Scottish Brides (31 page)

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaannnnnnnnnnnnne!”

Margaret gasped. His sister!

Sure enough, a tall, black-haired miss was standing on the other side of the street, looking extremely panicked as she tried to hide behind an obviously well-maintained carriage.

“Jesus, whiskey, and Robert the Bruce,” Margaret whispered. If she didn't get down there soon, Angus was going to kill his sister. Or at least frighten her into temporary insanity.

Picking up her skirts to well above her ankles, Margaret dashed out of the room.

 

Angus had been feeling reasonably cheerful, whistling to himself as he'd set about finding the perfect Scottish breakfast to bring back to Margaret. Porridge, of course, and a true Scottish scone were necessities, but Angus wanted to give her a taste of his country's delectable smoked fish as well.

George had told him that he'd have to go across the street to the fishmonger in order to get some wild salmon, and so he'd told the innkeeper that he'd be back in a few minutes for the porridge and scones, and pushed open the front door.

He hadn't even taken a step into the street when he spied it. His carriage. Sitting innocently across the street with two of his best horses hitched up to it.

Which could only mean one thing.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaannnnnnnnnnnnne!”

His sister's head poked out from around the side of the carriage. Her lips parted with horror, and he saw her mouth his name.

“Anne Greene,” he roared, “don't you take another step!”

She froze. He barreled across the street.

“Angus Greene!” came the shout from behind him.

“Don't you take another step!”

He froze.

Margaret?

Anne stretched out a little farther from behind the carriage, the stark terror in her eyes giving way to curiosity.

Angus turned around. Margaret was racing toward him with all the grace and delicacy of an ox. She was, as always, completely focused on a single subject. Unfortunately, this time that subject was him.

“Angus,” she said in that matter-of-fact tone of hers that made him almost think she knew what she was talking about, “you don't want to do anything rash.”

“I wasn't planning on doing anything rash,” he said with what he would deem saintly patience. “I was just going to strangle her.”

Anne gasped.

“He doesn't mean it,” Margaret hastened to add. “He's been very worried about you.”

“Who are you?” Anne asked.

“I do mean it!” Angus shouted. He jabbed his finger at his sister. “You, young lady, are in very big trouble.”

“She has to grow up sometime,” Margaret said. “Remember what you said to me last night about Edward.”

Anne turned to her brother. “Who is she?”

“Edward was running off to join the navy,” Angus growled, “not following a fool's dream to London.”

“Oh, and I suppose London is worse than the navy,” Margaret scoffed. “At least she isn't going to have her arm shot off by some Portuguese sniper. Besides, a season in London isn't a fool's dream. Not for a girl her age.”

Anne's face brightened visibly.

“Look at her,” Angus protested, waving his arm at his sister while he stared at Margaret. “Look how beautiful she is. Every rakehell in London will be after her. I'm going to have to beat them off with a stick.”

Margaret turned to Angus's sister. Anne was quite pretty, with the same thick black hair and dark eyes that her brother possessed. But she was no one's idea of a classic beauty. No one's but Angus's.

Margaret's heart swelled. She hadn't, until that very minute, realized just how well Angus loved his sister. She laid a hand on his arm. “Maybe it's time to let her grow up,” she said softly. “Didn't you say you had a great-aunt in London? She won't be alone.”

“Aunt Gertrude has already written that I might stay with her,” Anne said. “She said she would like the company. I think she might be lonely.”

Angus's chin jutted forward like an angry bull. “Don't try to make this about Aunt Gertrude. You want to go to London because you want to go to London, not because you're worried about Gertrude.”

“Of course I want to go to London. I never said I didn't. I was merely trying to point out that my going benefits two people, not just one.”

Angus scowled at her, and she scowled back, and Margaret caught her breath at how alike the two siblings looked in that moment. Unfortunately, they also looked as if they might come to blows at any moment, so she deftly stepped between them, looked up (Anne was a good six inches taller than she was, and Angus topped her by well over a foot), and said, “That's very sweet of you, Anne. Angus, don't you think Anne made a good point?”

