Page 10 of A Stroke of Luck
Her attention was now focused back on the driver. “Forgive me, sir, but I seem to be having a spot of trouble in understanding what you are saying.”
After a tug at his grimy tweed cap, the fellow removed the briarwood pipe from his mouth and tried again.
The results were marginally better—the duke was able to make out two distinct syllables and a hint of a consonant. “Eye-la?” he repeated, looking to the driver for confirmation.
A dip of the beard seemed to signal his guess was correct. “Cannae unnerstand why yuh Sassinach hae so much trebble unnerstanning thay own King’s Englesh.”
“Islay?” Zara’s face fell. “Why, that is an island off the coast of Scotland!”
The fellow nodded again.
She went a bit pale. “Lud, I hadn’t realized that the storm had blown us so far to the north.” Then, forcing her chin up a notch, she drew in a deep breath. “Tell me sir, there must be at least a few people from here who sail regularly to the mainland?”
“Auch, aye.” The black and white dog by his side added a sharp bark. “Including mesself.
“How fortuitous! Would you, perchance, be willing to take us along?”
“Auch, aye.” He relit his pipe, then named a price.
Prestwick needed no translation. Nor, apparently, did Miss Greeley. After a choking sputter, she placed her hands on herhips. “That is outrageous, sir! I would rather swim to Glasgow than be taken for such a ride.”
“Speak for yourself.” The duke was also of the opinion that the deuced fellow was more mercenary than a Barbary pirate, but he didn’t care. “The lady may do as she pleases, but my man and I will pay double if you can depart within the hour.”
“Well, if that isn’t outside of enough!” The glint in her eyes was no longer remotely resembling a twinkle. “It appears that not only are you an insufferable boor but a skinflint to boot! After wrecking my boat, the least you can do is offer to pay for our fare, too.”
“You didn’t ask,” he replied with a deliberately supercilious smile. He intended, of course, to do just that, but for a few moments he wished to see her squirm a bit in payment for the small humiliations he had endured since being tossed into contact with the Greeley clan.
“Don’t worry,” he added. “You need not swim all the way to Glasgow. From what I recall of my schoolboy geography, it is only about fifteen miles across to Kilberry.” As he spoke, his hand was already reaching into his coat for his purse.
And came up empty.
A frantic search of the rest of his pockets proved equally fruitless. “Hell and damnation!”
“Must have washed away with the waves,” murmured Stump.
Muttering another oath under his breath, Prestwick made one last check before looking back to his valet. “You must have some pin money tucked away.”
“Not a penny, sir.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Prestwick saw that the young lady’s expression was beginning to change from open-mouthed outrage to a rather evil smile. He thought for a moment, then smiled back at her. “No matter,” he announced with an airywave. “As soon as we are ashore on the mainland, I shall send word to my banker to forward the funds to you.”
“Thee banker?” The driver ran his flinty gaze from the shriveled soles of Prestwick’s boots to the matted tangle of salt-stiffened hair, taking in the briny breeches, torn shirt, misshapen coat and unshaven cheeks. The bark of laughter that followed caused the pipe to fall into his lap. “Duyya think we Scots hae no more brains than yonder sheep?”
The wiry little collie bared its teeth and snapped.
“Supposin’ I have my banker go an chat with thae banker,” he continued with undisguised sarcasm. “And who shall he say sent ‘im? The bloody Prince ‘o Wales?
“The Duke of Prestwick,” replied Prestwick with as much dignity as he could muster. Considering the fact that he was under the scrutiny of at least four hostile sets of eyes, it was no easy feat.
“Auch, a bloody duke is it?” The man’s eyes narrowed so that they nearly disappeared in the leathery lines of his face. After lingering a moment longer on Prestwick’s less than ducal appearance, they shifted to Zara. “And I suppose you’ll be telling me that you’re his Duchess?”
An expression of horror spasmed across her face. “Good Heavens, no! I never met the man before last night, when my brothers and I found him and his companion bobbing like corks in the sea.” Tucking a lock of her wheaten hair behind her ear, she essayed a wan smile. “I am just a plain country miss who is trying to shepherd my brothers to the safety of our home in England. However, our boat was blown off course by the storm and we foundered on the rocks.”
The Scot’s face softened, but only for an instant, as he tugged at his beard. “Well, mebbe we can do a bit ‘o bartering on a fare, lassie.” The crook of a gnarled finger beckoned her to step closer.
“But Stump,” protested Prestwick, “Tell him that I really am?—”
Cutting him off with a daggered look, Zara gestured for the duke and the others to fall back, then complied with the grizzled Scotsman’s request.
