Scottish Brides (23 page)

Her savior (or was it nemesis?—Margaret just wasn't sure) smiled slowly and said, “Then you're not married.”

She took a few steps back. “Uh, no, uh, I really must be going.”

His eyes narrowed. “You're not here to elope, are you? Because that's
always
a bad idea. I have a friend with property in the area, and he tells me that the inns are full of women who have been compromised on the way to Gretna Green but never wed.”

“I am certainly
not
eloping,” she said testily. “Do I really look that foolish?”

“No, you don't. But forget I asked. I really don't care.” He shook his head wearily. “I've ridden all day, I'm sore as hell, and I still haven't found my sister. I'm glad you're safe, but I don't have time to sit here and—”

Her entire countenance changed. “Your
sister?”
she repeated, charging forward. “You're looking for your sister? Tell me, sir, how old is she, what does she look like, and are you a Fornby, Ferrige, or Fitch?”

He looked at her as if she had suddenly sprouted horns. “What the devil are you talking about, woman? My name is Angus Greene.”

“Damn,” she muttered, surprising even herself with her use of profanity. “I had been hoping you might prove a useful ally.”

“If you're not here to elope, what
are
you doing here?”

“My brother,” she grumbled. “The nitwit thinks he wants to marry, but his brides are completely unsuitable.”

“Brides, plural? Bigamy is still illegal in England, is it not?”

She scowled at him. “I don't know which one he eloped with. He didn't say. But they're all just horrible.” She shuddered, looking as if she had just swallowed an antidote. “Horrible.”

A fresh burst of rain fell upon them, and without even thinking, Angus took her arm and pulled her under the deep overhang. She kept on talking through the entire maneuver.

“When I get my hands on Edward, I'm going to bloody well kill him,” she was saying. “I was quite busy in Lancashire, you know. It's not as if I had time to drop everything and chase him to Scotland. I've a sister to care for, and a wedding to plan. She's getting married in three months, after all. The last thing I needed was to travel up here and—”

His hand tightened around her arm. “Wait one moment,” he said in a tone that immediately shut her mouth. “Don't tell me you traveled to Scotland by yourself.” His brows pulled together, and he looked as if he were in pain. “Do not tell me that.”

She caught sight of the fire burning in his dark eyes, and drew back as far as his heavy grip would let her. “I knew that you were crazy,” she said, looking from side to side as if searching for someone to save her from this lunatic.

Angus yanked her in closer, purposefully using his size and strength to intimidate her. “Did you or did you not embark upon a long-distance journey without an escort?”

“Yes?” she said, the single syllable coming out like a question.

“Good God, woman!” he exploded. “Are you insane? Do you have any idea what happens to women traveling alone? Did you give no thought to your own safety?”

Margaret's mouth fell open.

He let go of her and started to pace. “When I think about what might have happened . . .” He gave his head a shuddering shake, muttering, “Jesus, whiskey, and Robert the Bruce. The woman is daft.”

Margaret blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of all this. “Sir,” she began cautiously, “you don't even know me.”

He whirled around. “What the hell is your name?”

“Margaret Pennypacker,” she answered before it occurred to her that maybe he really
was
a lunatic, and maybe she shouldn't have told him the truth.

“Fine,” he spat out. “Now I know you. And you're a fool. On a fool's errand.”

“Just wait one moment!” she burst out, stepping forward and waving her arm at him. “I happen to be engaged in an extremely serious mission. My brother's very happiness might be at stake. Who are you to judge me?”

“The man who saved you from rape.”

“Well!” Margaret responded, mostly because that was all she could think to say.

He raked his hand through his hair. “What are your plans for tonight?”

“That's none of your business!”

“You became my business the minute I saw you being dragged off by—” Angus whipped his head around, realizing that he'd forgotten about the man he'd knocked unconscious. The fellow had woken up and was slowly rising to his feet, obviously trying to move as silently as possible.

“Don't move,” Angus snapped at Margaret. He was in front of the burly man in two steps, then grabbed his collar and hauled him up until his feet dangled in the air. “Do you have anything to say to this woman?” he growled.

The man shook his head.

“I think you do.''

“I certainly have nothing to say to
him,”
Margaret put in, trying to be helpful.

Angus ignored her. “An apology, perhaps? An abject apology with ample use of the phrase ‘I'm a miserable cur' might lessen my temper and save your pathetic life.”

The man started to shake. “I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry.”

“Really, Mr. Greene,” Margaret said quickly, “I think we're quite finished. Perhaps you ought to let him go.”

“Do you want to hurt him?”

Margaret was so surprised, she started to cough. “I beg your pardon,” she finally managed to get out.

His voice was hard and strangely flat as he repeated his question. “Do you want to hurt him? He would have dishonored you.”

Margaret blinked uncontrollably at the odd light in his eyes, and she had the most horrifying feeling that he would kill the man if she just gave the word. “I'm fine,” she choked out. “I believe I managed a few blows earlier in the evening. It quite satisfied my meager bloodlust.”

“Not this one,” Angus replied. “You hurt the other two.”

“I'm fine, really.”

“A woman has a right to her revenge.”

“There's really no need, I assure you.” Margaret glanced quickly about, trying to assess her chances for escape. She was going to have to make a run for it soon. This Angus Greene fellow might have saved her life, but he was completely mad.