“Who's side are you on?” Angus growled.

“I'm not on anybody's side. I'm just trying to be reasonable.” Margaret pulled on his forearm, drew him aside, and said in a low voice, “Angus, this is exactly the same situation about which you counseled me last night.”

“It's not at all the same thing.”

“And why not?”

“Your brother is a man. My sister is just a girl.”

Margaret glowered at him. “And what is that supposed to mean? Am I ‘just a girl' as well?”

“Of course not. You're . . . you're—” He fished the air for words, and his face grew rather agitated. “You're Margaret.”

“Why,” she drawled, “does that sound like an insult?”

“Of course it isn't an insult,” he snapped. “I just complimented your intelligence. You're not the same as other females. You're . . . you're—”

“Then I think you just insulted your sister.”

“Yes,” Anne piped up, “you just insulted me.”

Angus whirled around. “Don't eavesdrop.”

“Oh, please,” Anne scoffed, “you're talking loud enough to be heard in Glasgow.”

“Angus,” Margaret said, crossing her arms, “do you think your sister is an intelligent young woman?”

“I
did,
before she ran off.”

“Then kindly offer her some respect and trust. She isn't running blindly away. She has already contacted your aunt and has a place to stay and a chaperone who desires her presence.”

“She can't choose a husband,” he grumbled.

Margaret's eyes narrowed. “And I suppose you could do a better job of it?”

“I'm certainly not going to allow her to marry without my approval of her choice.”

“Then go with her,” Margaret urged.

Angus let out a long breath. “I can't. Not yet. I told her we could go next year. I can't be away from Greene House during the renovations, and then there is the new irrigation system to oversee . . .”

Anne looked to Margaret pleadingly. “I don't want to wait until next year.”

Margaret looked from Greene to Greene, trying to work out a solution. It was probably rather odd that she was here, in the middle of a family squabble. After all, she hadn't even known they existed the previous morning.

But somehow this all seemed very natural, and so she turned to Angus with steady eyes and said, “May I make a suggestion?”

He was still glaring at his sister as he said, “Please do.”

Margaret cleared her throat, but he didn't turn around to look at her. She decided to go ahead and speak, anyway. “Why don't you let her go to London now, and you can join her in a month or two? That way, if she's found a man she fancies, you can meet him before things grow serious. And you'll have time to finish your work at home.”

Angus frowned.

Margaret persevered. “I know that Anne would never marry without your approval.” She turned to Anne with urgent eyes. “Isn't that correct, Anne?”

Anne was taking a little too long to ponder the question, so Margaret elbowed her in the stomach and said again, “Anne? Isn't that correct?”

“Of course,” Anne grunted, rubbing her midsection.

Margaret beamed. “You see? It's a perfect solution. Angus? Anne?”

Angus rubbed a weary hand against his brow, grasping his temples as if the pressure would somehow make the entire day go away. It had started out as the perfect morning, gazing upon Margaret as she slept. Breakfast awaited, the sky was blue, and he was certain he would soon find his sister and bring her back home where she belonged.

And now Margaret and Anne were ganging up upon him, trying to convince him that
they
—not he—knew best. As a united front, they were a mighty powerful force.

And Angus feared that as an object, he might not be completely immovable.

He felt his face softening, felt his will weakening, and he knew the women sensed their victory.

“If it makes you feel more comfortable,” Margaret said, “I shall accompany Anne. I can't go all the way to London, but I can see her at least to Lancashire.”

“NO!”

Margaret started at the forcefulness of his reply. “I beg your pardon?”

Angus planted his hands on his hips and glowered down at her. “You're not going to Lancashire.”

“I'm not?”

“She isn't?” Anne queried, then turned to Margaret and asked, “If you don't mind, what
is
your name?”

“Miss Pennypacker, although I should think we may use our given names, don't you? Mine is Margaret.”

