Page 44 of Rogue with a Brogue
The innkeeper, though, was patting his belly. “If I say so myself, Mrs. Castleman—that’s my wife—does make a fine roast rib. And a better roast turkey.”
“What do you reckon, Mrs. Fox?” Arran asked, looking sideways at her with amusement dancing in his eyes. “Ribs or turkey?”
“The turkey sounds splendid.”
“Aha! Grand choice. Sit yourselves close by the fire; we’ll have a chill wind coming up tonight. Mark my words. If you’re here for the assembly, you’d best take a wrap with you, Mrs. Fox.”
Arran’s brow lowered a little, and she could practically hear him saying they would be too tired to attend a dance. She stepped forward. “Oh, an assembly! Are you certain they wouldn’t mind strangers there, Mr. Castleman?”
“No, no! The more the merrier. It begins at nine sharp. And I’ll tell you what: I promised Mrs. Castleman a dance, so we’ll escort you over. The hall’s a bit hard to find in the dark, with it being behind the cemetery.”
“We happily accept,” Mary returned, ignoring Arran’s arm tightening beneath her hand.
The innkeeper chuckled. “Excellent. We could stand to see some fresh faces around here.”
He waddled off to place the request for their dinner. Clearly Arran was about to disagree with her decision, so she released his arm and faced him. “Yes, I know it would be safer and wiser to stay hidden and then leave at dawn. I would like to dance with you.”
Arran opened his mouth, then closed it again. “If we’re caught, then we’re caught,” he finally said, a slow smile dancing into his sunrise-blue eyes. “At least I’ll have ye in my arms one way or another.”
“I thought you would deem an assembly gathering strategically unsound.”
“This whole venture is strategically unsound, lass. That doesnae mean it shouldnae be attempted.”
Behind them Crawford and Peter descended the stairs, and she stifled a sigh. Yes, Crawford did lend a certain respectability to their group—something which could come in very handy if Mary found herself on her grandfather’s doorstep. At the same time, having the maid present made it more likely, she knew, that she would end this adventure at Alkirk rather than in Arran’s arms.
For the past two days Crawford had lain in wait like a spider, pouncing out at every opportunity to remind her of everything she would be losing if she continued on this journey. It said something for Arran’s patience that he hadn’t resorted to tying the maid behind the coach with their mounts, but the constant bombardment had to be weighing on him, as well. For the moment Crawford had a part in this play, but Mary didn’t precisely need to be told that going directly to her grandfather and keeping Arran at arm’s length would be… safer.
That was what she’d originally thought, of course, but the better she came to know him, the less sense all her reservations made. Yes, a lifetime of prejudice was a great deal to overcome. But marriage… A chance at something she never would have considered before she met him, but that now she couldn’t stop thinking about. She wanted more time alone with him. More time when they weren’t on horseback in view of anyone using the old, rutted roads. And definitely more time than they would find riding in the coach with Crawford glaring at him.
Arran took her fingers and kissed them. “I’ll dance with ye, lass. There’s nae a man alive who could stop me.” He sent a glance past her. “Or a woman.”
He excused himself to go talk to Peter, while Crawford sat at the rough wood table directly beside Mary. “Are you trying to fence me away again?” Mary asked, shifting closer to the end of the bench to give herself more room, only to have Crawford close the distance again.
“I am a lady’s maid,” the servant returned. “If he ruins you, I become unnecessary.”
“I appreciate your diligence, Crawford. Truly. But you aren’t going to keep me from talking to him. This isn’t just an escape from Charles and clan Campbell’s dictates; it’s a chance at a different life.” An unexpected life.
Steely brown eyes returned her gaze. “He’s a poor chance at anything, if you ask me. With both MacLawrys and Campbells likely after us, he’d make you a widow the moment you became his wife.”
“He’s the only one interested in knowing whatIwanted.”
“I’m certain that’s none of my affair, my lady.”
No, it wasn’t any of Crawford’s affair. But it was hers. Discovering who truly cared about her circumstances and her well-being, people and things she’d taken for granted until they’d all been yanked out from under her—Mary needed to decipher all the pieces of the puzzle before it was too late to do so. Or perhaps she was overthinking everything, and she just needed to take a moment to look at what lay around her. Or rather, at who had just seated himself across from her and favored Crawford with one eye narrowed. “I’ve a question for you, Mother Graves,” he said, straightening as their host brought a loaf of fresh, warm bread to the table.
“And what might that be?” the maid asked tightly. Mary wasn’t certain what the servant disliked more—being called Mother, or having to speak politely to Arran.
“You didn’t dance at our wedding,” he said with a warm smile, reaching across the table to take Mary’s hand, “what with your gout and all. But will you dance with your son-in-law tonight?”
“Ah,” Mr. Castleman intoned as he paused by their table, “it’s a wise man who makes peace with his mother-in-law.” He placed some mismatched glasses on the table. “Mine kept trying to hire ruffians to rob the inn and shoot me.”
“Heavens!” Mary exclaimed, hoping he wasn’t giving Crawford ideas. “She’s stopped trying?”
“Aye. A woman had best think twice before keeping company with ruffians.” He sent her a broad wink.
“You’re jesting!” she said with a grin.
“I can’t lie to a lovely lady, Mrs. Fox. She’s the one baked the bread.”
