Free Rogue of the Borders by Cynthia Breeding Page B

marry. No doubt he wanted the entire story of how Abigail had succeeded in slipping the parson’s noose over Shane’s head. He glanced over to her. She was pale as an alabaster statue and equally as rigid, sitting stiffly on the edge of a straight-back chair, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. When her big brown eyes met his, he was reminded of a fawn he’d once found caught in a snare. The wee thing had nearly torn its leg off before he could free it.
    Luckily, the twins had been enticed into the kitchen by the smell of freshly baked scones, although Shane doubted that would keep them away for long. He had to come with some sort of plausible story without telling anyone Abigail had stowed away on his ship and he had not recognized she was a woman. He would never live that down.
    “We met last fall when I went to London to fetch Mari. We had quite an interesting conversation while I waited for Ian and Jamie to return.”
    “A conversation?” Bridget asked. “About what, pray tell?”
    “We…we discussed Chaucer,” Abigail said quickly. “I was most impressed by Shane’s intelligence.”
    “Aye, Shane is an intelligent one,” Ian replied, trying to restrain from another bout of laughter. “’Twas quite smart of him to keep ye a secret.”
    “Ye could have told us, cousin,” Shauna added, reproach in her voice.
    “Well, I—”
    “It would not be very sensible to propose marriage after just one visit,” Abigail interjected, her voice just a little too high-pitched. “We wanted to be sure we suited first so I decided—”
    “She decided quite rightly that we should spend a wee bit more time together,” Shane said before Abigail blurted out the embarrassing escapade.
    Ian raised a brow. “I thought ye went to France when Jillie and I returned home.”
    His cousin was trying to obtain information Shane did not wish to give. Of course, he didn’t want to discuss the other reason he went to France either. He’d already had to squelch the maid’s waxing on about Bonny Prince Charlie. If certain people found out a Stuart descendent still lived—and who supported him—charges of treason could be filed. Shane had no wish to place anyone in danger.
    Not that he entirely blamed Ian for needling him about bringing back a wife. Shane’s actions were clearly not in keeping with his usual, practical approach to events. From the looks on the women’s faces—curiosity from Fiona, confusion and puzzlement from Shauna and Jillian and suspicion from Bridget—they all wanted a better answer than he was giving.
    “I had a little over a fortnight when I returned,” he said. “It…it seemed enough time.”
    “Yes, quite enough time,” Abigail said, relaxing slightly in her chair. “I was quite sure that Shane was the man for me.”
    Bridget’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly as she shifted her gaze from Shane to Abigail. “I have no doubt about that.”
    “Well.” Shane stood before Bridget started an inquisition. “We are tired from our journey. Perhaps ye could show Abigail—”
    “Of course. How rude of me not to think of your comfort.” Jillian handed baby Rose to Ian and stood as well. “I will have Abigail’s trunks and a hot bath sent to your room at once.”
    “Ah, perhaps—”
    “That will be fine,” Abigail said and gave him a big smile.

Chapter Eight
    “Ye are going to turn into a prune if ye do nae come out of that tub,” Kyla complained as she sat by the small table in Shane’s bedchamber tending to a bit of mending in the late afternoon light filtering in the window.
    Abigail already felt like a prune and the water was nearly cold, but she was determined to stay where she was until Shane returned to his room. Jillian had explained the men used the tub afterwards—sometimes even at the same time, she’d said with a wink—to save the servants from having to heat and lug more water up the stairs.
    Shane had not stayed to share the tub, but Abigail tucked that idea away for