Page 90 of A Rogue in Firelight
Ronan went cold, squeezing Ellison’s fingers in his without thinking. “I heard.”
“We hope for your approval as her kinsman.”
“Mairi Brodie is twice widowed. You need her permission, not mine.”
“I hope for it soon. Then we would be kinsmen, hey. We could work together.”
“Ah,” Ronan said.
“A benefit to both of us.” Pitlinnie smiled. “So. You have Graham’s daughter and the claim to Darrach lands too. Well done, sir. It is no surprise you escaped trouble with the law. Clever lad to find a father-in-law to fix that problem for you.”
“It is not your concern,” Ellison said, “but my father did not arrange Ronan’s pardon.”
Good Lord, she was outright lying for him, Ronan thought, and standing up to a disreputable fiend. She had no true idea of the risk, but he was deeply touched by her loyalty and courage. He blew out a breath.
“Enough,” he growled under his breath, hoping to stop her from elaborating.
“Glenbrae is a criminal, Miss Graham. You would be wise to remember that.”
“It appears that you are the criminal here, sir.” She pointed to the men and ponies behind him. “What are you transporting across my lady’s lands?”
“My dear, best we go,” Ronan said. He had to get her away before she said more.
“Delivering whisky to some respected customers,” Pitlinnie said. “Lady Strathniven is a loyal client. Love thy neighbor, brother. You understand.”
“Give us Strathniven’s lot,” Ronan said. “We will bring it there since you are out doing your good deeds.”
“Should I trust you? I think not.” Pitlinnie chuckled. “Unless you want to come away with us, lad. There is good money in it if we work together.”
“Move on,” Ronan said.
“Certainly, Lord Darrach. Miss Graham. We will be on our way.” Pitlinnie waved his men forward, pony harnesses jingling, glinting in the twilight.
Ronan stepped back with Ellison as Pitlinnie led his men along the drover’s track in the opposite direction of Strathniven.
“Ronan,” Ellison said.
“Back to the gig,” he said grimly, taking her with him. Turning to help her in, he climbed up to sit beside her, taking the reins.
“Ronan,” she said. He looked down at her, saw her lip quivering. “I am sorry.”
“What the devil? Why?”
She turned teary eyes to him. “This is all my doing—”
He put his arm around her, drew her into his embrace, easily, naturally. “Hush. You did naught wrong, and had a terrible fright.”
“If I had not left my things behind, we would not have come this way, and would never have seen those men—and—” She caught back a sob.
“This was not your doing.” He rested his cheek against her head. “I was in too much haste to get you home. The speed caused the wheel to break. If not for that, we would have missed those fellows. No apologies.” He stroked her shoulder.
“And then I said we were betrothed. I am sorry.”
He chuckled. “It was a good thought. He stepped away, did you see? It gave him pause and gave us the upper hand at the right time.”
“If he tells others, what then?”
“I doubt he will tell anyone. But if he does, we need only deny it. Another rumor.”
