Page 59 of The Lyon and the Unicorn
“Shall we take tea?” Mama said. “Reverend, you’re welcome to join us. The woman at the inn—Mrs. McReady, is it?—has offered to accommodate us.”
“It’s a long drive to Strathburn,” Murdo said. “My family’s expecting us tonight.”
“And you wouldn’t wish to disappointthem,” Clara bit out.
She caught a flash of guilt in his eyes.
“Daughter, what do you want?” Mama asked.
“I want to go,” Clara said. “I’ve made my decision and intend to abide by it, no matter what.”
A smile played on Murdo’s lips, but it disappeared when she glared at him.
“I’ve weathered considerably worse in my life,” she added. “We both have, Mama.”
Her mother pulled her into a tight embrace. “There’s my stout-hearted girl!” she said. “The unicorn will need to earn the respect of my little lioness.”
Mama released her, and before Clara could catch her breath, her stepbrothers pulled her into their arms.
“We’re going to miss you, little wildcat,” Nathaniel said. “I pray you’ll be all right.”
“She will—won’t you, sister?” Cornelius said. “Give him hell, Clarry. Like a true Martingale.”
He lifted his little finger and curled it into a hook. Clara hooked her little finger around it and Nathaniel followed suit.
“Like a true Martingale,” they said, in unison.
Then her stepfather approached. He pulled her into a tight embrace, as if his life depended on it.
Clara clung to him, inhaling the scent of wood, pine, and cigars that had terrified her when she first set eyes on him, the aristocratic stranger who’d wrenched her from the slums. But as she grew to trust him, his scent became an enduring comfort.
“Forgive me, Papa,” she said. “I know you wanted me to be a lady.”
“You’re my daughter,” he whispered, his voice wavering. “I care for nothing else.”
“You mean it?”
“Of course I do, dearest girl. Be happy, and write as often as you can.”
He lifted her hand to his lips. Then he helped her into the waiting carriage.
Murdo moved to follow her.
“Mr. McTavish, if you please,” Papa Harcourt said, catching Murdo’s sleeve.
The apprehension in Murdo’s gaze intensified as Papa Harcourt drew back the front of his jacket until the polished wooden handle of a pistol came into view.
“You’re now a member ofmyfamily, young man,” he said.
“Thank ye, sir. I—”
“Do not forget it, because, rest assured,Inever shall.”
Then he pulled Murdo close and lowered his voice to a whisper.
“I’ve suffered the misfortune today of witnessing you promise to love, honor, and keep my daughter. Be assured that if you harm a hair on her head, you’ll have me to answer to.”
“Do ye intend to shoot me, sir?”
