Marcas had already dismounted and expertly looped the bridle in a loose knot around a tree trunk. He strode over to Georgina and extended a hand to her.
“Here lass, let me help ye doon,” he offered.
“Thank you.” The rough surface of his skin against hers gave her a sense of protection. He stood there devilishly handsome in the sinking light of the late evening sky, the remnants of the sun gleaming off his red hair so that it lit up like fire.
Her dismount was far from graceful thanks to her wobbly legs. As she swung her right leg over the horse to step down, her left leg buckled, causing her to fall right into Marcas’ waiting arms.
“Ach, yer no got yer traveling legs do ye lass?” Marcas teased, laughing at her embarrassing fumble. She was determined not to look like a weak little girl. Her cheeks burned. She shrugged out of his grasp and straightened up.
“Well, I was hardly dressed for a horseback rescue.” She cringed at the haughty sound of her voice as she tried to gather her wits about her. Conall joined in with the laughter.
“Och aye, yer nether regions are likely raw after riding the saddle fer that long,” Conall joked as he sprung down from the horse with little effort.
“How dare you speak about such things?” Her mouth fell open in shock at Conall’s brazenness. You’d never hear an English gentleman speak to a lady like this! Is this the wildness and lack of graces that the Scots were known for? Had Ι made a huge mistake running away with them?
“Ach keep yer bonnet on, ye’ll need a sense o’ humor if yer gonnae keep up wi’ us, eh Marcas?” Conall was unfazed at Georgina’s outrage, pausing to slap Marcas on the shoulder in fun before taking hold of the horse’s reins and leading it to the river.
“There’s a sense of humor, and then there’s just plain bad manners.” Georgina was fuming at their insensitivity; both were laughing together by the water, waiting for their horses to drink up. Her folded arms and frown just seemed to amuse them all the more, which infuriated Georgina further.
Within earshot to his brother, Conall joked. “What ye reckon Marcas, might she be a hot-blooded wee thing under all that prissy princess act?” His eyes twinkling in amusement as he took in her expression.
“Och aye, it’s always the quiet ones ye’ve got tae look oot for,” Marcas said in response.
Her cheeks flushed and she turned herself away to hide her embarrassment. It was clear they were familiar with a woman’s body, but hers was untouched, and she had yet to share it with a man.
Their brazen comments triggered an image of how close she was to having Morgan’s boar-like hands pawing at her, thus leaving a bitter taste left in her mouth.
“Ye alright Georgina?” Marcas’ voice moved from levity to concern. “We were only teasin.” He gazed down at her from his six-foot-two height.
“Oh, I’m fine, just rather dizzy from all the traveling that’s all,” Georgina replied, overwhelmed by her decision to trust these strangers and now having to fall prey to their crass humor.
Marcas placed a soothing hand on her back. “C’mon, let’s get ye something tae drink and a bite tae eat,” They walked towards Conall who was removing items from the saddlebags.
“Right, we best rest and eat before moving off again,” Conall ordered, passing Georgina a water skin. “We need tae put as much distance as we can between us and that redcoat in case he’s already on the chase.” Georgina sank down onto an earthy ledge covered in grass, grateful for the chance to sit on something soft after the long bumpy ride.
“Oh, I doubt that. He was filled with liquor; did you not see how red his cheeks were? It’s unlikely he could even walk straight let alone command a search party,” Georgina retorted, taking a sip of water from the skin, trying not to wince at the barbaric look of the bag.
“Ach, noo just a pretty face eh?” Conall replied, looking impressed at her observation. “Well if he be full o’ drink then we can hope that gives us an extra day’s heedstart. Unless the cuddie’s daft enough tae go chargin’ off in that state.” Conall paced as he spoke, asserting his authority over the situation as he came up with a plan.
“Nothin’ we havnae done afore,” Marcas pitched in with a snort of laughter, as if such an action was no big deal.
“I ken, I ken, but that critter dinnae have the stomach nor the tenacity o’ a Laird,” Conall responded, and they both laughed again at Morgan Bolton’s expense. It certainly seemed that poking fun at the Brits was integral to life in the Highlands.
“Still, we cannae get comfortable wi’ that notion just in case,” Conall continued, “he might well be mad enough tae set off after us even if he’s blootered.”
“Blootered?” Georgina blurted out incredulously, wondering what on earth he was talking about.
“Aye, blootered, drunk, pished, legless. Or intoxicated if ye want tae get namby-pamby aboot it,” Conall explained. Georgina had a feeling she’d be in for many of these little lessons the more time she spent with the McGowan brothers.
After Conall briefed them with a plan of action, the three of them sat down to eat what the brothers had stashed away in their saddlebags. Georgina looked at the strange, dry looking form of bread she was handed along with a lump of something resembling meat.
“What on earth is this?” She turned to Marcas wondering if she was expected to eat with her hands.
“It’s a bare bannock lass. Made oot o’ the finest barley in the land.” He pointed to the meat. “And that there’s rabbit, smoked,” Marcas said, then bit into the bread.
“Rabbit?” all right, so she had eaten rabbit before but only in a dish well prepared by the cook, never as just a pure slab of meat.
