Page 78 of Rogue with a Brogue
“I ken yer meaning, Sean. But this is best fer all of us.” With a grimace he offered his hand. Sean shook it. “And ye, Mòrag. We cannae thank ye enough.”
Aunt Sarah smiled, then stepped forward to embrace the big Highlander. “Don’t you dare thank me. When you find somewhere to stay, just send us your address. Please.”
“We will.”
With that, Arran and Peter headed to the back of the house. Mary followed; she couldn’t not do so. “Arran.”
He stopped in the middle of the kitchen, then took a long step back to her. “Give me ten minutes,” he said, leaning down to kiss her. “Within five after that ye’ll know if we got hold of him or nae.”
“How will I know if you didn’t get hold of him?”
“He’ll be bellowing fer help.”
She forced a smile. “Just please be careful.”
“Peter and I know what we’re aboot, lass. This is one lad. Dunnae ye worry yerself.” He flashed his devilish smile. “I cannae die till ye’ve asked me to marry ye, anyway.”
She grabbed his lapels. “Then I’m not asking you yet.”
“Yet,” he repeated, touching her cheek, then slipped out the kitchen door and into the darkness.
That was that, then. Ten minutes to wait and listen for something to go wrong, and then she and Howard would be off to collect the horses, find the wagon Sean had arranged to leave close by for them, and then wait again for Arran and Peter to join them.
Squaring her shoulders, she walked back to the front of the house. In the sitting room her aunt and uncle hadn’t waited, but were busily lighting every candle in the room and throwing more logs onto the roaring fire. “Not so much,” she said quickly, stopping in the doorway so her shadow wouldn’t be added to the two already filling the room. “If it’s too obvious that you’re choosing this moment to be seen, Arran’s plan won’t work.”
“Oh, dear.” Aunt Sarah swiftly blew out half the candles. “How do we do this without it looking intentional, then?”
Mary thought for a moment. Arran hadn’t mentioned any of that. “You should dance,” she decided.
Sean lifted an eyebrow. “Beg pardon?”
“Yes. Do a few turns of a waltz, then just… be there together. Be happy that your house is back in order and the Marquis of Fendarrow didn’t burn it down.”
It wasn’t only that they needed to appear relaxed and at ease, but she wanted a last moment to see them happy. Because if they could still be content and in love after nineteen years on their own, then so could she and Arran.
“And what about you, my dear?”
Mary wiped a sudden tear from her eye. “If you could spare a moment to come here and embrace me, that would be very good.”
“I can do that.” With a damp smile of her own, Sarah left the sitting room to hug her tightly. “You write to us,” she said fiercely. “Let us know how you’re getting on.”
“I will,” Mary promised. “I’m so glad that I met you. Both of you.”
“Likewise, my dear Mary.” With a last squeeze Sarah let her go and returned to the sitting room.
If Mary had needed any proof that she and her life had changed over the past weeks, the smile that touched her face as her aunt and uncle moved into the center of the room answered it. Sean hummed an off-key waltz, and the two of them began to dance. The realization that such small things could make a paradise was so odd, and yet so very, very vital.
She backed away slowly, then turned to head down to the kitchen. “Are you ready, Howard?”
“If you can take that satchel, my lady, I’ll pull the other trunk outside.”
She slung the satchel over her shoulder and followed him out the door. It was her turn, now.
***
Arran crouched behind a half-buried boulder and waited. Down below the cottage sitting room lit up like morning, then dimmed to a more normal glow. He didn’t know if someone had knocked over a candle and set a chair on fire, but the light did catch the attention of the Campbell seated on the ground two dozen feet from him.
The lad couldn’t have been more than eighteen—a wee bairn who shouldn’t have been left on his own, much less looking for the trouble that Arran MacLawry represented. Damn Fendarrow. Wherever Mary had gotten her nerve and her wits, it hadn’t been from her father.
