The Highlander's Excellent Adventure

by Shana Galen

  Emmeline never fluttered her lashes and seldom agreed with any man. And whenever she was out in Society, she rarely smiled. Her mother always forced her into undergarments that cut off her breathing and dresses that were too small, so Emmeline could barely inhale much less dance. Added to the inconvenience of not being able to take in sufficient oxygen, her mother also did not allow Emmeline to eat, hoping that Emmeline would wither away and actually be able to fit into the too-small gowns. And her mother wondered why Emmeline did not look forward to the Season.

  But this year insult had been added to injury. Marjorie, who was enjoying only her first Season, had a suitor who had asked Mama’s permission for Marjorie’s hand. Mama had agreed, but she wanted to keep the betrothal quiet until the end of the Season to “give Emmeline more time to make her own match.”

  Emmeline was the eldest of the five siblings, and it was traditional to marry the eldest before the younger. But Marjorie had accused Emmeline of “ruining everything” and “standing in the way of all my happiness” by remaining unattached. Though her sister’s words had hurt Emmeline, she could not fault the sentiment. Of course, Marjorie, who was only twenty years old, wanted to publicly celebrate her good fortune. Her betrothed was the son of an earl—a younger son, but he had a good living as a barrister and had also inherited money from a doting grandfather. He seemed a pleasant enough man, though Emmeline found his conversation dull and plodding and his ideas about justice very wrongheaded indeed.

  But then Marjorie’s brain was also dull and plodding, full of useless information about fichus and fripperies. She never read anything beyond the Morning Post’s descriptions of the clothing the fashionable set wore. Emmeline’s family preferred cards to literature, embroidery to long walks, and an evening at Vauxhall to the Royal Opera House. They did not understand Emmeline any more than she understood them.

  But sitting in the packed coach, wedged between a woman with a baby whose nappy needed changing and an older woman whose head was drooping as she snored silently, Emmeline thought she might be more like her family than she had been willing to acknowledge. After all, running off like this was one of the more idiotic things she had ever done.

  Yes, her feelings had been hurt by Marjorie’s cutting words. Yes, Emmeline had wanted to shock her mother and catch her attention so that she might finally listen when Emmeline said she did not want to go to another ball or assembly or dinner party. That she could not stand another evening of her stays biting into her ribs. But perhaps this method was a bit too extreme?

  Emmeline hadn’t even really decided where she should go. She had a vague notion of visiting her paternal grandmother, who lived in the far north of England, but Emmeline realized now she did not really know if the coach on which she rode would take her anywhere near her grandmother’s residence in Carlisle. She had known it traveled north, and that seemed all that mattered at the time.

  Now she had been sitting on this coach with the smelly infant and the snoring woman and the two men across from her arguing about the price of wool for the last three hours, and she needed to use the necessary and stretch her legs and fill her lungs with fresh air.

  And so it was with great relief that the coachman called back to the passengers on top of the coach—at least she was not seated up there—and those unfortunates called down to inform those seated inside that the coach would stop for a brief refreshment at the next posting house. The sound of voices caused the mother to rock her baby and shush him, though he did not cry. On her other side, the elderly woman snorted awake and looked about.

  “What is the commotion?” the lady asked.

  “We will be stopping soon for refreshment,” Emmeline told her.

  “Oh, thank goodness. I fear I may not be able to stand after such a long period of sitting, though,” the lady said. “My legs are not what they used to be.”

  “I’ll be happy to provide whatever assistance you might need,” Emmeline offered.

  The lady beamed at her, her eyes a pretty hazel under her dour black hat. “Thank you, my dear.” She patted Emmeline’s arm. “You remind me of my Lucy, now ten years in her grave.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” Emmeline said, even as the older woman’s eyes filled with tears.

  “She was my only daughter, you see, and a comfort to me in my advancing years. My sons pay me no heed. They hire companions for me, but what good is that when the creatures leave me to fend for myself? My last one ran off with a gentleman she hardly knew. And now I must make my way back to Derbyshire all on my own.”