“Och dinnae stand on ceremony lass, yer no sittin at some fancy dining table wi’ a polished knife ‘n’ fork, just get it doon ya so we can get on,” Conall argued. He too went back to devouring the food in his hands as soon as he was done talking, paying little attention to Georgina’s meek movements.
She tore off a chunk of the bannock thing, the safer sounding option, and nibbled the corner. It tasted a little dry with nothing on it, but it was surprisingly decent. She did the same with the meat, trying not to think about its origins, and found it to be welcoming to her growling stomach.
Georgina watched as the two brothers devoured their food, her hunger reminding her of the luncheon she’d nibbled at all those long hours ago. Oh, what the hell. She sunk her teeth into her meal and surrendered to the act of eating. It felt wonderful to let go and not worry about her manners or having to show off her good graces to stuffy old dinner guests.
The meat and the barley bread soon filled her up, and she voiced her surprise to Conall and Marcas. “I wouldn’t have thought such plain simple food could be so good.” She took the cloth Marcas offered and wiped her hands. She brushed stray crumbs that fell down the front of her dress.
“Ach, there’s beauty in simplicity lass,” said Conall, “and plenty in it tae keep yer strength up so’s ye can flee from the fury o’ an Englishman for days withoot him having a hope o’ catching ye.” His voice was tinged in light hearted humor. Georgina was coming to learn it was a common theme when discussing England.
“And what would happen if I were to be fleeing from the fury of the Clan McGowan?” Georgina piped up.
“Ach, ye wouldnae last an hour,” Conall said and smiled, Marcas joined in the laugh.
“Aye right, they don’t call us warriors for nothin’ lass,” said Marcas with pride.
“Do all of your men boast about their prowess?” Georgina muttered. It was becoming tiresome listening to the men boast how strong and powerful they were in comparison to the rest of the word.
“Prowess, eh? We hadn’t event gotten on to the topic o’ beddin’ the lasses.” Conall threw his quip back, his wit as sharp as nails. Georgina blushed at the sudden topic of conversation.
“That’s not — um, I wasn’t —” she stumbled over her words as Conall flashed her an exaggerated lecherous gaze, waggling his red tint
ed eyebrows up and down for good measure.
“Oh, aye Marcas, we all ken what’s on her mind eh?” Conall goaded.
She was so furious at his teasing; she sprang to her feet and stomped off. Unable to resist having the last word, she yelled back over her shoulder: “Oh, you’re the one that’s simple-mind here, so cease your silly jokes.”
“Och, she’s got spirit that one Marcas,” she heard Conall mutter before she marched out of earshot, pausing by the river with her arms folded in the hopes of cooling off. It wasn’t just from the turn the conversation had taken but also the extended period of time with her body pressed up against Conall’s on the back of the horse.
Just what was she getting herself into?
Chapter 5
The events at the wedding of the Earl of Aylesford certainly had not gone as planned. Morgan was left in a fit of rage as he watched the brutes ride off with his bride-to-be. They'd obviously got her mind all twisted up so that she’d say those things. In fact, they’d probably threatened her with rape and violence unless she humiliated me in front of society.
Yes, that had to be the reason. It was inconceivable she could possibly desire a lowly northern whelp over myself. What woman wouldn’t want to be on the arm of one of the most powerful men in England?
He strode over to Georgina’s distraught father to offer some wise words. “Let’s not cause any more of a scene, Mr. Andrews. Those dastardly Scots have clearly threatened your daughter to say such things. She must be scared out of her mind.” The entire wedding party was congregated on the steps behind them, having watched the whole drama play out.
“I hardly know what to think, Major Bolton, whatever was she thinking getting mixed up with the blighters?” asked Mr. Andrews, his gaze still fixed on the empty road ahead of them where Georgina sped away only minutes ago.
“Well Sir, they have certainly made an enemy of me, and as a result, they shall pay the price.” Morgan’s voice was like ice as he spoke. When he saw the McGowan brothers enter the room earlier, he felt the animosity as the Laird’s eye caught sight of him.
After what Morgan had done to assert his power and dominance over the clans, it was unsettling to see them at a formal event and mingling with polite society. He preferred to think of them as madmen he had to fight on the battlefield, not with words and innuendoes at the home of his Earl.
“Chop, chop, ladies and gentleman, there is much drinking and dancing to be had and the band is getting awfully lonely,” the Earl of Aylesford announced jovially, signaling everyone to make their way back inside.
Excited whispers were rippling through the crowd as the guests ascended back up the steps and through the hallway. The Earl approached Morgan and Mr. Andrews, his face serious.
“Gentlemen,” he began, “this is certainly an unexpected turn of events. I invited the McGowan brothers here on good faith, the Laird and his brother have been most agreeable in following in their late father’s footsteps up until the present moment. I have had many business dealings with him in the past and continued the good relations with his sons upon the death of Leigh McGowan. It is with a heavy heart that I watched them sever that tie when they embarked upon the capture of your daughter, Mr. Andrews, and I believe she is betrothed to you, Major Bolton?”
“Yes Sir, that is correct,” Morgan confirmed.
