"How much?"
"Enough!"
"Didn't you say you'd been robbed?"
"Yes," she said, so grudgingly that Angus thought it a wonder she didn't choke on the word, "but I still have a few coins."
"Enough for a hot meal? Hot water? A private dining room?"
"That's really not the point," she argued, "and the worst part of it is, you were acting as if you were having fun."
Angus grinned. "I was having fun."
"Why would you do this?" she said, shaking her hands at him. "We could have gone to another inn."
A loud clap of thunder shook the room. God, Angus decided, was on his side. "In this weather?" he asked. "Forgive me if I lack the inclination to venture back outside."
"Even if we had to masquerade as husband and wife," she conceded, "did you have to poke so much fun at my expense?"
His dark eyes grew tender. "I never meant to insult you. Surely you know that."
Margaret found her resolve weakening under his warm and concerned gaze. "You didn't have to tell the innkeeper that I was pregnant," she said, her cheeks growing furiously red as she uttered that last word.
He let out a sigh. "All I can do is apologize. My only explanation is that I was merely getting into the spirit of the ruse. I have spent the last two days riding the length of Scotland. I'm cold, wet, and hungry, and this little masquerade is the first amusing thing I've done in days. Forgive me if I over-enjoyed myself."
Margaret just stared at him, her hands fisted at her sides. She knew she ought to accept his apology, but the truth was, she needed a few more minutes to calm down.
Angus raised his hands in an overture of conciliation. "You may keep your stony silence all you want," he said with an amused smile, "but it won't wash. You, my dear Miss Pennypacker, are a better sport than you think you are."
The look she gave him was doubtful at best and sarcastic at worst. "Why, because I didn't strangle you right there in the hall?"
"Well, there's that, but I was actually referring to your unwillingness to hurt the innkeeper's feelings by disparaging his cooking."
"I did disparage his cooking," she pointed out.
"Yes, but you didn't do it loudly." He saw her open her mouth and held up his hand. "Ah, ah, ah, no more protests. You're determined to make me dislike you, but I'm afraid it won't work."
"You're insane," she breathed.
Angus peeled off his sodden coat. "That particular refrain is growing tedious."
"It's difficult to argue with the truth," she muttered. Then she looked up and saw what he was doing. "And don't remove your coat!"
"The alternative is death by pneumonia," he said mildly. "I suggest you remove yours as well."
"Only if you leave the room."
"And stand naked in the hall? I don't think so."
Margaret starting pacing and searching the room, opening the wardrobe and pulling out drawers. 'There has to be a dressing screen here somewhere. There has to be."
"You're not likely to find one in the bureau," he said helpfully.
She stood stock-still for several moments, desperately trying not to let go of her anger. All her life she'd had to be responsible, to set a good example, and temper tantrums were not acceptable behavior. But this time… She looked over her shoulder and saw him grinning at her. This time was different.
She slammed the drawer shut, which should have given her some measure of satisfaction had she not caught the tip of her middle finger. "Yoooooowwwww!" she howled, immediately stuffing her throbbing finger into her mouth.
"Are you all right?" Angus asked, moving quickly to her side.
She nodded. "Go away," she mumbled around her finger.
"Are you certain? You might have broken a bone."
"I didn't. Go away."
He took her hand and gently pulled her finger out of her mouth. "It looks fine," he said in a concerned voice, "but truly, I'm no expert on these matters."
"Why?" she moaned. "Why?"
"Why am I no expert?" he echoed, blinking in a rather confused manner. "I wasn't under the impression you thought I'd received medical training, but the truth is, I'm more of a farmer than anything else. A gentleman farmer, to be sure-"
"Why are you torturing me?" she yelled.
"Why, Miss Pennypacker, is that what you think I'm doing?"
She snatched her hand out of his grasp. "I swear to God above, I don't know why I am being punished in this way. I cannot imagine what sin I have committed to warrant such-"
"Margaret," he said loudly, halting her speech with his use of her given name, "perhaps you are making a wee bit too much out of this matter."
She stood there, barely moving, next to the bureau, for a full minute. Her breath was uneven, and she was swallowing more than normal, and then she started blinking.
"Oh, no," Angus said, closing his eyes in agony. "Don't cry."
– Sniff--"I'm not going to cry."
He opened his eyes. "Jesus, whiskey, and Robert the Bruce," he muttered. She certainly looked as if she were going to cry. He cleared his throat. "Are you certain?"
She nodded, once, but firmly. "I never cry."
He breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief. "Good, because I never know what to do when-oh, blast, you're crying."
"No. I'm. Not." Each word came out like its own little sentence, punctuated by loud gasps for air.
"Stop," he begged, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. Nothing made him feel more like an incompetent, awkward clod than a woman's tears. Worse, he was fairly certain this woman hadn't cried in over a decade. And even worse, he was the cause.
"All I wanted to do-" she gasped. "All I wanted to do-"
"Was…?" he prompted, desperate to keep her talking- anything to keep her from crying.
"Stop my brother." She took a deep, shuddering sigh and flopped onto the bed. "I know what's best for him. I know that sounds condescending, but I really do. I've been caring for him since I was seventeen."
Angus crossed the room and sat down next to her, but not so close as to make her nervous. "Have you?" he asked softly. He'd known from the moment she'd kneed that man in the groin that she was no ordinary woman, but he was coming to realize that she was more than a stubborn temper and a quick wit. Margaret Pennypacker cared deeply, was loyal to a fault, and would lay down her own life for those she loved without even a second's hesitation.
The realization made him smile wryly-and at the same time terrified him to the core. Because in terms of loyalty, caring, and devotion to family, Margaret Pennypacker might have been a female version of himself. And Angus had never before met a woman who matched those standards he held for himself.
And now that he had-well, what was he to do with her?
She interrupted his thoughts with a very loud sniffle. "Are you listening to me?"
"Your brother," he prompted.
She nodded and took a deep breath. Then she suddenly looked up from her lap and turned her gaze on him. "I'm not going to cry."
He patted her shoulder. "Of course not."
"If he marries one of those awful girls, his life will be ruined forever."
"Are you certain?" Angus asked gently. Sisters had a way of thinking they knew best.
"One of them doesn't even know the entire alphabet!"
He made a sound that came out rather like "Eeee," and his head recoiled slightly in commiseration. "That is bad."
She nodded again, this time with more vigor. "Do you see? Do you see what I mean?"
"How old is your brother?"
"He's only eighteen."
Angus let out a whoosh of air. "You're right, then. He has no idea what he's doing. No boy of eighteen does. Come to think of it, no girl of eighteen does, either."
Margaret nodded her agreement. "Is that how old your sister is? What's her name? Anne?"
"Yes, on both counts."
"Why are you chasing after her? What did she do?"
"Ran off to London."
"By herself?" Margaret asked, clearly aghast with horror.
Angus looked over at her with a bemused expression. "Might I remind you that you ran off to Scotland by yourself?"