Page 5 of To Wed a Wild Scot
A pair of dark brows too elegant for that rugged face drew together over his eyes. He gave her a long, measuring look. “Beg your pardon then, madam.”
He bowed, and turned away with the sort of shrug generally reserved for stubborn children and barking dogs. Ah, good. He’d clearly washed his hands of her, just as she’d hoped he would.
Juliana kept an eye on him as he mounted a towering gray stallion. As soon as he rode out of the inn yard, she ran to meet Stokes. “Quickly, Stokes! Go back to the stables and secure two horses for us.”
Stokes gaped at her as if she’d lost her wits. “I thought we were staying the night!”
“No, there’s no time. I’ll explain it all once we’re on our way. Go on, hurry, while I run upstairs and have a word with Miss Findlay.”
Stokes hurried off toward the stables while Juliana ran upstairs. She returned a few moments later to find him in the inn yard, waiting for the ostler to bring them fresh horses.
When he saw her, he shook his head. “You don’t expect Miss Findlay to mount and ride today, I hope.”
“No, she can’t. I’m afraid she’ll have to stay behind.” Juliana didn’t like to leave her companion alone at the King’s Head Inn. Findlay was upset, and it wasn’t proper for Juliana to travel without her. Then again, worrying about propriety at this point was rather like buffing a pair of riding boots stained with vomit—a wasted effort.
Poor Findlay was in no shape to chase a vigorous Scotsman from Gretna Green to Inverness. Juliana had no choice but to leave her behind with funds to hire a private coach to take her back to London.
As for her and Stokes…
For most people it was a four-day ride from Gretna Green to Inverness, but Fitzwilliam’s brother looked as if he could do it in three. There was no way they’d be able to keep up with him in the coach. No, they had no choice but to do it on horseback, and take care he didn’t notice they were following him.
It was going to be a long three days.
Still, for the first time since this ill-conceived journey began, hope unfolded in Juliana’s breast. At last, everything was falling right into its proper place.
* * * *
If she hadn’t smelled of vomit, Logan might not have noticed her at all.
If the wind had been blowing to the south rather than the north, or if she’d been standing a few feet further from the doorway, he would have passed by her without a second glance. It wasn’t as if she was the first runaway bride he’d seen at the King’s Head Inn. They all stopped here, the guilty bridegrooms and their ill-gotten spouses.
He’d been dismayed the first few times he’d noticed the brides, especially when they were weeping. It was a six-day journey from London to Gretna Green—more than enough time for a young lady to come to regret her clandestine marriage. Red eyes and tear-stained cheeks weren’t an uncommon sight at the King’s Head.
Like most men, Logan found a lady’s tears deeply alarming, but he’d been back and forth between Scotland and England so many times these past few years, he hardly noticed the brides anymore.
But he noticedher.
She wasn’t crying.
The unmistakable smell of vomit was surprising enough to make Logan pause to glance at her, but it was the absence of tears on that pale cheek that made him stop. What sort of lady was distressed enough to cast up her accounts, but not so distressed she couldn’t squeeze out a single tear?
He didn’t have time to spare for some foolish chit who’d wasted herself on a scoundrel, yet he found himself wandering closer to get a better look at her.
English, of course—they always were. Fair hair, a delicate, heart-shaped face, stubborn chin. Her blue riding habit was creased and dirty, and yes, just as he’d suspected, she was the source of the sour smell. The hems of her skirts were stained with what looked suspiciously like someone’s breakfast.
That shewasa runaway bride was beyond question, but she was the most composed runaway bride he’d ever seen. Expensively dressed, too. Her riding habit looked as if it were worth a small fortune.
Or it had been, before she’d vomited on it.
An heiress then, lured into a Gretna Green marriage by some fortune hunter, though for a lady who’d been seduced and ruined, she was remarkably calm.
Logan glanced around the inn yard, but the lucky bridegroom was nowhere to be seen. No servant, either. He waited, but no one approached her.
It was damned odd, but it wasn’t his concern, and he didn’t have time to stand about and wait for the mystery to unravel itself. She didn’t seem at all worried about her situation, so he didn’t see any reason whyheshould be.
He turned away from her with a shrug and went to his horse, but his arse had hardly hit the saddle before he turned back for another glance at her.
She hadn’t stirred a single step, and she was still alone.
