Page 53 of Rogue with a Brogue
“This is a second letter. The Campbells know where we are. Or bloody near enough.”
The footman’s ruddy expression paled a little. “I’ll see to it.”
As Peter hurried off, Arran strode for the stairs. At Mary’s room he shoved at the door, but it was latched. Balling a fist, he pounded. Hard. “Mary! Open the door!”
Inside he heard a smattering of sharp-voiced conversation, and then the door clicked and opened. “What’s wrong?” Mary asked, sleepy-eyed in the white night rail he’d purchased for her.
If he’d been less angry, the way she looked would have completely distracted him. As it was, he wordlessly handed her the letter and then moved past her slender form into the room. “You,” he growled, jabbing a finger at the battle-axe in her mobcap and high-necked night rail where she stood on the near side of the bed. “What did the first letter say?”
Her pale features grayed around the edges, but she kept her chin high. “I’m not speaking to you, you rogue.”
“Call me whatever ye like, but yewilltell me aboot the other letter.” Arran took a long step forward, using his height to force her to look up even farther, changing her stance from defiant to submissive.
It didn’t seem to have any effect. “I am not employed by you,” she declared.
“I dunnae—”
Mary pushed past him. “What did you do, Crawford?” she demanded, snapping the missive against her palm. “When did you send the first letter, and what did you say?”
The maid didn’t alter her expression. “I am in the employ of the Marquis of Fendarrow. In his absence, I will do whatever is necessary to protect his reputation and that of his fam—”
“Arran, do you have two pounds?” Mary interrupted, turning her back on Crawford to hold a hand out to him.
Wordlessly he pulled two coins from his pocket and placed them into her palm. If she meant them to be set over the dead maid’s eyes he would have preferred that she use shillings, but he couldn’t disapprove the gesture.
Rather than throwing the blunt at Crawford, though, Mary turned and left the room. Immediately the maid started forward, but Arran took a step sideways to block her exit. “Ye’re nae going anywhere.”
“I will scream,” she retorted.
“Scream till crows fall from the sky, ye witch. Ye’ll still nae leave this room until we decide what to do with ye. And I favor putting ye in a hole in the ground and shoveling dirt over ye.”
“I am only doing my duty. How dare you!”
“Yer duty. Bah. Ye’ve set an angry group of men after us. What, ye think they’ll nae consider that Mary is ruined? Ye think she’ll return to London and everything will be as it was?”
“I think this entire venture is all your idea, and your fault.”
“Mayhap that’s so, but she’s in it now. And she’s here because she didnae want the life her father decided for her.”
“That is not her decision.”
Mary topped the stairs again, her expression even grimmer than before. “I think ye have the wrong of that, Crawford,” he returned, and faced his lass. “Is everything well, Mary?”
“Yes. Help me gather my things, will you, Arran?”
“Aye. We need to be oot of here before we’re caught.”
While Crawford, arms folded, continued glaring at them from one corner, they tossed Mary’s new clothes and toilette items into the small trunk he’d purchased for her. She held back one plain green muslin, and crossed into his room to shed her night rail and pull it on. However much he would have liked to follow her to watch, he wasn’t inclined to leave the maid unsupervised. Now was not the time for her to attempt again to convince Mary to return to London or to wait there at the inn for her father’s arrival.
Peter trotted up the stairs, and Arran set him to watch Crawford while he hastily packed his own trunk. He carried it into the hallway and set it down. “There ye go, Peter. Get them loaded as quick as ye can.”
“Aye, m’laird.”
Mary approached again, and he moved behind her to close the trio of buttons running up her back. “Do ye have a preference over what we do aboot the battle-axe?” he asked, sending Crawford another glare. If Mary still wanted the maid with them he would agree to it, but only if she traveled bound and gagged and tied to her bedpost each night. Andthathe wouldn’t compromise about.
“I’ve seen to it,” she said, a grim iron to her tone that he’d never heard before.
“If you continue on with him, my lady, you’ll be ruined beyond anyone’s ability to salvage. He’s not only an enemy of your family, but he’s aHighlander,for heaven’s sake. A barbarian. It is my duty to guard you and your rep—”
