Chapter 5 #3
Tiffany clamped her hand around his elbow and gently tugged him out of the path of traffic. “There. Are you alright?”
It was the concern in her eyes that was nearly his undoing.
He wanted to tear off the tam and the eyepatch and declare himself, just so she’d stop looking at him with so much pity.
But he reminded himself he wanted her to think he was pitiful, so he ducked his head and mumbled, “Aye, milady. My thanks.”
“Market day can be overwhelming if you are not used to it,” she said gently. “Especially if you are blind on one side. And—”
When she bit off whatever she was going to say, he was curious enough to glance up at her. She was looking at him strangely.
“Was your eyepatch not on the left eye yesterday?”
Was it?
Damnation, it was.
“Nay,” he blurted, then ducked his head once more. “Nay, ye’re mistaken, milady.”
He saw her shrug, then she released his arm.
And damn him if he didn’t feel…lost.
It took him a moment to realize she was leaving him, and all Lysander knew was he couldn’t allow that to happen. “Where are ye going?” he blurted.
She frowned at him. “To the vicar’s—”
“Nay. I mean, on yer journey.” He hurried to walk beside her, and when she glanced down at his feet—just the once—he exaggerated his limp. “Ye said ye would be gone for a few days, and ye’re off to ask the vicar’s sister to go with ye.”
To his surprise, she stopped and glanced around, as if checking to see if they might be overheard. She stepped closer to the stone front of the shop they stood before and lowered her voice conspiratorially.
“I am going to York.”
“England?” he blurted, and she rolled her eyes.
“No: York, Pennsylvania.”
He blinked, surprised. “Ye ken American geography?”
“Yes, I have read a book or two. And so have you, to know it as well.”
Hell, he’d almost given himself away, hadn’t he? He tried for a disarming grin. “I’ve picked things up in my travels. And soon ye will be a traveler too. York is no simple jaunt.” And why in damnation was she going to York?
Her chin rose stubbornly. “The vicar’s sister is not a traveler, but she is discrete. I cannot allow anyone to know I am leaving. I will buy two tickets for tomorrow’s train, and return two days later.
“And yer sister cannae go with ye?”
Suddenly, she looked downright guilty, glancing around the square.
Of course. She is ashamed to be seen with someone like me.
But why would she look guilty about that?
“My mother…does not know about my journey.”
Lysander sucked in a breath. If her mother didn’t know, then her sister would have to stay to deflect suspicions. So Tiffany couldn’t bring anyone else in her household, lest Baroness Oliphant discover her missing. But she couldn’t travel alone.
“I’ll go,” he blurted, then winced when she turned incredulous eyes his way.
“You?”
He shrugged and tried to cover his gaffe.
Tried to make it sound as if he weren’t desperate to sit beside her in a train for two whole days.
“If ye are keeping it a secret from yer mother, then ye cannae risk anyone else in town kenning yer real purpose, aye? I am a stranger but I’m trustworthy, and”—his brain worked frantically to come up with arguments—“ye’ve helped me, so I’d like to help ye in return. ”
Her snort of laughter was tinged with derision. “I cannot travel with you. You are a stranger! I do not even know your name!”
Rather than being offended by the way she’d sneered that bit, Lysander understood she spoke the truth. For all she knew, he was a dirty beggar. But suddenly, he was frantic to make her see him as trustworthy so he could go with her.
He told himself it was because, if he didn’t, he’d have to wait around three full days for her return, wearing this ridiculous beard.
“No’ kenning my name is easily remedied, milady.” He offered a slight bow. “I am”—he grasped the first word he could come up with—“Laird Gaberlunzie.”
To his surprise, she burst into laughter. “’Lord Beggar’? Of course, I should have expected that.”
She recognized the Auld Scots word? It had been one of his grandfather’s favorite insults, and Lysander hadn’t expected her to recognize it.
Straightening, he tried to look hurt. “Ye would mock a man’s name, Miss Oliphant? A crippled, poor, ugly man who—”
“I am laughing at the circumstances of our meeting! And how do you know my name?” she snapped, her eyes bright with anger.
So he shrugged. “Everyone here is an Oliphant. Surely ye’ve noticed how many Mrs. Oliphants there are around? I assumed ye were also a Miss Oliphant.”
She stared at him for a long moment, then nodded jerkily as she seemed to calm. “My name is Tiffany Oliphant.”
“Milady,” he offered again, knowing full well that, since her father was a baron, she wasn’t exactly a lady.
“I think, on this journey…” She turned and looked over the square, speaking almost to herself. “I think I should like to be just Tiffany. I am going to borrow a different dress, and perhaps a cap, and I will just be…myself.”
It wasn’t until she glanced at him with a frown that he realized he’d snorted derisively out loud, and not just in his head, but he made a point of raking his one-eyed gaze over her. “It’ll be like trying to hide a candle under a bushel, milady.”
Instead of preening from his compliment, she rolled her eyes. “That, Lord Beggar, is a good way to catch a bushel—and thus your home—on fire. A bit of friendly advice: do not set home on fire.”
“Och, thank ye,” he replied in seriousness. “But ye’ll need more than a different gown and a cap to hide who ye are.”
