Courting an Angel (22 page)

“I’ll make certain they understand,” Lady Keely answered her.

The earl flicked a meaningful glance at Gordon and then said to her, “Devereux House is always open to you.”

Rob hugged and kissed them, and then turned to Henry. “My lord, I’m verra sorry —”

“You’ve done nothing for which you should apologize,” Henry interrupted her, pressing a finger across her lips. He planted a chaste kiss on her cheek and said, “Be happy, darling.”

Rob felt like weeping. In an aching whisper she said, “Thank ye for yer understandin’, my lord.”

Rob turned to her husband to tell him she was ready, but stepped back when she caught the foul smell emanating from her brother and him. Gordon reached out and placed an object in each of her two pockets, but she couldn’t see what it was.

“’Tis nasty like swill,” Rob cried, as Smooches began sneezing. “What is it?”

“Horseshit.”

“Are ye cursin’ me already?” she asked, making the others chuckle. “We didna even leave yet.”

“I wasna cursin’ ye,” Gordon answered, wearing a mischievous grin. “Horseshit in our pockets will discourage the curious we pass.”

“’Tis revoltin’, and I dinna want my pockets fouled,” Rob said. “’Twill make Smooches and me sick.”

“Sorry, angel.” Gordon led her toward her horse and helped her into the saddle. “I promise we’ll clean ourselves once we’re well away from London.”

Dubh and Mungo mounted their horses. As Gordon reached for his reins. Henry Talbot stopped him.

“Inverary, I want five words with you.”

Gordon turned around and nodded. He walked over to the other man. “Well?”

“Take good care of her,” Henry said, his voice low.

Gordon looked the English marquess straight in the eye and told him, “Rob willna be returnin’ to England.”

“I know.”

Gordon offered the other man his hand in friendship and assured him, “I swear I’ll be guardin’ her with my life.”

“See that you do,” Henry replied, shaking his hand. “Or you’ll answer to me.”

Gordon turned away and then mounted his own horse. The four young Highlanders rode out of the stableyard and started down the lane that led to the Strand.

Rob glanced over her shoulder once to catch a last glimpse of Devereux House and said a silent farewell to her dream of acceptance. She knew she’d never return to England; her husband would never permit it.

Summoning every ounce of her Highlander’s fierceness of spirit, Rob decided to meet her destiny bravely and challenge it at every opportunity. She fixed her gaze on the road ahead and schooled her features into a grim look of determination.

Never would she surrender to the inevitable and meekly accept a life of lonely misery.

Never would she permit cruel destiny to defeat her and destroy her spirit.

Chapter 8

Never had he been more miserable in his life.

Damn, but his wife was a terrible pain in the arse, Gordon thought. How would he keep his sanity during the next two weeks on their journey across the long length of England and Scotland from London to Argyll? For that matter, how would he survive the next forty years married to her?

Murder leaped into his mind, but Gordon dismissed that outrageous idea out of hand. Gone were the good old days when a nobleman could dispatch a nagging wife and never answer for the deed in a court of law.

Reaching the end of the Strand, they’d veered to the left at Charing Cross and started down Oxford Street. The more distance they put between Devereux House and themselves, the safer his wife apparently felt. Her complaints grew in direct proportion to the miles they placed between her and the queen’s men.

She was cold. She was tired. She was hungry — in spite of the nausea that the smell of the horse droppings elicited in her.

Did she think that he actually enjoyed smelling like shit?

Gordon flicked a sidelong glance at her, the hint of a smile flirting with the corners of his lips. Rob appeared pink cheeked, sultry eyed, and expectant rather than cold, tired, and hungry. Hardship became her.

Aye, her nagging was a royal pain in the arse, but he was unable to envision Lavinia Kerr enduring what Rob was. Perhaps the difference between the two women lay in the fact that Rob was a Highlander and Lavinia a Lowlander. Whatever the reason, his wife was stouthearted enough to be his marchioness and, eventually, the Duchess of Argyll.