  “My own grandmother lives in Cumbria,” Emmeline said. “I will be happy to assist you to Derbyshire.”

  “You are most kind.” The lady patted Emmeline’s sleeve. “But I fear you have taken the wrong coach. This conveyance is not traveling to Cumbria.”

  Emmeline nodded as this confirmed her supposition. “I purchased my ticket in haste. At the posting house I will ask about making a change at some point on the route.”

  “My, but you speak decisively for one so young.”

  Emmeline had heard this criticism before. Decisively was another word for her mother’s favorite—Impertinent.

  The lady continued, “I have traveled on this coach many times, and I would be happy to assist you. It seems we can both be of service today.”

  Emmeline did not need the woman’s help, but when she squeezed Emmeline’s arm, Emmeline managed a smile for her. She’d been mistaken about this adventure after all. It was not exactly comfortable or pleasant, but she’d be able to stretch her legs shortly, and she could assist the older woman, who was alone in the world. This was exactly the sort of thing Emmeline was always telling her mother—there were more important things to do than finding a husband. It felt infinitely more satisfying, when they did stop a few minutes later, to help the lady down from the coach and into the small public house than it ever had to exchange words about the weather with the son of a duke.

  Inside the small, dark posting house, Emmeline ordered bread and tea and paid for it and that of the older lady, who she had learned was a Mrs. Goodly. Mrs. Goodly asked the proprietor of the posting house where Emmeline should change coaches to travel to Cumbria, and though he was not certain, he assured her she would have that opportunity once they were further north. Emmeline sat at one of the smattering of tables, Mrs. Goodly across from her, and sipped her tea. She would have preferred to go outside and walk about in the sunshine and fresh air. The posting house smelled of cabbage and Mrs. Goodly had wanted to sit by the fire, which made the room much too warm. But Emmeline could not leave Mrs. Goodly alone.

  Finally, the coachman came inside and informed the passengers the coach would be departing again in five minutes. Emmeline helped Mrs. Goodly rise to her feet and supported her as she walked across the room. But before they could reach the door, the young mother cried out, “Oh, no!”

  “What is it?” Emmeline asked. The woman turned to look at her, tears streaming from her eyes. Emmeline knew that look. She’d seen it a time or two on her own mother’s face when her brother had been a baby. It was exhaustion coupled with frustration.

  “Oh, it’s nothing,” the mother said, dashing a hand across her wet eyes. “My little Jack has just wet his clean nappy, and I left his others in the coach.”

  “I will fetch one for you,” Emmeline said. Really, what would these passengers do without her?

  “Thank you, but they are packed at the bottom of my valise. I fear it would take too long to find them.”

  “Perhaps I can hold the baby while you search,” Emmeline offered. “I will just see Mrs. Goodly to the coach and then return.”

  “Oh, but this lady can see me to the coach,” Mrs. Goodly said. “Then she can fetch what she needs and return.”

  Emmeline did not know why she hesitated. The plan was reasonable and more efficient. She opened her mouth to reject it anyway then realized perhaps her mother was correct, and she did argue just for the sake of arguing. Emmeline swallowed her objectio
n. “Oh, yes,” Emmeline agreed. “That is a much better solution.”

  “The proprietor offered me this room to change him,” the mother said, leading Emmeline away from Mrs. Goodly to a door in the back. She opened it, and Emmeline saw a small storage closet full of mops and brooms, but a table was cleared and that must have been what the mother used to change the infant. “If you wait in here, I will be right back. He’s sleeping,” she said as she handed him to Emmeline. “I’ve covered his face so the light doesn’t wake him.”

  Emmeline took the small, warm bundle and stepped into the closet, rocking the baby gently. The mother gave her a hug, which Emmeline found very sweet. The door closed behind her, the motion causing the lantern to go out and casting her into darkness. Emmeline assumed this was probably for the best so the baby would stay asleep as long as possible. Come to think of it, the baby had been sleeping the entire journey. Emmeline didn’t remember Robert sleeping that much when he’d been an infant. This mother was either very lucky or the baby was very tired.

