She recognized the Auld Scots word? It had been one of his grandfather’s favorite insults, and Lysander hadn’t expected her to recognize it.
Straightening, he tried to look hurt. “Ye would mock a man’s name, Miss Oliphant? A crippled, poor, ugly man who?—”
“I am laughing at the circumstances of our meeting! And how do you knowmyname?” she snapped, her eyes bright with anger.
So he shrugged. “Everyone here is an Oliphant. Surely ye’ve noticed how many Mrs. Oliphants there are around? I assumed ye were also a Miss Oliphant.”
She stared at him for a long moment, then nodded jerkily as she seemed to calm. “My name is Tiffany Oliphant.”
“Milady,” he offered again, knowing full well that, since her father was a baron, she wasn’t exactly alady.
“I think, on this journey…” She turned and looked over the square, speaking almost to herself. “I think I should like to bejust Tiffany. I am going to borrow a different dress, and perhaps a cap, and I will just be…myself.”
It wasn’t until she glanced at him with a frown that he realized he’d snorted derisively out loud, and not just in his head, but he made a point of raking his one-eyed gaze over her. “It’ll be like trying to hide a candle under a bushel, milady.”
Instead of preening from his compliment, she rolled her eyes. “That, Lord Beggar, is a good way to catch a bushel—and thus your home—on fire. A bit of friendly advice: do not set home on fire.”
“Och, thank ye,” he replied in seriousness. “But ye’ll need more than a different gown and a cap to hide who ye are.”
“Or perhaps”—she turned to him with her chin raised—“that is exactly what I need.”
“If ye plan on traveling to Yorkincognito, ye’ll need a better disguise. And a traveling companion who can no’ only keep ye safe from the dangers of the road, but complements that disguise.”
Like me.
“In what way?”
“Maybe ye could rub some dirt on yer cheeks,” he offered, completely innocently, knowing full well how much cleaner he was today.
To his surprise, she glanced at his knees. “You seem to have some to spare. Since you have bathed, I mean. Could you not find trousers? Or were gowns the only thing available at the tailor?”
He could see the teasing light in her eyes, so he drew himself up and thumped his chest. “Och, lass, this is the Oliphant plaid! A proud tradition?—”
“From last century. No, no, longer! Are ye not aware we are in the last quarter of the nineteenth century, sir? We have trains and flying balloons and the telegraph. Certainly you could find some trousers?”
She was demeaning his appearance again, but it didn’t stoke the fires of Lysander’s anger. For one thing, he’d thought the same thing, whenever Lyon had appeared dressed like an elderly shepherd in one of these kilts, and two…he liked the way she smiled teasingly at him.
“Aye,” he croaked. “I must look quite the barbarian.”
The teasing light in her eyes blinked out, and she looked away. What had he said to alarm her?
She called Lyon a barbarian, did she no’?
Ah.
“Well, milady? Will ye accept my help on yer quest?”
Surprisingly, he didn’t carewhyshe wanted to go to York. Likely to pick up a new bauble or piece of jewelry her mother wouldn’t approve of her spending money on. He told himself it didn’t matter; he just wanted the chance to force her to understand how poorly she’d treated Lyon and him?—
Except, she hadn’t treated him that poorly, had she?
Frowning, Lysander tried to work through the implications of his plan, but was startled when she suddenly wheeled on him.
“You will have to quit calling me ‘milady’.”
He blinked. “Ye’re seriously considering allowing me to accompany ye?” Him, a stranger, accompanying a lady on an overnight journey?
She shrugged. “I do not want to be a lady. I have a mission, and I want to be…just me. You are right; everyone here would know who I really am, and I want to forget that for just a few days.”
