“I’ll see ye to yer room, lass.” Braeden stood and held his hand out. “Ye look like yer about to fall asleep in yer tea.”
“Yes, that is quite true.” She took hold of his hand, and they walked upstairs. Sarah glanced around as they made their way from the table to the staircase, afraid Mrs. McClune would jump out from behind a door and shout “aha!” at them.
She comforted herself with the fact that they only had another two, maybe three, nights before they would reach Bedlay Castle. There she would be safe from the man walking behind her and the feelings he coaxed from her untried body. She needed to stop being so aware of Braeden. The warmth from his closeness reached her back, making her shiver with expectation. Of what, she was afraid to consider.
Once they arrived at her door, she opened it quickly. “Good night.”
“Wait a minute, lass,” Braeden said, closing it softly and tugging her to him. “I’m not happy with ye being up here with myself downstairs. I think the innkeeper wanted to protect yer virtue, but in the meantime might have put ye in danger. Be sure to lock that door and shove a chair underneath the latch.”
Her heart thumped at his words. She’d been so focused on his nearness all through dinner and the walk upstairs, she hadn’t thought about the risks of her being on a different floor all night. “I agree. I think Mrs. McClune thought to guard my reputation, when in fact she made things a bit precarious for me.”
“Aye. I’ve thought of nothing else since we arrived.” He paused, then added, “I could come inside and sleep on the floor.”
There was no teasing in his voice or mannerism, and she might have seriously considered it if she hadn’t already been subjected to his kisses. The temptation was too strong and his nearness too heady. The innkeeper certainly knew what she was about. “I am sure all will be fine. As you say, I will lock the door and block it with a chair. Also, I have strong lungs. If someone were to attempt to enter, you will be able to hear me in the next town.”
“Aye, lass. Use that fine strong voice of yers if ye need me.” He lazily tucked the hair behind her ear that had fallen from her bun. “Whatever way you might need me.”
Heat rose to her face at his suggestion—not at all as innocent as he pretended it to be. Why did he affect her so, when she had been quite able to handle the men who’d attempted to court her in London? There, no one had caught her fancy. Even if she had been tempted to allow a man to court her, none had presented himself who made her feel the way Braeden did.
She studied his face as she realized it was a quirk of fate that the one man who could tempt her to forget her pledge not to marry for a long time, if at all, in order to concentrate on her career as an author, had ended up alone with her—far, far from home and the judgmental eyes of the ton.
Nonsense. This trip would be over shortly, Braeden would leave her with Sybil, and be on his way to this expedition he was so anxious to join. Then she would come to know her new niece or nephew while she awaited word from her publisher on the release of her book. Once again the anticipation rose as she considered how surprised her family would be when her book appeared on the local bookstore shelves.
“What has ye so thoughtful?” He ran his knuckle down her cheek.
“I am concerned about my sister and how anxious she must be for me to arrive,” she lied.
“Ach, lass. ’Twas not what ye were thinking. Yer mouth says one thing, but yer eyes another.” Now he was twisting one of her curls around his finger. “Perhaps ye were thinking the same thing I am.”
“N-no, I don’t believe so.”
“Are ye sure?” He leaned in closer, the faint scent of the wine he’d drunk wafting over her. “I believe ye are thinking about kissing me and how much ye enjoyed it the last time.”
She shook her head furiously. He anchored it with his hands, and his head descended, taking her lips in complete possession, asking for surrender, and allowing nothing less. His tongue swept into her mouth, encouraging her to join him in a lovers’ dance. Her previous dark thoughts fled as she gave him all that he demanded and more, enjoying the warmth and moistness of his caress.
By the time he drew back and rested his forehead on hers, she wasn’t quite sure where she stood and if her legs would even hold her. She clung to his shoulders, relying on the strong grasp of his arm around her waist to keep her from tumbling to the floor in a passionate stupor. How many times would he put her into this state before she wanted more, knowing there was much more to be had?
