Page 61 of Rogue with a Brogue
At the same time, for his pride or some other damned reason, he wanted to be what shedidchoose—and not simply because he’d really left her no alternative, either. He wanted to know that she wouldn’t regret this, becausehecertainly wouldn’t. Yes, he would miss his brothers and his sister, but he did not regret taking Mary for himself, whatever came of it.
“You look very serious,” Mary said, from the coach’s window.
“Do I?” he asked, stirring. “I was just noticing the morning. It’s nae as stunning as the Highlands, but I’ll admit it’s pretty.”
“Come in here and button me, will you?”
Arran straightened and pulled open the door. “Ye dunnae have to ask me twice, lass.” If this adventure would end with him under the ground, he meant to enjoy every moment with Mary he had left.
When he stepped to the ground again, though, the smile on his face froze. The empty stable yard had found some occupants. Four of them. And none of the four looked particularly friendly. They also had their attention on him and the coach behind him.Damnation.Mary would have stepped down behind him, but he shifted sideways to block her exit. “When I move forward, shut the door,” he murmured.
He heard her quick draw of breath, her hand lowering to his shoulder. “I don’t recognize them,” she whispered back. “I don’t think they’re Campbells.”
And he’d thought she might caution him not to jump to conclusions, or to ignore the men and escort her back to the inn. Instead she’d caught onto the meat of the matter and simply given him the most useful piece of information. With a slight nod he stepped forward, and the carriage door closed behind him with a faint click.Good lass.
“Ye’ve found me on a fine morning, lads,” Arran drawled, assessing muddy boots and worn jackets. Locals, likely drovers or farmhands. “What might I do fer ye?”
The one standing farthest from him spat onto the muddy ground. “Heard your friends inside the inn. One of ’em called you a lord. Seems you’re a long way from home, lord.”
“Aye,” the biggest of them grunted, grinning around a missing front tooth. “Ireland’s a long way from here, lordship.”
Arran sighed. “Aye. I agree: Ireland’s a long way from here.” Stupid thugs, they were—which didn’t mean they couldn’t hit hard, but it did comfort him somewhat. They weren’t there on behalf of the Campbells.
Two of them looked at each other, as if they weren’t certain what to do with a fellow who was both agreeable and unafraid of them. Arran gave an exaggerated shrug. With all the bile aimed at him by both friend and foe over the past week or so, a dustup seemed just the thing to help him work out a bit of pent-up frustration.
“Why don’t you hand over your purse, lordship, and we’ll let you go on your way?” the spitting man offered.
“Why dunnae ye come over here and take it from me?” Arran returned, and grinned.
Toothless charged forward like a bull. Sidestepping, Arran stuck out one foot, sending him headfirst into the door of the coach. With a dull thud Toothless went down. Spittle was right on his heels, followed closely by the other two.
Arran shifted, taking a fist to the jaw as Spittle slammed into his chest. Now it felt like a to-do. He sent an elbow into the ear of the lad on the left, then hefted Spittle off the ground to throw him feetfirst into the fellow on the right. That gave Toothless time to climb to his knees—until the coach door slammed open on his head and then neatly closed again. The big man dropped once more.
Sending a fist into the face of the next man to close on him, he took a blow to the left shoulder. If these lads didn’t discourage soon, he was going to have to stop playing. He blinked blood out of one eye and dove in again. A heartbeat later he heard a gravel-voiced curse in Scots Gaelic, and the pile of them went over sideways. Peter Gilling, the old scrapper, flashed by him, Toothless heaved over his shoulder.
A pistol shot cracked into the air. For a frozen heartbeat Arran thought the Campbells had ridden them down, after all.
“That’s enough, gentlemen!” Mary declared, tossing the spent pistol behind her into the coach and hefting a second one. “You’ve had your fun, and now you’re getting my husband muddy.”
Nowthatwas a proper Highlands lass.HisHighlands lass. “Ye heard the lady,” he said aloud, straightening to dust off his trousers. “Thank ye fer the exercise.”
The four lads stumbled back to the lopsided door of the inn, Spittle helped along with a swift kick to his arse delivered by Peter. Howard their one-eyed driver stood close by, a piece of lumber gripped in his hands. So Arran and Mary weren’t alone in this, after all.
“Well, that was refreshing,” he said, walking up to slide the pistol from Mary’s fingers with one hand, and tug on the neckline of her gown to pull her in for a kiss with the other.
“You’re mad, you know,” she commented a bit breathlessly. “Everyone says you’re the clever MacLawry, and there you were, grinning the entire time you were punching people.”
“Aye. Fisticuffs is just a Highlands how-do-ye-do.” The same smile still tugging at his mouth, he took a moment to gaze at her. “Ye’re atapaidhlass, Mary.”
“All I did was strategically open a door. That’s hardly brave, Arran.”
“Tell that to the lad with the knot on his skull.”
“Oh, very well.” She smiled back at him. “I know you likely wrestle bears and lions for amusement, but four-to-one odds didn’t seem fair.”
It seemed just about right to him, but she hadn’t grown up with a pair of large brothers. “Let’s get away from here before they find friends, and ye can spend the day telling me how manly I am and how fine the day looks with me riding aboot in it.”
Mary chuckled, the sound warm as sunlight on his skin. “And you can thank me for keeping those men from breaking that handsome nose of yours.”
