Rogue with a Brogue

by Suzanne Enoch

  It was as if she’d just discovered the sun with all its light and warmth, and then been faced with the prospect of never seeing it again. She needed to tell him that, but not here. Not now, when it might seem that all she wanted was his protection.

  “… think she’d actually come here?” Charles Calder’s voice came from only a few feet away. She jumped, and Arran’s arm tightened across her shoulders.

  “That depends,” her father’s deeper voice returned. “If that blood belonged to Mary, they’re likely nowhere near here. If it’s MacLawry who’s been injured, well, I expected to see her sitting by the road considering the best way to apologize for all this. She’s a clever thing, but she’s not about to carry MacLawry about and risk taking responsibility for shaming me and betraying the clan.”

  So that was what her father thought of her. And a few weeks ago, his assessment would likely have been correct. She had become an expert in avoiding complications. What he hadn’t taken into account was Arran, and how brave he made her feel. Yes, she’d come here for assistance, but she hadn’t chosen to ask the help of her aunt because it was a way out of all this. She’d come because they needed a safe place to rest for a few days.

  “I’m assuming I’ll still be marrying her once we straighten this out.”

  Mary made a face in the silent dark. Not bloody likely, she thought to herself.

  “The announcement’s been printed, my boy. As far as most of London is concerned, she’s at Fendarrow waiting for us to arrive for the wedding. I insist that you marry her. If she won’t make an alliance for us, I will see that she doesn’t make any further trouble.” The marquis’s voice came from nearer by; he must have been in the doorway to the storage closet.

  “That’s all I ask. Well, except for one other small matter. In all the rush to catch up to them, you haven’t said what you mean to do about MacLawry.”

  Her father made a disgusted sound. “This wardrobe wouldn’t look out of place in a barn,” he commented.

  “Well, it was purchased on a banker’s salary,” Charles said smoothly, amusement in his voice. Good heavens, he was a sycophant. Mary had known that before, but she hadn’t actually listened to what a toady he was until now.

  The marquis chuckled, and the stack of hat boxes fell over. No, no, no. She felt Arran shift ever so slightly, and knew he’d moved the pistol into his hand. If that wall panel moved, someone was going to die.

  “But MacLawry?” Charles pressed, his voice close enough that she could likely reach out and touch him.

  “You heard his brother. Glengask is so anxious to keep this tattered little truce that he’s ready to disown our large Highlander. It would be even easier if Arran simply vanished, don’t you think? His family could invent tales about how he escaped to the Colonies to begin a new life.”

  “You’re not suggesting we let him go, I presume.”

  “No, Charles, I’m not. I’m suggesting we tell everyone he chose to flee to America when we cornered him. And then the MacLawrys remain the aggressors, and the Campbells look both honorable and reasonable.”

  “Will Mary keep her mouth shut about it?”

  “You’ll be her husband. She couldn’t say anything against you even if she chose to. Which she won’t. That would make her responsible for ending the truce. Mary’s too proper to want blood on her hands.”

  “You’ve been thinking about this quite a bit, haven’t you, Uncle?”

  “Since we broke Crawford out of that inn, yes, I have.”

  This was not her father. This was not the man who’d purchased her hats, who’d danced the quadrille with her at Almack’s, who’d said he was relieved that Glengask and her second cousin George Gerdens-Daily had arranged for a truce between their clans.

  Whoever this man was, he’d speculated about whether or not she was injured only in terms of strategy. He promised again to give her to a man he knew to be nothing more than a social-climbing killer. And he spoke about murdering a man—the man she loved enough to flee her old, safe life—as if the only inconvenience was the fact that they would have to hide the body.

  “Turn over the mattress, Charles. I wouldn’t put it past them to hide under the bed.”

  Still chatting about the best way they could do away with Arran and get her to a church with the fewest people possible knowing anything had gone amiss, the voices faded toward the master bedchamber. Other than the sheer cold-bloodedness of the conversation, she was struck by their supreme confidence in the fact that they would catch her and Arran.

