Rogue with a Brogue (30 page)

“We do not step into Campbell family business,” her uncle stated, no Irish at all in his tone.

“I have a man outside your gate,” Mary pressed, speaking quickly. Simply because the union she and Arran intended was frowned upon by the clan—clans—didn't make anyone else who happened to be out of favor her ally. That was up to her. “He was injured when our coach rolled over. I just need a bed for him for a night or two, until he recovers.”

Aunt Sarah shook her head. “I stay away from the clan. Robert Daily has a house in Manchester, less than an hour from here. I'll give you the address. He can help you.” She put her hand on the door. “You're very pretty, Mary. You remind me of me, in my younger days. I'm … glad I finally got to make your acquaintance.”

Mary took a breath. “This injured man is Arran MacLawry. We … We are eloping. My father is likely less than ten hours behind us. I … I don't know where else I can go.”

Her aunt's already pale cheeks blanched white. “A MacLawry?” she gasped. “This is precisely where your father will come if you're defying him! Don't you realize that?”

A tear ran down Mary's cheek, and she swiftly brushed it away. Arran had saved her from misery and offered her pleasure and happiness. She would not fail him now, when he finally needed her. “I do realize that. All I ask is one room, even a closet, where he can rest, and for you to say that you never saw us.”

The banker looked over at Peter, who stood just to one side, his expression as serious as Mary had ever seen it. “And what of you, sir? Are you a Campbell? What's your part in all this?”

“I'm nae a Campbell. I wear the colors of clan MacLawry.” He inclined his head. “And this lass and her lad, my laird, could use yer help.”

Mary put a hand on Peter's arm, surprise and gratitude running through her. “I don't know what else to say that might convince you to help us. I cannot go anywhere else.”

Aunt Sarah closed her eyes for a moment. “Come in, then. Sean, I—”

“I'll help bring in the young man,” her husband interrupted. “And see what I can do to hide their transportation.”

As Mary stepped into the house, trying to keep herself from collapsing in relief, the two men headed into the darkness. “All we have is a door, four horses, and two trunks,” she said over her shoulder.

“A door?” Sarah Mallister led the way up the narrow staircase, Mary close on her heels and not wanting to give anyone time to change their minds.

“We salvaged it from the coach. When it rolled over, Arran struck his head quite hard. We were on the driver's perch, and he grabbed me. He kept me from being injured, and instead he…” Another tear trailed down her face, and she wiped at it impatiently.

How did Arran do it? He was strong and decisive and confident and good-humored, when he couldn't possibly have known what might happen to them next. And here she was, involving people from whom she should be staying well away—both for her sake and theirs—and all she could think of was how worried she was about Arran. Her Arran, out there in the dark where she couldn't watch over him.

Everyone always watched over
her,
protected
her
. Kept her from becoming acquainted with people she might otherwise have found … remarkable, simply because of the color of their plaids or the fact that they'd decided not to wear one. Well, now it was her turn to protect all of them, to see that no harm came to the people who'd chosen not to turn their backs.

“What's through there?” she asked, putting aside her doubts for a more opportune moment. She indicated a promising-looking door tucked into a corner of the hallway.

“Linens and winter bedding. If your father comes in here, he'll open every door, Mary.” Her aunt frowned. “Fortunately, for a time I thought Sean or I might have to hide ourselves—until I finally realized that Walter considered my exile to be a worse punishment than being murdered.”

A few weeks ago Mary would never have believed her father had such a vindictive side. But that was before she'd met Arran, and before she'd been shoved at Roderick MacAllister and then at Charles Calder. They continued on to a door halfway along the hallway. Sarah pushed it open, and they walked through what was clearly an unused spare bedchamber. As far as Mary knew, her aunt and uncle had no children. Had this room been meant for young ones? Or was it for guests who never came visiting?

She shook herself. She and Arran might be in similar circumstances, but they were different people. And there might yet be young Campbell-MacLawrys in their future, even now. They walked to the back of the room and pulled open yet another door, this one leading to a small storage closet. There Sarah stopped and knelt down, pushing aside a stack of hat boxes and a valise to reveal a bare, scratched section of floorboard. Putting her fingers beneath it, she lifted. A section of wall pushed upward, revealing a small, narrow room beyond.