“Or perhaps”—she turned to him with her chin raised—“that is exactly what I need.”
“If ye plan on traveling to York incognito, ye’ll need a better disguise. And a traveling companion who can no’ only keep ye safe from the dangers of the road, but complements that disguise.”
Like me.
“In what way?”
“Maybe ye could rub some dirt on yer cheeks,” he offered, completely innocently, knowing full well how much cleaner he was today.
To his surprise, she glanced at his knees. “You seem to have some to spare. Since you have bathed, I mean. Could you not find trousers? Or were gowns the only thing available at the tailor?”
He could see the teasing light in her eyes, so he drew himself up and thumped his chest. “Och, lass, this is the Oliphant plaid! A proud tradition—”
“From last century. No, no, longer! Are ye not aware we are in the last quarter of the nineteenth century, sir? We have trains and flying balloons and the telegraph. Certainly you could find some trousers?”
She was demeaning his appearance again, but it didn’t stoke the fires of Lysander’s anger. For one thing, he’d thought the same thing, whenever Lyon had appeared dressed like an elderly shepherd in one of these kilts, and two…he liked the way she smiled teasingly at him.
“Aye,” he croaked. “I must look quite the barbarian.”
The teasing light in her eyes blinked out, and she looked away. What had he said to alarm her?
She called Lyon a barbarian, did she no’?
Ah.
“Well, milady? Will ye accept my help on yer quest?”
Surprisingly, he didn’t care why she wanted to go to York. Likely to pick up a new bauble or piece of jewelry her mother wouldn’t approve of her spending money on. He told himself it didn’t matter; he just wanted the chance to force her to understand how poorly she’d treated Lyon and him—
Except, she hadn’t treated him that poorly, had she?
Frowning, Lysander tried to work through the implications of his plan, but was startled when she suddenly wheeled on him.
“You will have to quit calling me ‘milady’.”
He blinked. “Ye’re seriously considering allowing me to accompany ye?” Him, a stranger, accompanying a lady on an overnight journey?
She shrugged. “I do not want to be a lady. I have a mission, and I want to be…just me. You are right; everyone here would know who I really am, and I want to forget that for just a few days.”
He couldn’t believe his good fortune. Or her poor judgement, to be willing to be alone with a strange man like him.
And to think, I’d once considered marrying her!
But part of him felt guilty for judging her so harshly for wanting to be free from her normal life. After all, wasn’t that what he was doing?
That was the thought which convinced him.
Solemnly, he nodded. “I’ll keep ye safe, mila—Tiffany. Ye’ll no’ come to harm under my watch.”
She cocked her head at him, then nodded. “I believe you. I do not know why, because I do not know you from Adam, or Prince Albert, but I believe you mean what you say.”
His smile flashed. “Interestingly, those are my names.” Lysander Albert McAdam Gregor Oliphant. But she couldn’t know that, so he clarified, “Adam Albert Gaberlunzie.”
And she rolled her eyes. “Well, I certainly believe that,” she muttered sarcastically, shaking her head. Her lips pulled into a frown as she considered him. “What will you ask for in return?”
He blinked, still considering how plump her lips were, even while frowning. “What?”
“You have promised to keep me safe on this journey and to help me, but what will you ask for in return?”
The answer came immediately to his lips, likely because he was still staring at her lips and remembering how alluring they were when she chewed on the bottom one in consternation. “A kiss.”
It wasn’t until her beautiful blue eyes widened that he realized what he’d said, but he didn’t take it back. Nay, now that he’d said it, he realized that was exactly what he wanted. So instead of giving her time to argue, he nodded once, authoritatively.
“If I escort ye to York and help ye on whatever yer mission may be, all I’ll ask in return is a kiss. Ye’ve kissed one frog already,” he reminded her teasingly.
The shock had faded from her eyes, replaced by an intriguing sort of speculation. She cocked her head to one side and studied him. “One might argue a train ticket and hotel room would be enough payment.”
“Aye, one could argue that and be fine with it, but no’ me. I’m a champion arguer, and I’ll keep pushing until I get what I want.”
“Which is a kiss?”
He dipped his chin. “From ye, aye.”
She was studying him, and to his surprise, Lysander suddenly very much wanted her to approve. “And if I do not want to kiss you? You are quite different from any man I have ever considered kissing before, you see.”
I’ll wager I am, milady.
He was poor and broken and—well, not dirty, not anymore, but this bush of a beard was fairly unkempt. Oh, and he was barbaric, with his knees sticking out for all the world to see. He was likely as far down on her list of possible kissing partners as—as that frog.
But before he could try to persuade her further, she suddenly nodded once, firmly. “You have a bargain, Mister Lunzie. If you keep me safe from harm on the journey, and help me complete my mission, I will provide you with a train ticket and lodging—”
“And a kiss?”
Her lips twitched as she thrust out her hand to shake on their bargain.
“And, if by the end of our journey, you have acted the part of a gentleman…” She took a deep breath which did interesting things to the front of her gown that Lysander did his best not to notice, “I will grant you a kiss, Lunzie. This will be an adventure of a lifetime.”
As Lysander took her hand and felt the warmth from her touch, he suspected she was right.