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“Good afternoon. I’m Graeme Kendrick.”
“I ken who ye are.”
The old fellow vigorously pulled on his pipe, then blew out an impressive cloud of foul-smelling smoke. Enveloped, Graeme coughed.
“Ye’ll be lookin’ for the lass,” he added.
“Know where she is?” Graeme hoarsely asked.
Methuselah jerked his pipe toward the door. “She and the vicar are havin’ a wee chat with Monroe and just about everyone else in the hamlet.” He puffed out another cloud. “Gossips, the whole lot of ’em.”
Graeme waved a hand through the billowing brimstone. “I suppose you’re above that sort of thing.”
“I already ken everythin’. Ye might try rememberin’ that, laddie. Save yerself some time.”
Graeme mentally rolled his eyes. “I will do that, Mister . . .”
“Get ye in before yon lassie causes more trouble.”
“Yon lassie is your lady,” he replied. “You might consider treating her with the respect she deserves.”
A skeptical snort was the only reply.
Hopeless.
The sooner he got Sabrina away from this deranged corner of the Highlands, the better.
Pushing open the door, Graeme blinked and then promptly picked his jaw up off the floor.
Sabrina sat at a table in the center of the rustic, timbered room. With a pint in front of her, she was talking to Monroe, the publican, and three other men. One, a young fellow in a sober black suit, was obviously the vicar. The others were the local butcher and a crofter from Lochnagar. Scattered at the surrounding tables was probably half of Dunlaggan, straining to hear the earnest conversation.
Graeme stalked over to Sabrina.
Startled, she glanced up and then let out a quiet sigh. “Oh. I wasn’t expecting to see you.”
“I’m quite surprised to see you as well. Without an escort,” he pointedly added.
“Ah, but I do have an escort. Mr. Kendrick, may I introduce Mr. Brown. He’s the vicar here in Dunlaggan.”
The young man stood and executed a polite bow. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kendrick,” he said with a warm smile.
Sabrina beamed at the vicar. “Reverend Brown has been ever so kind and helpful.”
The vicar pressed a hand to his chest. “It is my honor to help you, my lady.”
Graeme shoved his hand into his greatcoat pocket, resisting the impulse to rearrange the man’s perfectly straight nose.
“I hate to contradict a lady,” Graeme said, “but I don’t believe Mr. Brown escorted you from Lochnagar to the village. Unless he made prior arrangements to sneak you out of the house, that is.”
The vicar looked wounded, and that actually made Graeme feel guilty.
“Sir, I never sneak, especially with ladies.” He resumed his seat with a great deal of dignity.
“Happens that’s true,” said the butcher. “My Betsy has been tryin’ to sneak off with yon vicar for months, but he’s as skittish as a virgin on her weddin’ night.” He good-naturedly elbowed Brown, who was now looking appalled. “Nae luck for my poor Betsy, ye ken.”
“Mr. Harrison, I have the utmost respect for your daughter. Indeed, for all the ladies in the village,” Brown protested.
“Of course you do, my dear sir,” Sabrina said before frowning at Graeme. “Anyone with a brain can see that.”
