Page 64 of Rogue with a Brogue
“I’d share mine with ye, if I could.” He looked down at his hands for a moment, then straightened again.
She wasn’t the only one giving up a life she’d otherwise been happy with. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Frowning, he glanced sideways at her. “Sorry? Fer what? Fer being witty and lovely and honest? Fer making me look at the world with wiser eyes? Dunnae apologize fer that, Mary. It’s what I love aboot ye.”
Her heart stopped beating, then thundered to life again.Love. He’d said it so easily, as if it were something she should already have known. In a sense she supposed she did; a man did not upend his own life, abandon his family and his clan, and put himself directly in harm’s way for a casual affair. But now he’d said it aloud, and that meant something, too. Had she actually done anything to deserve it, though?
She took a slow breath. “Arran, I—”
With a great crack the coach lurched out from under her. Shrieking, Mary grabbed for the seat to steady herself as they plunged sideways. Abruptly strong arms swept around her, pulling her against a hard chest. They careened against a wheel as the coach flipped onto its side and slammed into the road. She followed, curling against Arran as he thudded hard onto his back on the packed earth amid what seemed like an entire herd of screaming horses.
Mary rolled to her feet as luggage began falling around them. “Arran!” she shrieked, turning as she realized he hadn’t followed her upright.
He lay faceup in the road, a thin line of blood trickling from his forehead and past one ear. The plunging, squealing horses had torn one harness loose from the shaft and were bucking in their traces less than a foot from him, but he didn’t stir.
“Peter! Howard! Are you injured? I need help!” Dodging the horses, she grabbed for Arran’s right boot, slid free the long blade he kept there, and edged in to saw at the remaining fastening.
The noise nearly deafened her, but all she could think was that Arran was injured and if she couldn’t free the horses, he might be killed. The hard leather parted, and the horses, still harnessed together, stumbled forward and disappeared around a curve in the road.
She dropped the knife and flung herself onto her knees beside Arran. Anything might have struck him—the coach, a horse, the falling luggage. Whatever had injured him, he still hadn’t moved. “Arran,” she said shakily, taking one of his hands and squeezing it tightly. What was she supposed to do? What if he…No, no, no.
At the upturned side of the coach, the door flung open. More debris smacked into the ground around them. “Be careful! Arran’s hurt!”
With a curse Peter clambered out of the coach, then held down an arm to haul up the one-eyed driver. The footman jumped to the ground and knelt down beside her. “M’laird Arran?” he quavered, leaning over Arran’s still face and then slapping him lightly. “Lad? Can ye hear me?”
One light blue eye rolled open. “God’s sake, Peter Gilling,” Arran mumbled, “I didnae want to see yer ugly face looming over me.”
“Oh, thank God,” Mary stammered, and threw her arms around his chest.
Arran hugged her tightly before he released her again. “Are ye hurt, lass?”
“Just a few bumps and bruises, thanks to you.” She kissed him, only relenting when he winced. That had been far too nearly a disaster. The idea that she might have lost him felt like a black, screaming mass in her mind that she couldn’t penetrate. The thoughts and images of what might have happened simply wouldn’t form, as if she would die if she thought about not having him in her life.
“Oh, my poor lady,” Howard wailed, laying his hands on the coach’s broken undercarriage. “What did they do to you?”
“Help me up,” Arran muttered, and Peter grabbed a hand and hauled him to his feet. “We didnae do anything,” he said, then bent over with his hands on his knees. “Ye can see it there fer yerself. The front axle and the reach snapped.”
“Aye,” Peter agreed, dividing his attention between Arran and Howard. “Looks like the reach dug into the road. We’re lucky we went over sideways and nae end over end.”
“It was fine when I gave it over to you.”
“Nonsense,” Mary snapped, furious that anyone would be arguing with a man who’d just nearly died. “It’s been creaking and groaning for the past thr—”
With a moan Arran went down on his knees and vomited up the remains of his breakfast. “Nae to alarm anyone, but I think I’m going to pass oot again.”
Peter caught him by the shoulders as he went limp. “Let’s get ’im off the road, lass. Howard! Get yer arse over here.”
The two men carried him to the grass at one side of the road and carefully set him down again. Mary sat where she could cradle his head in her lap. “Peter, see to Duffy and Juno, will you?”
“Aye. I can do that.”
“Howard, the team is still harnessed together. When I cut the traces they went up the road. See if you can find them. Take Juno if you need to.”
“I drive horses, my lady. I do not ride them.”
“I’ll look fer the team, Lady Mary,” Peter said, leading the skittish mounts to the side of the road and tying Juno off to a low-hanging branch. “I’ll take Duffy, though. I’ve ridden ’im before.”
She nodded. “Very well. Howard, please move the luggage off the road, and find a blanket for Arran. I don’t want him getting chilled.”
