Chapter 15 #3
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. ”
“I asked myself that at first,” Mary admitted. “In fact, I insisted that he agree to escort me to Alkirk solely to extricate me from my father’s plans. But he … I don’t want to live my life without him.”
“Forgive me, but while I’ve heard you extolling his virtues in several ways, I haven’t heard you say that you love him. And given these circumstances I would think that important.”
Mary smiled a little. “I haven’t used that word because I haven’t said it to him, yet. And Arran should hear it first.”
“My dear, I cannot argue with that. Barring your father’s arrival, I will see you in the morning.”
Kissing her aunt on the cheek, Mary slipped into the guest bedchamber and closed the door behind her. Then she gasped as a figure in a chair by the cold fireplace stirred.
“Come here, lass,” Arran’s low brogue came.
Oh, thank goodness. She hurried forward. “What are you doing? You should be lying down where it’s safe.”
“I had to sit up to eat some stew. I even choked doon a glass of whisky. And I’ll nae lie doon to sleep again unless it’s with ye by my side.”
“Well, that’s very romantic,” she murmured, putting her hands on the arms of the chair and leaning in to kiss him slow and soft.
“Aye. I’m a romantic fellow.”
Mary carefully sat across his lap, slid her arms around his shoulders, and kissed him again. The edge of uncertainty and uneasiness that had dogged her for the past few hours faded away in the warmth of his embrace.
When she settled her cheek against his neck and shoulder, Arran risked shutting his eyes again.
He had the balance of a drunken sailor in a storm, but he was not going to hide in some priest hole while she faced uncertain allies.
Aside from that, even with his eyes crossing, his ears worked just fine.
And so he’d heard every word that she and her aunt had spoken outside the door.
He wanted to ask her about it, but it wasn’t the sort of thing he could prompt her to say.
She either would of her own accord, or she wouldn’t.
“Where are Peter and Howard?” she asked quietly.
“Our wee bairns are asleep in the hideaway.”
She snorted softly. “I thought our bairns would be less … hairy.”
Chuckling hurt his head, but he did it anyway. “I have a strong suspicion we’ll nae be rid of Howard now that we murdered his coach.”
“I like him. He grumbles, but he hasn’t failed us yet.” She stirred. “Now stop talking and let’s get some rest.”
“My head pounds less when I’m upright. I thought I’d spend the night here. The chair has a fine, high back to keep my skull from falling off and rolling aboot the floor.”
“Well, I’m not sleeping in there with the lads,” she said, indicating the hidden room behind them.
“I reckon ye can sleep atop the bed,” he returned.
“We can straighten up the covers if trouble comes calling.” He remained fairly certain that the only question was when trouble would arrive, but with the coach overturned and his head bashed in, Mary had done the only thing possible to gain them some time.
Moving with exaggerated care, as if she thought he might break, she stood again and walked over to the bed. “You want me to sleep here?” she mused, touching the quilted coverlet. “All by myself?”
“Lass, dunnae tease me tonight,” he protested, hoping that closing one eye would stop the room from spinning, then opening them both again when it didn’t.
She regarded him for a long moment, her silhouette lined with silver in the moonlight.
“I won’t lie down to sleep unless it’s with you by my side, Arran,” she said finally, and lifted the folded blanket from the foot of the bed.
Then she dragged the other chair set on the opposite side of the hearth over beside his, curled into it with a sensuous grace that even a dead man would have appreciated, and pulled the blanket over both of them.
Well, it wasn’t a declaration of undying love, but as she reached over to take his hand and twine her fingers with his, he decided that for tonight it was enough.
He awoke with a start, not certain what he’d heard, but knowing that something was amiss. Through the squint of his eyes he could see the first light of dawn edging into the east-facing window. Beside him Mary breathed softly. Ignoring the keen ache of his skull he held his breath, listening.
Then he heard it again. A horse whinnying, the sound immediately echoed by a second animal. The Campbells had caught up to them.
“Mary,” he whispered, pushing to his feet and grabbing onto both arms of her chair to keep his balance.
She awoke immediately. “Are they here?”
“Aye. I think so, anyway. Wake up Peter. Stay back away from the windows.”
She rose with an ease that made him slightly jealous and moved quickly and quietly into the storage closet.
Arran gathered up the blanket and refolded it before he set it back across the foot of the bed.
His head felt clearer, but his left eye remained blurry.
If they had to flee either on horseback or in a coach, he would likely find himself unconscious again.
Thank God Mary had thought to seek out her estranged aunt.
“Do we bring oot the weapons?” Peter asked, tucking in his rough-hewn work shirt as he emerged from the closet.
“Nae. First we’ll try Mary’s way.” He sent her a quick smile as she glided back into the bedchamber, then returned his gaze to Peter. “Move the chair back across the hearth, will ye? Quietly.”
“Aye.” The footman lifted Mary’s chair and carefully carried it back where it belonged, even placing the feet back into the divots left in the blue carpet laid out there.
“Is everything else inside?”
Her green eyes wide with obvious worry, Mary nodded. “Along with some bread and water. Hurry, Arran. If it’s my father, he will search the house for us.”
Downstairs a door opened and closed quickly.
As much as he preferred a straight-up fight to sneaking about, this way held much less risk for the woman he loved.
And he wasn’t precisely at his best this morning.
With one last look about the room, he motioned them toward the storage closet. “Let’s go, then.”
Going down onto his hands and knees to crawl through the absurdly wee opening made his head pound all over again, but he clenched his jaw and did it anyway.
If nothing else, having a coach whack him on the skull would discourage him from drinking too much in the future; this particular aching head was not something he cared to repeat, no matter how fine or plentiful the spirits.
Once they were all inside, Mary nudged him out of the way and leaned out to pull the stack of hat boxes in front of the opening, then quietly lowered the door, closing them in.
Even with the lantern lit it seemed dim, but he wasn’t willing to risk any light being seen through some crack in the wall.
Sitting back, he shook the still-snoring Howard until with a sputtering curse the coachman sat upright. Arran favored him with a pointed look, and he subsided. “Bloody Campbells,” he muttered. “Begging your pardon, my lady.”
Evidently Howard was part of their clan, now. “From here on, we’re quiet as church mice,” Arran murmured, then took Mary’s arm to draw her up against his side. With a slow breath, sending up a quiet prayer that everything would go as they hoped, he leaned sideways and blew out the lantern.
Settling in as comfortably as he could against the unfinished wall, he put his left arm around Mary’s shaking shoulders. “I’ll nae let anything happen to ye, lass,” he breathed against her hair.
“I’m more worried about you,” she returned almost soundlessly.
“As long as no one falls asleep and begins snoring, we have nothing to fear, I reckon.”
In the past his family had once—or more than once—been accused of being Jacobites, of supporting James and then Bonnie Prince Charlie’s claim to the throne of England.
Some of his ancestors had been Jacobites.
Because of that, most of the houses in the Highlands boasted so-called priest holes for hiding Scots being sought after by Sasannach soldiers.
And now they were in a half-Sasannach household hiding away from the clans, including his own.
With his free right hand he reached into his coat pocket for the pistol he’d placed there.
No, he didn’t want to harm her father or any other Campbell, because that would hurt her.
Neither, though, was he surrendering Mary.
Not to anyone—Campbell, MacLawry, or Saint Bridget and all the heavenly angels.