Page 82 of Rogue with a Brogue
“Then hewasat Sarah’s house. She lied to me.” The marquis scowled. Evidently she hadn’t believed his threat to burn her cottage down. A low anticipation ran through him. All these lads would see that he was ready to succeed the Campbell. That he wasn’t someone to be trifled with.
“No, she didn’t lie,” Fergus replied, when he could speak again. “MacLawry wanted to know why I was spying on the house. He didn’t know a Campbell lived there. And Mallister’s the one who saw me up on the hill this morning and cut me down. I might have been there for days if he hadn’t spotted me.”
“What do you mean, ‘cut you down’?” Angus Campbell asked, his expression lowering as he eyed his son.
“MacLawry and the other Scottish fellow tied me up and hung me in a tree all night. He said they’d been hiding with pigs in a barn, trying to figure out how much we knew about their whereabouts. They kept waiting for me to stop watching the road, but they couldn’t wait any longer because they were worried you would double back.”
“Ha. Iknewthey were still close by.”
“He… He gave me a message for you, Uncle Walter.”
“What message?” Fendarrow asked slowly. Threats? A boast that MacLawry couldn’t be stopped? He hoped so; that would give his men whatever incentive they still required to end the life of the bastard.
Fergus cleared his throat. “He said to tell you that your only grandchildren would be half MacLawry, and to ask you if that would be enough to convince you to honor the truce. To make peace.”
The marquis looked up to see Angus gazing at him, a hand on his son’s shoulder. That was supposed to weaken his resolve, then? The idea that Mary could already be with child? Reminding him that MacLawry had ruined her? “He asks me to make peace after he steals my daughter. Ridiculous,” he finally said, knowing he needed to make some statement.
“He couldn’t know if she’s pregnant,” Charles said in a cold voice, “even if he has attacked her. Forced himself on her. And there won’t be any MacLawry grandchildren, Lord Fendarrow, if there’s no MacLawry husband.”
With a deep breath, Walter nodded. This wasn’t about grandchildren, or even about alliances. Not any longer. It was about cementing a line of succession for the Duke of Alkirk, with him at the front of that line. “This is why you’ll be my son-in-law, Charles,” he said. “Now get the damned horses saddled.”
The speed with which everyone jumped to do his bidding was rather satisfying. Only Angus gave him an uncertain look, and Angus was a second son, six years his junior. What he thought only signified if it happened to agree with the opinions of his betters.
As of this moment only one thing mattered; catching Mary and MacLawry before they reached the border. And failing that, Arran MacLawry would die just as easily on his native soil. But there would be no half-MacLawry grandchildren. He wouldn’t allow it. And for bloody certain the Campbell would never allow it.
***
“Ye cannae blame ’em fer nae wanting to do a straight swap fer the horses,” Peter said, helping a stableboy back a fresh pair of bays into the traces.
“I suppose a farmer’s wagon isnae the most elegant of vehicles,” Arran agreed, his attention on the road off to their right. “And the grays wouldnae make a meal fer a starving dog.”
“How much did we have to pay?” Mary asked in a low voice, though of course she hadn’t paid for anything, herself. Not with only seven shillings in her reticule. No one else needed to know the state of their finances, though, particularly with the wilder, less populated countryside they were now passing through. The edge of the Lake District was stark and lovely, but it was also full of caves and valleys known to be the hideouts of highwaymen. Arran might enjoy a brawl now and then, but she didn’t fancy a fight that would slow down their flight north.
“Three quid,” Arran returned, taking the cloth-wrapped roast ham the innkeeper’s son brought out to them. “But I’m sending the bill to Fordham.”
They’d sent several bills to Lord Fordham, and while she trusted the viscount firstly because Arran did and secondly because he’d enabled them to exchange the notes that had led to Arran rescuing her—and everything since then—she had to wonder if his generosity had a limit. After all, even if they intended to repay him, which they did, it wasn’t likely to happen anytime soon.
Since they were already spending money they didn’t have to hand, she supposed they might have acquired a second coach. The cart, though, actually enabled them to move more quickly and attract less notice. It was also much less comfortable even than Howard’s rackety coach, and she’d spent most of yesterday afternoon huddled with Arran under his heavy coat while rain nearly washed out the road. Mary smiled to herself. Despite the weather, she’d never had so much fun beneath a coat before.
“What’s got ye smiling, lass?” Arran asked, placing the meal up behind the driver’s seat.
“I was just wondering if I should purchase a coat of my own, or if we should continue sharing yours.”
“My vote is fer sharing,” he returned with a grin, then stepped up into the bed of the wagon and pulled her up after him. “Though I dunnae want ye getting a chill. The next village we pass through, we’ll find ye someaught warmer to wear.” Arran glanced over his shoulder again, then patted Howard on the back. “Let’s be off, lads.”
“How close do you think they are?” she asked in a low voice, as the wagon jolted through the rutted stable yard and back onto the road.
Arran shrugged. “I cannae see ’em, but I can feel ’em. Like a storm coming. Or perhaps it’s only that I’m expecting trouble.”
“That’s not encouraging, either way.” She leaned toward the driver’s bench. “Can we go faster, Howard?”
The fresh team accelerated into a canter. “For a time, we can. I’ll push ’em, but I don’t want them bottoming out in the middle of nowhere.”
With the midday still overcast and soggy, Mary was beginning to wish she’d asked Arran to barter for a coat or a blanket, after all. But it wasn’t just the weather. She wasn’t certain if it was his statement about having a feeling, or the knowledge that they were drawing near the Scottish border. Something, though, seemed poised to strike. And that something was likely her father and another dozen angry Campbells.
Arran cleared his throat, making her jump. “I’ve a yen fer a good Highlands song,” he said. “Peter?”
“Aye. Someaught to chase the gloom away.”
