone else done so as well? After all, she had known at least half the cast and backstage workers for more than six years.
What had happened? What mistake had she made? And who wanted to harm her?
“—finished for today,” Charlie was saying as she dragged herself back to the present. “I expect everyone—especially you, Persie—to spend the evening going over your lines and then getting a good night’s sleep. We’ll begin again tomorrow.”
Frowning, she reached over to check George’s pocket watch. “It’s only half five.”
“And you’ve missed every cue this afternoon,” Charlie noted. “I don’t blame you; I’m feeling scattered myself, and I wasn’t almost crushed by bricks. Go home, have a glass of whisky, and tomorrow we’ll pretend today never happened. We need you for this play, Persie. You know you’re the reason the Saint Genesius fills every night.”
She forced a smile. “If you truly believe that, give me the lead inHamlet.”
Charlie laughed. “I am your ardent admirer, but I am not a madman. Go home, Persie. Will the Highlander escort you?”
“That one will,” she said, gesturing at Gavin, who was presently ogling the three witches.
When she walked up and tapped him on the shoulder, the groom jumped. “Saint Andrew and all the angels,” he rasped. “I dunnae ken how ye can stay in a place this dark all day and nae see devils in every shadow.”
She’d been doing a bit of that herself, this afternoon. “I’m leaving. I have a driver I generally use, but I thought you should know.”
“I’m to go with ye, Miss Persie. Laird Glendarril will have my head on a pike if I dunnae.”
Smiling, she wrapped her hand around his arm. “I was actually hoping you would say that. Accidents or not, heavy things flying toward my head do make me a bit nervous.”
Holding his arm out rigidly, he puffed out his chest as they walked. “It’s my honor to see ye home safe.”
His presence, while welcome, would complicate her usual wardrobe change. Perhaps just the wig would do for today; she had dressed rather conservatively, and her blue muslin likely wouldn’t shock the neighbors. Once she retrieved her portmanteau and a black wig with a very matronly bun already pinned up at the back of the neck, she headed outside.
Amid the vendors and daringly dressed lightskirts, rather fewer young men than usual lurked. Perhaps word had gotten out that her current protector was a very large Highlander who liked using his fists. However much Coll’s prying annoyed her, the space he’d created around her made her grateful. People running at her had never beenpleasant; today, she couldn’t think of many things that filled her with more dread.
One of the stagehands would have already signaled for Gus—who generally spent the late afternoons snoozing inside his coach around the corner—to come up. She saw him immediately, just beyond the stack of lumber that had been delivered earlier that day.
“That him?” Gavin asked, eyeing the coach and driver suspiciously.
“Yes. Will you be riding up top with him, or inside with me?”
The groom’s face turned beet red. “I couldnae ride inside with ye, Miss Persephone. It wouldnae be at all proper!”
Hmm. She’d completely forgotten about that. Pesky propriety—she’d evaded its grip for so long that it generally didn’t even occur to her. “Yes, of course. Thank you for looking out for my honor, Gavin.”
He clearly didn’t know how to take that, so he settled for an awkward nod as he handed her into the coach. She settled into the seat and opened the portmanteau.
“Just once around the Holme this time, Gus,” she called up. “And this is Gavin. He’s seeing me home.”
“For your sake, then, I’ll allow him up top, Miss Persie.”
The driver clucked to the team, and they rolled off into the street. Perhaps she should have requested they drive around the Holme thrice instead of once; if someone was after her, she certainly didn’t want them following her home. Persephone closed her eyes for a moment.
