Scottish Brides

by Christina Dodd

  “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.”

  “My condition?” Margaret gasped.

  Angus smiled down at her and winked. “Come now, darling, surely you didn’t think you would be able to hide it forever.”

  “Congratulations to you both!” the innkeeper boomed. “Is this your first?”

  Angus nodded. “So you see why I’m so protective.” He snaked his arm around Margaret’s shoulders. “She’s such a delicate woman.”

  That “delicate” woman promptly bent her arm and jabbed her elbow into Angus’s hip. Hard.

  The innkeeper must not have heard the ensuing grunt of pain, because he just took the coin and rolled it around in his hand. “Of course, of course,” he murmured. “I’ll have to wake my wife, but I’m sure we can find something hot.”

  “Excellent.”

  The innkeeper moved forward, and Angus made to follow, but Margaret grabbed the hem of his coat and yanked. “Are you mad?” she whispered.

  “I thought you had already questioned my sanity and found it acceptable.”

  “I have reconsidered,” she ground out.

  He patted her on the shoulder. “Try not to overset yourself. It’s not good for the baby.”

  Margaret’s arms were sticks at her sides as she tried to keep herself from pummeling him. “Stop talking about the baby,” she hissed, “and I am not going to share a room with you.”

  “I really don’t see what other choice you have.”

  “I would rather—”

  He held up a hand. ”Don’t tell me you’d rather wait out in the rain. I simply won’t believe you.”

  “You can wait out in the rain.”

  Angus ducked and peered out a window. Raindrops were beating loudly against the glass. “I think not.”

  “If you were a gentleman . . .”

  He chuckled. “Ah, but I never said I was a gentleman.”

  “What was all that about protecting women, then?” Margaret demanded.

  “I said I don’t like to see women hurt and abused. I never said I was willing to sleep in the rain and give myself a raging case of lung disease for you.”

  The innkeeper, who had walked on ahead, stopped and turned around when he realized that his guests had not followed. “Are you coming?” he inquired.

  “Yes, yes,” Angus replied. “Just having a small discussion with my wife. It seems she is having a remarkable craving for haggis.”

  Margaret’s mouth fell open, and it took several attempts at speech before she managed to say, “I don’t like haggis.”

  Angus grinned. “I do.”

  “Och!” the innkeeper exclaimed with a broad smile. “Just like my wife. She ate haggis every day while she was expecting, and she gave me four fine boys.”

  “Brilliant,” Angus said with a cocky smile. “I shall have to remember that. A man needs a son.”

  “Four,” the innkeeper reminded him, his chest puffing out with pride. “I’ve got four.”

  Angus slapped Margaret on the back. “She’ll give me five. Mark my words.”

  “Men,” she spat out, stumbling from the force of his friendly pat. “A bunch of strutting roosters, the lot of you.”

  But the two men were too involved in their manly game of one-upmanship—Margaret fully expected them to start arguing about who could toss a caber farther any moment now—and clearly didn’t hear her.

  She stood there with her arms crossed for a full minute, trying not to listen to a thing they were saying, when Angus suddenly patted her on the back and said, “Haggis, then, for dinner, my love?”

  “I’m going to kill you,” she hissed. “And I’m going to do it slowly.” Then Angus jabbed her in the ribs and glanced at the innkeeper. “I’d love some,” she choked out. “My very favorite.”

  The innkeeper beamed. “A woman after my own heart. Nothing protects one from the spirits like a good haggis.”

  “The smell alone would scare off the devil,” Margaret muttered.

  Angus chuckled and gave her hand a squeeze.

  “You must be a Scotswoman, then,” the innkeeper said, “if you love the haggis.”

  “Actually,” Margaret said primly, yanking her hand back. “I’m English.”

  “Pity.” The innkeeper then turned to Angus and said, “But I suppose if you had to marry a Sassenach, at least you picked one with a taste for haggis.”

  “I refused to ask for her hand until she tasted it,” Angus said solemnly. “And then I wouldn’t go through with the ceremony until I was convinced that she liked it.”

  Margaret walloped him in the shoulder.

  “And a temper, too!” the innkeeper chortled. “We’ll make a good Scotswoman out of her yet.”

  “I’m hoping,” Angus agreed, his accent suddenly growing stronger to Margaret’s ear. “I’m thinking she ought to learn to throw a better punch, though.”

  “Didn’t hurt, eh?” the innkeeper said with a knowing smile.

  “Not a bit.”

  Margaret ground her teeth together. “Sir” she said as sweetly as she could muster, “could you please show me to my room? I’m a terrible mess, and I would so like to tidy myself before supper.”

  “Of course.” The innkeeper resumed his trek up the stairs, Margaret right on his heels. Angus loitered a few steps behind, no doubt grinning at her expense.

  “Here it is,” the innkeeper said, opening the door to reveal a small but clean room with a washbasin, a chamber pot, and a single bed.

  “Thank you, sir,” she said with a polite nod. “I am most appreciative.” Then she marched into the room and slammed the door.

  Angus howled with laughter. He couldn’t help himself.

  “Och, you’re in trouble now,” the innkeeper said.

  Angus’s laughter settled down into a few choice chuckles. “What’s your name, good sir?”

  “McCallum. George McCallum.”

  “Well, George, I think you�
��re right.”

  “Having a wife,” George pontificated, “is a delicate balancing act.”

  “I never knew how much until this very day.”

  “Luckily for you,” George said with a devious smile, “I still have the key.”

  Angus grinned and tossed another coin at him, then caught the key when George flipped it through the air. “You’re a good man, George McCallum.”

  “Aye,” George said as he walked off, “that’s what I keep telling my wife.”

  Angus chuckled to himself and put the key in his pocket. He opened the door only a few inches, then called out, “Are you dressed?”

  Her reply was a loud thump against the door. Probably her shoe.

  “If you don’t tell me otherwise, I’m coming in.” He poked his head inside the room, then pulled it out just in time to avoid her other shoe, which came sailing at him with deadly aim.

  He poked back in, ascertained that she had nothing else to throw at him, and then entered the room.

  “Would you mind,” she said with barely controlled fury, “telling me what the devil that was about?”

  “Which bit of it?” he stalled.

  She answered him with a glare. Angus thought she looked rather fetching with her cheeks all red with anger but wisely decided that now was not the time to compliment her on such things.

  “I see,” he said, unable to prevent the corners of his mouth from twitching with mirth. “Well, one would think it would be self-explanatory, but if I must explain—”

  “You must.”

  He shrugged. “You wouldn’t have a roof over your head right now if George didn’t think you were my wife.”

  “That’s not true, and who is George?”

  “The innkeeper, and yes, it most certainly is true. He wouldn’t have given this room to an unmarried couple.”

  “Of course not,” she snapped. “He would have given it to me and tossed you out on your ear.”

  Angus scratched his head thoughtfully. “I’m not so sure about that, Miss Pennypacker. After all, I’m the one with the money.”

  She glared at him so hard, her eyes so wide and angry, that Angus finally noticed what color they were. Green. A rather lovely, grassy shade of green.

  “Ah,” he said at her silence. “Then you agree with me.”