  “Was that bastard your father, Lady Mary?” Howard muttered in his gravel-rough voice.

  “Silence,” Arran whispered in response, so quietly the word almost seemed to drift on the air. “They’re nae alone.”

  Did he mean there were more men in the house? Or that there were men waiting silently in the room, listening for them? Mary shivered, her muscles already tight and aching. What if her father decided to stay the night? What if he slept in the room a dozen feet away from where they were hiding? They could be trapped there in the dark, unable to move for fear of making a sound, for days.

  Warm lips brushed her ear. “When they dunnae find us, they’ll have to move on,” Arran breathed. “Your father has to catch us before we reach the border.”

  Evidently Arran MacLawry could read her thoughts. Not daring to speak herself, she settled for a silent nod. What he said made sense. If her father didn’t find them here, he would have to assume they’d slipped away north again.

  After what felt like another hour but must have been ten or fifteen minutes, the chair in which Arran had spent the night shifted and creaked, and booted feet left the room for the stairs at the front of the hallway. Goodness. How had Arran known? Had he heard an extra set of footfalls when the men first entered the room? Was there someone else still inside?

  Farther away male voices mingled, her aunt Sarah’s higher-pitched response cutting in every so often. Glass broke, but the conversation continued. How odd, that a woman Mary had met only fifteen hours earlier could hide and defend her when her own father couldn’t be bothered to do so. And how surprising that a man she’d known only a few weeks had become more precious to her than her own clan. Than her own family.

  A door downstairs shut soundly. Shortly after that, she was certain she heard hooves pounding down the hard-packed front drive. Was it over, then? Or had her father left someone behind to keep watch? Oh, dear. That was what she would have done.

  “How long do we wait?” Peter asked, in the quietest voice she’d ever heard the footman use.

  “Mòrag and Sean’ll come tell us when they’ve well and gone,” Arran answered.

  “I hope it’s soon,” Howard put in. “I need to piss. Begging your pardon, my lady.”

  “Well, now I need to piss too, ye halfwit,” Peter grumbled.

  “Church mice.” Arran’s chest shook a little, and Mary realized he was chuckling silently.

  After all this, after hearing men say they meant to kill him, after being in a brawl and then being struck on the head by a falling coach, he was amused. And just that thought lifted her heart, as well. Because if Arran could laugh, then she could certainly manage to muddle her way through beside him.

  “I love you, Arran MacLawry,” she murmured.

  His arm around her shoulders jumped. “I may still be delirious, lass,” he returned in the same tone, “because I think I heard someaught.”

  “You did, you rogue,” she said, smiling in the darkness.

  “Say it again, will ye, Mary?”

  “I love you.”

  “And I love ye, my bonny lass. Ye’ve seized my heart, and I’ll nae have it back from ye.”

  She reached over to find his face with her free hand, then leaned up to kiss him. Without him she’d been alone in the dark for a very long time. Arran had drawn her into the light. She felt it around her even now, light and warm and freeing. And with him in her life, she would never be in darkness again. Not even here and now.
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  “What’s that sound?” Howard asked.

  “They’re kissing,” Peter answered.

  Arran laughed against her mouth, and Mary joined him. Not even the blackest dark could stand against them. Not when they were together.

  * * *

  Arran almost wished Fendarrow and his clan would ride back to the house. Because at this moment, dented head or not, he was fairly certain he could take on the entire Campbell clan with one hand tied behind his back.

  Mary loved him.

  He kissed her again, wishing Peter and Howard had found another hole in which to hide so he could be alone and naked with her. While he wasn’t precisely at his best, he could likely manage that.

  At the sound of rapid footfalls approaching he broke away from her mouth and firmed his grip on the pistol. “Be ready,” he breathed. The hidden door slid up. Even the relatively dim light that entered their hole seemed nearly blinding, but he narrowed his eyes and lifted the weapon.

