Chapter 8 #3
She was halfway to requesting a private room where she could sulk and close the shutters when she caught sight of the man seated at the back of the room, a floppy straw hat on his head, a pint in his hand, and light blue eyes gazing straight back at her. Her breath caught.
In addition to the farmer’s hat Arran had also donned a worn, patched brown coat, but she recognized him immediately.
Her heart began to pound, the twisted knot in her chest to loosen.
Perhaps their moment wasn’t yet finished.
Had he read her return note? Did he merely want the chance to say good-bye in private?
To say he wished she’d refused to dance with him that first night?
She almost wished for that, herself—she’d had the barest taste of passion and possibility, just enough to make her yearn for impossible things.
Arran angled his head toward the rear door, then stood and left the common room. Mary found herself on her feet almost before she’d decided to move. “I’m going to walk down to the stream,” she said. “I need to clear my head.”
“Of course, my lady.” Crawford climbed to her feet, as well. “Shall I fetch your parasol?”
“No. Stay here and finish eating. I’ll be in sight of everyone in the yard.” She forced a smile. “I have a great deal of thinking to do.”
From Crawford’s expression, the maid thought it was far too late to begin considering things logically now.
She was correct, of course, but nothing about Arran and the way he swept her into a windstorm was logical.
Logically she should never have spoken a word to him.
Logically they should hate each other simply because of the surnames with which they’d been born.
Mary stepped outside, and a warm hand pulled her around the corner of the inn. “What are you doing here?” she asked in a low voice, fighting the urge to kiss him right there.
“Nae here,” he murmured in that enticing brogue she’d thought she would never hear again.
“This way.” Taking her hand in his, he led the way into the scattering of trees behind the inn.
Down the eroding stream bank, across a questionable bridge of stones, then up the far side again.
Finally he faced her again. “I took a bit of a detour on the way north,” he drawled.
“I wanted to have a conversation with ye, lass.”
When his mouth curved in a slight, rueful smile, she couldn’t stand it any longer.
Grabbing his lapels, she pulled his face down to hers and kissed him.
In response, Arran pressed her back against a tree, molding his mouth against hers.
Hungry. She’d been hungry, and this—him—was the only thing that could sate her.
“I read yer letter,” he said, cupping her face and kissing her again. “Ye asked fer advice.”
“Advice that doesn’t include murdering my cousin,” she returned, a bit alarmed by the determined glint in his eyes.
He backed off just a little. “Did ye agree to marry him?”
“I … Yes. He made good use of my parents’ alarm. And of course he mentioned shredding the truce, and you, if I didn’t agree to his so-called offer.”
Arran gazed into her eyes for a long moment.
She didn’t know what he might be looking for, or hoping to see, but finally he ran the back of one finger along her right cheek, in a way that gave her little shivers.
“Tell me if I’m in error, Mary, but I see two doors fer ye.
The first door gives ye all this shite yer family decided fer ye. ”
“We did instigate this, you know.”
“Aye. I ken we shouldnae have met and shouldnae have decided we like being together. They made a truce, and still willnae have anything to do with each other. Instead both sides spent their time looking fer more soldiers to man their battlements. I ken I didnae get asked why I kissed ye. Did anyone ask ye a reasonable question?”
“No. No one did. And they’ve made certain my grandfather won’t know anything about the wedding until it’s too late.” Mary tilted her head. “Where does the second door open?”
“It opens with ye going missing from the Giant’s Pipe. And then the two of us head north and see what happens with no other MacLawrys or Campbells or MacAllisters or Stewarts in sight.”
She’d half thought he might say something like that, but the words sounded so utterly scandalous to her ears that she couldn’t help a slight shudder. “What about Lady Deirdre? Have the Stewarts withdrawn?”
He grimaced. “Nae. They want a piece of what the MacLawrys hold. I’m nae inclined to provide it to them. Nae if we’ve a chance of someaught, Mary.”
“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.”