Chapter 18 #3
He’d heard that same timbre far too often since they’d met.
And he wanted with all his heart to promise her that once they married she would never have to worry about anything ever again.
That was a na?ve dream, though. And whatever he was—devil, barbarian, rogue—he wasn’t na?ve.
And he wouldn’t lie to make her feel safe, when any such tale could be deadly for both of them.
“It’s possible,” he said reluctantly. “This isnae the only road north. Nor is it the fastest.”
“It is the most rutted,” Howard put in helpfully.
“And the muddiest,” Peter added, nodding.
“That’s enough help, lads. Thank ye.” Frustrated and troubled as he was at the notion that Walter Campbell and Charles Calder might well be sitting on their arses inside some warm tavern waiting for them to arrive, the two men seated on the driver’s seat gave him …
hope. Neither of them had to be there, and yet both of them refused to leave.
“If they are already at Gretna Green, could we find the next village north?” asked Mary, who filled him not just with hope, but with excitement and contentment, arousal and satisfaction, and somehow caused it all to make sense with every precious beat of her fierce Highlands heart.
“Aye, we could, but it would add more hours fer them to catch us, and they’re just as likely to have lads waiting there, too.”
He gazed at her for a long moment as the setting sun lengthened the shadows of Duffy and Juno behind them, turning them into great, mythical beasts. And then there was Mary, a faerie princess even in his rough wool work coat and her hair in a simple, bronze-tinted knot.
“What’s got you smiling, Highlander?” she asked, her own mouth curving up at the corners.
Arran kissed the upturned corners, and then the soft, sweet middle. “I’ve an inkling of an idea,” he drawled, hoping silently that if he was truly about to suggest something mad, it would be mad enough.
“What is your idea, then?”
“I’ll tell ye when we’ve stopped.” And when he’d had time to think it through, tried to talk himself out of it, and braced himself for her to do the same thing.
They continued on past twilight, slowing the team to a walk when it became too dangerous to race through the dark. After an hour or so a small group of twinkling lights came into view on their right.
“Gretna Green?” Mary asked in a hushed voice, as if she thought her father might be lurking just around the next hedgerow.
Of course he could well be doing just that. “Aye,” he returned in the same tone. “Another mile or so, Peter.”
“Aye, m’laird.”
“I’m afraid we’ll be sleeping oot in the cold tonight, my lass.”
“I don’t mind. You’re very warm.”
Arran allowed himself a frown in the darkness. “I mind. And I’m sorry. This wasnae how I imagined us spending the night before our wedding.”
Mary hit him in the arm. Hard.
“What the devil was that for?” he demanded, remembering at the last moment to keep his voice down.
“Stop acting as if you’re the only one responsible for us being here,” she snapped. “Do you think I wrote that note to tell you where I would be because I hoped you wouldn’t come looking for me?”
“Nae. But I had to convince ye to come along with me.”
“Because I forgot there was a difference between being comfortable and being happy. Just as there’s a difference between being uncomfortable and being unhappy. I’m here because I want to be here, so stop apologizing because the road hasn’t been easy.”
Arran narrowed one eye. “So ye’re saying ye’re uncomfortable but happy, I presume?”
“That is precisely what I’m saying. And don’t think I haven’t noticed that you spend the nights keeping watch, or that you’re shivering right now because you’ve given me your coat. Are you unhappy?”
“Nae. I’m only … worried that I’ll nae be able to give ye everything ye should have.”
“You are what I want, Arran. Anything more is just … buttermilk.”
“I beg yer pardon?”
“Buttermilk. It tastes pleasant, but it’s a great deal of work and I could certainly live without it, without even giving it a second thought.”
“I cannae help wanting to protect ye and purchase ye pretty, silly things, Mary.”
“You are protecting me. You’ve already saved me.
And purchase me pretty things if you like, if we can afford them.
But I don’t need them. I need you.” She shifted around to look him squarely in the face, though he didn’t know what she could see in the dark.
“Have I made myself clear, Arran MacLawry?”
What he hadn’t realized in all this was that Mary Campbell was as occupied with looking after his best interests as he was with looking after hers. Having her in his life made him happy. Why would that be any different for her? “Aye,” he said aloud. “I reckon I understand ye.”
“Good.”
He grabbed her by the lapels of her oversized coat and tugged her up against him.
“And now ye understand this,” he growled.
“Ye’re mine. If ye’re sad or hurt or angry or lonely, ye’ll tell me aboot it.
Ye’ll nae keep it to yerself because ye think I’d be happier nae knowing.
And if I choose to make it my business to see ye happy, ye’ll just have to put up with it.
Have I made myself clear, Mary Campbell? ”
She smiled and kissed him softly on the mouth. “Aye.”
“Och. Now I’ve a tear in my eye,” Peter said from in front of them.
“Ye’ll have my boot in yer arse if ye dunnae find us a place to spend the night, ye heathen.”
With that incentive they found a promising spot a half mile or so farther on, just over a hill from the road. Arran jumped to the ground to guide the wagon into a stand of trees, and then helped hobble all four horses by the small stream running along the base of the hill.
That done, and with an apple smuggled to Duffy for putting up with him for being such an amadan when he’d last come this way, he sat on the ground against a wagon wheel.
Mary sat beside him, handing over a piece of cold roast ham.
“It’s all I could wrestle from the lads,” she said, indicating the two men seated across from them.
“Nae true, m’laird,” Peter protested. “We gave the lass half the carcass.”
“I’m teasing, Peter.”
“Lass,” Arran said, brushing a strand of her long, curling hair from her face, “ye know there’s a good chance yer family or mine or some other fools looking to make trouble may decide they cannae let us be.”
She nodded. “We may not be able to remain in Scotland.”
Of course she’d already realized that. “I’ve heard that Virginia is a fine, fertile land,” he said slowly. “With milder winters than up in the Cairngorms.”
“Ye mean we have to be Yankees?” Peter asked.
“Do they have ale there?” Howard lifted the bottle they’d purchased from the inn. “And whisky?”
“Aye. They also have horses, I hear. And fiddles.”
“Well, if someone there can play the pipes and they have some good tobacco, then what are we waitin’ fer?” the footman announced.
“We’re waiting because we’re Highlanders,” Mary said, removing Arran’s jacket and putting it over his shoulders, then shifting to sit between his legs and lean back against his chest. “We’ll make a go of it here, first.” She took his arms and pulled them around her shoulders.
“I’m yer blanket now, am I?” he muttered, kissing her hair.
“You’re my everything,” she whispered back, tilting her head back to kiss his chin. “Now. Tell me this plan you have for tomorrow.”
Arran grinned. If his lady didn’t so much as blink an eye at the idea of traveling across an ocean to make a new life, she certainly wouldn’t be troubled by a bit of subterfuge.
As she said, they were Highlanders. And so with a bit of the luck that had been journeying with them so far, in twelve hours or so he would be a married man—and not a dead one.