'Well, George, I think you're right.'
'Having a wife,' George pontificated, 'is a delicate balancing act.'
'I never knew how much until this very day.'
'Luckily for you,' George said with a devious smile, 'I still have the key.'
Angus grinned and tossed another coin at him, then caught the key when George flipped it through the air. 'You're a good man, George McCallum.'
'Aye,' George said as he walked off, 'that's what I keep telling my wife.'
Angus chuckled to himself and put the key in his pocket. He opened the door only a few inches, then called out, 'Are you dressed?'
Her reply was a loud thump against the door. Probably her shoe.
'If you don't tell me otherwise, I'm coming in.' He poked his head inside the room, then pulled it out just in time to avoid her other shoe, which came sailing at him with deadly aim.
He poked back in, ascertained that she had nothing else to throw at him, and then entered the room.
'Would you mind,' she said with barely controlled fury, 'telling me what the devil that was about?'
'Which bit of it?' he stalled.
She answered him with a glare. Angus thought she looked rather fetching with her cheeks all red with anger but wisely decided that now was not the time to compliment her on such things.
'I see,' he said, unable to prevent the corners of his mouth from twitching with mirth. 'Well, one would think it would be self-explanatory, but if I must explain-'
'You must.'
He shrugged. 'You wouldn't have a roof over your head right now if George didn't think you were my wife.'
'That's not true, and who is George?'
'The innkeeper, and yes, it most certainly is true. He wouldn't have given this room to an unmarried couple.'
'Of course not,' she snapped. 'He would have given it to me and tossed you out on your ear.'
Angus scratched his head thoughtfully. 'I'm not so sure about that, Miss Pennypacker. After all, I'm the one with the money.'
She glared at him so hard, her eyes so wide and angry, that Angus finally noticed what color they were. Green. A rather lovely, grassy shade of green.
'Ah,' he said at her silence. 'Then you agree with me.'
'I have money,' she muttered.
'How much?'
'Enough!'
'Didn't you say you'd been robbed?'
'Yes,' she said, so grudgingly that Angus thought it a wonder she didn't choke on the word, 'but I still have a few coins.'
'Enough for a hot meal? Hot water? A private dining room?'
'That's really not the point,' she argued, 'and the worst part of it is, you were acting as if you were having fun.'
Angus grinned. 'I
'Why would you do this?' she said, shaking her hands at him. 'We could have gone to another inn.'
A loud clap of thunder shook the room. God, Angus decided, was on his side. 'In this weather?' he asked. 'Forgive me if I lack the inclination to venture back outside.'
'Even if we had to masquerade as husband and wife,' she conceded, 'did you have to poke so much fun at my expense?'
His dark eyes grew tender. 'I never meant to insult you. Surely you know that.'
Margaret found her resolve weakening under his warm and concerned gaze. 'You didn't have to tell the innkeeper that I was pregnant,' she said, her cheeks growing furiously red as she uttered that last word.
He let out a sigh. 'All I can do is apologize. My only explanation is that I was merely getting into the spirit of the ruse. I have spent the last two days riding the length of Scotland. I'm cold, wet, and hungry, and this little masquerade is the first amusing thing I've done in days. Forgive me if I over-enjoyed myself.'
Margaret just stared at him, her hands fisted at her sides. She knew she ought to accept his apology, but the truth was, she needed a few more minutes to calm down.
Angus raised his hands in an overture of conciliation. 'You may keep your stony silence all you want,' he said with an amused smile, 'but it won't wash. You, my dear Miss Pennypacker, are a better sport than you think you are.'
The look she gave him was doubtful at best and sarcastic at worst. 'Why, because I didn't strangle you right there in the hall?'
'Well, there's that, but I was actually referring to your unwillingness to hurt the innkeeper's feelings by disparaging his cooking.'
'I did disparage his cooking,' she pointed out.
'Yes, but you didn't do it loudly.' He saw her open her mouth and held up his hand. 'Ah, ah, ah, no more protests. You're determined to make me dislike you, but I'm afraid it won't work.'
'You're insane,' she breathed.
Angus peeled off his sodden coat. 'That particular refrain is growing tedious.'
'It's difficult to argue with the truth,' she muttered. Then she looked up and saw what he was doing. 'And don't remove your coat!'
'The alternative is death by pneumonia,' he said mildly. 'I suggest you remove yours as well.'
'Only if you leave the room.'
'And stand naked in the hall? I don't think so.'
Margaret starting pacing and searching the room, opening the wardrobe and pulling out drawers. 'There has to be a dressing screen here somewhere. There has to be.'
'You're not likely to find one in the bureau,' he said helpfully.
She stood stock-still for several moments, desperately trying not to let go of her anger. All her life she'd had to be responsible, to set a good example, and temper tantrums were not acceptable behavior. But this time… She looked over her shoulder and saw him grinning at her. This time was different.
She slammed the drawer shut, which should have given her some measure of satisfaction had she not caught the tip of her middle finger. 'Yoooooowwwww!' she howled, immediately stuffing her throbbing finger into her mouth.
'Are you all right?' Angus asked, moving quickly to her side.
She nodded. 'Go away,' she mumbled around her finger.
'Are you certain? You might have broken a bone.'
'I didn't. Go away.'
He took her hand and gently pulled her finger out of her mouth. 'It looks fine,' he said in a concerned voice, 'but truly, I'm no expert on these matters.'
'Why?' she moaned. 'Why?'
'Why am I no expert?' he echoed, blinking in a rather confused manner. 'I wasn't under the impression you thought I'd received medical training, but the truth is, I'm more of a farmer than anything else. A gentleman farmer, to be sure-'
'Why are you torturing me?' she yelled.
'Why, Miss Pennypacker, is that what you think I'm doing?'
She snatched her hand out of his grasp. 'I swear to God above, I don't know why I am being punished in this way. I cannot imagine what sin I have committed to warrant such-'
'Margaret,' he said loudly, halting her speech with his use of her given name, 'perhaps you are making a wee bit too much out of this matter.'
She stood there, barely moving, next to the bureau, for a full minute. Her breath was uneven, and she was swallowing more than normal, and then she started blinking.
'Oh, no,' Angus said, closing his eyes in agony. 'Don't cry.'
