Instantly suspicious, Brigette glanced sidelong at him. A frown clouded her features.
Magnus is my name, he introduced himself, then swept her a courtly bow. Gaberlunzie is my vocation. Can ye no tell by my garb?
Brigette stared blankly at him, and Magnus chuckled. Do ye know, he asked, what a gaberlunzie is?
No.
A gaberlunzie travels the roads, he explained, and tells his tales for supper. And ye are?
Brigette Mac . . . Bria. She gulped nervously. I hope Ill not be mentioned in any of your tales.
Magnus grinned, thoroughly and hopelessly enchanted by the mysterious, green-eyed Sassenach. Well, Brigette MacBria, he teased, the price of my silence is a ride on yer horse.
Wary of traveling with a stranger, Brigette was uncertain, but her need for companionship overrode her caution. Call me Brie — all my friends do.
Magnus mounted behind her. Reaching around her body, he took control of the reins. Brigette was tense, understandably so, since shed never been alone with a strange man except Ross MacArthur. As they rode, their silence was companionable and soothed her rioting nerves. Gradually, she relaxed, almost imperceptibly leaning against the masculine body.
Magnuss unease grew in direct proportion to Brigettes relaxation. He felt the delicate column of her back and marveled at what a fragile creature she was. Her head rested in the crook of his neck, and the fresh scent of her hair besieged his senses. He felt his manhood stirring and stretching beneath his garments.
So, yer for England, Magnus commented, hoping casual conversation would alleviate his baser urgings.
Yes.
Goin home to yer family?
How do you know Im English? she asked suspiciously.
Ye dinna speak like a native Scot.
Oh.
Yeve family in London?
No.
Friends, then . . . who? he asked, and felt her body stiffen. Perhaps I know them.
I doubt it, Brigette replied coldly.
Shes running away, Magnus decided. Where is it yer comin from, lassie?
Thats none of your business! May I remind you, she haughtily informed him, you are riding only through my forbearance. If you prove bothersome, my invitation will be rescinded. Do you understand?
Quite so, he mimicked her upper-crust accent, then smiled, thinking she had spunk.
They rode along in silence, not quite as companionable as before. Magnus cleared his throat, then ventured slyly, This steed is MacArthur property. Brigette tensed and he knew hed struck a nerve.
Instead of responding with anger, Brigette decided two could play his game. Your hands do not have the look of a working man, she observed.
A gaberlunzie toils wi his tongue, lassie.
Is that so? She turned one of his hands over. The calluses on your palms speak of rigorous training with a sword. Magnus was silent. Brigette longed to turn and catch the expression on his face. In fact, she continued, although you give the impression of advancing age, I know you are a young man. Why, you must be of an age with — She caught herself just in time.
Of an age wi whom?
Nobody. Who are you, really?
Im stronger than ye, he whispered harshly against her ear. Yer remainin alive only through my forbearance. If ye prove bothersome . . . Ye ken?
I ken, she croaked, trembling with fear. What folly to have given a ride to this murdering rogue! Indeed, what folly to have left the safety of Dunridges walls!
Magnus halted the horse abruptly, and Brigette held her breath, certain her end was at hand. He dismounted and pulled her, none too gently, from the saddle. As he stared into her green eyes, wide with fright, his forbidding expression softened. Im verra sorry for threatenin ye, he apologized. A truce is in order, would ye no agree?
Brigette nodded quickly and Magnus smiled at her sudden willingness to please him. Weve secrets we dinna want known. Can we no journey together wiout pryin?
You pried first.
I stand corrected.
Caught unexpectedly in the depths of her emerald eyes, Magnus lowered his head to press his lips against hers. When they would have made contact, Brigettes stomach growled loudly, roaring like a wild beast.
Smiling, Magnus drew back. Are ye hungry?
Famished.
Why did ye no say so? he chided.
Have you food? Brigettes mouth watered in anticipation.
No on my person, Magnus admitted, but well get some.
How?
Magnus looked around and then at the sky. Its nearly dusk, he said. Well stop for the night.
Will you hunt?
Theres nae need for huntin. Campbell crofters abound in the area.
