Page 73 of A Scot in the Storm
“Is she a faerie?”
The mother dragged the girl quickly into the crowd.
The widow turned back to the oats as though nothing at all had happened. The market noise continued around them. The fishmongers were suddenly busy studying their stalls, others finding tremendous interest in rope as conversations lowered. Everyone nearby had seen and heard.
For one hard moment Rory stood perfectly still. Anger rose hot and immediate beneath his ribs.
He could say something to the widow, remind her exactly who kept ships off the reef, make her apologize. But in doing so, he would turn one ugly moment into a public spectacle Abigail could never escape.
“Rory.”
Abigail’s voice was low. “Don’t.”
“I—”
“I mean it.” She met his gaze, the gold flecks in her brown eyes bright. “Keep walking.”
The lass wasn’t frightened or even angry. She simply looked tired. Like someone who’d decided this humiliation was easier to ignore.
“Keep walking,” she repeated.
With a nod, he placed one hand lightly at her elbow as they moved through the crowd.
They walked in silence to the oilman’s stall where Rory bought two extra quarts of lamp oil because he was rattled enough he could no longer remember what remained in storage. The oilman kept his eyes firmly on the coins.
Three stalls farther on, beneath the partial shelter of a canvas awning, Abigail finally spoke.
“I’m okay.”
“Ye’re not.”
“No,” she admitted. “But I’m not going to fall apart in a public market, and you’re not going to make a scene in the middle of Broad Street. So we’re going to finish the list and go home.”
“I’m sorry, lass. She was wrong to do it.”
“I know.” Abigail gave him a small crooked smile that hurt to look at. “Still sucked though.”
Rory made a rough sound low in his throat that might’ve been agreement.
Then, because he couldn’t bear the look in her eyes another second, he reached for the nearest distraction he could find.
“There’s a baker two streets over who makes honey oat cakes. The good kind. With currants.”
“Are you bribing me with baked goods?”
“Aye.”
She took his arm, as warmth spread through him.
“That’s actually extremely effective.”
“Thought it might be.” Rory found himself willing to buy every honey cake in Fraserburgh if it meant keeping her hand there a little longer.
Chapter 17
Rory
While Rory loaded the cart, Abigail wandered the last few stalls.
