he’s large and apparently not a man they’d willingly cross.”
When she paused, he asked, “That’s all?”
“Yes.” She grimaced. “And I know there must be hundreds if not thousands of Scottish lairds who fit that description. I did try for something more distinctive — a scar, ring, injury — but Fletcher cut me off at that point.”
“He cut you off?”
“Hmm. I could be wrong, but I think my asking questions made him realize how little he actually knows about this man they’re working for. They don’t even know if he came to their meeting in Glasgow in a carriage, or if he rode, and if so, what type of horse.”
Leaning both forearms on the table, Breckenridge considered all they’d thus far learned. He debated, but in the end shifted his gaze and met her eyes. “Are you ready to escape them and return to London?”
She held his gaze for a long moment, enough to have him hoping. . but then she said, evenly and reasonably, “I’ve given them no hint that I might try to escape, and they have no idea that you even exist, let alone are close by. They’re growing more relaxed, and gradually more inclined to answer my questions — even Fletcher. I haven’t really had time to work on Martha yet — I’ve been concentrating on Fletcher, as he seems the one with most knowledge, and he’s the most observant, too.”
“He’s also the most dangerous of the three.”
“Yes, I know, but he’s also unwaveringly committed to following his orders, so I’m safe from him, at least in that regard. He won’t harm me — from all they’ve said, neither he nor Cobbins are at all eager to get on the wrong side of their employer. So I am making headway, but I still haven’t learned enough to identify this laird. And so far Fletcher’s resisted telling me — even giving me a hint — about where they’re taking me to hand me over. If we learned that, we might have some chance of identifying the laird as someone who comes to that place.”
He let a moment elapse, then said, “You’re not going to escape yet, are you?”
For a moment, she held his gaze, then her lips twisted. “To be perfectly honest, I don’t think I can. If I did, and later Eliza, Angelica, Henrietta, or Mary was kidnapped, and perhaps hurt in the process. . I don’t think I could live with that.”
He nodded. “All right.” He didn’t like it, but he’d expected it, and, indeed, understood.
During the long hours he’d driven behind the lumbering coach, he’d had time enough to assess their situation. He’d already accepted that, given they’d been absent, on the road, alone as far as the ton could ever know, for two full days, then, him being him and her being her, regardless of how this adventure played out, their wedding was now an unavoidable outcome.
The realization. . hadn’t bothered him that much. He had to marry and beget an heir, and his dear evil ugly sisters had been after him for years to make his choice. Heather would fit the bill nicely, at least in all the ways society deemed important.
What, however, had shocked him to his toes was the ease with which the notion of him and her, man and wife, had so readily slotted into his forward planning, his not-all-that-well-defined vision of his future life. The idea of her as his wife simply slipped into the center of his nebulous universe and clicked into place, acting as a catalyst, allowing associated elements to connect and clarify. Solidify.
They might not like each other, but he, at least, was perfectly well aware of the nature of the spark that had always flared between them, even from their earliest acquaintance. He knew that that spark could be fanned to a flame, one strong enough, powerful enough, to give them some hope of making a shared life work.
Such a union might not be perfect, but it could work.
Of course, he knew ladies, and her in particular, far too well to mention that issue at the present time. He wasn’t entirely surprised that she hadn’t thought of it herself; given she viewed him in a determinedly cousinly, if not avuncular, light, she wouldn’t necessarily see the danger in being — in ton terms — alone with him.
“Good.” She relaxed, softly smiled. Her blue-gray eyes shimmered silver in the moonlight. She glanced down at the map. “Given this laird is Scottish, I assume we’ll be heading into Scotland. Fletcher let fall that they couldn’t tell whether the man was a highlander or a lowlander.”
Frowning, Breckenridge spread the map on the table between them. “That’s odd. The accents are distinct, and Fletcher and Cobbins had been living in Glasgow.”
She shrugged. “We don’t know how long they’d been there. They might have just arrived.”
“If you get a chance, see if you can learn how long they’ve spent working north of the border.”
“All right.” After a moment of studying his face, she asked, “Are you going to tell me why?”
His lips curved despite the grimness he felt. “Not yet. Get me the answer, and I might.” He shifted the map, then pointed. “We’re here — Barnard Castle.”
“As this laird is Scottish, it seems safe to assume that Fletcher and company will carry me over the border at some point.” Heather traced their road onward, west across the north of England, just south of the border. There were several smaller connecting roads that led north into Scotland. “Cobbins mentioned that I’d see castles and a Roman fort or two from the coach.” She peered more closely at the map. “Is that possible if we remain on this road — or does it suggest we’ll turn north somewhere soon?”
They pored over the map, then he grunted. “There’s several castles close by the road, and at least two Roman forts. What that tells us — clever miss — is that the coach will remain on this road at least until Penrith.”
She smiled at his approbation, then examined his face. “Why are you so satisfied over that?”
He met her gaze. “I want to stop somewhere and get some provisions.” A better disguise, one good enough to allow him to get much closer to her and her captors. He also wanted a weapon or two, at least one pistol and a blade. He hesitated, then said, “I’m going to leave early tomorrow — no sense in giving them any unnecessary chance to get to know my face. I’m going to wager on them taking you into Scotland — and yes, I agree Scotland sounds a certainty — via Penrith, and then Carlisle.”
She studied the map. “That seems the most likely route.” With one finger, she traced the road running north from Carlisle, deeper into Scotland. “Given we were on the Great North Road, heading directly for Edinburgh, but have now turned off and look to be heading for Carlisle, then it seems Glasgow, rather than Edinburgh, might be their destination.”
He nodded. “Glasgow, or further north. If this laird met them in Glasgow, perhaps that’s where they’re to hand you over.” He paused, then asked, “Do you know if any of your family have any Scottish enemies?”
She looked up, her gaze arrested. A moment ticked by, then she slowly shook her head. “None that I’ve ever heard of. And I can’t see why that would be — we’ve never, as far as I know, had any real dealings north of the border. Well, except for Richard and Catriona, of course.”
He considered, then shook his head, too. “I can’t imagine why, even if Richard had fallen foul of some Scottish laird, that laird would take it into his head to target you and your sisters. The connection’s not close enough.” He refocused on her face. “Your brothers have never mentioned any problems in Scotland?”
She pulled a face. “I’ve never heard of any difficulty from either, but”—she lifted one shoulder—“it’s possible Rupert’s been involved in exposing some fraudulent Scottish scheme. You know how he is. Or Alasdair might have snaffled some precious artifact from under the nose of some avid Scottish collector.”
“Hmm — I’ve a suspicion that if either of your brothers thought there was the least threat to you or your sisters, you’d already know of it.”
She smiled. “True. There would have been blood on the floor in Dover Street when they tried to hem us in.”
They sat quietly for a moment, both thinking their separate thoughts, then he reached for the map. Refolding it, he stored it in his coat pocket, then rose and held out his hand. “Come on — I’ll see you back to your room and the estimable Martha.”
She put her hand in his and let him draw her to her feet.
“Tomorrow. . don’t worry,” he murmured, as he ushered her back through the darker side of the snug. “I’ll be waiting in Carlisle to fall in behind the coach when you go past.” Through the dimness he met her eyes. “I won’t lose you.”
Her lips softly curved. “I didn’t imagine you would.”
