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“And how will ye be doin’ that, so foine a lady as yerself?” the woman sarcastically replied.
“That’s no way to talk to her ladyship,” the vicar said in a reproving voice. “She deserves our respect and consideration.”
“The way her da has beenconsiderin’us all these years?” The woman snorted. “She’s just another do-nothingSassenach, if ye ask me.”
Monroe stood. “That’s enough out of ye, Jennie Robertson. I’ll nae have ye insultin’ her ladyship in my pub.”
Sabrina also stood. “It’s fine. I—”
“I’ll insult who I please, Dan Monroe,” the woman retorted.
Almost instantly, everyone in the pub started talking—yelling, really—either at Monroe, Jennie Robertson, or the vicar. And many were now on their feet, waving their arms and arguing on top of one another. If there was one thing Highlanders were good at, it was arguing.
And fighting.
It was obviously time to go.
Graeme took Sabrina’s arm, propelling her to the door. She started to bluster, but he continued, dodging various patrons and getting her outside.
“Was that really necessary?” she snapped.
“Yes.”
“Things dinna go as planned, I take it,” said Methuselah from his bench.
“That is an understatement, I’m sorry to say,” said the vicar, who’d followed them out.
Graeme rounded on him. “What in God’s name were you thinking, man? Anyone could have been in that bloody pub, listening in.”
“Anyone was,” Methuselah cryptically replied.
Sabrina jabbed Graeme in the chest. “You leave poor Mr. Brown alone. He’s been nothing but helpful, and I’m grateful to him.”
“He’s a bloody fool,” Graeme said. “Landing you in the middle of that scene.”
She jabbed Graeme again. “Everything was fine until you walked in.”
“No, Mr. Kendrick is correct, my lady,” Brown surprisingly said. “I should have known better, even though you seemed so very determined.”
“You were simply trying to help, sir. Unlike some people,” she tartly added.
When Brown flashed her a rueful, charming smile—one Sabrina returned—Graeme’s faintly stirring instinct to forgive the man went up in the proverbial puff of smoke.
“Well, thisunhelpfulman is going to get you back to the manor house, where you’ll be safe.” He again took her by the arm. “Where’s your horse?”
“Behind the pub,” said the old man. “I’ll fetch it.”
He rose with surprising alacrity and disappeared around the corner of the pub.
“I suppose I should make my good-byes,” the vicar morosely said.
“I suppose you should,” Graeme responded.
Sabrina’s glare all but torched him. “I swear I’m going to murder you,” she hissed under her breath.
“I’m sure Mr. Brown will be happy to give you absolution,” Graeme replied.
Now looking thoroughly alarmed, Brown gave a hasty tip of his round-brimmed hat. “Good day, Lady Sabrina. I’ll be in touch.”
