Rogue with a Brogue (17 page)

“I'll be ruined, you know. More ruined.”

“Aye, ye will, as far as the world's concerned. But between us, I'm nae here fer an afternoon's mischief, lass. I've known a lady or two, and I've never … I feel a bit mad when I'm about ye, Mary, and I think ye feel the same way. I want to know where this would go if we were Mr. Highland and Miss Fox.” He took her hand, gripping her fingers. “And I swear to ye, if we decide we dunnae belong together, I'll walk ye up to the Campbell's front door myself. At least ye'll be able to have a word with yer
seanair
before ye're shackled to Calder.”

Her heart stuttered. Never in her entire life had she considered running away. Yes, a few times when she was younger she'd imagined taking the mail coach up to the Highlands to see her grandfather—her
seanair,
as Arran called him—but that had been years ago. Later the consequence had always seemed more dire than the moments of anger or frustration.

Mary closed her eyes. Every part of her knew that this was not a decision she could make logically. It was about hope, and attraction, and trust. And whichever clan Arran belonged to, he was still the only one she'd thought about, her only regret. And he was also the only one who'd done a thing to extricate her from an untenable situation.

“If I go away with you, Charles will try to kill you,” she said, opening her eyes again.

“The past fortnight is the only time in the past ten years he hasnae tried to kill me. I'd even say I'm accustomed to nearly being killed.”

She tugged at his lapels again. “What do you want?”

“I'm here, am I not? I want ye to come with me, lass. I know it's mad, and I dunnae go aboot asking women to run away with me. But every pound of me says I'm nae to give ye up. Nae withoot a word, and nae withoot a fight.”

Hearing that sent her heart beating again. “And what if we
are
compatible?”

Slowly, deliberately, Arran kissed her again. “Then the rest of the world be damned.” He slid his hands down her hips. “Ye can say all this is sinful, but I say we'll be committing a greater sin if we dunnae walk through that door. Together.”

“But it is my decision.”

He nodded. “Aye. I cannae steal ye away if ye dunnae wish to be stolen.”

If he'd insisted, she would have refused. He'd given her a choice, though. And with a definite Charles Calder on one side and a chance to be with Arran—or at least to talk to her grandfather about all this—on the other, the decision was actually a simple one. In fact, she was half convinced she only hesitated so she wouldn't look too eager.

“Steal me away then, Arran MacLawry.”

“Aye. With pleasure, Mary Campbell.”

 

Chapter Nine

Arran let out the breath he was certain he'd been holding since sometime yesterday. By God, she'd agreed to come with him. And as far as he was concerned, Deirdre and the Stewarts could all go to the devil. And if Ranulf chose not to remove his blinders, he could follow them.

“We've nae much time, then,” he said, taking her hand again and leading her toward the clearing where his rented coach waited—unless Peter had convinced the driver to return to London so he could report to Glengask. When the vehicle came into view he was actually surprised.

“I knew it!”

Swearing, Arran whipped around. Her skirts hiked to her knees, the maid, Crawford, galloped through the meadow at them. “Let's be off,” he grunted, moving faster.

“She'll rouse the entire inn with her screeching,” Mary countered, pulling against him. “Hush, Crawford!”

The servant stopped squawking, but didn't slow her approach. Instead she jabbed a finger at Arran. “I knew you were that farmer, MacLawry. I knew it!”

He straightened. “Lord Arran,” he said succinctly. Whatever Mary chose to do about the maid, he was
not
going to be lectured by a Sasannach servant.

It seemed to have the desired effect, because she stopped short of trying to bowl him over. And though she was a substantial lass, he was far more solid than she. Instead Crawford squared her shoulders, puffing up like an angry chicken. “
Lord
Arran,” she snapped, “you will unhand Lady Mary at once, or I shall scream bloody murder.”

“Crawford, you will do no such thing.” Mary continued to grip his hand tightly, which he found more significant than anything else. She wanted to go with him.

“I will. I swear it.”

“Well, we cannae have that, can we?” Arran flicked the fingers of his free hand, and Peter disappeared around the back of the coach. “Ye see, a good part of my plan, such as it is, rests on Mary's family nae knowing quite where to look fer her. If ye squawk aboot her being with me, ye'll nae be doing her any favors.”

