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Theemptybarouche, he was sorry to see. The coachman and one groom were there, but no other family member was in sight.
When he spotted Sabrina and Angus a moment later, he exhaled a sigh of relief. They seemed to be having a grand time, chatting like the best of friends. Sabrina obviously didn’t give a damn that his grandfather looked like an escapee from a Highland version of Bedlam. Graeme loved the lass even more for her kind, accepting nature.
Not that helovedher, though. Not like that. What a stupid thought.
He’d almost reached them when he spotted a commotion farther up the pavement, as if several strollers had been jostled and pushed into one another. A man yelled, and some ladies screamed. A moment later, two urchins burst through the crowd and dashed into the street.
Rum divers, obviously, taking advantage of prime circumstances to pick pockets.
Another boy, dressed in an oversized coat and a woolen cap pulled low, popped out of the crowd a few feet from Sabrina. Graeme broke into a jog as he saw the rascal sidle up behind her. When the boy reached for her reticule, Graeme shoved through a group of university students and ran. He was about to shout out a warning when Sabrina spun around and grabbed the urchin by the wrist, holding fast.
His heart lurched up into his throat. If the boy had a knife . . .
Angus turned and clamped a hand on the urchin’s shoulder. “Hold fast now, laddie boy. None of that nonsense.”
“Let me go,” yelped the struggling boy. “I weren’t doin’ a damn thing.”
The boy kicked out, and Angus staggered. The boy was able to yank free, almost pulling Sabrina off her feet. The urchin turned and promptly slammed into Graeme, who lifted the boy straight off his feet.
“Give it up, lad. You’re not going anywhere,” he said.
“Let me go, ye bastard!”
The lad wriggled like a worm on a hook. Disturbingly, he barely weighed anything. Underneath the flapping, ragtag coat, he was bony and frail, like a small child.
A string of very adult oaths, however, streamed out of him in a thin, high-pitched voice. Graeme gave him a warning shake to get his attention.
“Don’t hurt him,” Sabrina exclaimed.
Graeme rolled his eyes.
“If ye put him down, mayhap he’ll stop floppin’ like a fish,” Angus suggested.
Graeme glanced down to encounter a furious and absolutely extraordinary gaze. A blue so light as to be almost silver, the boy’s eyes were set in a sharp, thin face the color of bronze.
That silver stare glittered with defiance and something close to panic.
“I won’t hurt you,” Graeme said. “But you have to stop struggling.”
“Shall I call the constable?” asked a clerk who’d emerged from a nearby shop. Various bystanders voiced their approval for such action.
“No,” Sabrina firmly said. “He bumped into me. It was an accident.”
“Now, lassie,” Angus started, “ye ken—”
Sabrina elbowed him into silence.
“We should call the constable,” declaimed a thin gentleman, whose tall hat and black garb made Graeme think of a crow. “He’s one of those ruffian pickpockets.”
Sabrina’s intent gaze silently begged Graeme to protect the child.
The boy had stopped struggling, and fear now mingled with resignation in his gaze. Graeme knew terrible things happened to a small, delicate child like him, whether on the streets or in a jail or poorhouse.
“Did this boy pick your pocket?” Graeme asked the crow-like gentleman.
“Well, no, but that’s hardly the—”
He turned to the shopkeeper. “And did he rob you?”