“Smooches and I need to stop,” Rob announced suddenly, her voice sounding overly loud in the night.

“No,” Gordon and Dubh said simultaneously.

“’Tis an emergency.”

“No.”

The four of them rode on seemingly endlessly, trying to put as much distance as they could between Devereux House and themselves by daybreak. They passed through the villages of Harrow, Cookham, Marlow, and Henley.

“Tell me, angel,” Gordon said, making conversation in order to keep his wife’s thoughts off her physical discomfort. “How did Basildon keep Walsingham and Burghley from takin’ ye away?”

“Uncle Richard insisted Walsingham needed an arrest warrant, and Lord Burghley reluctantly sided with him,” Rob answered. “Besides, I —” She broke off, embarrassed to reveal her own unladylike behavior.

“Besides what?”

Rob felt the blush rising on her cheeks. “I kept Walsingham at bay with my last resort,” she admitted.

Both Gordon and Dubh burst out laughing.

“Ye drew yer dagger on Queen Elizabeth’s secretary of state?” Mungo exclaimed, his voice mirroring his appalled surprise.

“I said it before, bright angel, and I’ll say it again,” Gordon spoke up before she could reply to his friend. “Yer lips say English lady, but yer habits positively scream Highlander.”

“But why did ye pull yer dagger on him?” Mungo asked.

Rob cleared her throat and tried to think of a plausible reason other than the truth. She’d promised her uncle she’d keep the secret of Mary Stuart’s execution and intended to honor her solemn word.

“I didna care for the way the man looked at me,” Rob lied unconvincingly. “’Twas highly insultin’.”

She peered at her husband’s friend. The grim set to his jaw told her that he didn’t believe a word she’d spoken. Even more, he appeared irritated at being left out of what the three of them obviously knew.

“We’ll stop for a couple of hours’ rest once we reach Oxford,” Gordon said, changing the subject. “What d’ye think, Dubh?”

“Aye, the horses need feedin’ and waterin’,” her brother replied. “Thirty miles from Devereux House is safe enough to grab a couple of hours’ sleep.”

Orange light streaked the eastern horizon as they rode through the Chiltern Hills and into the heavily wooded county of Oxfordshire. Rob’s mood brightened at her first sight of Oxford, a market town that offered plenty of accommodations for weary pilgrims. In the distance beyond the town rose the forbidding walls of Oxford Castle, but the town itself was invitingly picturesque with its partly stone, partly timber-framed houses.

“Let’s stop at that inn over there,” Rob suggested.

“Och, lass. We havena the time to spare,” Gordon replied, leading them across a stone bridge over the Thames River.

Rob grimaced and sighed, but said nothing. She’d already realized that her complaints fell on deaf ears.

On the opposite side of the Thames River stood the royal forest of Wynchwood, better known as Shotover Wood. Here they sought refuge from the possibility of prying eyes, and finally halted their horses in a small clearing beside a gentle stream.

“I’ll feed the horses,” Dubh said as they dismounted.

“I’ll help ye,” Mungo offered.

Gordon lifted Rob out of the saddle and set her on her feet. Her legs wobbled from the long hours of riding.

“We’ll find a place for Smooches and ye to take care of yer private needs,” he said, removing the pieces of dung from her pockets and tossing them away.

“Dinna worry aboot Smooches,” Rob informed him, an impish smile lighting her weary expression. “He satisfied his needs about ten miles back.”

“The pup soiled the satchel?”

“No.” Rob lifted Smooches out of his nest and removed his woolen wrapper, a Campbell plaid. Beneath that, the pup wore the sweater she’d knitted for him and a baby’s nappy. Divested of his confining garments, Smooches scampered around wildly like a man released from the darkest dungeon.

Gordon’s smile told Rob that he appreciated her ingenuity. “I’ll put another nappy on him before we leave,” she said as her husband took her arm and led her away from the clearing. “’Tisna necessary to accompany me.”

“A woman alone is always in danger,” he replied.

“Well, if ye promise not to peek.”