“Well, we cannot sit idly by while these barbarians kidnap such an esteemed young lady right under our noses. Major Bolton, you have my command to assemble your men and hunt down the McGowans and rescue Miss Andrews,” the Earl slapped Morgan assuredly on the shoulder as he spoke, his words charged with the liquor he indulged during the celebrations.
“I appreciate your words, Lord Aylesford,” Mr. Andrews chipped in, as the most-sober man amongst the three of them, “but let us not take away from your special night any longer. A man’s wedding night only comes once in his lifetime after all.”
Morgan was so furious that he wanted to set out after the McGowans at once. He would not continue this humiliation in front of the whole region but he had to admit that Mr. Andrews had a point, as he continued to coax the Earl into returning to the celebrations inside.
Morgan, too, had enjoyed indulging in the bottle and he could feel the heat in his cheeks and his temper shortening as a result. Besides, the brothers would no doubt be expecting him to be hot on their tail, best to strike when they were least expecting it.
Yes, he would let them flee like silly, scared children, let them think that the wrath of the British Army was right behind them. Given enough time, they would let down their guard, and his officers would descend upon them making them regret crossing him.
Chapter 6
Marcas laughed along with Conall’s banter, watching Georgina go off in a fit of pique. Part of him wanted to run after her, put his arm around her fragile little shoulders and tell her it’s all right, my clout o’ a brother is only having ye on. There was something endearing about the way her delicate features twisted up in anger.
“Right Conall, what the hell were ye thinkin’?” Marcas redirected his thoughts to the situation at hand now that the lass was out of earshot.
His brother merely leaned back against a tree, casual as you please. “Whatever do ye mean brother?”
“I mean,” Marcas urged, keeping his voice low so that Georgina wouldn’t hear, “Kidnapping some English filly and not just any bird, it seems, Morgan Bolton’s wife-to-be?”
“Ach, c’mon Marcas, the bugger deserved it after what he did.” Conall practically spat out the words.
“I ken that he deserves a comeuppance after all that but that stunt ye pulled wis hardly keeping the relations a’tween us ‘n’ the auld Earl diplomatic,” Marcas said, “aside fey that, ye’ve gone and snatched up an unsuspecting girl just tae prove a point.” He was fuming with his brother’s decision to capture Georgina, severing any friendship and understanding they might have had with the Aylesford region.
“Marcas my lad, we’re doin’ that lass a favor. Poor thing wis almost greetin’ at the prospect o’ tying the knot wi’ that bampot, ye heard her as we were leavin’ didn’t ya? Oh, faither, don’t ye want me tae be happy?” Conall put on a silly high voice to try and imitate Georgina and Marcas whipped his head round to make sure she wasn’t listening.
“Ach, c’mon lad, I thought ye'd be cheesin’, bonnie lass like that,” Conall said, watching Marcas’ face closely.
“Well, aye, she’s bonnie ‘n’ all but—” Marcas didn’t want to admit that Conall was right there, that a huge part of him was happy about the chance to get to know her.
“But nothin’,” Conall interrupted his voice heavy with authority; “I saw an opportunity tae get even and I took it. If we’ve tae fight, so be it. I’ll tear that dobber’s heed clean off on the battlefield, fair and honest. Come on noo, we’d best be packin’ up to make a move,” Conall said, brusquely ending the conversation. He stood up, brushing his hands together and began to get the horses ready to continue their journey home.
Marcas looked over at Georgina, wondering if he could convince her to ride with him instead of Conall. He’d felt a stab of jealously watching her cuddle up to his brother on the back of his horse, even more so knowing that she’d opened up to him during their shared moment on the dance floor. He was tired that his brother outmatched him.
Georgina was still sulking when Marcas approached her, her long dark hair looking disheveled from the wind, her cheeks pink against her pale skin.
“How ye doin’ lass?” He longed for the easy flirtation they’d sparked during those first moments of introduction earlier on. “Come noo, Conall was only teasin’,” he soothed.
“Well the teasing went a bit too far for my liking.” she was irritated and crossed her arms.
“Well, how aboot ye ride wi’ me for the next leg o’ the journey? Give ye a break from his poor patter.” He spoke softly, hoping the gentle teasing about the quality of his brother’s banter would be enough to sway her.
&nbs
p; She smiled and shook her head. His stomach tied in knots at both her acceptance and the warmth of her smile.
“Here, I’ll give ye a leg up,” Marcas said as they approached his horse, relishing the chance to touch her and taking hold of her hand with care as he helped her up onto the back of the horse.
“What’s this then?” Conall barked from his perch upon his own ride.
“Ach, the lass wants a break from yer blethering, Conall,” Marcas jested, making a show of jumping up onto the horse and swinging his leg round dexterously as Georgina watched.
“Well good luck tae her putting up wi’ yours,” Conall retorted, as ever not showing signs of weakness, “C’mon we cannae afford to dillydally much longer.” He shook the reins of his horse and moved off into a trot without a backward glance, leaving Marcas feeling victorious for once.
The Highlander's Secret Maiden: A Scottish Historical Romance Novel Page 3