Page 43 of Rogue with a Brogue
“Where’s your brother then, Glengask?” Calder asked. He stayed mounted, presumably so Ranulf would have to look up at him.
“He’s nae here.” Ranulf took a slow step forward. “Fendarrow and I’ve made our agreement, and I kept to it. That business is nae yers.”
“It is mine,” Calder snapped, his horse fidgeting beneath him.
“My daughter and her party stopped at the Giant’s Pipe Inn afternoon before last,” Fendarrow broke in, his usual swagger missing. “She and her maid did not return to the coach.”
Charlotte’s breath seized, but Ranulf only narrowed his eyes. “I’m nae acquainted with yer daughter, but I did read aboot her engagement. I thought Delaveer was after her. Did she want to marry ye, Calder, or did ye weasel yer way in at an opportune moment?”
Finally Calder swung to the ground and stalked up to Lord Glengask. That was something of a mistake, because Ranulf was both taller and more broad-shouldered. “That business is not yours,” he growled, mimicking Ranulf’s words.
“My brother left here at sunset three days ago, just as I said he would. I sent a man with him to see that he stays safe and heading north. If yer daughter’s missing, I’ll help ye look fer her, but it has naught to do with us.”
“I don’t require your help, Glengask,” the Duke of Alkirk’s son stated. “I already have men searching for her. All I ask of you is your honesty.”
“And that’s what I’ve given ye.”
Fendarrow nodded, then climbed back into the saddle. “I won’t defy this truce,” he said, “yet. But if your brother is involved with my daughter’s disappearance, the Campbells will fall upon you like thunder.”
With that he and Calder clattered back down the drive. Winnie’s face had blanched to gray, and Jane looked ready to be ill at any moment. Then again, she had had a tendre for Arran. On Thursday she’d even wept at his departure. Charlotte’s parents looked as troubled as the girls did—but then they’d seemed to think being adopted by clan MacLawry was quaint. They likely didn’t think that any longer.
“Ranulf?” she said quietly, unable to decipher his still expression.
He stirred. “I’m nae troubled by thunder,” he drawled, signaling Owen and Debny to approach. “It’s naught but noise.”
“Aye, m’laird?”
“Debny, go fetch Myles,” he instructed, naming his uncle. “Owen, find me a messenger I can send north. A fast one.”
The men scattered, and Ranulf strode for the house. Gathering her skirts, Charlotte hurried after him. “What are you going to do? Do you think Arran’s involved? Should we ask the Stewarts for their assistance? They have more clan in London than we do.”
He turned in the doorway to face her. “I do like when ye say ‘we,’leannan.”
“Don’t sidestep the question, Ranulf.”
“Och, but ye’re a fierce lass. We’ll nae be sending fer the Stewarts. If Arranisinvolved, I dunnae want them knowing yet that he’s thrown over the arrangement with Deirdre.”
Charlotte gazed at him intently, attempting to decipher what he might be thinking. “What will you do if Arranhastaken Lady Mary?”
“I’ll kill him before the Campbells get a chance to do it.” With a dark curse he disappeared inside the house, leaving the rest of them standing on the drive.
Of course he didn’t literally mean he would kill Arran—or so she thought, anyway—but the alternative would likely be just as painful for all of them. He’d banished his uncle, Myles Wilkie, from the family for three years for the crime of talking to the Donnellys. If Arran had made off with Mary Campbell, the consequences would be much, much worse.
Rowena hurried into the house after her brother, but Charlotte’s parents stayed in the drive. “We should go,” Charlotte said, so they wouldn’t have to do so. “He needs to figure out what to do.”
Her father nodded, handing the marchioness back into the carriage. “Well said. I’ll send over a note later asking if he requires my assistance. Jane?”
Janie uttered a stifled sob. “I didn’t want Arran to marry Deirdre, but this is so much worse! Why couldn’t he have liked me?”
“You wouldn’t want all this on your head, Jane,” Charlotte replied in her most matter-of-fact tone. “Everything will end as it should. You’ll see.” She sent a fond smile back toward Gilden House. In the past weeks she’d become a great believer in happy endings. And as she also happened to believe in the idea of someone finding a perfect match, she couldn’t help hoping that something miraculous would occur to save them all.
***
“Good evening, Mr. Fox, Mrs. Fox,” the innkeeper said with a jowly smile. Either he was naturally jovial, or visitors were rare enough in Wigmore, Herefordshire, that their arrival late this afternoon—or that of Arran’s coin—was cause for celebration.
“Thank you,” Arran replied in his very fine faux accent. “I’ve heard that the roast beef ribs here are exceptional.”
Mary kept the smile on her face, despite the fact that for a moment she wondered if he lied about everything as smoothly as he did about inn meals. They hadn’t even known what the place was called until they stumbled across it.
