Page 11 of A Rogue in Moonlight
The vehicle rolled to a halt, and Dougal waved, hauling the girlwith him. She was not eager to go. Not that he could blame her, but he had no time to explain.
“Miss, this is Ranald MacGregor and his son, Andrew. My uncle and cousin,” he said. “Ranald, Andrew, this is—ah—” He did not know her name.
“Miss Fiona MacCarran.” She gave his kinsmen such a warm smile that Dougal wished she had blessed him with a smile like that. But he had hardly earned it; in proof, she sent him a furious side glare.
“Miss MacCarran,” he said. “Into the cart. Now,” he added.
She blinked. He noticed then her eyes were the deep blue of a sparkling mountain loch. Something intangible within him shifted, a need, a craving. He frowned and offered his hand. She ignored it and gave his kinsmen another smile.
“Gentlemen, I am so pleased to meet you. I have come from Edinburgh to Glen Kinloch to teach at the glen school.”
So she was the teacher they were expecting. She had not said so, Dougal thought with a scowl. But he had not asked, he reminded himself.
“Our new dominie! And such a bonny lass too. Not like the last one, hey.” Ranald nudged the lad beside him on the crossbench.
Andrew nodded. At fourteen, swathed in plaid like a Highlander and trousered like a Lowlander, the lad looked dumbstruck by the bonny lass. “We thought the teacher would be old and ugly,” he said, blushing.
“Young or old, still a problem for us,” Dougal snapped. He took the girl by the waist, his hands neatly fitting her slim, taut curves. “Up you go.”
“No,” she said as he dumped her over the side into the hay.
Dougal tossed her heavy knapsack after her, set a foot to the wheel hub, and leaped inside beside her. His kinsmen looked back. “Gaugers on the road,” he explained. “Two coming this way. Hurry!”
“Och! Hide, then!” Ranald said. “Cover up in that old plaidie backthere. If they see the new teacher in our cart, they will ask too much.”
Dougal snatched a rumpled plaid lying in a corner of the cart and tossed it over the girl and himself. She gasped as he pushed her down beside him in the hay and pulled her close under the musty tartan covering.
She shoved at his chest. “What are you doing!”
“Hush. You are safer with us than with those gaugers.”
“Even if one of them is my brother?” She pulled away.
“Ah, so your brother is the new gauger down the loch?”
“Aye, and you will regret holding me against my will.” She shoved at him. Dougal caught both her hands in one of his, and peered out from under the blanket.
“Do either of you know the gaugers up ahead?” he hissed at his kinsmen.
“Too far to see who they are yet,” Andrew answered. “Why?”
“Her brother is the new excise officer.”
“Och, that’s trouble then,” Ranald growled.
“What sort of trouble?” the girl asked in Gaelic. Dougal and his kinsmen had used a quick, fluent mix of Gaelic and English. Dougal sighed. He should have known the dominie would understand everything they said.
“Hush,” he said, “if you can.” She shoved at him again.
“Hide, both of you,” Ranald said. “I see them now. Andrew, take the reins.” Dougal felt the cart lurch as the horse stepped forward.
Dougal snugged the blanket over his head and hers. “Hush,” he repeated, his face close to hers in the shadow of the woven covering.
“I need not hide from my brother or his men.” She struggled, and the blanket slipped.
Click.Hearing a gun latch, Dougal glanced up to see a glinting barrel poke through an opening in the folds of the plaid. Ranald, leaning over the back of the bench, held the pistol. “No word from you, lass. Do as the laird says.”
“What the devil, Uncle,” Dougal muttered.