  From inside the closet she heard the coachman call out for any last passengers. Emmeline started. She knew the coaches did not wait for anyone, but surely the mother would tell him she needed to collect her child and Emmeline.

  She waited for voices indicating someone was coming for her, but there were none. Growing even more alarmed, Emmeline tried the handle of the door. When she pushed down on the latch, it did not move. She tried it again, pushing harder. Nothing happened. The door was locked. She waited for screams or the sound of the mother running back to claim her baby, but there was only silence as the passengers had left and now the public house was empty.

  Emmeline pounded on the door with her free hand. When no one came, she called out. There was no answer. The proprietor was probably outside or in the kitchen, which meant he could not hear her. But she had to get out before the coach was too far away. She had to catch up and reunite the mother and child. She was certain the mother was distraught and in a state of panic at having her child left behind.

  Emmeline was certainly panicking. She could not be left here. She had no idea where she was, and it wasn’t as though there was a town nearby. This posting house had been all she had seen on the road for some time.

  Emmeline pounded on the door again, then realized she had better calm down or the baby would wake and cry. But the baby was already moving in her arms. Emmeline pushed the blanket away from his face and murmured some words of comfort.

  And that’s when the baby licked her.

  To her credit Emmeline did not drop the squirming bundle. She jumped, but she managed to hold on. Shaking now with fear and uncertainty, she reached a hand back toward the baby’s face.

  The baby licked her again with a big, wet tongue...

  That was no baby tongue.

  Emmeline touched the child’s face and felt a wet snout, fur, and soft, long ears.

  It was not a baby at all. Further unwrapping of the blankets confirmed her suspicions that she held a small dog.

  And that was the point Emmeline sank to the floor. She had been duped, played for a fool, tricked. And here she had prided herself on being the cleverest of her sisters. Well, they weren’t sitting in a broom closet with a dog wrapped like a baby, were they?

  But why would the so-called mother want to trick her like that? What could she possibly be after—

  Emmeline set the dog down quickly and reached inside her dress for the pockets she’d tied over her petticoat. She dove into one pocket then the other. Both were empty. But how—

  That hug.

  The embrace she had thought so sweet. That was when the woman had reached into her pockets and taken her purse. And now poor Mrs. Goodly was trapped on the coach with the duplicitous woman.

  Except that Mrs. Goodly had encouraged her to go with the mother and baby. And Mrs. Goodly had not stopped the coach when Emmeline did not arrive before it departed. Surely a woman like Mrs. Goodly could make a coachman listen to her.

  It was all so clear now. Mrs. Goodly had been part of the scheme as well, and Emmeline had been very easy prey. Why hadn’t she argued? The one time she held her tongue and look what had happened!

  The dog licked her hand again and Emmeline stroked his head. “No wonder you were so quiet,” she said. “She was probably feeding you treats to keep you happy.” At the mention of the word treat the dog put his—or her—paws on Emmeline’s knee and jumped. “I don’t have anything for you,” Emmeline said, sinking down to the floor. “And until the next coach arrives, we’ll probably be stuck in here.”

  She listened for a few moments, but the room that had been so full of people a few minutes ago was silent. She leaned her head back against the wall. “What will we do? I have no money, no one knows where I am.” She bolted upright, sending the dog scampering back. “I left my valise on the coach! Oh, no!”

  She had nothing but the clothes on her back and the dog creeping back toward her feet. Now she’d have to slink home and admit what a failure she was—not only at securing a husband but at running away. She couldn’t do anything right!

  Emmeline straightened her shoulders. If she continued to think that way, she’d probably end up right where she’d been, propping up a wall at another ball. She’d made the decision to go to her grandmother’s, and she would see that through.

  One way or another.

