Page 20 of A Hot Scot for Christmas
She tucked her arm behind her back which as good as sent a dagger to the captain’s heart.
He wheezed her name, “Sabrina…”
“Captain Crawford…please.”
She’d never given him leave to address her by her Christian name, but his pained visage tore her goodness. This was her first glimpse into the damage deception wrought. Her faux engagement had consequences. She bore no affection for the captain, but a lie was a lie, and the sooner she could remove herself from the consequences of it, the better.
A caroler hit a shrill note, and Sabrina cringed.Joy to the Worlddissolved under peals of laughter. In normal circumstances, she would’ve laughed with them.
The captain, however, turned and snapped, “Giles, Wentworth, Smith—take your hideous warbling elsewhere.”
The soldiers took the dismissal in stride, but the poor young women, their chins dipped in embarrassment. Papers crinkled in hasty folds, and the merry band scuttled off. When Captain Crawford faced her again, his blond brows slammed together. He’d recovered from that slip of emotion. His eyes were cold and the vein popping on his forehead ticked visibly.
“Odd,” he said to her. “You’ve never mentioned him before.”
“I won her heart…withmyletters.” Mr. MacLeod’s voice was sharp enough to cut bone.
The Highlander was ready to rip the captain’s throat apart with his bare hands. She tried to grasp his intent in all this. Mr. MacLeod’s profile was a far cry from the friendly traveler who’d kindly petted one of her horses and made it clear he would leave. Something was amiss and by the captain’s blanched cheeks, letters were involved.
“He’s very convincing, this Scot of mine,” she said.
Hidden against the folds of her cloak, gloved fingers fluttered against hers, a connection, though it wasn’t necessary. Captain Crawford couldn’t see Rory’s caress.
She cherished it. Touches like that—small, honest, intimate—could undo a woman.
Captain Crawford was unconvinced. Doubt knitting his features, he turned his attention to Sabrina.
“Are you still planning to attend Lord and Lady Rutger’s costume ball?”
“We wouldn’t miss it.” Mr. MacLeod’s reply was a sonorous gloat.
Captain Crawford’s calculating gaze swung from her to Mr. MacLeod. Whatever ticked behind his eyes, she didn’t like it.
“Very well.” The captain gave a curt nod and pivoted. So sharp was his turn, his boot heel left a hole in the grass.
She waited until he was a dozen strides gone before asking under her breath, “What just happened?”
Wind stirred hair across her eyes. She watched Captain Crawford walk away, his spine a ramrod. She’d pay for this unfortunate interlude. A loss of business possibly. Or a delay in those glowing letters sent to other garrisons. Wasn’t she already paying for it? The bill of lading was in her pocket, unsigned. It would remain unacknowledged until the right moment came when she could soothe the captain’s pride. Who knew when that would be?
Agitation nipped her.Men.They mucked her plans.
Mr. MacLeod had proved himself honorable—to a point. Some latitude was in order, a chance to explain himself. The man had kissed her passionately, and she was old enough to know, her body was on a journey toward his. She knew it in the depths of her soul.
What a tangle.
Without a word, she climbed onto the dray. To his credit, Mr. MacLeod understood she needed to do that alone. He went to the other side of the dray, climbed up beside her, and snapped the reins. Soon, the castle and the town of Carlisle was far behind them, but Mr. MacLeod’s glower stayed firmly in place.
Finally, she said, “It seems you’ve had a change of heart.”
He sat in profile, an improbable statue of a man.
“I’m not doing this for a horse.”
“No?” Her mild sarcasm didn’t help.
Of course, he wasn’t staying for a horse. Any half-wit would grasp that. He was quiet, his jaw not unlike Captain Crawford’s, but that was an observation best left unsaid.
“I’m not leaving,” he said. “Not for all the finest horse flesh in the realm.”
