Page 41 of A Hot Scot for Christmas
But Rory hedged. He could sing a song and come close to sayingI love you, but a man must declare himself. His intentions, his plans…his heart.
For there was a difference.
But that was yesterday.
She jumped out of bed, hopeful. Polly scratched at the door and Sabrina, who was lacing up her stays, called out, “Come in.”
Bleary-eyed, Polly shuffled in and went to work, scooping ashes from the bed chamber’s hearth. Sabrina splashed water on her face and slipped an arm into her green gown.
“Is Mr. MacLeod already at breakfast?” she asked.
Polly stood up, uncertain.
“Polly?” Sabrina slowed her progress, worried. “Is something amiss? Did it not go well with Mr. Fanning?”
“No ma’am. The night was wonderful, thank you, but…”
Sabrina pushed a pin into her gown anxious to see Mr. MacLeod. “What is it?”
“It’s Mr. MacLeod, ma’am. He got a message and whatever the contents…oh, Mrs. Throckmorton-Rutherford. I’m worried, I am.”
Sabrina snatched her shoes and began to put them on. She’d go without her stockings or getting properly dressed. Once matters were squared away with Rory, then she’d come back and get properly dressed for the day.
In this distracted state, she asked, “Where is he?”
“He left ma’am. Something about Captain Crawford.”
Sabrina froze. Rory and the captain together…
“Do you know where he went?”
“I thought I heard Mr. MacLeod say something about The Spider and Fly, but I can’t be—”
Sabrina didn’t let the maid finish. She ran to her barn, hair flying, and mounted one of her horses. Wind and icy air tore at her cheeks and hair, her petticoats. She was bare legged, straddling her horse with no saddle and no bridle.
A fast and desperate ride, she hoped she made it in time before Rory killed the captain.
Chapter Fifteen
Sabrina ran into The Spider and Fly. Though it was not yet nine o’clock, men and a smattering of women thronged the public house. The crowd pumped the air with their fists. Mrs. Swinford sat on the scarred oak bar near the back, a fisted hand on her hip.
The plump proprietress was shaking her head. Her eyes rounded when she saw Sabrina. Mrs. Swinford waved her over. Sabrina squeezed through the crowd, her heart ramming her chest.
“You look like you just came from a tumble, Mrs. Throckmorton-Rutherford.” The proprietress laughed and nudged her chin at the melee. “They’re fighting over you, madame.”
Sabrina pushed up on her toes for a better look. Mrs. Swinford grabbed her shoulder.
“You might want to see this first.”
The proprietress pulled a folded piece of paper from her pocket. She opened it and there was the captain’s signature. She stared at it, confused.
“If the captain wins, he says he’s going to burn it. If your Highlander wins, well, I think this goes home with you, and this…” Mrs. Swinford waved a hand over a tankard on the bar beside her. “But if your man loses, this goes with the captain.”
Sabrina checked the pint. Shillings, ha’pennies, and the odd guinea filled it halfway.
“Have a seat with me, luv.” Mrs. Swinford was affable, patting the bar. “But know this, I’m an honest woman, I am. If your man loses, don’t think you’ll steal this and runaway.”
Dazed, Sabrina shook her head. “No, I wouldn’t do that.”
