Chapter 12 #3
Mary approached again, and he moved behind her to close the trio of buttons running up her back.
“Do ye have a preference over what we do aboot the battle-axe?” he asked, sending Crawford another glare.
If Mary still wanted the maid with them he would agree to it, but only if she traveled bound and gagged and tied to her bedpost each night. And that he wouldn’t compromise about.
“I’ve seen to it,” she said, a grim iron to her tone that he’d never heard before.
“If you continue on with him, my lady, you’ll be ruined beyond anyone’s ability to salvage. He’s not only an enemy of your family, but he’s a Highlander, for heaven’s sake. A barbarian. It is my duty to guard you and your rep—”
“Not any longer, Crawford. Consider your employment terminated.” She took a breath. “And you likely should have considered that I’m a Highlander as well, before you went about insulting all of us.”
The maid’s mouth opened and closed again, like a dying fish on a riverbank. “Your father hired me,” she finally gulped out. “You cannot hand me my papers.”
“I just did.” Mary turned as the blacksmith with whom she’d danced earlier came upstairs, a hammer and lumber in his hands. “If you please, Thomas.”
Crawford drew her hands up to her chest, an oddly girlish gesture for someone as severe as she was. Clearly she was mortified about being seen in her night rail by a stranger—though she hadn’t so much as flinched when Arran barged into the room. “This—what do you think you’re doing?”
“Making certain you cannot cause any more trouble.” The tavern maid appeared next, a tray holding a loaf of bread, a pitcher of water, and a glass in her hands. Mary took it with a nod and set it inside the doorway. “Goodbye, Mother Graves.”
The blacksmith started to close the door, but Arran stopped him with one hand. He wasn’t surprised that his logical lass had figured out a way to dispose of the woman, but he was impressed. “One moment,” he said, not bothering to disguise his brogue any longer. Fendarrow knew where they were.
Stepping into the room, one wary eye on the fuming maid, he opened the wardrobe and removed the severe black muslin gown that remained there.
With a squawk she leaped at him, but he beat her to the door and pulled it shut.
Still screeching, Crawford shoved at it from inside.
Arran put his shoulder against the wood while Thomas hammered the planks into place across the door frame.
“Whatever are we to do with her?” the tavern maid asked, sending the rattling door a nervous glance.
“Naught,” Arran replied. “She has nae money to give ye and no clothes to wear. I imagine someone will come along tomorrow or the next day inquiring aboot us. They can let her oot, if they choose. We’ll be well into Wales by then.”
The misdirection was fairly obvious, but hopefully the maid and the blacksmith were too distracted to notice.
Mary wrapped her hand around his arm, and together they descended the stairs and left the Fox and Grapes.
He remained as tantalized as the fox in that tale, but in his story no one was keeping him from his prize.
Outside the carriage he caught Peter by the arm. “I know ye dunnae approve of this madness,” he said in a low voice, “but ye may have just saved us all. So thank ye, Peter Gilling.”
Mary released him and stepped forward to plant a kiss on Peter’s flushed cheek. “Thank you, Peter,” she seconded. “You’ve given us a chance.”
The footman doffed his floppy hat. “I couldnae have the Campbells riding us doon, begging yer pardon, m’lady.”
“I couldn’t have it, either,” she returned, and stepped up into the coach.
“Take us north, as fast as ye can,” Arran muttered. “We’ve nae the time to be subtle any longer.”
“I’ll see the two of ye to the Highlands or die trying, Lord Arran, curse me if I dunnae.”
So with Duffy and Juno tied off at the back of the coach, they rumbled into the night.
Their few days of leisurely travel were over; if they couldn’t stay ahead of the Campbells they would lose their future together, and he would likely lose his life.
And at this moment he honestly couldn’t say which fate would be worse.
“I’m so sorry,” Mary said from the darkness beside him.
He reached over and found her hand, drawing her up against his side. “Why are ye apologizing, my bonny Mary?”
Her hand trembled in his. “You didn’t want Crawford along in the first place. I … I suppose I wanted to keep hold of a chance to get my old life back. But I never thought she would go behind my back like that.”
“We didnae only upend our lives,” he returned, tucking her beneath his chin. Her still disheveled hair smelled of lemons, fragrant in the cold dark of the coach. “We upended hers, as well. She was trying to put things back to what most benefited her.”
“Will they catch us? My father and Charles, I mean?”
“I’m nae certain. It depends on whether and when they got that first letter, and how much Crawford knew aboot the road we meant to take.”
“I think she knew a great deal.” Mary squeezed his hand. “I don’t want you to be hurt, Arran.”
“I’ve nae wish fer that either, my lass. And nae wish to hurt any of yer kin.”
“You didn’t feel that way a few weeks ago.”
Arran smiled grimly into the darkness. “A few weeks ago I only knew Campbells over the pointy end of a sword. And however I feel aboot most of yer kin, they are yer kin.” He had no doubt that he could better than hold his own if it came to a fight; his years in the army hadn’t gone to waste, after all.
But the future he wanted for the two of them likely wouldn’t be able to withstand him putting a ball through her father.
That circumstance, therefore, needed to be avoided.
“You took Crawford’s gown,” she said a moment later, her voice stronger and steadier.
“Aye. I figured it might make her think twice aboot trying to climb oot a window. That was clever of ye, to barricade her into the room.”
“I wanted to punch her in the nose.” She shifted, and he could more feel than see her gazing up at him.
“I wonder now if your sister and I weren’t so different.
I know you’ve always kept guards around her, and that your clan calls her the fairest flower of the Highlands.
My father did hire Crawford, even though that would have been something my mother generally did. Perhaps she was meant to be my guard.”
He thought about that for a moment. “She didnae precisely act the way my sister’s maid, Mitchell, does,” he said slowly. Perhaps Crawford had been more of a threat than he realized. That was a thought to keep him awake nights.
Mary sighed, her breath soft and warm against his cheek. “What are we going to do, Arran?”
“We stay together. That’s what we do.”
“That’s a nice sentiment, but rather nebulous for a plan, don’t you think?”
With a chuckle he found her mouth for a soft, slow kiss. He could live on those kisses, he was beginning to think. “Nae,” he murmured. “It’s the only thing that matters.”