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.
“It's time for sleepin'.” Magnus held the plaid open in invitation.
“B-but we've no chaperon."
“I dinna think we're likely to find one here. Come to me and I'll 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 Iain's image rose in her mind's 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 God's holy grace, we've finally arrived,” Magnus said, staring into bewitching green eyes.
“So we have."
“I've a tale to spin for a fellow. I'll be takin’ my leave of ye."
“Oh.” A constricting lump of sadness formed in Brigette's throat.
“I could escort ye to yer friend's,” Magnus offered.
“No,” Brigette quickly declined. “No, thank you."
“It would be nae trouble,” he added, reluctant to leave her.
“There's no need,” she assured him with a bright smile. “My destination is not far from here. I'll 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. “I'll 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. “He's a gift from me."
“I dinna ken."
“I've 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 he'd left her, then turned the horse in the direction of the Strand, London's 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. “You'll find no handouts here."
“I've just arrived from the North,” Magnus said, controlling the urge to lay the man out cold, “and I've an interestin’ tale for the earl's ears."
“You wish to speak with the earl?” the footman asked incredulously.
“He's expectin’ me."
“Expecting you!” the footman repeated in shocked disbelief.
“If ye value yer position wi’ the earl,” Magnus threatened, “ye'd 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.
“I've 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 other's 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 she'd actually arrived in London.
I'll 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 you'll 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 d'ya 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 Brigette's smooth, ivory hands. An honest day's 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 can't think ta get out of the rain?"
“I—I've n-no place to g-go,” Brigette sobbed.
A runaway! Some fine lord will pay a handsome reward for her safe return. The 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."
“Ya've got friends?” Marianne asked in mock disbelief. “I'd 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. “We'll use the back door,” she said. “Lookin’ like we do, I don't want ta alarm any customers."
Halfway down the alley, Marianne led Brigette into the tavern's kitchen, then shoved her ungently onto a nearby stool. “Stay put, sweetie,” she ordered. “I'll get ya somethin’ ta revive ya spirits."
Brigette primly folded her hands on her lap and glanced around. Several feet away stood the tavern's 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 d'ya think ya watchin', Bertie?"
Bertie opened his mouth to reply, but Marianne's tongue was fast and sharp. “Why don't 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?"
“Back off, Lil, or ya'll regret it!” Marianne snarled. “And don't never call me Randi—the name's reserved for friends only!"
“What's going on here?” a deep, masculine voice rumbled. The voice belonged to a brawny, roughly handsome man who'd run into the kitchen at the sound of the women's angry voices. “We've customers waitin'. Move ya blasted arses!"
Bertie scurried back to his cooking, and Lil retreated into the common room. The man turned his attention on Marianne. “What the bloody hell happened?” he questioned sharply. “And who's this?"
“I fell over this lady in the street.” The sweetest of smiles graced Marianne's face. “Brie, this is Bucko Jacques, the Rooster's owner. Bucko, this young lady is Brigette ...?"
“Brigette Devereux MacArthur. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Jacques."
Bucko's dark eyes narrowed and Marianne tugged on his sleeve like a child. “Bucko, love, might we speak privately?"
Bucko nodded and walked to the far side of the kitchen with Marianne. “The wench is not a wench,” she whispered, “but a lady in distress. Sooner or later, a rich lord is bound ta come searchin’ for her. If we keep her safe here, he'll be ever so grateful and hand us a bag of gold for our trouble."
“I don't know, Randi.” Bucko looked doubtful.
“She can work for her keep until he comes. We could use an extra pair of hands."
“Where's she ta sleep?” he protested. “Business is good and we've no empty rooms."
Smiling coyly, Marianne rubbed her lush breasts against his arm. “If she shares the room with Lil, I'll be forced ta share ya bed."
“An excellent idea.” Bucko's eyes gleamed with lusty anticipation. “An extra pair of hands, a bag of gold, and you! What more could a man want?"
Bucko returned to the common room, unaware he'd fallen into a tender trap. Marianne smiled with satisfaction at his retreating back, then fetched a pan of hot water and a bar of soap. “Follow me,” she ordered Brigette, who fell into step behind her.
They went up the narrow, creaky stairs at the far end of the kitchen. At the top of the stairs, Marianne turned left, and they entered the first chamber. Depressingly small and windowless, it contained two cots, two small chests, and one ancient table, standing almost on its last leg.
“Ya'll share the room with Lil,” Marianne said, placing the pan of water on the table. “It's the best I can do.” She rummaged through one of the chests and pulled out an old, frayed nightshift, then glanced at Brigette, who'd made no move toward the pan of water. "Strip!"
“I—I beg your pardon?"
“Beg it all ya want,” Marianne returned, “but drop those clothes and wash, then get into the nightshift."
Brigette removed her muddied cloak and gown but retained her chemise. Then she began washing.
“Ya call that strippin'?” Marianne asked sharply.
