The Highlander's English Bride

by Vanessa Kelly

  That silver stare glittered with defiance and something close to panic.

  “I won’t hurt you,” Graeme said. “But you have to stop struggling.”

  “Shall I call the constable?” asked a clerk who’d emerged from a nearby shop. Various bystanders voiced their approval for such action.

  “No,” Sabrina firmly said. “He bumped into me. It was an accident.”

  “Now, lassie,” Angus started, “ye ken—”

  Sabrina elbowed him into silence.

  “We should call the constable,” declaimed a thin gentleman, whose tall hat and black garb made Graeme think of a crow. “He’s one of those ruffian pickpockets.”

  Sabrina’s intent gaze silently begged Graeme to protect the child.

  The boy had stopped struggling, and fear now mingled with resignation in his gaze. Graeme knew terrible things happened to a small, delicate child like him, whether on the streets or in a jail or poorhouse.

  “Did this boy pick your pocket?” Graeme asked the crow-like gentleman.

  “Well, no, but that’s hardly the—”

  He turned to the shopkeeper. “And did he rob you?”

  “Nae, but—”

  Graeme narrowed his gaze on the group of busybodies that had gathered to watch the scene. “Then bugger off before I call the constable on the lot of you for causing a disturbance on the king’s day.”

  The clerk turned pale and retreated into his shop, while the crow fellow and his companions huffed off with rapidity.

  “That was quite . . . effective,” Sabrina commented with a ghost of a laugh.

  “Scarin’ people off?” Angus said. “A Kendrick specialty.”

  “Mister, are ye gonna keep me hangin’ all day?” asked the boy in a surly voice.

  Graeme lowered him, keeping a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t even try to run.”

  “Bleedin’ giant,” the lad muttered.

  Sabrina leaned down, going eye to eye with the child. “No one will hurt you, but I’d like to talk to you for a few minutes, if that’s all right.”

  His mouth twitched. “Do ye promise to let me go, then?”

  Sabrina held out a hand. “Shall we shake on it?”

  The boy stared at her dainty, pale yellow glove. Then his grubby fingers slowly emerged from his sleeve to exchange a handshake. Dirt smeared onto the pristine fabric, but Sabrina seemed not to notice.

  “So, we’re havin’ a chat on the street, are we?” asked Angus.

  “No, I thought we would sit in the carriage,” Sabrina replied.

  Graeme frowned. “Sabrina, if the lad—”

  “I have my reasons,” she quietly said.

  He sighed and gently propelled the lad toward the carriage.

  “You don’t ’ave to push, guv. I gave my word I wouldn’t run.”

  “I hardly think your word is reliable.”

  Sabrina reached out a hand to the boy. “Why don’t I escort you?”

  Graeme mentally rolled his eyes. No self-respecting boy—much less a rum picker—would be caught dead holding a lady’s hand in public.

  The child hesitated before slipping his little mitt into Sabrina’s hand.

  “Huh,” muttered Angus.

  “You may let go now, Mr. Kendrick,” Sabrina said.

  He shot her a sardonic glance but complied.

  The lad didn’t try to escape, although he continued to eye Sabrina with wonderment. Graeme couldn’t blame the nipper. It wasn’t every day a little pickpocket was escorted along a genteel city street by a beautiful young lady.

  At the barouche, Graeme waved the astonished groom back to his perch and opened the carriage door. He handed Sabrina in, then, taking no chances, lifted the boy up and plopped him on the opposite seat.

  “Ho, mister,” he protested. “I ain’t no sack a potatoes.”

  “No, you’re lighter than a sack of potatoes.” Graeme’s heart ached to feel how thin the boy was within the voluminous coat.

  Graeme waved Angus in then shut the door, leaning against it from the outside. The boy eyed him with distaste, clearly resenting Graeme’s effort to prevent any attempts at escape. Graeme would certainly let him go, but not until Sabrina deemed it appropriate.

  She gave the boy an encouraging smile. “What’s your name?”

  The icy-blue gaze narrowed. “None of yer soddin’ business.”

  Graeme lightly cuffed him on the shoulder—very lightly. “Keep a civil tongue, lad. And refer to her as my lady.”