“I'm going to hug you now, Aunt Sarah,” Mary said, and knelt beside the older woman to throw her arms around Mrs. Mallister's shoulders.

“Goodness! It's unfinished, because we didn't feel the need to plaster or paint the walls. And there's no window, but once we get a lantern and some bedding in there, then you can hug me.”

Together they pulled a careful selection of the winter bedding from the back of the linen closet, rearranging the storage so it didn't look like anything was missing. The hidden room was perhaps twelve feet long, but it was barely wide enough for one well-built Highlander to lie down in it. Even so, four people could squeeze inside in an emergency. And an emergency was precisely what she predicted.

At the sound of bootsteps on the stairs, Mary hurried back to the front of the house. Arran was on his feet, eyes shut and leaning heavily on Peter and Howard. She wanted to fling herself into his arms, the need so strong it made her hands shake. He was the reason she could be brave. And without him, none of this would matter.

Since pouncing on him now would send them all to the floor, she settled for carefully touching his right cheek. Seeing him so pale and unsteady hurt her heart. “Arran, can you hear me?”

“Aye,” he answered, leaning into her palm. “Keeping my eyes closed seems to make it less likely I'll cast up my accounts.”

“Then keep 'em closed, m'laird,” Peter put in. “I've nae another coat to wear.”

“Do you know where we are?” she asked, moving in to take Howard's place and draping Arran's arm over her shoulders.

“I can guess.” He opened one eye to look sideways at her. “I dunnae like it, but I meant it when I said I trusted ye, my sweet lass.”

“Good, because you're going to spend the next day or two sleeping behind a storage closet.” She adjusted his solid weight, the way he leaned on her enough to tell her that he certainly wasn't ready to resume their flight north. “And this is my aunt Sarah.”

He lifted his head a little more, the motion making him stumble. “
Tha mi toilichte do choinneachadh
,
Mòrag.
Thank ye fer taking us in.”

Tears filled her aunt's light green eyes. “I haven't heard Scottish in a very long time,” she said a little unsteadily. “I'm pleased to meet you, as well. And surprised.” She cleared her throat. “My niece is very persuasive.”

“Aye, that she is. Twisted me all up aroond her little finger, and I'm glad to be there.”

“I've never met a MacLawry before. Your fellow called you my lord.”

“He's Lord Glengask's younger brother,” Mary put in.

“Ah. You're
that
Arran MacLawry.”

“Aye.”

Between the four of them they got Arran into the hidden room, which felt even smaller with the tall, broad-shouldered Highlander inside. More than anything Mary wanted to lie down beside him, to feel his soft breath on her cheek and know he would be well. But now she needed to see to the safety of not just the four travelers, but her aunt and uncle and their household, as well.

“Peter, please stay with him.”

“Aye, m'lady. But he'd flay me alive if I didnae see that ye got some rest, yerself.”

“I will. I'll be back in a few minutes.”

Howard headed back downstairs to help Uncle Sean dispose of the coach door and to hide Duffy, Juno, and the team at a neighbor's property. Aunt Sarah's housemaid carried up a bowl of stew to Arran and Peter, while Mary and her aunt settled into the small breakfast room to eat.

“Thank you again, Aunt Sarah. Thank you so much. Will your servants…”

“There's only Susan and Levitt,” she said. “They'll do as we ask. I suppose it's a good thing that we've thought about this day coming. Not you bringing a MacLawry into the house, but Walter Campbell appearing on our doorstep.”

Uncle Sean walked into the room and sat in the chair beside his wife. “The horses are at the Finnegans',” he said. “They're not the nearest neighbors, but they'd fling themselves off a cliff before they'd tell the Campbells anything. And the coach door's at the bottom of the pond beneath some stones. That one-eyed fellow with you wept when we sank it.”

Mary gave a brief smile. “It was his coach that rolled over. We hired it—or Arran did, rather—in London. Now we seem to have adopted him.”

“So you fled London for Gretna Green, with your father on your heels?” Sarah asked, sipping at her tea.

