“Who the blazes are you?” she said in a tone that was very nearly a growl. “I don’t know you. Did Uncle Cyril send more men—no, it’s too fast…”
He didn’t know what she was going on about, so he said, “Never mind who I am, lass. Just think of me as the guard dog you need to keep those lads from getting ideas. I promise I’ve got no ill intent.”
She glanced at him, the fear in her eyes changing to curiosity. “In that case, would you mind walking me as far as the posting inn? The Double Swan?”
“As it happens, that’s where I’m headed myself.”
“You’re traveling through here?” she asked, with hope in her voice.
“Aye, back to Scotland.”
“Oh.” She sounded more subdued. Disappointed, even. Wherever she was hoping to go, Scotland wasn’t on the list.
“My name is Niall MacNair,” he said, remembering his manners. “Are you all right?”
“I am in one piece, sir. Thank you.”
“That’s not what I asked.” He also noticed that she avoided offering her own name.
“I’m…all right. For the time being.”
“That doesn’t sound promising,” He saw a purpling shadow on her face. “Did someone strike you? One of those diddies?”
“No.”
Looking closer, he reevaluated the wound. “No, that bruise is a few days old, isn’t it. Who was responsible?”
“It doesn’t hurt anymore,” she replied, again avoiding the direct question.
“Who did it?” he pressed. He had the urge to go find the man and challenge him to a duel, or simply teach him a lesson. He did not like men who hit women.
“Please, it’s not important,” she demurred. “I just need to get away from here as soon as possible. Someone is after me.”
Niall raised an eyebrow. “Well, now you’re definitely going to have to tell me a bit more.”
Chapter 3
In the dining room ofthe Double Swan, Heather watched the man in the seat across the table from her. He was impossible to ignore, for he seemed to fill the whole space. He had to be nearly six and half feet, and at least fifteen stone. His limbs were long, but not at all lanky. Muscled arms strained under the cloth of his jacket. An anatomist would have a field day with him.
Whereas most men would sport a white cravat, he wore a loosely tied length of plaid fabric in blues and greens. The colors complemented his bluey-greeny eyes, she thought, then wondered why she cared about the color of his eyes. They tended to shift in the light, now deep blue, now a little green and gold, then blue again…
Lord, she must be starving to be so addle-brained, gaping at a stranger.
Just then, a serving girl slid two plates heaped with food onto the table. Heather inhaled, the smell of roast beef and potatoes nearly making her faint.
“Did we request food?” she asked, not remembering any such conversation. She had no money to pay for a meal!
“I did, when we came in. You looked in need of a few bites.” He paused, watching her internal battle between hunger and propriety. “It’s on my bill. Consider it part of the rescue.”
“That’s very kind of you.”
“Not particularly. You’re going to pay me back with a true story while we dine.”
“A true story?” Heather put down the cider she’d just picked up.
“Aye. That’s only fair.”
“So what do you want to know?” she asked.
