“But you cannot travel with him alone,” she said because she knew Ines was as stubborn as she, and if she told the other woman she couldn’t do something, she’d be all the more determined to do it.
Ines nodded. “I confess, I did hope you would come too, Miss Wellesley. If he should become ill with fever, I might need help.”
Emmeline pressed her lips together at the understatement. “Of course, I will come.”
“Bloody hell,” Stratford muttered on the other side of the kitchen.
“Pardon, Mr. Fortescue?” Emmeline asked sweetly.
“I knew you would say that. But we cannot go to Scotland with Duncan. I have to take you back to Odham Abbey. I have to take Miss Neves back to London.”
“But I do not want to go back to London yet,” Ines said.
“And I do not want to go back to Odham Abbey,” Emmeline said. “So you may either return without us or accompany us to Scotland.” She crossed her arms across her chest. “Unless you think you can force us to go back against our will.”
Stratford blew out a breath and covered his eyes with a hand. Emmeline took it as a sign of resignation.
“Scotland is days away, and Duncan is a Highlander,” Stratford argued. “Who knows how difficult it will be to reach his home?”
Emmeline cocked her head. “That’s all the more reason to accompany your friend. He may need your help.”
Stratford shook his head. “Duncan is practically impossible to kill. But you two—I can’t send you off alone.”
Emmeline tried not to smile. No one liked when winners gloated. “Should you send another letter to your father?” she suggested. “I can finish the potatoes.”
“Fine.” He stormed away, muttering something about strangling Nash under his breath.
“Do not forget about the carriage!” Ines called after him. A door slammed in response, and Loftus raised his head momentarily before returning to sleep.
Emmeline fished the rest of the potatoes out of the water and began to search for something to use to season them. “Are you certain you want to travel to Scotland?” she asked Ines.
“I am not certain at all, but I am not ready to go home.”
“Then we leave tomorrow at first light.”
Emmeline did not add that their leaving was contingent upon Mr. Murray being well enough to travel in the morning. That was by no means a foregone conclusion.
DUNCAN
“Why is everraone so surprised I’m nae yet dead?” Duncan asked the next morning.
“I think it’s more that we are wishing you had allowed us to sleep a bit longer,” Stratford said, squinting his eyes against the rising sun. Duncan had roused the entire house just before dawn. He’d always been an early riser, and he figured that it was better to leave before Nash decided to kick them out.
Miss Neves had been easy to wake. She’d slept in a chair in the parlor. She’d spent half the night checking to see if he had a fever. That was before he’d yelled at her to go to sleep or he’d bite her hand off. Thinking about it now, that might have been a bit harsh, but he’d been tired and his arm had been hurting and he hadn’t wanted to be coddled.
He also hadn’t wanted her to stay with him all night. Why was she so caring, so kind to him? He’d done nothing to deserve it, and she was a wee thing who needed her rest. He should have told her to go to her own chamber.
But he’d been selfish and said nothing because he liked having her nearby.
Now she and Miss Wellesley had disappeared to gather supplies, and Duncan sat on the front steps watching the drive for the carriage Stratford had supposedly hired. The broad-shouldered smiling dog Miss Wellesley had brought back with her yesterday sat beside him, breathing his warm breath on Duncan’s shoulder. “The day is getting away from us,” he said.
“I wouldn’t call this day,” Stratford said irritably. He turned away from the sun. “I doubt the coach and driver I hired will arrive for another hour at least.”
“Then we should start walking toward the village.”
Stratford gave him a disgusted look. “You are in no shape to walk anywhere, and I walked to the village twice yesterday. We’ll wait for a while longer.” Stratford sat next to Duncan, and the dog moved so he could breathe on both of them.
“I dinnae think Nash will take it too kindly if he finds us here when he wakes.”
“Then I’ll smash Nash over the head,” Stratford said. “That’s what I should have done yesterday.”
“Smashing over the heid isnae yer specialty.”
Stratford shrugged. “I learned a few things during the war.”
Duncan laughed. “So ye did. I dinnae suppose ye learned how tae talk the two lassies oot of coming with me tae Scotland.”
“I tried last night. They seem quite determined and have convinced themselves you will die en route if they do not accompany you.”
“More like they’ll see me killed. Draven will have my heid when he catches up tae us.”
“It’s not your fault the woman stowed away in your hired coach.”
“And I might convince him of that if he doesnae kill me first.” Duncan looked down the drive again, debating whether he should say more. But then why not? Stratford was good at plans and stratagems. He might be able to help. “The problem is that the lass wants tae ruin herself with me.”
Duncan could see Stratford’s head slowly turn until he was staring at Duncan. “Go on.”
“She wants me tae kiss her.”
“Tell her no.”
“I did tell her nae.” He rubbed his arm where the wound ached. “I dinnae ken if I can keep telling her nae,” he said quietly.
Stratford was silent so long that Duncan looked at him. “Well, do ye have a plan tae save me?”
“Kissing her is hardly ruining her,” Stratford said.
“It’s the first step on the path,” Duncan said. “And she’s a bonny lass. I wouldnae mind kissing her.” Duncan frowned. “What’s wrong with ye? Are ye nae supposed tae tell me not tae do it? Are ye nae going tae tell me how tae keep her at bay?”
Stratford stood. “I wish I had some advice for you, Duncan. But I think in your position, I would probably kiss her. Ah, there’s the coach now.” He walked away and waved a hand.
Duncan stared at his friend’s back. What the hell had gotten into the man? He was always the voice of caution and reason. In London, when Duncan had been on his bride hunt, Stratford had been the one to steer him away from the tempting widows and the beckoning courtesans. He’d told Duncan to stay focused on his search for a wife. But by the end, Duncan had been spending more time at gaming hells and the Draven Club than at Vauxhall Gardens or Hyde Park, places where the marriageable misses frequented. He’d always known the English looked down on the Scottish, but he hadn’t expected to have so many women turn their noses up at him or recoil in either fear or disgust.
His uncle was the Duke of Atholl. His mother was the daughter of the Earl of Montleroy. He was half-English. But to the eyes of the ladies of Society, he was an uncouth Highlander who wanted to steal their daughters and take them back to live with barbarians.