“Not precisely.” If anyone would understand her situation it was Sarah Campbell-Mallister, and the idea of having a female ally—especially after the disaster that was Crawford—was very appealing. Taking a swallow of her own tea, she told them how she and Arran had met at the masquerade ball, their secret rendezvous, her grandfather's decision that she wed Lord Delaveer, the kiss, and her father's proclamation that she was to marry Charles Calder. When she described the way Arran had rescued her, her aunt actually put a hand to her chest.

The only thing she left out was the intimacy of her relationship with Arran, but she imagined that wouldn't have been too difficult to figure out. At any rate, they didn't ask her about it.

“Do you still intend to go to Alkirk and speak to the Campbell?” Sarah asked, and it took a moment before Mary remembered that her aunt was speaking about her own father.

“I think he's the only one who can stop the clan from hunting us down. My father certainly isn't willing to listen to me.”

“Oh, my dear, I hope with all my heart that you're correct. I personally did not find him to be at all reasonable when I told him I wanted to be with Sean.” Sarah sent her husband a fond look. “He gave me the choice of marrying someone of his choosing or leaving and never setting foot on Campbell property again.”

And he'd evidently chosen Roderick for her. “That option would be perfectly acceptable to me,” Mary said feelingly. A few weeks ago she might have felt differently, but choosing between clan Campbell and Arran was barely worth the moment it took to have the thought.

“I only wanted to marry a half-Irish banker, Mary. And I was his third daughter. You're the only living child of his firstborn son, and you want to marry the MacLawry's heir when he planned to use you to bring in the MacAllisters. He may not give you the choice of exile.”

Worry skittered through Mary. In her life, in her mind, her grandfather had always been fair and levelheaded, and he'd always indulged her. It was one thing for her father to panic and shove her at the first clansman who asked. If her grandfather forbade her to marry Arran, if he ordered the clan to hunt Arran down …

When she'd initially asked to go to Alkirk, it had been with the idea that the Campbell would save her from Charles, that he would decree her life should be set back to where it had been before she'd met Arran. But now everything had changed. Now she didn't want to be parted from Arran MacLawry. She didn't want her old life back. She wanted a new life with the man she loved. The man she adored. The Highlander who'd shown her that life could be exciting and unexpected and passionate.

“I hope I'm wrong,” her aunt continued after a moment. “Perhaps my circumstance was unique. But I thought you should be aware. If you'd left without me saying something, I wouldn't have been able to sleep ever again.”

Setting her tea aside, Mary grasped her newly found aunt's hand. “I appreciate you telling me. It's given me some things to consider. Very carefully. But now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go sit with Arran.”

Her aunt and uncle exchanged a look. “We can put you in the maid's quarters with Susan. If your father appears it'll be a simple matter to get you upstairs again.”

Mary stood, shaking her head as she did so. “Thank you, but it's far too late to preserve my reputation. And the only reason to do so would be if I intended to make a match with someone else. And I do not intend to do that.”

Aunt Sarah stood, as well. “I'll walk you upstairs, then.” Wrapping a hand around her niece's arm, she headed for the stairs.

“I want you to know that I understand the trouble you and Uncle Sean could be stepping into, and on behalf of complete strangers.”

Her aunt smiled, brushing at one eye. “Not strangers. Family who've only just met. And I'd be lying if I said there wasn't part of me that looks forward to besting Walter Campbell. I thought my brother would support me in anything. He did not do so.” She leaned closer. “And if I may say so, your Highlander is very easy on the eyes.”

“Yes, he is,” Mary agreed. “And he's very witty, and even kind. I'd always been told that MacLawrys were devils, brutes, and barbarians.” She smiled. “I will admit that he's something of a rogue.” And thank goodness for that. If he hadn't been, she would be walking down the aisle with Charles Calder in the next few days.

At the top of the stairs, they stopped. “Though we are newly acquainted, I find myself wanting the best for you, my dear,” her aunt said. “And that is why I have to ask if you've decided to wed this man because he saved you from an unpleasant match. Because he's forbidden and you feel tantalized or obligated.”