  “They’re gone,” Sean Mallister said, ducking his head into the opening. “Left a man behind on the nearest hillside to keep an eye on us, I imagine, but I spotted him the moment he rode up there.”

  With a nod Arran pocketed the pistol again and motioned Mary toward the opening. “After ye, lass. Lads.”

  When the rest of them had exited, he put his head back against the bare wood of the wall and blew out his breath. That had been too damned close. He hadn’t arranged the setting, but this was not how a Highlander dealt with trouble. And it was the last time he would hide from his foes in the dark.

  Before anyone could crawl back in looking for him, he turned onto all fours, shut one eye against the throbbing, and exited the hidden room. The Campbells had left the hat boxes where they’d fallen, scattered across the floor of the storage closet.

  “Let me help you,” Mary said, putting a hand beneath his shoulder and pulling.

  He could stand up on his own, but this gave him the excuse to hold her close against him. “Thank ye, Mary.”

  The spare bedchamber looked like it had been torn apart by wolves. The Campbells had even taken a knife to the mattress and ripped it open. Feathers littered the plain wooden floor and the blue rug before the hearth like white and gray leaves. And they’d done this not only to their own kin, but to a household that could ill afford to replace the items.

  “This is inexcusable, Uncle Sean,” Mary said, a tear running down one cheek as she looked about the room. “I will repay you for the damage. I promise.”

  “We will,” Arran amended.

  “I appreciate the sentiment,” the banker returned, looking far less perturbed than Arran would have expected. “But it’s not necessary.”

  Holding on to the railing, Arran trailed his small troop down the stairs. Now that he could see straight, he noted the tidy, simple rooms, the fresh flowers that seemed to take the place of expensive heirlooms, and the utter lack of family portraits on the walls. All these two people had was each other.

  Sarah Mallister sat on the floor in the front sitting room as she gathered up bills and correspondence that had spilled out of a tipped-over writing desk. “Let me help you with that,” Mary said, releasing Arran and hurrying forward to kneel beside her aunt.

  “Where’s the fellow ye spied?” Arran asked, facing Sean.

  “Just up the hill on the far side of the road. I’d point at him from the window, but I fear he has a spyglass. And if he does, he can see everyone coming and going from here for two miles in either direction.”

  “Unless he’s a damned cat,” Peter drawled, “he’ll nae see us in the dark.”

  “Aye,” Arran agreed. “But it’s nae dark, so ye and Howard and bonny Mary stay away from the windows at the front of the hoose.”

  “I’ll be in the kitchen,” Howard said. “This house is too fancy for the likes of me.”

  “‘Too fancy,’” Sarah repeated with a rueful laugh. “Bless you, sir.”

  “I’m no sir, ma’am. Just Howard. Howard Howard.”

  Arran exchanged an amused glance with Mary as the coachman left the room, Peter on his heels. “I thought he’d just declined to give us his other name.” He leaned back against the wall to help him keep his balance. “This couldnae have been an easy thing fer ye. We cannae thank ye enough fer giving us a moment or two to breathe.”

  “Please don’t thank us, Lord Arran,” Sarah countered, letting Sean pull her and Mary to their feet and then giving her niece a tight hug.

  “It’s just Arran to ye, if ye dunnae mind,” Arran said.

  “Arran, then. I don’t care if they’ve broken a few things. You have no idea how long I’ve waited to stand up to the Marquis of Fendarrow. You gave me that chance. And I am very—very—grateful.”

  “But my father broke your things, destroyed your home, because of us.”

  “You gave him a reason to come calling. But he did all this”—and Sarah gestured at the torn couch cushions and curtains ripped from the windows—“simply because he could. Sean and I have no clan, no one to rally behind us or make anyone hesitate to do us ill. That was the price we paid to be together.” She smiled, putting an arm around her husband’s waist as he slid his arm across her shoulders. “And I would gladly pay it a hundred times over.”

