Page 13 of The Wrong Bride
She nodded, surprised to feel vaguely guilty. Why should she feel that way when she was but their prisoner? “I don’t suppose you’ll be better prepared next time.”
One dark brow arched, but he seemed in too good a mood to respond in kind. “We’ll not have to fash about that in Scotland. The pickings are too poor for highwaymen.”
Samuel laughed but she didn’t see what was funny.
“I’ll drive until midday,” McCallum said. “Let’s put some distance between us and these brigands before they get their courage up again.”
Silently, Riona climbed into the coach and felt it dip behind her as Samuel followed. He seated himself across from her, and she simply stared at him in confusion. The coach jerked into motion, even as Samuel closed his eyes.
“Why did you lie for me?” she asked hesitantly.
He opened his eyes and regarded her with a sympathy that felt foreign to her.
“Ye’re a frightened, desperate lass. And I understand ye, so I helped ye this time. But he’s my chief—my friend. I won’t help ye again, so don’t make a foolish mistake.”
She swallowed but her words still sounded hoarse and full of pain, even to her own ears. “Is it foolish to want to go home?”
“’Tis foolish to wish to change what cannot bechanged. This was decided long ago, my lady,” he said kindly.
“But not forme!” she whispered fiercely. “You’ve got the wrong woman.”
He shook his head and closed his eyes again, and Riona angrily wiped away a tear. Crying was useless and would get her nowhere with these men.
THEYcrossed the River Sark and into Scotland two days later, and it was like a little part of Riona died, along with her hope of rescue. She could only depend on herself now.
They stopped to refresh themselves and the horses in the river, and it was as if McCallum and his coachman thought the water tasted better on this side of the border, they were so glad to be back. The water ran fast and high due to the rain that had plagued them the last day, and the bank was muddy and overgrown with weeds. Riona tried to wash her face and ended up sliding down the embankment and up to her thighs in icy water. McCallum reached her first and hauled her to safety, where she stumbled and landed on her backside, her skirts a sodden mess. She desperately wanted to cry, felt filthy and smelly, and now her gown was ruined. Shoulders slumped, she covered her face with her hands and took a deep, shuddering breath.
“We should stop at an inn tonight,” Samuel said. “We need fresh clothes.”
She kept her head bowed, knowing if she looked too hopeful, McCallum might deny the request.
“Aye, we’ll stop in Gretna Green,” McCallum said, “at a good Scottish inn.”
Where no one will help a Sassenach,Riona thought despondently. Of course, part of her was Scottish, but a lot of good that would do against a clan chief. Yet to be clean and dry seemed the height of luxury five days into their journey, so she’d hold off complaining until tomorrow.
Not that McCallum had seemed all that bothered when she’d tried to annoy him into abandoning his plan to marry her. He’d simply ridden in the coaching box with Samuel, leaving her all alone for hours on end. Samuel had slipped her a pack of cards the day before, and she sometimes occupied herself by making random patterns, because she knew no games to be played alone. But it was something to do with her hands.
Often, she stared out the slit in the leather curtain for hours, watching for the changes that would mark Scotland, but there was nothing very different about the Lowlands.
They reached the small village of Gretna Green, where several roads converged around a triangular green. There were a collection of thatched-roof, whitewashed cottages, a blacksmith shop, a church, and little else. If there was a “good Scottish inn” here, she was baffled. Frankly, she didn’t care wherethey stopped, if only she could be free of this coach for a night.
The “inn” ended up being two rooms above a tavern, only one of which was private. She was exceedingly grateful when McCallum led her up the cramped rear stairs from the stable yard, rather than through the front hall where she’d be gawked at. She knew he was probably trying to avoid curious stares, but she didn’t care.
The private room was small; only a bed, a table with two chairs, a washstand, and pegs on the wall for her clothing. Inns in England were luxurious compared to this. Or the ones her parents frequented were, she amended to herself.
“Please tell me you were able to ask for a hot bath,” she said, keeping her voice polite.
McCallum eyed her. “The innkeeper wasn’t happy, but he’ll oblige us.”
“Us?” she echoed, feeling a new stirring of unease.
“There’s a bed for Samuel in the dormitory, but of course, a man and his wife can share one.”
She stared at him in growing anger. “Y-you told him we were married?”
“Ye’ve not proven yourself trustworthy, Lady Riona. I cannot allow ye to be alone for a night, and I cannot name ye my mistress, can I?”
Her mouth moved, but nothing came out.