“Ye have me under a spell, Lady Sarah.” His eyes roamed her face, searching for what he wanted and what, she was afraid, he would see. Could he sense how close she was to surrender? How near she was at this moment to yielding to the one thing that would change her forever, and might even rip her away from her well-planned life?
A life with a chance to be the woman she wanted to be, without the burden of a husband?
Chapter Seven
After a fitful night’s sleep on a cot too small for him, Braeden sat on the edge of the bed and ran his fingers through his hair, trying very hard to wake up. He fumbled with a flint in the darkness and lit a candle. He’d been up and down the stairs all night, checking on Sarah, making sure none of the boisterous men who’d made their way back to the inn after the cockfight caused trouble.
In the dimness of his room he was able to have a quick wash and dress himself. The innkeeper was already cleaning up from the prior night’s gaiety, and the smell of cinnamon buns coming from the kitchen signaled that Mrs. McClune was busy as well.
“Good mornin’ to ye, Mr. McKinnon,” the innkeeper said. “Are ye and the lady leaving early, then?”
“Aye. Are the horses ready?”
“I sent my lad to the stable a bit ago. By the time ye and yer lady friend have broken yer fast, he’ll have them hitched to yer carriage.”
“Thank you. I will just go wake Lady Sarah.”
“Nay.” The innkeeper stopped sweeping and glowered at him. “I will send my wife to help the lady. She attended to her last night.”
“Of course. I forgot she would need assistance. I dinna think of her dressing. I mean, that she would need help in dressing. But then,” he hurried on, “I’m not familiar with her dressing at all…” He tugged at his neckcloth, then waved in the direction of the private dining room. “I will just wait for her down here, then.”
By the saints! He was blathering like a lad caught with his hand in the milking maid’s bodice. ’Twas almost as if the innkeeper and his wife knew Braeden’s lecherous thoughts.
Within minutes of settling into a chair in front of the fireplace in the private dining room, Braden caught a glimpse of Mrs. McClune hurrying past the door and up the stairs. Would this blasted trip never be over? Had he not run into Lady Sarah and her maid on the side of the road, he’d be home by now, with his much anticipated letter already in hand.
But then he would never have met the woman who was causing him a distraction of immense proportions. His brain hadn’t been this befuddled since he’d been a dissolute youth during his later student years at university. He needed to get home so he could focus on his work. Not spend his time thinking improper thoughts about a very proper lady. The sister of a duke, he reminded himself. A duke who most likely owned a pistol. Indeed, probably several of them.
A young girl brought him a pot of tea. She gave him a slight smile and curtsied. “Did ye be wantin’ your breakfast now, or are ye waitin’ for yer lady?”
“I’ll wait, thank you.” As he sipped the bracing liquid it occurred to him that perhaps he and Sarah had not thought this out completely. With the way Mrs. McClune had regarded him, their traveling together could pose quite a problem for Sarah. He would have to come up with an idea to protect her reputation for the rest of the trip.
Sarah packed the last of her few items into her satchel and left the room. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the “lecture” she’d gotten from Mrs. McClune. It was obvious the innkeeper’s wife thought it a d
isgrace that she was a young unmarried lady traveling alone with a man not a relative. Even Sarah’s explanation of Alice’s illness had held no sway with the woman. She was of the opinion that a woman’s reputation was worth whatever inconvenience she needed to suffer.
The innkeeper’s wife managed to increase Sarah’s guilt and sense of unease. She was very thoughtful as she descended the stairs to the main room. The inn was very quiet, with just a few men drinking ale, unlike when she had tried to sleep last night. She shuddered at the idea of ale in the morning.
Braeden sat at a small table in the private dining room, also deep in thought. “Good morning,” she said as she slid into a seat across from him.
“Good morning, lass. I don’t think there’s any point in asking if ye slept well, because the cockfight went on for quite some time, and the celebration even longer.”
“True. I must admit I was a bit nervous with the men in and out of the inn all night.”
“Aye. If it makes ye feel any better now, I took a few trips up and down the stairs until the wee hours to make sure no one attempted to keep ye company.”