What good does that do us? Brigette asked irritably.
Its a custom of the Highlands to offer hospitality to travelers, he explained.
I prefer my passage south not be marked.
Dinna worry aboot that, my wee Sassenach, he said, playfully tapping the tip of her upturned nose. Its also a Highland custom to refrain from askin a travelers identity . . .
Brigette, having declined one of the cottages two chairs, sat on the floor in front of the small hearth and finished her meal of meatless stew, cheese, and bread. Never had she eaten a more satisfying meal.
Magnus had been correct. Asking no questions, the aging crofter and his wife had invited them to share their meager supper and lodging. However, something in their manner suggested theyd met Magnus previously.
Yeve a mighty appetite for such a wee lady, Magnus teased, sitting beside her. The stew was to yer likin, then?
Brigette blushed. I was hungry. Besides, better stew than haggis.
Magnus smiled. Its time for sleep. We leave at dawn.
Yer welcome to our bed, my lady, the crofters wife offered.
Looking at the older woman, Brigette decided youth should sleep on the floor. No, thank you, she refused.
Wrap yerselves in this, the crofter said, handing Magnus a Campbell plaid. Twill keep ye warm.
Magnus smiled wryly at Brigette. If we lie together and wrap the plaid around ourselves, well be toasty.
Are there not two we could use? Her cheeks were scarlet.
Theres only the one. Magnus grinned wickedly.
Well, she hedged, wondering if the crofter and his wife could be considered suitable chaperones.
Ye dinna trust me?
I — I — I guess I do.
To a Highlander, Brie, theres nothin considered more dishonorable than takin advantage of a person whos placed his trust in ye.
Are you a native Highlander?
I am, Magnus vowed solemnly, but his lips twitched with suppressed merriment.
Green eyes met gray, and Brigette knew hed spoken truthfully. Shyly, she slid into his embrace. Magnus folded the Campbell plaid around them, sealing out the nights chill, and held her close. Brigette rested her head against his chest, the rhythmic beating of his heart soon lulling her into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Magnus pressed a light kiss on the top of her head and closed his eyes.
Smack! The smarting pain of a lusty whack on her derriere awakened Brigette. Iain! she thought in alarm. Iain is here.
Get up, I say, a stern voice ordered, and Brigette opened her eyes to find Magnus looming above her. Ye lazy chit. Dawn was an hour past, and the Campbells are hard at work. If ye dinna get up now, Ill leave ye behind. She accepted his extended hand and rose tiredly. Theres porridge for ye on the table.
The porridge was cold. Thinking it might be the only food shed have that day, Brigette forced herself to eat, then glanced sidelong at her companion.
After neatly folding the Campbell plaid, Magnus packed it in a sackcloth that he swung over his shoulder. He met her questioning gaze. Theyve insisted we take the plaid and a few supplies as well.
To provision passing travelers is also a Highland custom?
Nae, lassie, its the magnanimous generosity of the great clan Campbell.
Afternoons shadows were
fading into dusk when Magnus left the road and entered the forest. They stopped near a stream where they could water the horse and camp for the night.
Magnus dismounted and lifted an exhausted Brigette from the saddle. Thanks to the Campbells, he told her, weve nae need to hunt tonight. We willna build a fire.
But Im cold, Brigette whined pitifully. Tears of misery welled up in her eyes.
I know ye are, he said, caressing her cheek, but were nae longer on Campbell lands. Tomorrow will be better, and Ill do my best to keep ye from freezin tonight. Go on and take care of yer private needs.
Brigette blushed ferociously, then walked into the trees. When she returned, Magnus had unpacked the sackcloth. In silence, they ate a meager supper of bread and cheese.
Its time for sleepin. Magnus held the plaid open in invitation.
B-but weve no chaperon.
I dinna think were likely to find one here. Come to me and Ill keep ye warm.
Brigette moved into his embrace. Magnus wrapped the plaid around them, and as they lay on their earthen bed, his arms encircled her and held her close. Glancing up, she found him watching her.
Captivated by his piercing gray eyes, Brigette was powerless to protest when his lips descended to hers. For the barest fraction of a second, she gave herself over to his kiss, but Iains image rose in her minds eye like a spectre, and sanity returned. Her small hands pressed against his chest, attempting to push him away.