“Not going anywhere at all with you will be doing her a greater favor.”

Peter emerged at the edge of the trees behind them. The footman hadn't forgotten what he'd learned during his time in the army, anyway. A strip of cloth in his hands, he crept up behind the maid. Arran gave a slight nod, and the footman pounced.

The cloth swept around the maid's mouth, and the two of them grabbed her hands and feet and set her flat on the ground. “Get more rope.” Arran grunted as she kneed him in the gut. “Damnation! We'll lash her to a tree.”

“Stop this at once!” Mary barked, shoving at his shoulders.

“If we dunnae give ourselves a bit of time to disappear to the north, I may as well drive ye to Fendarrow and hand ye over to Calder, myself. And I'll nae do that.”

Mary knelt down by her maid's head. “Crawford will come with us, then.”

Arran blinked, ignoring the muffled cursing going on by his knee. “Are ye mad, lass? How can we make an escape with her yowling every moment?”

“Because she'll help add some respectability to our party.”

Peter began winding rope around her legs, binding her skirt with it. “This was a poor enough idea to begin with, m'laird,” he grunted. “Once Fendarrow knows fer certain who has his daughter, all the Campbells will be after us like wolves on a deer.”

“Crawford might have told my parents that we met at the Blue Lamb or at the park every morning, and she didn't,” Mary continued. “And if you want me along, you cannot treat my maid in this manner.” She looked up at him, moss-green eyes narrowed. “You told me you let the badger go, for heaven's sake.”

“The badg…” He trailed off.
The damned badger.
“Let her up,” he said, standing and backing away.

“I can count our allies on one finger,” Mary continued. “If she throws in her lot with us, we've doubled our chances.”

“Or halved them, if she doesnae cooperate. I said to let her up, Peter.”

Giving him a sour look, Peter untied the maid's legs again. “I'm nae an ally, either, I'd like to point oot. Yer brother said to keep ye in sight, and to keep any Campbells away from ye. I cannae keep an eye on ye if I run back to London, so here I am. And these are both Campbells. Ye'll get me sacked, ye will.”

“I'm aware of who they are, and no, ye willnae be sacked. Nae fer doing as ye've been asked,” Arran returned. He offered a hand to the maid, but she glared daggers at him and sat up in the grass on her own.

Yanking off the gag, she threw it at Peter. “I want no part of you ruining Lady Mary.”

“I'm nae ruining her. I mean to marry her.” Behind him Mary gasped, and he turned to face her. “Ye cannae be surprised, lass. I'm fairly certain we're compatible, or ye wouldnae have sent me that letter. And I told ye already, I didnae go through all this fer one night in yer bed.”

“But … I'm not jumping from one marriage to another just for the sake of convenience.” Her brow furrowed. “Not that there's anything convenient about you and me.”

He slid his hand around her waist and drew her up against him. “Then fer now it's a rescue,” he said in a low voice, covering her mouth with his. For Saint Bridget's sake, he couldn't seem to resist kissing her for long enough to make their escape.

“And if you don't sway her to a highly inappropriate marriage?” Crawford said, rolling onto her knees and then climbing clumsily to her feet. “What then?”

“I already gave my word to yer mistress,” Arran said, keeping his gaze on Mary's upturned face. “I'll escort her directly to the Campbell. Even if she'll nae have me, I'll nae have
her
marrying Charles Calder because
he
was convenient.”

The maid dusted off her disheveled gown. “I'll accompany my lady then, just to see you flayed alive by the Duke of Alkirk.”

Well, this should be pleasant
. He released Mary, giving her a brief smile. “Well, then. Let's be off, shall we?”

Duffy would have to remain tied to the rear of the coach for now. Tempting as it was to ride off with Mary seated before him, she was dressed like a lady and he like a farmer. People would notice that. And to avoid that, he would tolerate riding in the coach for a time with the beauty and the battle-axe.

“Thank you, Arran,” Mary whispered, kissing him on the cheek as he handed her into the coach.