“W-what?"
“Strip means ta take everythin’ off, sweetie. I want ta see ya bare-arse naked!"
“I beg your pardon?” Brigette's face was a vibrant scarlet.
“Ya really are an innocent babe, ain't ya?” Marianne chuckled. “Listen, angel, ya ain't got nothin’ that I ain't got more of. Understand?"
“Your words are quite clear."
“And I ain't bein’ naughty,” Marianne added. “I want ta wash those clothes."
“Oh.” Brigette removed her chemise and stood there, self-conscious in her nudity.
“Hurry up and wash.” Ignoring her embarrassment, Marianne grabbed the soiled clothes and headed for the door. “I'll bring ya somethin’ ta eat."
Brigette washed quickly and donned the tattered nightshift. Then she sat on the edge of a cot and waited.
Carrying a tray, Marianne returned a few minutes later. “Here we are, baby,” she said. “I've brought ya stew, bread, cheese, and mulled wine. Fall to and eat every bite."
Marianne sat on the other cot and watched, keeping up a steady stream of chatter all the while. “I'll be sleepin’ at the far end of the hall. Don't let Lil bother ya—she's all kitties and no brain.” Brigette opened her mouth to speak, but Marianne cut her off. “Eat,” she ordered. “I'll do the talkin'. Ya too skinny, and I'm plannin’ ta add some flesh ta those bones. In case ya didn't know—flesh attracts men and bones attract dogs."
When Brigette had consumed every morsel of the food, Marianne set the tray aside. “It's time for sleep, sweetie. I'll wake ya early, and ya can come to Cheapside Market with me.” In motherly fashion, she tucked the coverlet beneath Brigette's chin.
“You're a great lady,” Brigette said softly, unshed tears glistening in her eyes. “You've been exceedingly kind."
“It's noble of ya ta say so.” Marianne patted her hand.
“How can I ever repay you?"
“Don't worry about that,” Marianne said, then grinned. “I'm certain I'll think of somethin'."
Alone in the darkness, Brigette's thoughts veered to Scotland, traveling those many miles in the blink of an eye. I'll never see Iain again. Has he returned to Dunridge? Does he know I'm not there? Does he even care? Turning her face into the pillow, Brigette cried herself to sleep.
10
"Ye stupid bastard!"
Iain's fist connected with Percy's jaw, sending the younger man crashing to the floor in front of the hearth in Black Jack's study. Percy leaped nimbly to his feet. Poised for battle, the brothers circled each other.
“Brie left while I was in charge, but she wasna’ runnin’ away from me,” Percy jeered. “What did ye do to her?"
Enraged, Iain swore loudly and attacked, capturing his brother by the shirt. He raised his fist to strike but was grabbed unexpectedly fro
m behind.
“Dinna be rash,” Black Jack said. “Yer brother's a blockhead, but slaughterin’ him isna’ goin’ to bring yer wife home. Ye ken?"
The wisdom of his father's words penetrated Iain's fury. He took several deep breaths to cool his boiling temper, then nodded. Black Jack released him, then cast Percy a scathing glance, more painful than Iain's fist.
“Enter!” Black Jack bellowed, hearing the almost hesitant rap on the door. Moireach and Spring entered at his call. “Ladies,” he said, “tell us what ye recall of Brie's departure."
“Nothin'.” Moireach shook her head sadly. “I could almost swear she took nae food."
“I ken yer the lady's kin,” Black Jack said, his attention turning on Spring, “but tell us what ye know."
“She took no change of clothing, nor did she wear her warmest cloak."
“Yer protectin’ her,” Iain snarled. “Where is she?"
“I swear I know nothin'."
“Perhaps there's been foul play,” Black Jack mused aloud. “Brie couldna’ be so lackin’ in common sense that she'd flee wi’ nothin'."
“Yes, my lord,” Spring disagreed, “she could."
“I knew Lady Brie was leavin',” a small voice announced. “She told me.” All eyes darted to the door, where Glenda stood.
“Why did ye no’ tell Percy two weeks ago?” Iain roared, frightening the child. “Tell us what ye know!"
Glenda's face became deathly pale. Her bottom lip quivered as she struggled to stem a rushing tide of tears.
“Shut yer mouth,” Black Jack growled at Iain. He sat down in the chair in front of the hearth, then smiled at Glenda and beckoned her. “Come in, hinny. Dinna be frightened. Uncle Iain's cross because he's worried aboot Lady Brie. Sit yerself right here."
Glenda perched on Black Jack's lap. Enfolding her in his arms, he gave her a hug and a peck on the cheek. “Did ye miss me, hinny?"
“I did."
“I missed ye also. Now, sweetheart, tell me what ye know aboot Lady Brie.” Glenda glanced nervously at Iain, who was pacing the chamber like a wild beast.
“Nae need to be frightened,” Black Jack assured her.
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