“Ah. That must be why Mrs. McClune thought to reprove me this morning.” Sarah poured tea into her cup. “She spent a good deal of time warning me about the dangers in the world for a young lady without proper protection, and how easily they can be ‘fooled’ as she put it, into doing something of which their mothers would not approve.”
“Ach. The woman gave me a few curt responses and unfriendly looks this morning. She must have heard me going up and down and assumed it was for nefarious reasons.”
A slight fluttering in Sarah’s lower parts reminded her of the kisses she and Braeden had shared and what nefarious behavior could have followed. She remembered once again the book she and Sybil had snuck from Drake’s room when he’d been away at school. The naughty drawings had given them lively conversations for years.
“Sarah, I’m thinking it might be best for the rest of the trip to tell people that we are brother and sister, and I am escorting you to Scotland for a visit.”
“Why, Braeden, that’s a wonderful idea. I wish we had thought of it yesterday.”
“Well, no matter. That’s how we will go on.”
“However, there is just one problem.”
At his raised eyebrows, she continued, “You speak with a Scottish accent and I speak with an English one.”
“Aye, ‘tis true. We’ll have to be half brother and sister. You raised in England, me in Scotland.”
She grinned at him. “Oh, what a tangled web we weave: When first we practice to deceive!”
“Sir Walter Scott,” Braeden offered.
She frowned. “I thought Shakespeare said that?”
“Aye, a lot of people do. But ’twasn’t him.”
A young girl entered the room, holding a platter of eggs, sausages, the ever present black pudding, and haggis. She placed them on the table and touched the teapot. “I will bring ye hot tea.”
“Thank you,” Braeden said.
They remained silent as they ate breakfast. Sarah imagined this is what it would be like if they were married. To each other. Sitting together first thing in the morning, sharing breakfast, drinking tea. Except they would have spent time in the same bed. She squirmed, again feeling that flutter in her lady parts.
“Are ye all right, lass?”
Why did she think the grin on his face resulted from him discerning her thoughts? Did he know her that well? “I’m fine. Just anxious to be on our way. I’m concerned the message we asked the innkeeper at the last stop to deliver to my sister might not have been sent.”
“Aye, I’m worried about that myself. The man didn’t seem too eager to have his son take the trip. The best we can do is push on.” He shoved himself away from the table and pulled out Sarah’s chair. The young girl came from the kitchen with a teapot in her hand. “Are ye leaving, then?”
“Yes. I’m sorry, but we are somewhat behind our schedule. Please forgive us.” Sarah gave the girl a warm smile.
The young girl stared at Sarah openmouthed, as if she’d never heard an apology from a lady before. A sad thing, to her way of thinking.
After three hours on the road, Sarah found herself nodding off. Two nights of scant sleep were taking their toll. Braeden had been riding outside the coach all morning, raising her awareness of him every time he rode past the window, blocking the negligible sun. She really should make herself look away so as not to view his tight backside. But the temptation proved too great, and soon she was merely watching him, the notes she was making on her manuscript forgotten.
Her eyes had just drifted closed when they were jerked open as the carriage jolted, and she was tossed to the floor. Heavens, were they having another problem with the wheels? As she scrambled up from the floor, the sound of shouting and, dear God, a pistol discharging, set her heart to pounding.
Her arms extended, she braced herself as the carriage came to a screeching halt. Sarah huddled in the corner of the vehicle, trying to appear as small as possible. She tugged off the ring she’d inherited from her grandmother and shoved it quickly into her bodice. Before she had a chance to get her breathing under control the door of the vehicle flew open.
A wiry man dressed in black trousers, a black shirt and jacket, and holding a very scary pistol pointed in her direction motioned with his head. A second pistol was tucked into his trousers. “Out.”
She climbed down the steps on shaky legs. The driver and two footmen sat on the ground, their hands underneath them. A second highwayman pointed a pistol at the three men. Braeden remained on his horse, his lips tightened as he watched the first man reach out and touch her hair. She instinctively pulled her head back.
