Page 62 of Rogue with a Brogue
Peter snorted as he brought their two horses over. “Everyone can admire everyone until the Campbells catch us up, or we can get back going north again.”
Arran nodded. “Aye. North it is.”
***
“Thisispretty,” Mary said, as she and Juno trotted over an old stone bridge, Arran and Duffy beside her. “I have a few second and third cousins about here, as I recall.”
Arran sent her a sharp look, the jauntiness of his appearance somehow increased by the bruise on the left side of his jaw. “Somewhere close enough that anyone chasing us could find a hot meal, fresh mounts, and reinforcements?”
“Possibly.”
Why hadn’t she thought of that before? The pair of horses they’d harnessed at the last inn seemed better suited to the plow, which meant her clan was catching up to them even more quickly. She needed to outthink her family, as well as outrun them, and to stop being distracted by the lovely day and the handsome man beside her. Yes, he’d fought four men earlier, and given far worse than he’d received, but he’d done it to protect her. It was past time she did more than take in the scenery.
“There’s also my aunt Morag somewhere north of town,” she continued. “She married an English banker, and none of us have seen her in years. My grandfather said that Uncle Sean was more Irish than English, and that made him twice as unacceptable.”
“Imagine what he’ll say aboot us, Mary. Ye know he may refuse to see ye, whether they put me under the ground first or nae.”
“Stop saying that!” she ordered, sudden horror tightening her voice.
He urged Duffy closer and reached over to touch her cheek. “I dunnae mean to die, bonny Mary. But it’s a possible outcome. And if it happens, ye need to be ready. Ye need to be wise and choose the path that most favors ye.”
Mary pushed his hand away with her own. “Choose what?” she snapped. “Do you think you’re a derby horse? If you fall I simply change my wager?” She clenched her fist tightly around the reins. “I already chose. If something happens to you—I… I won’t allow anything to happen to you.”
Of course that wasn’t realistic; considering how little she’d done to aid her own rescue it was even laughable. But she wasnotgoing to prepare herself for his death, because even the idea of it was unacceptable. Unfathomable. It didn’t matter that she’d known him only a short time. He’d become vital to her. Vital to her heart. Did he not believe that?
Arran’s shoulders lowered. “I know ye chose. I apologize fer pushing at ye. Just… dunnae surrender to less than ye want. Ever.”
That was it, then. He thought she would give in to her father and even to Charles if pressed to do so. If he wasn’t there to protect her. Well. It wasn’t anything she could prove to him, one way or the other, unless disaster struck.
“I hope you do the same,” she said aloud, “if the MacLawrys catch us and putmeunder the ground.” There. Let him see how much he liked hearing such nonsense.
“If one of mine harmed ye,” he said in a low, flat voice, “he’d be a dead man.”
She didn’t have to question if he was serious; she heard it in his voice. “Then we’re agreed,” she said briskly, a little shaken. “So let’s stop talking about it.”
He seemed inclined to listen, because for the next mile or so they rode in silence. Or in relative silence, rather. The squeaking coach behind them drowned out the songs of any birds or insects that might have been audible along the pretty, tree-lined lane. Howard kept saying she was just complaining about being so far from London, but Mary had begun to have her doubts that the vehicle would still be in one piece when they reached the Highlands.Ifthey reached the Highlands.
“What’s yer favorite flower?” Arran asked abruptly.
She sent him a sideways glance, and then a second one simply because he looked magnificent with the noonday light on his face and the wind ruffling his thick black hair. The MacLawrys thought themselves princes of the Highlands, Charles had said on several occasions. She was inclined to agree that they were. Or this one was, anyway. “Why?”
“Because we’re to be married, if ye ever ask me to be yer dear husband,” he returned. “I’d like to know what kind of flower ye favor.”
Mary pursed her lips. No one could ever accuse Arran MacLawry of being predictable. “White roses,” she said. “And purple thistle. I am a Highlands lass, you know.”
With a grin, he closed in for a swift kiss. “I do know that.”
“M’laird,” Peter called from behind them, with his usual abominable timing.
Arran reined Duffy in as the coach rocked to a halt. “What is it?”
“Howard cannae keep his one eye open, and I’m near dead on my feet. Or arse, rather, begging yer pardon, m’lady.”
“We cannae stop,” Arran said, frowning. “I’ll drive, and the two of ye can sleep in the coach.”
“Nobody drives her but me,” Howard grumbled, narrowing his one eye.
“I’ll be gentle. I need ye ready to drive us after dark, Howard. I dunnae have the skill fer that.”
