Page 5 of A Gypsy in Scotland
Chapter 2
Honoria’s entourage was about as stealthy as a cat with a bell tied around its neck. Theirs was clearly not going to be a surreptitious task. She had hoped to keep the man’s presence a secret from Hugh for the time being—at least until the man had been settled in a chamber and it would be considered rude to toss him out. Unfortunately, his size made that task impossible. The five footmen she recruited to carry the wounded stranger had dropped him a whopping four times.
“Be care—” she called out as a servant careened into a side table, the man slipping from their grip for the fifth time, “—ful.”
The rumpus, of course, drew the attention of Hugh and Isla.
“What the deuce is going on here?” Hugh demanded, emerging from the drawing room, Isla close on his heels. His gaze fixed on the lump of man sprawled on the floor. “And who the hell is that?”
Honoria straightened her back and dragged in a fortifying breath. She could tell from the set of his jaw that her brother was going to be difficult. “I found him wounded on our property, Hugh.”
“Take him back,” he said simply, his hand lifting to point at the open door. “At once.”
“You mean carry him back up the hill onour propertywhere he might perish?” Honoria raised a brow.
“Send him to the village, then. He is not staying here,” Hugh snapped, gazing at the man. “Christ, he must weigh a ton.”
Honoria concurred. Her initial assessment had been off the mark. Not six foot two, the man was at least six feet five inches of lean, solid muscle.
“He will not make it to the village,” she said reasonably, refusing to back down. “We need to tend to his injuries.”
“I don’t care,” Hugh bit out through clenched teeth. “We don’t shelter strangers who look as though they fought a war and lost.”
“We must,” Isla murmured, stepping around Hugh to peer down at the man. “Honoria is right, he needs our help.”
“I don’t give a horse’s arse. You will haul him—”
“Nay,” Honoria interrupted, stubbornly crossing her arms over her chest. Honestly, her brothers never gave her the benefit of the doubt. And while they fought over what to do, the poor fellow lay two feet away, bleeding to death.
“I am serious, Honoria. Look at the man. What trouble do you think he brings along with him? He might be dangerous.”
This again.
Don’t help the half-dead stranger, Honoria. He might be dangerous.
A pox on brothers!
And every last male in the highlands.
She glanced at the man on the floor. Unconscious men may be an exception. At least they were quiet.
“’Tis not the MacCallan way to refuse hospitality to an injured person, Hugh,” Isla murmured. “We must see to his injuries first before you cart him off to the village.”
“Aye, Hugh, ’tis not the MacCallan way to refuse hospitality to an injured person,” Honoria repeated in a mocking drawl.
“He might be a criminal, wanted by the law,” Hugh ground out.
“Och, then I suppose he will fit right in at MacCallan Castle,” Honoria replied.
His face mottled. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Honoria arched her brow in challenge.
Hugh threw his hands up in an action unbefitting a brawny highlander and muttered an oath. He was outnumbered.
“Very well,” Hugh growled. “But once his injuries are tended to, he leaves.” He peered at them with solemn eyes. “And let whatever trouble he stirs be onyourheads.”
Honoria gave a curt nod. She could live with that.