  She flashed Graeme a warning look. “You can call me Sabrina. And I simply wish to know what to call you. I have no nefarious designs, I assure you.”

  The boy scrunched up his face. “Come again?”

  “We won’t turn ye over to the law,” Angus said. “Yer safe.”

  The boy eyed Graeme. “What about the big bloke?”

  “The big bloke won’t be hurtin’ ye either, word of a Highlander.”

  The boy scowled. “I ain’t never been to no Highlands, so that means nothin’ to me.”

  Angus tapped the side of his nose. “It’s grand to be a Highlander, laddie. And we’re famous for keepin’ our word.”

  For a moment, the lad looked wistful. “I ain’t been nowhere but right here.”

  “Old Town?” Graeme asked.

  The older sections of the city were medieval rabbit warrens, as bad as any stew in London.

  “Aye. Me and my—” He broke off.

  “Your what?” Sabrina gently prodded.

  “Nothin’ .”

  “Where are your parents?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “Never knew my da. My ma said he were a sailor, from the Indies.”

  That accounted for the boy’s unusual appearance—unusual at least for Edinburgh. London was a hodgepodge of peoples from all over the world. Mayfair and Kensington were ridiculously rarified, but greater London held a vibrant mix of races that jostled along fairly well, depending on the part of town. A couple originally from Jamaica owned Graeme’s favorite pub. He counted Mr. and Mrs. Samuels amongst his few real friends in London, always ready to serve up a good pot of stew and a sympathetic ear.

  In the world Graeme moved in, people rarely thought twice about such friendships, but in Edinburgh or Glasgow? His own nephew was of mixed heritage, and he’d seen firsthand the bigotry the wee lad had experienced, even with the protection of a family like the Kendricks.

  For this child, the challenges of survival would be enormous.

  “What about your mother?” Sabrina gently asked.

  “She died when my bro . . . when I was little.”

  Sabrina took his hand. “My mother died when I was just a baby.”

  The boy tilted his head. His knit cap slipped sideways, revealing thick, dark-copper locks, twisted into a knot at the base of his neck. “What about your da?”

  Sabrina smiled. “My father is still alive.”

  “That’s . . . that’s nice.”

  “Yes, it is.” She gave his hand a couple of gentle pats. “Now, won’t you please tell me your name?”

  “Ballantine,” he finally said.

  “And a fine Scottish name that is,” Angus said.

  “What’s your given name?” Sabrina coaxed.

  The lad pressed his lips closed.

  “Son, if you’re not going to answer the lady’s questions, maybe I should haul you off to the clink after all,” Graeme said, annoyed.

  The boy snorted, obviously feeling confident enough to see it as the empty threat it was.

  “No, you won’t,” Sabrina said.

  Graeme rolled his eyes. “Lass, of course I’m not—”

  “We can’t just let him go without our help. It’s much too dangerous.”

  Of course it was dangerous. Life on the street always was, but she clearly meant something else. “Sabrina, what exactly are you worried about?”

  “I’d say it’s because yon lad isn’t a lad,” Angus dryly said.

  The boy froze, like a rabbit spotting
a fox.

  Sabrina nodded. “He is a she, and I will not allow a little girl to run about the stews of Edinburgh unprotected.”

  The child bristled. “I ain’t little, and I ain’t unprotected. I’m head boy, lady. One day, I’m gonna have a gang of my own.”

  After Graeme picked his jaw off the ground, he took a closer look and wanted to smack himself. Those delicate features were not just the result of youth and frailty.

  Angus snorted. “And ye call yerself a spy.”

  The girl perked up. “Yer a spy? Coo!”

  Graeme frowned. “I’m not a spy. And why are you running about, pretending to be a boy?”

  She gave a remarkably insouciant shrug. “It’s safer, and the lads listen better if ’n I acts like them.”

  “That’s awful,” Sabrina said, looking rather pale.

  The girl bristled. “Lady, I runs the gang and keeps ’em all in order. I’m in charge.”

  “But—”

  Graeme cut in. “What’s your name, lass?”

  “Tilly,” she reluctantly said.

  “Mine’s Graeme. Graeme Kendrick.”

  Her eyes widened. “Ye mean like the Laird of Arnprior Kendrick?”

  “Yes.”