Please, she pleaded as he kissed her eyelids and temples. I am a married woman.
Unhappily married, he whispered huskily, without stopping his sensual onslaught.
Happy or unhappy, it matters naught, Brigette said bitterly. I have taken a vow before God. Besides, I love my husband.
Magnus sighed in defeat. And I, unfortunately, am an honorable mon. Yer safe wi me. Snuggling close, they fell asleep.
They entered London through the Bishopgate nearly two weeks later on a miserable, rainy day. Wide-eyed with wonder, Brigette was boggled by her first sight of Londontown. Never in her wildest daydreams had she conceived of a place like this, so large and busy.
Crowds of all kinds of people rushed hither and thither, crisscrossing the narrow, muddy streets. The Londoners appeared to be in a race. Perhaps, Brigette speculated, to see who would finish their business first and get out of the rain?
Magnus halted the horse and dismounted, then helped Brigette down. Her feet promptly sank in the mud, and she giggled as droplets of rain dripped from the tip of her nose.
By Gods holy grace, weve finally arrived, Magnus said, staring into bewitching green eyes.
So we have.
Ive a tale to spin for a fellow. Ill be takin my leave of ye.
Oh. A constricting lump of sadness formed in Brigettes throat.
I could escort ye to yer friends, Magnus offered.
No, Brigette quickly declined. No, thank you.
It would be nae trouble, he added, reluctant to leave her.
Theres no need, she assured him with a bright smile. My destination is not far from here. Ill be fine.
Travelin wi ye, Brie, has been a singularly unique experience. Highly memorable.
Brigette grinned. Is that a compliment or not?
Magnus chuckled, then drew her into his arms. His lips swooped down to capture hers in a lingering kiss. Ill miss ye, he whispered, then walked away.
Feeling bereft, Brigette watched him go and absently stroked the horse. The horse! she remembered suddenly. Magnus? she shouted and raced after him, pulling the horse along behind. Magnus!
He whirled around and hurried back. What is it?
The horse. Brigette handed him the reins. Hes a gift from me.
I dinna ken.
Ive no need for him, she explained. Ride him back to Scotland when you return.
Are ye certain?
Yes.
I willna forget yer kindness. Magnus kissed her cheek, then mounted and rode away. He looked back once and saw Brigette standing like a lost waif where hed left her, then turned the horse in the direction of the Strand, Londons most elite section.
Turning off the Strand, Magnus rode up the narrow coach drive that led to Lennox House, then traveled around to the rear. He dismounted and knocked on the door. When it opened, a sour-faced footman peered out.
Good afternoon, Magnus greeted the servant.
What do you want? the footman questioned imperiously. Youll find no handouts here.
Ive just arrived from the North, Magnus said, controlling the urge to lay the man out cold, and Ive an interestin tale for the earls ears.
You wish to speak with the earl? the footman asked incredulously.
Hes expectin me.
Expecting you! the footman repeated in shocked disbelief.
If ye value yer position wi the earl, Magnus threatened, yed best fetch him now!
Very well. The door slammed shut.
Several moments later, the door opened again. The Earl of Lennox, middle-aged and expensively dressed, studied the ragged gaberlunzie.
Ive a tale for ye, Lennox, aboot a queen in search of a suitable mate. Would ye care to hear it?
Campbell?
Aye. Magnus stepped inside.
The Earl of Lennox shook his head, disgusted by the others tattered robe. Must you disguise yourself in rags? Why not change for the better?
Magnus arched a mocking brow. As whom, do ye think, should I be travelin the length of Scotland and England? Almighty God? That would be discreet.
As Magnus vanished from sight, Brigette stayed where she was, standing ankle-deep in mud. Wretchedly alone, she looked around and wondered where she could go. Her hastily formulated plan had not included what she would do once shed actually arrived in London.
Ill follow the crowd, she decided. The busiest area is probably safest. Ignoring the pelting rain and sucking mud, Brigette began to walk, her thoughts becoming bleaker with each step she took.