“Aye, a bonny lass, this one.”
“Don’t touch her,” Braeden growled.
“Ach, and what do ye think ye can do about it?” He grinned, revealing missing teeth as he pointed the pistol at Braeden. “’Tis yer lucky day, lad. All we want is yer coin, ye can keep yer wife for yerself. Lasses are too much trouble, anyway.” His grin faded, his steely eyes narrowing. “Hand it over, lad. All yer coin.”
“My coin is in my pocket. I canna reach it from here.” Without waiting for the highwayman’s permission, Braeden swung his leg over the horse, kicking the robber in the face as he came down. With very few movements, he sliced his hand through the air and knocked the pistol from the man’s grip. The weapon skidded away as the man rushed him, and with a grunt, they both landed in the dirt.
Taken by surprise, the second gunman swung around, aiming his pistol at the two grappling on the ground, but with the confusion, he hesitated to fire.
“Grab the pistol,” Braeden shouted in the direction of the three men. Sarah raced to where the weapon lay on the ground and picked it up. With the second highwayman distracted, the driver hopped up and grabbed a rock. With a swift movement, he smacked the second outlaw over the head. The man’s knees buckled, and he collapsed to the ground.
Braeden had the first bandit facedown on the ground, his knee pressing the man’s back. Panting, he glanced at Sarah. “Ach, lass. Be careful with that. Ye dinna want to shoot the wrong person.”
She raised her chin and pressed the pistol against her skirts. “I could shoot if I had reason enough.”
“Ye could?” He grinned. “A new surprise from ye every day.” He flipped the highwayman onto his back and planted him a facer that knocked him unconscious. Slipping a pistol from the man’s trousers, Braeden stood and glared at the footmen, as the driver, who still held the rock in his hand, gazed at the unconscious highwayman with blood dripping from his head. “Do ye think ye can come up with some cord to tie the man if ye dinna find it too much trouble?”
The two footmen scrambled to their feet. “Aye.”
“Good, then get them secured, and we’ll be on our way. We can leave them at the next inn for the magistrate to deal with.” When they continued to stare at the man, he added, “Now!”
Br
aeden collected the weapon from the bandit’s waist as well as the one from the man bleeding on the ground. He then sauntered to Sarah, his hand outstretched. “I’ll take the pistol now, lass.” He glanced to her shaky hand that held the pistol. Reaching out slowly, he eased the weapon from her grip and shoved it into the band of his breeches. “Are ye all right?”
She nodded, her mouth suddenly dry and black dots dancing in front of her eyes. Braeden rested his hand on her shoulders and pushed her gently down. “Lower yer head, lass, before ye faint.”
“I don’t faint,” she whispered.
Oh God. Could anything else happen on this trip? Once she arrived at Sybil’s home she would not leave it for years. Perhaps she would still be there when the new babe set off for university. She giggled at the idea of her growing into an aged woman under the hospitality of Laird MacBride.
Braeden rubbed circles on her back, murmuring words she didn’t understand. Gaelic, most likely, since she spoke three languages, but Gaelic was not among them. Suddenly the tears welled in her eyes, and her body began to shake. Braeden scooped her up and strode to the carriage. He climbed in and settled her on his lap where she proceeded to weep for the disaster this journey had become.
“’Tis all right, lass. ’Tis over now. Ye are safe.”
She shoved at his chest. “Safe for now! Do you know how awful this trip has been? She counted off on her fingers. “A wrecked carriage, servants killed, Alice struck with typhus, broken wheels, rowdy inns, and now highwaymen.”
“Aye, lass. ’Tis true. ’Tis been a sorry journey for ye. But ye canna fall apart on me now.”
She wiped her nose with the handkerchief he handed her and sniffled. “Indeed? Then can you give me a time and place where I can fall apart?”
He tucked her loose curl behind her ear. “Ach, lass, I love yer sense of humor.”
She cast him a slight smile. “Suppose I am not joking?”
The Highlander's Accidental Marriage (Marriage Mart Mayhem) Page 7