Chapter 17 #3
The name MacLawry had made him enemies. It had also granted him power and respect.
While he’d had the clan at his back, no one would have dared enter his house and destroy his possessions.
Now, though, he had no clan. And except for the fact that he was bigger and younger and more physically imposing than Sean, he and Mary would be just as vulnerable as the Mallisters.
His dream of making a home in the Highlands with her lay directly before him now, nearly close enough to touch.
He was strong and capable—he knew that. But no one man save perhaps William Wallace himself could stand against every Campbell and MacDonald and MacLawry and their allies.
Was he leading Mary into nothing but a nightmare, then?
“M’laird?” Peter said, dropping the remains of Fergus Campbell’s saddle beneath the weeping tree.
“Aye.” He shook himself. “Let’s fetch Mary before the dog unties himself.”
They headed back down the hill and turned east up the road.
This was the course he’d set. If it meant living a smaller, more cautious life, then he would adjust to that.
Because with Mary at his side, he didn’t feel smaller.
He felt ten feet tall on the inside. But that was feelings.
What mattered was whether he could keep her safe. And happy.
A mile down the road he spotted the light wagon with its well-worn team, Duffy and Juno tethered behind it. Howard had pulled them off the road into the deep shadows of a stand of elm and pine. London hack driver or not, the man had a good instinct for survival.
As they approached, Mary climbed down from the wagon seat and ran toward him, her skirt hiked to her knees. Sweet Saint Bridget, she was lovely. And he wanted her to have a happy life. “Mary,” he breathed, and pulled her into his arms.
“Is everything well?” she asked, embracing him.
“Aye. Young Fergus Campbell is now a flag of surrender.”
“Fergus? What in the world was my father thinking, to bring a nineteen-year-old boy along for a murder?”
“I’d rather ask what yer father’s doing planning a murder with his daughter so close to danger.”
She looked up at him, her expression curious and her light green eyes silver in the starlight. “If you ask that, I would ask if you think his daughter is so simpleminded and weakhearted that she doesn’t realize what she’s doing and what the consequences are.”
And just like that she reminded him why he loved her.
Mary Campbell wouldn’t be dragged anywhere against her will, even by him.
They were here together. He would guard her and protect her and provide for her, but she was by no means helpless or na?ve.
She came from a clan, the same as he did, and she knew now what life outside of it could be like. What did she think of it, though?
“And if ye asked that, I would ask if ye could stand to live the life the Mallisters do.”
Mary pulled his face down and kissed him. “I could, but we won’t. Sean Mallister isn’t a Highlander. He’s civilized and mild. You’re a barbarian devil warrior. If you think my father would have the courage to threaten to burn us out without an army behind him, you—”
He stopped her words with another kiss. “I’d nae face ye withoot an army at my back. Ye’re a fierce Highlands lass, ye are.”
“That I am. And don’t you forget it.”
Peter set his rifle on the driver’s seat and climbed up beside Howard. “Ye know, there’s a small chance that fella could wiggle free from those ropes. I’m only saying that because the two of ye seem to be too busy kissing to remember we’re fleeing someaught.”
“I’ve nae forgotten.” Arran helped Mary into the wagon, then climbed up after her. They could ride on horseback in the morning, but he didn’t care to risk one of their mounts breaking a leg in the dark. “Ye ready to see Scotland, Howard?”
“I’m ready to give those bloody Campbells a chase. Begging yer pardon, my lady.”
“No need, Howard,” Mary said, as they rocked back onto the narrow road. “I’m looking forward to escaping the Campbells, as well.”
Peter clapped Howard on the shoulder. “Ye’ve lost yer coach, ye’ve had to hide from damned Campbells, and now ye’re driving a farmer’s wagon. Why havenae ye fled back to London, Howard Howard?”
The driver shrugged. “I suppose I’m curious to see what happens next.
Most people I drive a mile or two and then they go on their way and I never set my eye on ’em again.
Since I met you lot I’ve helped rescue a lady, hit a fellow with a club, lost my coach, dined with proper gentry, and been farther from home than I ever thought to see in my life.
It’d be a privilege to see Lord Arran and Lady Mary wed. ”
When Arran met Mary’s gaze, even in the starlit dark he could see her smiling. He took her hand. “Perhaps ye could stand in fer the bride’s family, Howard. Ye are part of our clan, now.”
The wagon nearly ran into a hedge. “I’d be honored. Truly.”
Mary leaned her head against Arran’s shoulder, and he tucked her in against his side.
Perhaps he could keep danger away from her, but he was abruptly seeing Ranulf’s actions in agreeing to a truce with the Campbells and bringing in the Stewarts, in addition to his dancing about with Sasannach lords, in an entirely new light.
Because his primary concern was no longer defending clan MacLawry.
It was doing whatever was necessary to protect his bonny, bonny lass.
“I love ye, Mary,” he murmured, resting his cheek against her autumn-colored hair.
“I love you, Arran. In a day or two I may even ask you to marry me.”
He laughed. “I do hope so.”