Isobel hushed him, not even turning her glassy eyes on him. She walked to one of the counters and stood there, her back to Philip. He’d had enough of her antics and grabbed her arm, swinging her around to face him. The box crashed to the ground, and her bun flew across the room.
Her expression immediately cleared. She blinked, then glared at Philip. “Look at what you’ve done. You’ll buy me another bun, Sir Philip.”
“Why did you leave? Did I not make myself clear yesterday? You are not to go anywhere unaccompanied.”
“Let me go!” She looked over her shoulder at the bakers. They watched the proceedings worriedly.
“She was just helping us, sir,” the man said. “Dinna fash, you can have another sticky bun—I’ll not charge you. Can you find the key?”
“Mayhap—if this great beast will release me.”
Philip reluctantly released her, his curiosity aroused. “What’s going on here? What key?”
Isobel walked the perimeter of the room until she reached the stale rolls. Her hand hovered over them, finally grabbing one. She dug her fingers into it, ripping it in half. Something gray tumbled to the ground. She picked it up, holding it out for the couple to see. It was a small iron key.
“You dropped it in the dough this morning.”
The baker came forward and took the key from her fingers. “Thank ye, Miss! I canna even remember having it near the dough.”
Isobel stood several inches taller than the man and patted him on the shoulder. “It’s no wonder, with that daughter of yours. You thought she was safe in bed this morning when you got up to make the bread—and she comes sneaking in. Out all night.”
He opened his mouth and looked at his wife in amazement. “She’s right. I did have the key then. Thatisthe last time I saw it!” He smacked a hand over his face. “Thank the Good Lord no one bought these today!”
His wife scooped up the box and hurried into the back room. “I’ll be right back with your sticky bun, lassie. I’ll bring one for your lad, too.”
Isobel’s face lit up. She slanted Philip a sly look, and said in a low voice, “I get both.”
Philip shook his head. “You get neither. We’re leaving.” He took her arm again, dragging her out the door. He didn’t understand what was going on, but whatever it was, he had a bad feeling about it. The bakers seemed like decent folk, but it took precious little to rile people into a hysterical lather these days. All they’d have to do is tell someone with witch-fever about how Isobel miraculously found their key and she could find herself in a great deal of trouble. In Scotland, suspicion equaled guilt.
“Wait!” Isobel cried, but it was too late, he had her out the door and was dragging her back up the street. She tried to dig in her heels, but he clamped a hand on the back of her neck and forced her to walk beside him.
“Let go of me,” she growled.
“Let’s not make a spectacle of ourselves,” Philip said, smiling and nodding to a frowning woman who passed.
Stephen waited outside the tavern for them. He took one look at Isobel’s face and his grin faded. Once inside the tavern Philip ledher to their table. “Finish your stew.”
“I don’t want it.” She glared straight ahead, her shoulders rigid.
“I see. You only want bread.”
She turned her icy green stare on him. “No—I just want you to stop shoving me around.”
Philip’s temper flared. He’dneverharmed a woman. “I wasn’t shoving you.”
She made a rude sound. “If you’re finishedpushingme around, I’d like to go.”
Philip wanted to shake her, but Stephen appeared. “I’ll, uh, take her to her room.” He slid between Isobel and Philip as if he were afraid Philip might snatch her away.
“Fine. And make sure she stays there.”
“So I’m your prisoner?” she snapped. “I wonder what my father will think of this?”
“He’ll take a strap to yer arse when I tell him about yer behavior.”
Her face flushed, and her mouth flattened. Philip was afraid she might explode. He stared back at her, brows raised.
“Perhaps you should save him the trouble.”
