Page 65 of Rogue with a Brogue
The two men did as she asked. Trying to gather her thoughts back in, she brushed the hair from Arran’s temple. The cut there was deep and still bleeding freely. Mary pulled a kerchief from her pocket, folded it, and carefully pressed it against the wound.
She knew Arran would say that they should hire another vehicle and resume the journey north as soon as possible. She also knew that he desperately needed a good night’s sleep and a day or two of not being jarred about in a coach or on horseback. What they didn’t have was the time for any of that.
At this moment her father and Charles Calder could be as close as six or seven hours behind them. With every moment they weren’t moving, her clan drew closer. And she did not want them any nearer than they already were.
Except for a few cottages scattered here and there, they hadn’t passed any place where they could take shelter. The smelly fellow from this morning had said there was another inn just south of Manchester, but they’d turned farther west to avoid the town altogether. When she’d mentioned that she had relations close by, Arran hadn’t wanted to risk her being recognized on the very slight chance that their pursuers didn’t know precisely which road they were on.
She had relations nearby. Including an aunt who was as unpopular with the rest of the Campbells as she was likely to be if they survived this. An aunt she’d never met.
“Now this is a view I can tolerate,” Arran said groggily, looking up at her with slightly crossed eyes.
“Hush,” she said gently, and pressed down on his shoulder when he would have sat up again. “And stay still.”
“We cannae stay here by the side of the road, Mary.”
“Peter’s tracking down the team.”
He reached up and grabbed her arm. “Ye have to be safe, my lass. Take Peter and go find an inn where ye can hire another coach.” With his free hand he dug into a pocket of his coat. “Have ’em send the bill here,” he instructed, giving her a piece of paper as she tried to overlook the dismaying way his hand shook. “If ye cannae get a coach, purchase a seat on the mail stage. Keep traveling north. Peter will help ye get to yerseanair.”
She stroked his forehead. “I believe it was just yesterday that we decided we were staying together, no matter what.”
“That was before a coach fell on my head. Mary, dunnae—”
“You’ll just have to trust me, Arran,” she said, more sharply than she meant to. “I seem to be in command of this little expedition now.”
From his expression he wanted to say something about that, but instead he closed his eyes and nodded. “I do trust ye, lass. Just keep yerself safe.”
She would keep all of them safe. How, she had no idea, but nothing would keep her from a future with Arran. Nothing.
“Howard, do you have a map?” she asked.
The driver straightened from dragging the last of the trunks over beside her. “That, I do,” he said, producing one from his pocket. “I’ve never been outside London until this past week.”
Mary unfolded it across Arran’s chest. “Where are we, precisely?”
“Dunnae be sticking pins in me,” Arran rumbled, but kept his eyes closed.
“Precisely, I ain’t certain. I was asleep when his lordship rolled us over, if you’ll recall.”
“It wasn’t Arran’s fault,” she insisted. “Now show me where you think we are.”
Grumbling under his breath, he squatted down beside her. “Here,” he said after a moment, jabbing a finger into the map.
The road they traveled was so faint she could barely follow it even with her eyes. If Howard’s estimation was correct, they were west and just north of Manchester. Trying to remember every half-heard mention of her aunt and the Sasannach banker she’d married, Mary traced her finger along a narrow country lane to where it dead-ended.
“We need to go here,” she said.
Howard squinted his one eye. “In the coach that would take us an hour. On foot, two hours. Dragging Lord Arran, past sunset. If at all.”
“I can walk,” Arran said. “But unless that’s an inn ye’re aiming for, this isnae a wise idea. Ye need to keep heading north.”
“Hush,” she said again, putting her fingers gently across his sensuous mouth. “You’re delirious. It’s my turn to rescue you.”
Hopefully she sounded confident. Inside she shook like a leaf on a windy day. But he’d saved her, and she was not about to let her family—her clan—hurt him or separate them. So she supposed she was about to discover just what it was she was capable of.
Chapter Fifteen
Either he was having a nightmare, or events had gone badly sideways, Arran decided.