And for another whisper and a kiss, he would hand
himself
over to the Campbell. He knew she would be his downfall; it only remained to be seen if the spell she'd cast over him would be fatal. Belatedly he offered a hand to Crawford, but she avoided him again and climbed into the coach on her own.

Arran stepped into the vehicle, then leaned back out the door, holding on to the window frame in case the maid should try to put a foot to his backside and make off with Mary. “Howard, head us west and south fer a bit, will ye?”

The one-eyed driver doffed his hat as Peter climbed up to sit beside him again. “I'm at your disposal, Mr. Fox.”

Once the coach rocked into motion, Arran pulled the door closed and sat back to find two pairs of female eyes gazing at him from the front-facing seats. Making off with a lass and then bringing her maid along. Bear would be laughing at him now—and then his brother would attempt to knock him on his arse. And Munro would be in the right to do it. Alliances and family loyalty thrown into a ditch over an auburn-haired lass promised to another man. Not even Bear would attempt something so foolish—and dangerous.

At least Mary was smiling. “Mr. Fox again?” she said.

“It suits us, I reckon. And ye'll be Mrs. Fox.” He glanced at the glaring servant. “Fer the time being, anyway. Fer respectability's sake.”

“‘Respectability,'” Crawford scoffed. “You left all of her trunks of clothes behind, you know.”

“So ye're on our side, are ye?” he drawled, taking Mary's hand to draw her onto the seat beside him. “She cannae dress like Lady Mary Campbell if men will be searching fer Lady Mary Campbell.”

“We'll make do,” Mary took up. “I have some pin money in my reticule.” She tossed the small bag onto the seat beside Crawford.

“I'll purchase ye some clothes. And a horse.” Arran sent the maid a pointed look before returning his attention to Mary. “Ye'll nae want to be caged in here all the way north, I reckon.”

“You reckon correctly,” she returned, facing him. “It sounds like you have this all planned out.”

If he had, there wouldn't have been a maid or a footman along. He shook his head, hoping he didn't sound like a complete lunatic. “Nae. When I read yer letter yesterday I wanted to save ye, but until I started oot of London I'd nae much of an idea how to do it.”

“I couldn't think of anything, either,” she returned, her expression growing somber. “Of course I knew I'd be marrying, but I never truly thought my parents would agree to Charles the moment Roderick walked away.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “Whatever happens, you've given me a chance, Arran.”

“You've given
him
a chance, you mean. A chance you'll marry him instead of an upstanding man like Charles Calder,” the maid put in, her face turned toward the window as if that made them—him—invisible to her. “Even with Lord Delaveer removed from the table, you might have been able to simply spend your time apart from Mr. Calder. Participants in arranged marriages do that all the time. Now you'll be apart from everyone you love.”

“I'm aboot to gag ye again, Crawford.”

He would have continued, but Mary put her palm on his cheek and kissed him. At least she wasn't taking her maid's angry spittle seriously—though perhaps she should. All of them, himself included, knew he hadn't done this out of chivalry. He wanted her. And as she was a highborn lady with a troublesome ancestry, and he an aristocrat with an equal familial burden, matters had to proceed in a certain way. He'd already bent them as far as they could stand without breaking.

“Three hours ago I'd aboot decided to disguise myself as a highwayman to rob yer coach and kidnap ye,” he admitted. It had seemed too reckless, but it would've left the maid out of the equation. “Then I reckoned ye'd likely stop at the inn there to change horses.”

She gave him a swift grin. “I'm glad you didn't resort to masks and pistols. The footman traveling with me—Thomas—was armed. You might have been shot.”

“I'm hoping we'll leave behind more confusion this way. We'll keep to the south and west for today, then head north tomorrow, avoiding the North Road.”

“It won't matter.” Crawford had evidently decided he wouldn't gag her again, or at least that Mary wouldn't permit it. “Thomas and Gordon will send for the local beadle, who will call out the militia, I'm certain. You've kidnapped the Duke of Alkirk's granddaughter, you rogue.”

“I am not kidnapped,” Mary disagreed. “I am escaping.
To
my grandfather. And aside from that, Arran is giving me the most daring adventure of my life.” She flexed her fingers in his. “You are the most excitement I've ever had, you know.”