Doubts of her continued survival creeped across her mind. What folly to have flown from Dunridge without a proper plan, Brigette berated herself. Each of these passing people has some place to go — a family, a home. Only I have no refuge. If I were not experiencing this, I would never believe a person can be utterly alone in such a crowded, bustling town.
Ignorant of where she walked, Brigette happened upon Cheapside Market, teeming with people. Suddenly, she was jostled from behind by a street urchin, who shouted an apology as he ran past her.
Be careful, warned a nearby voice, or youll find your pockets picked.
Brigette checked her pocket for her coins. Empty! Outraged, Brigette raced frantically after the boy, who she was certain had stolen her money.
As she struggled to run in the mud, her heavily sodden skirt became entangled with her legs and down she went. Tired and hungry and cold, Brigette was defeated by circumstances. There she sat, loudly wailing her misery. That the daughter of a belted earl had sunk so low!
Yeow! Someone tripped over her and landed beside her in the mud. Through a hazy blur of tears, Brigette saw a young woman covered with mud.
What the bloody hell dya think ya doin? the woman screeched, leaping to her feet. She glared belligerently at Brigette, who cried even harder.
Earthy was the word a casual observer might use to describe the angry woman. Of average height, she was much taller than Brigette and had a well-endowed frame. Curly as a mop, her hair was a light shade of brown, shot through with strands of pale blond. Intelligent hazel eyes topped a nondescript nose that sported a smattering of freckles thrown on for good measure.
The woman looked Brigette over speculatively. Aha! she thought when her eyes touched on Brigettes smooth, ivory hands. An honest days work is a stranger to those pretty hands. This is no low-class wench, but someone of quality. Are ya so addle-brained, she sneered, ya cant think ta get out of the rain?
I — Ive n-no place to g-go, Brigette sobbed.
A runaway! Some fine lord will pay a handsome reward for her safe return. T
he woman extended her hand and said, Ya have now.
Brigette looked dumbly at the offered hand and then into hazel eyes. W-what?
I said ya got a place ta go, the woman repeated. Give me ya hand and be quick about it. Brigette accepted the extended hand and stood. My name is Marianne, but call me Randi — all my friends do.
My name is Brigette, but call me Brie — all my friends do.
Yave got friends? Marianne asked in mock disbelief. Id never have known it by the way ya were wallowin in the mud like a bloody, squealin pig.
Of course I have friends! Brigette returned indignantly. Many friends! Quite obviously, they do not reside in Londontown.
Indubitably so. Marianne mimicked her uppity accent. I humbly beg your pardon, my lady. How embarrassingly remiss of me not to have realized.
In spite of her woes, Brigette burst out laughing, and Marianne winked at her. Come along. The Rooster is just around the corner.
Rooster?
The Royal Rooster Tavern, Marianne explained. Where I live and work.
The two women trudged through the mud. Before reaching the corner, Marianne pulled Brigette into a dingy, foul-smelling alley. Well use the back door, she said. Lookin like we do, I dont want ta alarm any customers.
Halfway down the alley, Marianne led Brigette into the taverns kitchen, then shoved her ungently onto a nearby stool. Stay put, sweetie, she ordered. Ill get ya somethin ta revive ya spirits.
Brigette primly folded her hands on her lap and glanced around. Several feet away stood the taverns cook, staring at her. He was short and grossly stout, bordering on elephantine. His lips were blubbery full, and his dark, beady eyes were snakelike. Brigette had never seen a more repulsive-looking man.
Drink it all up, Marianne ordered. She passed Brigette a dram of whiskey, then noticed the cook staring at them. What the bloody hell dya think ya watchin, Bertie?
Bertie opened his mouth to reply, but Mariannes tongue was fast and sharp. Why dont ya go bugger yaself, pig? Brigette choked on the whiskey, and Marianne slapped her back, nearly toppling her off the stool.
The door from the common room swung open, and a blond-haired woman walked into the kitchen. She was comely and knew how to flaunt her good looks, as evidenced by her revealing, low-cut blouse.
Spying the two mud-covered apparitions, the newcomer stopped short. What the bloody hell did ya bring home this time, Randi? she screeched. Another stray?
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