  He and Mary were looking into a mirror, Arran realized. Not only could either or both of their clans cause trouble whenever they wished, but so could anyone who’d ever had a disagreement with or a grudge against either a Campbell or a MacLawry. And yet.

  And yet. Sean and Sarah claimed they had no regrets, and he couldn’t detect any sign that they were anything but sincere. “I wouldnae say ye dunnae have a clan, Mòrag,” he said slowly. “Ye have us.”

  Mary smiled at him. If he’d required any proof that she was the only thing he needed, that smile provided it. He pushed away from the wall and moved forward, not stopping until he had her in his arms, her mouth soft and warm against his.

  “We seem to have a clan, my dear,” Sean said from behind them.

  “Aye. Ye do.” Arran lifted his head. “Whether ye want one or nae.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “We could stay another few days,” Mary said, running her fingers down Arran’s chest and then following with her lips. Beneath her cheek his heartbeat accelerated—because of her touch. Because of her. It was intoxicating.

  “Your father’ll double back if he doesnae catch our scent. And we’ve been here nearly three days already. We cannae risk more.”

  “But Sarah and Sean will be here when my father returns. I can’t leave them to his cruelty when I’ve already seen what he’ll do.”

  “I’ve an idea that might help them some.” Arran slid his free hand around her waist and pulled her squarely atop him.

  “What idea?” she asked, trying to concentrate on the conversation rather than on where his hands were now roving.

  “Just a way to make it look fer certain like they had naught to do with us.” He cupped her face in his hands. “Now. We’ve an hour before nightfall, my lass. Do ye want to keep chatting aboot our plans fer tonight, or do ye think we might do someaught aboot this terrible swelling I seem to have?”

  She laughed. “Again?” Mary drew her hand down between them to curl her fingers around his terrible swelling. “I thought we just dealt with this.”

  Arran lifted his head a little to nibble at her exposed throat. “Ye keep encouraging the lad. Perhaps if ye put yer legs aroond my hips,” he said, nudging her legs apart so she straddled him.

  With her on top of him, her legs spread, she felt very wanton. Keen need flashed through her, heady and arousing. “Well, let’s take care of that, then,” she breathed.

  “Kiss me first.”

  Lowering her face, her bottom up in the air, she kissed him hot and openmouthed. His cock brushed the inside of her thighs, and she moaned. Arran reached up, opening her with his fingers, and guided her down over him. Mary sat up, sinking down around him. Oh, this was exquisite. He’d been in
control before, but this way it was her leading them. She could tease him, coax him, drive him as mad as he drove her.

  Planting her palms against his chest, she lifted up and slowly lowered herself again, then repeated the motion as he looked up at her, an aroused smile on his face. “Are ye trying to torment me, Mary?” Arran murmured, catching her breasts in his hands and gently pinching her nipples. “Come fer me, lass.”

  He pushed his hips up, filling her completely. With a gasping moan she shattered, flinging herself against him as he rocked up into her, holding her hips to deepen his upward thrusts. Good heavens.

  As she regained control of her muscles she straightened again, bouncing up and down on his hard cock until he threw his head back and surged up into her. Then with a satisfied sigh she collapsed on his chest again. “You’re very good at this, you know,” she panted.

  “Ye drive me mad, lass,” he said, putting his arms around her. “I want to be inside ye all day and all night, but I lose myself with wanting ye.”

  If he was admitting to a lack of finesse or some such thing, she decided that him being in complete control of himself would likely kill her. She kissed his shoulder. “I’m never letting you go, Arran. Never.”

  His grip around her tightened. Legs and arms entwined, with him still inside her, ever leaving this bed would be the worst sin she could imagine. Ever leaving his side, being separated from him, would kill her. She knew that with as much certainty as she knew her own name.

  “I changed my mind,” he murmured. “We should stay here. I’m nae letting ye oot of this bed.”

  Mary chuckled. “What about my father doubling back to find us?”

  He shrugged beneath her. “They’ve likely forgotten all aboot us by now. I say we take our chances and make our stand here.”