“We should get out o’the weather, m’laird.” The driver jumped down beside him. “And the horses. They were standing a wee while for ye over at Balmore.”
The voice was that of young Jamie, his own stable lad.
“Not that I minded, o’course.” Jamie added hurriedly. “’Tis good to have ye back. We’ve all been awaiting…” He trailed off, no doubt seeing the look upon Finlay’s face.
“Hurry up! We need to leave before this snow gets any worse.” Margaret called around the corner of the door, before closing it again.
“Away back?” Jamie’s eyes widened.
“Aye.” Finlay blew on his hands, feeling woefully sorry for the lad. He could tell already ’twas a vain hope, for the flakes of snow were growing larger by the minute and the flurries coming faster. Moreover, the youth looked half-frozen. “Can we do it, do you think?”
’Twas plain what the answer should be, but Jamie was too afeared to countermand what his master appeared wishing to hear.
“Nay bother, laddie.” Finlay lowered his voice. “I won’t press you to it.”
Jamie let go a heavy breath.
“But what were you doing, driving out like this? Who summoned you?” Finlay rested a hand upon the young man’s shoulder. He’d a good idea, of course, but he had to hear it from the lad.
“’Twas the message as came from Castle Balmore. Lady Ailsa did send it, Mistress Douglas said. All the staff were free to away home, except for Mistress Middymuckle—who was to have plenty of victuals ready for yer return, and Mistress Douglas herself, as was to get yer chamber ready, just as it was last Yuletide, and old Rabbie, who was to drive the horses, to meet ye at Balmore.”
“I see.” Finlay chewed over this new information. “And what about yourself Jamie? I didnae ken you could drive the horses—not that you did a bad job.”
“I’ve been learning, with supervision, o’course.” Jamie worried at his lip. “I only drove tonight as Rabbie has taken a cold. I set out the fires, aforehand—in the snug and in yer chamber, and then I drove the womenfolk o’er to the Douglas farm.”
“Good lad.” Finlay patted him on the back. What else was there to say? Under thecircumstances, the boy had done well. He certainly didn’t deserve censure. The manner of how the occupants of the coach came to be within was none of his doing.
As for Alastair, that was another matter. The crafty fox had taken pains to meet him in Glasgow two weeks ago, supposedly to inspect progress at the soapworks, where their joint venture was coming to fruition. He’d insisted on driving him back to Balmore and playing host; now Finlay had a good idea why.
“For goodness sake!” Margaret hopped down from the coach, with Brucie padding behind her. “Don’t say anything. I heard every word.” Hugging her shawl close, she gave Finlay a withering look.
“Yer Ladyship!” Jamie blinked in surprise.
To the lad, she offered a more genial expression. “Good evening to you, Jamie. I take it you and Rabbie have plenty to eat yourselves?”
“Oh aye, m’lady. A mutton pie, a fat haggis wi’ a pile o’neeps, an’a wee clootie dumpling. ’Tis a feast. Mistress Middymuckle has been busy in the kitchen this week past.”
Margaret nodded. “And Rabbie is tucked up warm?”
“Aye, wi’a heap o’peat stacked high. He’s a wee bit peelie wally, but Mistress Douglas says he’ll be braw, as long as he stays inside.”
“Excellent! In which case…” she cast a fierce eye back to Finlay. “If we’re not going anywhere, for the love of Mary, get me inside!”
The Earl of Dunrannoch did not need to be twice prompted. Before she had a moment to protest, he scooped her up so that her slippered feet were hoisted high in the air, and he strode into the castle.
Two powerful armsembraced her securely, pulled into the warmth of one broad, manly chest.Margaret had forgotten how strong he was, and how it felt to be held like this. It made her feel fragile and vulnerable, as if she had no choice but to submit.
The flutter that seized her insides told her that she liked it—which was unfortunate, because her mind was made up.
She’d no intention of surrendering to Finlay Dalreagh.
“Put me down!” As soon as they were through the door, she thumped him.
It came as a bit of a shock that he did so without hesitation, though in such a way that she ended on her feet flushed and breathless from their close contact; his hand skimmed her back, then her bottom, before he released her.
Brucie, not far behind, gave himself a shake to throw off the snowflakes from his fur.
They were in the entrance hall, and ’twas deathly cold, encased as they were in several feet of stone walls. Silent too, and dark, though someone had left a lantern and matches close by. Finlay lit the wick and, by the soft glow, Margaret caught hisexpression—one she could not entirely fathom.