  “Coo,” she breathed, much impressed.

  “Tilly, do you really have to, um, run a gang?” Sabrina asked. “Surely there’s something else you’d like to do with your life.”

  Tilly snorted. “Be a whore like me mam?”

  Sabrina flinched, while Angus let out a weary sigh.

  Graeme had to help the lass. The case that had almost gotten him killed had involved a girl in danger, and he’d made an epic hash of it. This time, he’d get it right.

  “Tilly, do you work from a flash house?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “With a fence or a gang leader?”

  “Arch rogue,” she tersely replied.

  Gang leader, then. Children from the stews often fell into the clutches of petty criminals, who lured them in with promises of protection and then exploited them without mercy. It made Graeme want to kill the bastard controlling Tilly.

  “For how long?”

  “Since me mam died. She worked for him, too.”

  “You don’t have to keep working for him,” Sabrina earnestly said. “We can help you do something else.”

  “Can’t.”

  “Why not?” Graeme asked.

  Tilly’s expressive face mirrored an inner struggle.

  “ ’Cause I’m tryin’ to get me little brother out of the orphanage,” she finally blurted out. “Ol’ Bill said he’d get Charlie out once I pays off our debts to him. When me mam died, she owed Bill money. Then he took on the raisin’ of us, so I owes him, too. But then Bill said Charlie was too little to earn his keep, so he says let the parish take care of him. He’s the one who stuck Charlie in the orphanage in the first place.”

  Sabrina, who’d been looking appalled, rallied. “My dear girl, I can give you whatever money you need.”

  For a moment, hope flared like a torch in Tilly’s gaze. But just as quickly, the light snuffed out. “Can’t.”

  Sabrina frowned. “Why not?”

  “’Cause I promised Bill I’d work for him as long as he said,” Tilly said. “Bill said he’d tell me when the debt’s paid. So it ain’t up to me. He said he’s been loyal to me, so I gots to be loyal to him.”

  “But you’re a child,” Sabrina replied. “Adults shouldn’t let children make promises like that.”

  Tilly scowled. “I ain’t no silly bantling, and I don’t welch.”

  Sabrina looked perplexed, but Graeme understood both Tilly’s cant and her dilemma.

  “The gangs have their own code of conduct,” he explained. “If you violate that code . . .”

  When Tilly drew a finger across her throat, Sabrina looked ready to bolt up her crumpets.

  Graeme quickly pressed Sabrina’s hand. “We’ll get it sorted, lass. I promise.”

  “Nothin’ to sort,” Tilly said. “I run the gang till Ol’ Bill says I don’t. Once he says I’ve paid off our debts, I’ll run my own rig. Or maybe leave town,” she wistfully added. “Start someplace new with Charlie.”

  Sabrina pressed a hand to her lips before replying. “No child should have to live like that.”

  “I do all right. And once I gets Charlie out, I’ll have enough to take care of him, too.”

  “But—”

  Graeme gave Sabrina a warning shake of the head. She breathed out a frustrated huff but desisted.

  Tilly flashed a sharp look at Graeme. “Mister, can I go? Someone’ll come lookin’ soon enough, and Ol’ Bill won’t like me jabberin’ with ye.”

  Graeme understood. If someone from the gang saw the child talking to them . . .

  Sabrina’s frustration finally broke free. “We simply cannot let her return to the dreadful situation. We have to help her.”

  “Do you want me to talk to Old Bill?” Graeme asked Tilly. “I’m sure I could square things away. Convince him to let you go.”

  Panic flashed across her features. Her gaze darted about, as if she were seeking an avenue of escape.

  Graeme held up a quick hand. “It’s all right. I won’t do anything that would get you in trouble.”

  “He’d kill me if I let ye even come near him. ’Sides, I’m his best boy. He won’t let me go till he’s ready.” She blew out a disgusted breath. “And I can’t get Charlie out on my own. Ol’ Bill put him in, and Matron says I’m too young to take him out.”

  Graeme extracted his billfold. “Let’s try this. Forget Bill and what you owe him. Pay the matron your brother’s fees, and tell her that the Kendrick family will vouch for the both of you. If you need me to go to the orphanage, I will do that, too.”

