“Yes, but when we care about someone, we should try to help them overcome their obstacles.”
Merry stared at her sister in disbelief. “I will not beg someone to come calling—and we only met that mismatched pair of Scots yesterday. Why in the world would you think I cared about him?”
“Because you not only granted him the familiarity of using your given name but also invited him not only to our home in the country but to our place in Town.” Serendipity shook a finger. “You have never done that with any other gentleman of your acquaintance.”
Irritated beyond measure, Merry huffed. “Might I remind you of the uniqueness of our current circumstances?”
Serendipity sipped her tea with the slyness of a cat plotting to steal the cream from the larder. “Regardless of our circumstances, the facts remain. You like Lord Kirkston. I can tell.”
“I think the cold has filled your head with nonsense.” Merry held up a hand to stave off further comment. “The men are returning. Pray that Jasper has found a means of transportation that will suit our needs. Then we can be on our way after freshening up in Meg’s privy corner.”
Their man’s spirits did seem much brighter than they had when he had left to speak with the innkeeper, but Merry didn’t know whether to be happy or sad. There was still the problem of never seeing Duncan again, and even though she wouldn’t admit it to Seri, she did like him…just a little. Well, maybe more than a little. She did like him more than any other gentleman she had ever met.
“They agreed to lease us a full-sized coach, my lady,” Jasper said. “Not a yellow bounder at all, but one of the mail coaches yet to be put into service. Mistress Meg, the innkeeper’s wife, told her husband he’d better do it or he’d be sorry. He didn’t hesitate to do as she said.”
Merry barely heard the good news because Duncan had stalked up behind Jasper, his face even more thunderous than before. “Did you hear, Lord Kirkston? A good, sturdy mail coach. We shall be quite safe on our journey home.”
“I heard.”
She almost shivered at the way he growled the words, and it made her angry. It was not fair that his deep voice with its seductive Scots burr should have such an effect on her. “You should be happy. Now you will be rid of us and able to go on your way.”
He shoved in closer, towering over the table. “I never said I wished to be rid of ye, Lady Merry.”
“Actions speak louder than words, Lord Kirkston.” She swallowed hard, finding it most difficult to breathe. The way his eyes flashed suggested so many things, things she wanted to believe but dared not even think about. He had made it clear he would never go to the trouble of traveling to see her, and it would be most unseemly for her to journey north to chase after him. Besides, her pride would never allow it. “You should have some breakfast, my lord, before you set out for Galkirk.”
Once again, he sat in the chair beside her, never taking his eyes from hers. “Ye truly mean to leave today? Giving no thought to the danger of the deep snow?”
“Jasper feels he can make it, and I trust him.” Merry got the distinct impression they were speaking of something that had nothing to do with horses or carriages making it through the snow. “’Tis a shame you rarely travel south of Hadrian’s Wall.” His gaze pulled her in; she found herself drowning in the almost obsidian pools of his dark browneyes. “I shall miss you, Lord Kirkston,” she said, and immediately wished she hadn’t.
“I shall miss ye as well, Lady Merry,” he said, his voice soft and ragged. Then he slowly stood, tipped a curt nod, and strode away.
Chapter Four
“Ye are thegreatest feckin’ eejit that ever walked the Almighty’s blessed earth.”
A wet snowball splatted into the back of Duncan’s head, making him grit his teeth to keep from dismounting and thrashing his brother’s arse. “Get on yer horse, Malcolm. We are leaving.”
“Without so much as a proper farewell to yer lady?”
Duncan gripped the reins tighter, once again questioning his sanity for ever traveling with his perpetually jolly brother. “First, I possess no lady. Second, I told Lady Merry I would miss her. That was enough.”
“It is not enough. Not when ye behaved like an arrogant shite with no sense of manners one minute, then turned into an attentive gentleman the next. She probably thinks ye are an eejit too.” Malcolm galloped up beside him, flanking him on the left. “’Tis as though ye had to stop yerself from drawing too close to that verra fine lady. Are ye a coward, then? Afraid ye might impress her, or make her like ye?”
“Haud yer wheesht, brother. I grow sick of yer nettling.” Duncan hated it when Malcolm was right, and he’d be damned if he let him know he’d hit the nail square on its head. What good would there be in pursuing the lovely Lady Merry? Once she knew him better, she would realize he was not the man she thought him to be. Better to avoid the debacle entirely, even though he hated himself for it.
He was drawn to the lass. Very much so. Dangerously so. There was something about her that made his damaged spiritfeel almost whole, and that terrified him more than anything. Why would he allow himself to draw close, only to be pushed away when she finally came to her senses?
“When will ye stop letting him beat ye down, Duncan? He is dead.”
Duncan spurred his mount into a gallop. He refused to have this discussion with Malcolm. He welcomed the bite of the icy wind stinging his face and making his eyes water. Aye, Father was dead, but the man’s ghost was alive and well and judging him at every turn. The only reason he had still inherited the title was that it was beyond his father’s power to strip him of it and lay it upon Malcolm. But that hadn’t stopped his father from bemoaning that fact at every opportunity.
Duncan urged Spartan to go faster, roaring his frustrations into the wind. His past and all that his father had beaten into him was his burden to bear. No one else’s. He would not be weak and share his pain.
“I shall tell Mother ye were rude to the lady!” Malcolm shouted as he caught up to him. “Ye will never hear the end of it, then.”
Ignoring his brother’s nattering, Duncan rode onward, giving Spartan his head. Nothing he could say would stop Malcolm from running to their parent and tattling like an overly pampered bairn. The annoying wee dolt had done it all his life, even though Mother had always scolded him for doing so.
Duncan allowed his mount to slow to a ground-eating trot. Blowing a hard snort that fogged in the air, Spartan tossed his head, lively and prancing in the cold weather the beast had always loved. “Aye, lad. Enjoy yerself. Life is short.”