Anne nodded. “I'd be ever so grateful for your company on the journey to—”

“She's not going,” Angus said firmly.

Two pairs of feminine eyes swung around to face him.

Angus felt ill.

“And what,” Margaret said, not unkindly, “do you suppose I do instead?”

Angus had no idea where the words came from, no idea even that the thought had formed, but as he looked at Margaret, he suddenly remembered every last moment in her company. He felt her kisses and he heard her laughter. He saw her smile and he touched her soul. She was too bossy, too stubborn, and too short for a man of his proportions, but somehow his heart skipped over all of that, because when she looked up at him with those gorgeously intelligent green eyes, all he could do was blurt out, “Marry me.”

 

Margaret had thought she knew what it felt like to be speechless. It wasn't a condition she often experienced, but she thought she was reasonably familiar with it.

She was wrong.

Her heart pounded, her head grew light, and she started choking on air. Her mouth grew dry, her eyes grew wet, and her ears began to ring. If there'd been a chair in the vicinity, she would have tried to sit in it, but she'd probably have missed the seat entirely.

Anne leaned forward. “Miss Pennypacker? Margaret? Are you unwell?”

Angus didn't say anything.

Anne turned to her brother. “I think she's going to faint.”

“She's not going to faint,” he said grimly. “She never faints.”

Margaret began to tap the flat of her chest with the flat of her hand, as if that might possibly dislodge the ball of shock that had settled in her throat.

“How long have you known her?” Anne asked suspiciously.

Angus shrugged. “Since last night.”

“Then how can you possibly know if she faints or not?”

“I just know.”

Anne's mouth settled into a firm line. “Then how—Wait just one second! You want to marry her after one day's acquaintance?!”

“It's a moot question,” he bit out, “since it doesn't appear that she's going to say yes.”

“Yes!” It was all Margaret could do to choke the word out, but she couldn't bear to see the disappointed look on his face any longer.

Angus's eyes filled hope—and with the most endearing touch of disbelief. “Yes?”

She nodded furiously. “Yes, I'll marry you. You're too bossy, too stubborn, and too tall for a woman of my stature, but I'll marry you, anyway.”

“Well, isn't this romantic,” Anne muttered. “You should have made him ask on bended knee, at the very least.”

Angus ignored her, smiling instead down at Margaret as he touched her cheek with the gentlest of hands. “You do realize,” he murmured, “that this is the craziest, most impulsive thing you have ever done in your entire life?”

Margaret nodded. “But also the most perfect.”

“ ‘In her life?' ” Anne echoed dubiously. “ ‘In her life?' How can you know that? You've only known her since yesterday!”

“You,” Angus said, spearing his sister with a stare, “are superfluous.”

Anne beamed. “Really? Does that mean, then, that I may go to London?”

 

Six hours later, Anne was well on her way to London. She'd been given a stern lecture from Angus, heaps of sisterly advice from Margaret, and a promise from both that they would come and visit in a month's time.

She'd stayed in Gretna Green, of course, for the wedding. Margaret and Angus were married less than an hour after he'd proposed. Margaret had originally balked, saying that she ought to be married at home, with her family present, but Angus had just raised one of those dark eyebrows and said, “Jesus, whiskey, and Robert the Bruce, you're in Gretna Green, woman. You have to get married.”

Margaret had agreed, but only after Angus had leaned over and whispered in her ear, “I'll be bedding you this eve whether or not we've the minister's blessing.”

There were benefits, she quickly decided, to a hasty marriage.

And so the happy couple found themselves back in their room at The Canny Man.

“I might have to buy this inn,” Angus growled as he carried her over the threshold, “just to make certain this room is never used by anyone else.”

“You're that attached to it?” Margaret teased.

“You'll know why by morning.”

She blushed.

“Pink cheeks still?” he laughed. “And you, an old married woman.”

“I've been married for two hours! I think I still have the right to blush.”