  Tilly jerked a bit. Then she frowned thoughtfully down at her lap, clearly thinking through all the possibilities.

  “That might work,” she finally said. Her sharp gaze fastened on Graeme. “And ye’ll not be askin’ me to pay ye back?”

  “Consider it a charitable donation to the orphanage from the Kendrick family.”

  In a twinkling, the pound notes disappeared up Tilly’s sleeve.

  “Do you have a bolt hole?” Graeme asked.

  When the girl clammed up again, he smiled at her. “I don’t need to know where it is. Just that you have someplace safe to stay.”

  Safe was a relative term in Tilly’s world. Children like her usually had secret hiding places, sometimes little more than a corner in an old cellar. Somewhere the adults couldn’t reach them.

  Tilly scoffed. “Course I have a bolt hole.”

  “All right.” Graeme opened the door of the carriage. “You can go.”

  Sabrina grabbed Tilly’s sleeve. “That’s it?” she said to Graeme. “We’re just going to let her go?”

  Tilly glared at her. “Ye promised.”

  Sabrina’s sweet countenance pulled tight with dismay. “I promised to help you, Tilly. Letting you go back to that horrible man is not helping you.”

  The girl darted another panicked look around the street. “I gots to, miss, or Ol’ Bill will make me pay.”

  Graeme gently pulled Sabrina’s hand from Tilly’s sleeve. “It’s the best thing for her at the moment. And we can’t hold her against her wishes.”

  “Damn right,” Tilly said.

  “Och, lassie. Not in front of a lady,” Angus said.

  Sabrina flapped a hand. “I don’t care about her language. I care about her safety.”

  “I can takes care of myself, never you fear, miss.”

  “Dammit to hell,” Sabrina muttered.

  Despite the fraught situation, Graeme had to choke back a laugh.

  “Tilly, do you know how to write?” Sabrina asked.

  “Course I do. I ain’t no dummy.”

  “I assume you know where the Kendricks live, on Heriot Row? I’m staying there for a little while. If you need help, send me a message. I mean it, Tilly.”
/>   “Sabrina,” Graeme started to warn.

  “Or send a message to Mr. Kendrick or Mr. MacDonald,” she hastily added.

  Angus waggled a finger. “That’s me.”

  “If I’m not there, one of them will help you.”

  She stared at Tilly for a moment longer before pulling her into a hug. The little girl froze for a few moments before a thin hand snuck out of her ragged sleeve to rest on Sabrina’s back.

  When Sabrina finally let go, Tilly gave her a shy grin. “Yer nice, miss. Prolly the nicest lady I ever met.”

  Graeme heartily agreed with that assessment. Sabrina was so bloody nice it made his heart ache from the loss of something he knew he could never have.

  “Away with you, now,” he gruffly said, helping Tilly down.

  Sabrina leaned over the edge of the carriage. “Remember, come to Heriot Row if you need help.”

  Tilly favored them with a dazzling smile. The lass would grow up to be a beauty some day if, God and the Kendricks willing, she could escape the same fate as her mother. He’d talk to Nick first, but Graeme had every intention of getting the young lass and her brother safely stowed.

  “I won’t forget,” Tilly said. “God bless ye, miss.”

  Then she darted away, disappearing in the crowd.

  Sabrina slumped in her seat and pressed a hand to her eyes. “God, that was horrible.”

  Angus patted her knee. “Och, yer not to worry. We’ll sort things out for the lass and her brother.”

  Sabrina lowered her hands. “But how will you even find her?”

  “Yer forgettin’ yon laddie’s a spy. He’ll find the bairn.”

  “Good Lord,” Graeme muttered.

  Sabrina huffed out a watery laugh as she fished inside the pocket of her walking gown. “I’m not usually such a watering pot. It’s just that her situation was so—” She broke off.

  “Something wrong?” Graeme asked.

  “My new handkerchief is missing.” Her smile was rueful. “I do believe Miss Ballantine picked my pocket while hugging me.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Are you sure this be the right place, my lady?” Hannah asked, still inside the hackney. “It smells something awful.”

  After shaking the dirt of the rundown coach from her skirts, Sabrina glanced back at her maid. “We’re near the cattle market. Since you’re from the country, you should be used to that smell.”