Page 51 of Rogue with a Brogue
“No?” she asked, sitting up as he moved to the edge of the bed. “Why not?”
He picked up his trousers and shrugged into them, lean and well muscled and perfect. “Because ye want me.”
Mary frowned. “What the devil is the logic in that?”
With a grin, he caught up his shirt and pulled it on over his head. “Tomorrow while we’re riding, I want to look over at ye and know that ye’re longing fer my touch, my bonny lass. I want ye to crave me the way I’ve been craving ye since before we began this wee journey. And I want ye to think aboot tomorrow night, when I’ll have ye again.”
A warm shiver ran down her spine and settled… there. “What if I’ve changed my mind about you by then?”
“Ye willnae.” After he stomped into his boots, he returned to the bedside to cup the nape of her neck and favor her with a long, slow kiss. “I’ll have ye every night between here and Scotland. And then ye can decide if ye still want to run to yer grandfather and yer old life, or if ye want a new life with me.”
He set aside the chair that blocked the door, unlocked it, and stepped out into the hallway. With the door almost closed, he leaned back in. “Dunnae let that battle-axe say a cross word to ye aboot this. Blame me if ye wish; my shoulders are broad enough. I’ll see ye in the morning, lass.”
With that, he shut the door. Surely he was only teasing; he would return in a moment and strip off his clothes again to join her in his bed. She arranged herself on one hip, pulling her loose hair over one shoulder. It felt wanton, so hopefully it looked that way rather than pitiful or comical.
His bootsteps faded toward the stairs leading to the inn’s common room, and didn’t return. Mary frowned. He couldn’t truly mean to leave her in this state. Yes, she felt delicious and satisfied, but at the same time, a restless want ran just beneath her skin. How was she supposed to think straight now? How was she supposed to make a logical decision about her future when he was all she could think about?
Huffing out her breath, she finally rolled to the edge of the bed and stood to turn her gown right side out and step into it. With her room just across the hallway and most everyone still at the assembly she didn’t bother buttoning it, or trying to tidy her hair. Crawford would be the only one worth fooling, and the maid would instantly know what she’d been about. And at this moment, she didn’t even feel guilty about it.
She stepped into her shoes and then crossed over to her own room. Crawford stood from the writing desk and the book she had open there. “My lady, I didn’t expect…” She trailed off, her already somber expression lowering even further. “Your parents will be so disappointed, Lady Mary. And I can only imagine what Mr. Calder’s reaction will be.”
“I don’t belong to Charles Calder, Crawford. Not any longer. And stop chastising me. I wish to go to bed.”
Pinching her lips together, the maid helped her back out of her gown. “You could tell your father that he forced himself on you, I suppose,” she said after a moment. “You would also have to tell them that he kidnapped the two of us. I’ll vouch for that, of course. And then hope that no child comes of this. MacLawry will… Well, we don’t need to discuss him, but we might still be able to salvage your repu—”
“That is enough! For heaven’s sake, listening to this is like having a spider crawl across my scalp. No one but us knows anything. Nor will they. Not until I speak to my grandfather and get this mess straightened out. And no one is going to hurt Arran.”
That last part had somewhere become the most important, making certain that Charles Calder and her other cousins didn’t harm a single black hair on Arran’s handsome head. Of course he was quite capable of taking care of himself, but that wasn’t the point. The idea that he might be hurt… It stopped her heart.
And a child? Why hadn’t she considered that? All she’d wanted was Arran. To touch him, to feel his hands on her skin. Nothing else mattered. But a child? If she was pregnant, they would have to find a way to live peaceably. She would be able to have a family with him. To wake up every morning and not only see him, but see his eyes, his face, in a daughter or a son.
She shook herself. Tomorrow night seemed a very long time from now. Until then, she would settle for thinking hopefully unwanton thoughts and for praying that a fairy-tale ending could be possible for a MacLawry and a Campbell.
***
“Let me buy ye a pint, m… my dear Mr. Fox,” Peter’s voice came from the depths of the nearly deserted tavern.
Arran made his way over to the table. It was a lucky thing the footman had spoken up—he’d almost forgotten he wasn’t a Scot. “I’ll buy you one, my good man,” he countered, signaling the tavern maid.
“Ye’re a true, gentleman, y’are,” Peter returned, his words slurring just a little. For a Highlander to be that far in his cups, he must have been going at this for a time.
“I thought ye were keeping watch,” he said in a low voice, dragging the opposite bench closer and sitting.
“Just warming my innards. Ye’ve returned early from the dance, aye?”
“Aye.”
Peter glanced up at him. “Should I nae ask ye more aboot that, then?”
“Nae, ye shouldnae.”
Putting it in words could only diminish the evening, anyway. He’d been Mary’s first, and he had every intention of being her only. She’d even left her logic aside for a moment, which left him hope that she would be able to choose him over her clan when the time came for it.
Walking out of that room with her sitting naked and disheveled and lovely was likely the most difficult thing he’d ever done. But as long as he was the pursuer, he remained uncertain of her own level of commitment. And with what would certainly lie ahead of them, she needed to decide for herself how far she was willing to go, how much she was willing to do. He knew whathewas willing to do, but it would take both of them not only to survive this, but to make a future together. For God’s sake, he’d intentionally not taken any precautions with her. She could be carrying his child, even now.
The maid brought him a mug and he downed it, blinking a little when the brew turned out to be a bitter beer rather than ale. He could be a father. A year ago with some lass from the Highlands the idea would have dismayed him; he was a MacLawry of the clan MacLawry, and he couldn’t afford to be so careless. Tonight, though, he felt… not precisely content, but satisfied. This was the path he was meant to tread, and he was with the woman who would walk it beside him. The only uncertainty was whether she’d yet realized that or not.
“Ye’re quiet, Mr. Fox,” Peter commented, working more methodically on his own mug. “I do have Howard up in the stable loft keeping an eye on the road while I’m in here. I’ll go oot again in a minute.”
