Gretna Greene

hurt. When it happens, or even when I think it might happen, I-' He stopped talking for a moment and cocked his head slowly to the side, pretending to search for the right words. 'I go a wee bit mad.'

The man sprawled on the cobbles found his feet with remarkable speed and ran off into the night. His companion looked as if he dearly wanted to follow, but Angus's boot had him a bit too securely pinned to the ground.

Angus stroked his chin. 'I think we understand each other.'

The man nodded frantically.

'Good. I'm sure I don't need to tell you what will happen should we ever again cross paths.'

Another pained nod.

Angus moved his foot and the man ran off, squealing all the way.

With the threat finally removed-the third villain, after all, was still unconscious-Angus finally turned his attention to the young lady he had possibly saved from a fate worse than death. She was still sitting on the cobbles, staring up at him as if he were a ghost. Her hair was wet and sticking to her face, but even in the dim light shining from the nearby buildings, he could tell that it was some sort of shade of brown. Her eyes were light in color, and utterly huge and unblinking. And her lips-well, they were blue from the cold, and shivering to boot, so they really shouldn't have been so appealing, but Angus found himself instinctively moving toward her, and he had the oddest notion that if he kissed her…

He gave his head a little shake. 'Idiot,' he muttered. He was here to find Anne, not dally with some misplaced young Englishwoman. And speaking of which, what the devil was she doing here, anyway, alone on a darkened street?

He leveled his sternest stare at her. 'What the devil are you doing here?' he demanded, then added for good measure, 'Alone on a darkened street?'

Her eyes, which he thought couldn't possible get any more huge, widened, and she started to scoot away, her bottom skimming along the ground as she used the palms of her hands to support her. Angus thought she looked a bit like a monkey he'd seen in a menagerie.

'Don't tell me you're frightened of me' he said incredulously.

Her shaking lips managed something that could never be called a smile, although Angus had the distinct impression that she was trying to placate him. 'Not at all,' she quavered, her accent confirming his earlier supposition that she was English. 'It's just that I-well, you must understand-' She stood so suddenly that her foot caught on the hem of her dress, and she nearly fell over. 'I really have someplace I have to be,' she blurted out.

And then, with a wary glance in his direction, she started walking away, moving sideways so that she could keep one eye on him and one on wherever it was she thought she was going.

'For the love of-' He cut himself off before he blasphemed in front of this chit, who was already looking at him as if she were trying to decide whether he more resembled the devil or Attila the Hun. 'I am not the villain in this piece,' he bit off.

Margaret clutched at the folds of her skirt and chewed nervously on the inside of her cheek. She had been terrified when those men had grabbed her, and she still hadn't managed to stop the uncontrollable shaking of her hands. At four-and-twenty, she was still an innocent, but she'd lived long enough to know their intentions. The man standing in front of her had saved her, but for what purpose? She didn't think he wanted to hurt her-his comment about protecting women was a bit too heartfelt to have been an act. But did that mean she could trust him?

As if sensing her thoughts, he snorted and jerked his head slightly. 'For the love of God, woman, I saved your bloody life.'

Margaret winced. The big Scotsman was probably correct, and she knew her deceased mother would have ordered her to get down on her hands and knees just to thank him, but the truth was-he looked a little unbalanced. His eyes were hot and flashing with temper, and there was something about him-something strange and indescribable-that made her insides quiver.

But she wasn't a coward, and she had spent enough years trying to instill good manners in her younger siblings that she wasn't about to prove herself a hypocrite and behave rudely herself. 'Thank you,' she said quickly, her racing heart causing her words to tumble from her mouth. 'That was… uh… very well done of you, and I… thank you, and I believe I can speak for my family when I say that they also thank you, and I'm certain that if I ever found myself wed, my husband would thank you as well.'

Her savior (or was it nemesis?-Margaret just wasn't sure) smiled slowly and said, 'Then you're not married.'

She took a few steps back. 'Uh, no, uh, I really must be going.'

His eyes narrowed. 'You're not here to elope, are you? Because that's always a bad idea. I have a friend with property in the area, and he tells me that the inns are full of women who have been compromised on the way to Gretna Green but never wed.'

'I am certainly not eloping,' she said testily. 'Do I really look that foolish?'

'No, you don't. But forget I asked. I really don't care.' He shook his head wearily. 'I've ridden all day, I'm sore as hell, and I still haven't found my sister. I'm glad you're safe, but I don't have time to sit here and-'

Her entire countenance changed. 'Your sister?' she repeated, charging forward. 'You're looking for your sister? Tell me, sir, how old is she, what does she look like, and are you a Fornby, Ferrige, or Fitch?'

He looked at her as if she had suddenly sprouted horns. 'What the devil are you talking about, woman? My name is Angus Greene.'

'Damn,' she muttered, surprising even herself with her use of profanity. 'I had been hoping you might prove a useful ally.'

'If you're not here to elope, what are you doing here?'

'My brother,' she grumbled. 'The nitwit thinks he wants to marry, but his brides are completely unsuitable.'

'Brides, plural? Bigamy is still illegal in England, is it not?'

She scowled at him. 'I don't know which one he eloped with. He didn't say. But they're all just horrible.' She shuddered, looking as if she had just swallowed an antidote. 'Horrible.'

A fresh burst of rain fell upon them, and without even thinking, Angus took her arm and pulled her under the deep overhang. She kept on talking through the entire maneuver.

'When I get my hands on Edward, I'm going to bloody well kill him,' she was saying. 'I was quite busy in Lancashire, you know. It's not as if I had time to drop everything and chase him to Scotland. I've a sister to care for, and a wedding to plan. She's getting married in three months, after all. The last thing I needed was to travel up here and-'

His hand tightened around her arm. 'Wait one moment,' he said in a tone that immediately shut her mouth. 'Don't tell me you traveled to Scotland by yourself.' His brows pulled together, and he looked as if he were in pain. 'Do not tell me that.'

She caught sight of the fire burning in his dark eyes, and drew back as far as his heavy grip would let her. 'I knew that you were crazy,' she said, looking from side to side as if searching for someone to save her from this lunatic.

Angus yanked her in closer, purposefully using his size and strength to intimidate her. 'Did you or did you not embark upon a long-distance journey without an escort?'

'Yes?' she said, the single syllable coming out like a question.

'Good God, woman!' he exploded. 'Are you insane? Do you have any idea what happens to women traveling alone? Did you give no thought to your own safety?'

Margaret's mouth fell open.

He let go of her and started to pace. 'When I think about what might have happened…' He gave his head a shuddering shake, muttering, 'Jesus, whiskey, and Robert the Bruce. The woman is daft.'

Margaret blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of all this. 'Sir,' she began cautiously, 'you don't even know me.'

He whirled around. 'What the hell is your name?'

'Margaret Pennypacker,' she answered before it occurred to her that maybe he really was