Gretna Greene

Angus looked up with questioning eyes. 'Who is Hugo Thrumpton?'

'My brother's best friend.'

'Ah.' He pulled out the second letter, which was written in a decidedly more masculine hand.

Thrumpton Hall

nr. Clitheroe, Lancashire

My dear Margaret-

It is with a heavy heart that I write these words. By now you have received my note advising you of my flight to Gretna Green. If you react as I know you will, you will be in Scotland as you read this.

But I am not in Scotland, and I never had any intention of eloping. Rather, I leave tomorrow for Liverpool to join the Royal Navy. I shall use my portion to purchase my commission.

I know you never wanted this life for me, but I am a man now, and as a man I must choose my own fortune.

I have always known that I must be destined for the military life; ever since I played with my pewter soldiers as a young boy have I longed to serve my country.

I pray you will forgive my duplicity, but I knew that you would come after me to Liverpool if you were aware of my true intentions. Such a farewell would pain me for the rest of my days.

It is better this way.

yr. loving brother, Edward Pennypacker

Angus looked up into Margaret's eyes, which were suspiciously bright. 'Did you have any idea?' he asked quietly.

'None,' she said, her voice quavering on the word. 'Do you think I would have undertaken this mad journey if I'd dreamed he'd gone to Liverpool?'

'What do you plan to do next?'

'Return home, I imagine. What else can I do? He's probably halfway to America by now.'

She was exaggerating, but Angus figured she'd earned that right. There wasn't a lot one could say in such a situation, though, so he leaned over and pushed her bowl of pudding a little closer to her. 'Have some cranachan.'

Margaret looked down at her food. 'You want me to eat?'

'I can't think of anything better to do. You didn't touch your haggis.'

She picked up her spoon. 'Am I a terrible sister? Am I such a terrible person?'

'Of course not.'

'What kind of person am I that he would feel the need to send me all the way to Gretna Green just so he could make a clean escape?'

'A well-loved sister, I imagine,' Angus replied, spooning some cranachan into his mouth. 'Damn, this is good. You should try some.'

Margaret dipped her spoon, but she didn't raise it to her mouth. 'What do you mean?'

'Obviously he loves you too well to endure a painful farewell. And it sounds as if you would have put up quite a fight to his joining the navy had you known his true intentions.'

Margaret had been about to retort, 'Of course I would!' but instead she just sighed. What was the use defending her position or explaining her feelings? What was done was done, and there was nothing she could do about it.

She sighed again, louder, and lifted her spoon. If there was one thing she hated, it was situations about which she could do nothing.

'Are you going to eat that pudding, or is this some sort of experiment in the science of spoon-balancing?'

Margaret blinked her way out of her daze, but before she could reply, George McCallum appeared at their table.

'We'll be needing to clean up for the night,' he said. 'I don't mean to toss you out, but my wife is insisting.' He grinned at Angus. 'You know how it is.'

Angus motioned to Margaret. 'She hasn't finished her cranachan.'

'Take the bowl up to your room. Pity to waste the food.'

Angus nodded and stood. 'Good idea. Are you ready, my sweet?'

Margaret's spoon slipped out of her hand, landing in her bowl of cranachan with a dull splat. Had he just called her his sweet? 'I… I… I…'

'She loves me so much,' Angus said to George, 'sometimes she loses her power of speech.'

While Margaret was gaping at him, he lifted his powerful shoulders in a huge, satisfied shrug, and said, 'What can I say? I overwhelm her.'

George chuckled while Margaret sputtered. 'You'd best watch your back,' the innkeeper advised Angus, 'or you'll be finding yourself washing your hair with my wife's best cranachan.'

'A fine idea,' Margaret bit out.

Angus laughed as he stood and held out his hand to her. Somehow he'd known that the best way to distract her from her sorrows was to raise her hackles with another joke about her being his devoted wife. If he'd mentioned the baby, she would probably forget her brother altogether.

He started to open his mouth, then caught sight of the furious gleam in her eyes and thought the better of it. A man had to think of his own safety, after all, and Margaret looked ready to do some serious physical harm-or at least fling a bowl of cranachan at him.

Still, he'd gladly take the pudding shot if it meant she could stop thinking about her brother, even for a few moments. 'Come along, darling,' he said smoothly, 'we need to let this good man close up for the night.'

Margaret nodded and stood, her lips still clamped tightly together. Angus had a feeling she didn't trust herself to speak.

'Don't forget your cranachan,' he said, motioning to the bowl on the table while he picked up his own.

'You might be wanting to carry hers, too,' George chortled. 'I dinna trust that look in her eye.'

Angus took his advice and scooped up the other bowl. 'An excellent idea, my good man. My wife will have to walk without the benefit of my arm, but I think she'll manage, don't you?'

'Och, yes. That one doesn't need a man to tell her where to go.' George elbowed Margaret in the arm and smiled con-spiratorially. 'But it's nice nonetheless, eh?'

Angus nudged Margaret out of the room before she killed the innkeeper.

'Why must you persist in teasing me like that?' she growled.

Angus turned the comer and waited for her to start up the stairs before following. 'It took your mind off your brother, didn't it?'

'I…' Her lips parted in stunned amazement, and she stared at him as if she'd never before seen another human being. 'Yes, it did.'

He smiled and handed her one of the bowls of pudding while he fished in his pocket for the key to their room. 'Surprised?'

'That you would do such a thing for me?' She shook her head. 'No.'

Angus turned slowly around, the key still sitting in the lock. 'I meant, were you surprised you'd forgotten about your brother, but I think I like your answer better.'

Margaret smiled wistfully and touched her hand to his arm. 'You're a good man, Sir Angus Greene. Insufferable at times…' She almost grinned at his mock scowl. 'Well, insufferable most of the time, if one wants to put a fine point on it, but still a good man.'

He pushed the door open, then set his bowl of cranachan on a table inside the room. 'Should I not have mentioned your brother just now? Perhaps I should have left you spitting mad and ready to slit my throat?'

'No.' She let out a long, tired exhale and sat on the bed, another lock of her long brown hair spilling from her coiffure onto her shoulder. Angus watched her with an aching heart. She looked so small and defenseless, and so damned melancholy. He couldn't bear it.

'Margaret,' he said, sitting beside her, 'you have done your best to raise your brother for what, how many