Angus dropped the man and pushed him forward. “Get out of here before I kill you.”

Margaret began to tiptoe in the opposite direction.

“You!” he boomed. “Don't move.”

She froze. She might not like this huge Scotsman, but she was no idiot. He was twice her size, after all.

“Where do you think you're going?”

She decided not to answer that one.

He quickly closed the distance between them, crossed his arms, and glowered down at her. “I believe you were about to advise me of your plans for the evening.”

“I regret to inform you, sir, but my intentions were not following that particular line of—”

“Tell me!” he roared.

“I was going to look for my brother,” she blurted out, deciding that maybe she was a coward, after all. Cowardice, she decided, wasn't really such a bad thing when faced with a mad Scot.

He shook his head. “You're coming with me.”

“Oh, please,” she scoffed. “If you think—”

“Miss Pennypacker,” he interrupted, “I might as well inform you that when I make a decision, I rarely change my mind.”

“Mr. Greene,” she replied with equal resolve, “I am not your responsibility.”

“Perhaps, but I have never been the sort of man who could leave a lone woman to her own defenses. Therefore, you are coming with me, and we will decide what to do with you in the morning.”

“I thought you were looking for your sister,” she said, her irritation clear in her tone of voice.

“My sister certainly isn't getting any farther away from me in this weather. I'm sure she's tucked away in some inn, probably not even here at Gretna Green.”

“Shouldn't you search the inns for her this eve?”

“Anne is not an early riser. If she is indeed here, she will not resume her journey any earlier than ten. I have no qualms about delaying my search for her until the morning. Anne, I'm sure, is safe this eve. You, on the other hand, I have my doubts about.”

Margaret nearly stamped her foot. “There is no need—”

“My advice, Miss Pennypacker, is for you to accept your fate. Once you think about it, you'll realize it's not such a bad one. A warm bed, a good meal—how can those be so very offensive?”

“Why are you doing this?” she asked suspiciously. “What is in it for you?”

“Nothing,” he admitted with a lopsided smile. “But have you ever studied Chinese history?”

She shot him a wry look. As if English girls were ever actually allowed to study more than embroidery and the occasional history lesson—British history, of course.

“There's a proverb,” he said, his eyes growing reminiscent. “I don't remember how it goes precisely, but it is something about how once you save a life, you are responsible for it forever.”

Margaret choked on her breath. Good God, the man didn't think to watch over her forever, did he?

Angus caught her expression and nearly doubled over in laughter. “Oh, do not worry, Miss Pennypacker,” he said. “I have no plans to install myself as your permanent protector. I'll see you through until daylight and make certain you're settled, and then you may go on your merry way.”

“Very well,” Margaret said grudgingly. It was difficult to argue with someone who had one's best interests at heart. “I do appreciate your concern, and perhaps we might search for our errant siblings together. It should make the job a bit easier, I should think.”

He touched her chin, startling her with his gentleness. “That's the spirit. Now then, shall we be off?”

She nodded, thinking that perhaps she ought to make a peace offering of her own. After all, the man had saved her from a horrible fate, and she had responded by calling him a lunatic. “You have a scrape,” she said, touching his right temple. It had always been easier for her to show her gratitude through deeds, rather than words. “Why don't you let me tend to that? It's not very deep, but you ought to have it cleaned.”

He nodded and took her arm. “I would appreciate that.”

Margaret caught her breath, a bit surprised by how much larger he seemed when he was standing right next to her. “Have you secured a room yet?”

He shook his head. “Have you?”

“No, but I saw a vacancy sign at The Rose and Thistle.”

“The Canny Man is better. Cleaner, and the food is hot. We'll see if they have room first.”

“Cleanliness is good,” she commented, more than happy to forgive his arrogance if it meant clean sheets.

“Do you have a bag?”

“Not anymore,” she said ruefully.

“You were robbed?”

“I'm afraid so.” At his darkening look, she added quickly, “But I didn't bring anything of value.”

He sighed. “Well, there's nothing to be done about it now. Come with me. We'll discuss what to do about your brother and my sister once we're warm and fed.”

And then he grasped her arm a bit more securely and led her down the street.

Two

 

 

 

Their truce lasted all of two minutes. Margaret wasn't
exactly certain how it came about, but before they were even halfway to The Canny Man, they were bickering like children.

He couldn't resist reminding her that she'd been beyond foolish in setting out for Scotland by herself.

She just
had
to call him an arrogant boor as he propelled her up the front steps and into the inn.

But none of that—not one single snippy word—could have prepared her for what happened when they stood before the innkeeper.

“My wife and I require rooms for the night,” Angus said.

Wife?

By sheer force of will, Margaret managed to keep her jaw from dropping to her knees. Or maybe it was an act of God; she didn't much think her will was strong enough to keep her from smacking Angus Greene in the arm for his impertinence.

“We have only one room available,” the innkeeper informed them.

“We'll take that, then,” Angus replied.

This time she
knew
she was subject to divine intervention, because there could be no other explanation for her restraint in the face of her massive desire to box his ears.

The innkeeper nodded approvingly and said, “Follow me. I'll show you up. And if you would like a meal—”

“We would,” Angus cut in. “Something warm and filling.”

“I'm afraid all we have at this late hour is cold meat pie.”

Angus pulled a coin from his coat and held it forward. “My wife is very cold, and given her delicate condition, I would like to see that she receives a good meal.”