Gordon flashed her a boyishly wicked smile and asked, “What’s a bit of bared arse between husband and wife?”

Rob refused to blush at his vulgarity. No, that would only encourage him. Instead, she gave him a sweet smile and countered, “Have I told ye yet today how exceedin’ly crass ye are?”

“No, angel, but thank ye for noticin’ my finer points of character,” Gordon said dryly. Then added, “Dinna ye realize that men have ‘needs’ too?”

Rob did blush then. She hadn’t thought of that.

“Take that oak tree over there,” Gordon ordered. “I’ll use this one over here. Scream if ye need me.”

Rob emerged from behind the oak a few minutes later. She blushed when she saw Gordon waiting for her.

“Feelin’ better?” he asked.

“Much.”

When they returned to the clearing, Rob knelt beside the stream and rinsed her face and hands in its frigid water. “I wish I had a hot bath,” she murmured wistfully.

“I promise ye’ll sleep in a bed tonight,” Gordon said, standing beside her. “Let’s eat now and then catch a nap.”

Rob sat on the ground between her husband and her brother, opposite Mungo MacKinnon. The four of them shared a cold meal of cheese, bread, and ham slices that Lady Keely had prepared for them. They passed one flask of wine between them.

“Tell us what happened at the royal menagerie,” Dubh said to her.

“Someone purposefully pushed me toward the lions’ pit,” Rob told him. “I know Gordon doesna believe me, but he never felt the hands on his back. My footin’ was secure, I didna slip.”

“What a coincidence that both of us should experience a near-fatal accident within hours of each other,” her brother remarked. “Just the other day at Richmond, an arrow almost felled me. Though Mungo and I searched high and low for the culprit, we couldna find him.”

“Two accidents dinna seem a coincidence to me. Perhaps someone harbors a grudge against yer family,” Mungo speculated. “Since he failed to dispatch ye, the villain aimed for yer sister.”

“Do ye really think so?” Rob asked, inching closer to her husband.

“I dinna believe the two events are connected,” Gordon said. “What d’ye think. Dubh?”

“I agree with ye,” her brother replied. “Who would want to harm Rob? She’s so sweet.”

Rob smiled at her favorite brother, who’d always championed her causes. She reached for Smooches in order to feed him a slice of ham, but in the movement, her cloak opened. Her star ruby had darkened redder than pigeon’s blood.

Rob looked at her husband and asked in alarm, “Do ye think we’re in danger?”

Gordon snapped his brows together. “Why do ye ask such a question?”

“My ruby —”

“’Tis merely a stone,” he interrupted. “Besides, yer perfectly safe with me around to protect ye.”

“Pass the wine, lass,” Mungo said.

With her husband on one side and her brother on the other, Rob felt so comfortably safe that she forgot about her devil’s flower and its effect on strangers. She offered Mungo the wine flask but then froze when she saw his gaze riveted on Old Clootie’s mark.

Great Bruce’s ghost, she should have switched Smooches to her left arm and then passed the flask with her right hand. She wasn’t usually this careless. Perhaps exhaustion had impaired her reflexes.

Mungo MacKinnon apparently possessed the presence of mind to keep from shrinking back while her husband sat beside her. He lifted the flask from her hand without actually touching her and then made a protective sign of the cross.

And so it begins, Rob thought with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

They’d only traveled thirty miles, and already this man had crossed himself. The closer they got to Scotland, the greater the number of people who’d be crossing themselves at the sight of her deformity.

Rob longed to hide her hand inside her cloak, but Smooches prevented her from doing that. Instead, she dropped her gaze to her lap and prayed that the expression of horrified surprise would fade from the blond man’s eyes.

“Why did ye do that?” she heard her husband ask his friend.

“Do what?”

“Ye just blessed yerself,” Gordon told him.

Rob cast a sidelong glance at her brother who appeared ready to pounce on the blond man. Her wonderful brother had always championed her cause and defended her against the ignorance of others. She only hoped there wouldn’t be trouble while the queen’s men were chasing them.