  Three

  INES

  Ines could not tear her gaze from the Scotsman seated across from her. He was like a dream—or a fantasy—come true. In the flesh he was even better than she had imagined. He was taller, gruffer, and more dangerous than she could have hoped. They sat in the public room of an inn in a village she did not know the name of. He’d told her, but she’d been looking at his hands. Large hands she suspected would feel deliciously rough on her skin. Watching her warily, he bit off a hunk of bread and motioned for her to eat. She tried, but it was difficult when she could not stop thinking about what he looked like under his clothes.

  Everything about this day was surreal. Duncan Murray was looking at her, had been talking to her, was eating with her. Of course, he didn’t know who she was. He thought she was a Portuguese woman named Beatriz. Ines hadn’t planned to lie to him or to pretend she didn’t speak English. She’d been struck mute when she’d awoke to find him looking down at her. Her throat had closed up and her mind hadn’t been able to think of anything except the words I love you. And when he had asked her name, she had been about to tell him she was Ines, but then she realized that once he knew she was Catarina Draven’s sister, he would take her straight back to London. And so she’d given him one of her other sisters’ names, and she’d pretended she didn’t speak English so she didn’t have to try and think of any more lies. Ines was not a very good liar. Catarina always said Ines’s face was like an open book.

  Quickly, she looked down and ate a spoonful of soup. If her face was an open book, she had better stop staring at him because he’d know right away she was lusting after him. But was that such a bad thing? If he knew, he might try to take advantage of her. She shivered at the thought of his kisses.

  “Are ye cold, lass?” Duncan removed his coat and draped it over her shoulders. Ines was not cold, and though she liked the warmth of his coat and the scent of him surrounding her, she could not appreciate his chivalry. Why did he have to be such a gentleman? Didn’t he want to ravish her? Didn’t he want to sweep her into his arms, carry her up the stairs, and kick open a chamber door then have his way with her?

  Ines sighed. Given that Duncan Murray had been given the sobriquet the Lunatic by his fellow soldiers, Ines feared that it was not propriety that kept Murray from following his baser instincts. He had taken one look at her and didn’t want her. Catarina always said Ines was the pretty one, but she’d heard Murray was looking for a wife these past weeks in London. The fact that he was going home without one meant he was quite choosy, for surely he could have had any woman he wanted. He was breathtaking to look upon and exciting to be wi
th.

  Ines could only assume that whatever Duncan was looking for, it wasn’t her. He probably wanted one of those pale, yellow-haired English women with blue eyes and a curvaceous figure. Ines was dark haired, dark eyed, slender, and petite. She’d been told many times she was attractive, but obviously she did not have the qualities that would tempt the Scotsman.

  “Why the long face, lass?” he asked. “I ken ye miss yer family, but we’ll have ye back in Town for supper tomorrow.”

  Oh, good. Just what she wanted. To sit across from Catarina and Benedict and explain how she ended up in Duncan Murray’s carriage. The Scotsman would probably be none too pleased when he learned she spoke perfect English. She was beginning to regret not simply telling him who she was to begin with.

  Murray pushed his plate away and lifted his glass of whisky. “I do wonder how ye ended up in my coach. It doesnae make sense tae me. Why would ye climb into an unfamiliar coach?”

  She wished she could tell him about Podmore. She would have climbed into the mouth of a lion to avoid the cartwright.

  “But I suppose that’s one more thing I dinnae ken aboot London. I went there tae find a bride.”

  She did know this, but she was surprised he was speaking of it. Perhaps the whisky he’d drank made him talkative. Or perhaps it was easy to talk to someone he didn’t think could understand him.

  “But do ye ken what I found instead? A passel of lasses who jumped everra time I said boo.” He shook his head and drank more whisky. “I was an idjit to believe anything had changed. We Scots are considered little more than barbarians.” He leaned closer, speaking conspiratorially. “In my case, that’s nae altogether untrue, lass, but I dinnae advertise the fact.” He winked, and Ines made a little sound of need, like the sound a puppy makes when waiting impatiently for her food to be set down.