And then, with a wary glance in his direction, she started walking away, moving sideways so that she could keep one eye on him and one on wherever it was she thought she was going.

"For the love of-" He cut himself off before he blasphemed in front of this chit, who was already looking at him as if she were trying to decide whether he more resembled the devil or Attila the Hun. "I am not the villain in this piece," he bit off.

Margaret clutched at the folds of her skirt and chewed nervously on the inside of her cheek. She had been terrified when those men had grabbed her, and she still hadn't managed to stop the uncontrollable shaking of her hands. At four-and-twenty, she was still an innocent, but she'd lived long enough to know their intentions. The man standing in front of her had saved her, but for what purpose? She didn't think he wanted to hurt her-his comment about protecting women was a bit too heartfelt to have been an act. But did that mean she could trust him?

As if sensing her thoughts, he snorted and jerked his head slightly. "For the love of God, woman, I saved your bloody life."

Margaret winced. The big Scotsman was probably correct, and she knew her deceased mother would have ordered her to get down on her hands and knees just to thank him, but the truth was-he looked a little unbalanced. His eyes were hot and flashing with temper, and there was something about him-something strange and indescribable-that made her insides quiver.

But she wasn't a coward, and she had spent enough years trying to instill good manners in her younger siblings that she wasn't about to prove herself a hypocrite and behave rudely herself. "Thank you," she said quickly, her racing heart causing her words to tumble from her mouth. 'That was… uh… very well done of you, and I… thank you, and I believe I can speak for my family when I say that they also thank you, and I'm certain that if I ever found myself wed, my husband would thank you as well."

Her savior (or was it nemesis?-Margaret just wasn't sure) smiled slowly and said, 'Then you're not married."

She took a few steps back. "Uh, no, uh, I really must be going."

His eyes narrowed. "You're not here to elope, are you? Because that's always a bad idea. I have a friend with property in the area, and he tells me that the inns are full of women who have been compromised on the way to Gretna Green but never wed."

"I am certainly not eloping," she said testily. "Do I really look that foolish?"

"No, you don't. But forget I asked. I really don't care." He shook his head wearily. "I've ridden all day, I'm sore as hell, and I still haven't found my sister. I'm glad you're safe, but I don't have time to sit here and-"

Her entire countenance changed. "Your sister?" she repeated, charging forward. "You're looking for your sister? Tell me, sir, how old is she, what does she look like, and are you a Fornby, Ferrige, or Fitch?"

He looked at her as if she had suddenly sprouted horns. "What the devil are you talking about, woman? My name is Angus Greene."

"Damn," she muttered, surprising even herself with her use of profanity. "I had been hoping you might prove a useful ally."

"If you're not here to elope, what are you doing here?"

"My brother," she grumbled. "The nitwit thinks he wants to marry, but his brides are completely unsuitable."

"Brides, plural? Bigamy is still illegal in England, is it not?"

She scowled at him. "I don't know which one he eloped with. He didn't say. But they're all just horrible." She shuddered, looking as if she had just swallowed an antidote. "Horrible."

A fresh burst of rain fell upon them, and without even thinking, Angus took her arm and pulled her under the deep overhang. She kept on talking through the entire maneuver.

"When I get my hands on Edward, I'm going to bloody well kill him," she was saying. "I was quite busy in Lancashire, you know. It's not as if I had time to drop everything and chase him to Scotland. I've a sister to care for, and a wedding to plan. She's getting married in three months, after all. The last thing I needed was to travel up here and-"

His hand tightened around her arm. "Wait one moment," he said in a tone that immediately shut her mouth. "Don't tell me you traveled to Scotland by yourself." His brows pulled together, and he looked as if he were in pain. "Do not tell me that."

She caught sight of the fire burning in his dark eyes, and drew back as far as his heavy grip would let her. "I knew that you were crazy," she said, looking from side to side as if searching for someone to save her from this lunatic.

Angus yanked her in closer, purposefully using his size and strength to intimidate her. "Did you or did you not embark upon a long-distance journey without an escort?"

"Yes?" she said, the single syllable coming out like a question.

"Good God, woman!" he exploded. "Are you insane? Do you have any idea what happens to women traveling alone? Did you give no thought to your own safety?"

Margaret's mouth fell open.

He let go of her and started to pace. "When I think about what might have happened…" He gave his head a shuddering shake, muttering, "Jesus, whiskey, and Robert the Bruce. The woman is daft."

Margaret blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of all this. "Sir," she began cautiously, "you don't even know me."

He whirled around. "What the hell is your name?"

"Margaret Pennypacker," she answered before it occurred to her that maybe he really was a lunatic, and maybe she shouldn't have told him the truth.

"Fine," he spat out. "Now I know you. And you're a fool. On a fool's errand."

"Just wait one moment!" she burst out, stepping forward and waving her arm at him. "I happen to be engaged in an extremely serious mission. My brother's very happiness might be at stake. Who are you to judge me?"

"The man who saved you from rape."

"Well!" Margaret responded, mostly because that was all she could think to say.

He raked his hand through his hair. "What are your plans for tonight?"

"That's none of your business!"

"You became my business the minute I saw you being dragged off by-" Angus whipped his head around, realizing that he'd forgotten about the man he'd knocked unconscious. The fellow had woken up and was slowly rising to his feet, obviously trying to move as silently as possible.

"Don't move," Angus snapped at Margaret. He was in front of the burly man in two steps, then grabbed his collar and hauled him up until his feet dangled in the air. "Do you have anything to say to this woman?" he growled.

The man shook his head.

"I think you do."

"I certainly have nothing to say to him," Margaret put in, trying to be helpful.

Angus ignored her. "An apology, perhaps? An abject apology with ample use of the phrase 'I'm a miserable cur' might lessen my temper and save your pathetic life."

The man started to shake. "I'msorryrmsorryrmsorry."

"Really, Mr. Greene," Margaret said quickly, "I think we're quite finished. Perhaps you ought to let him go."

"Do you want to hurt him?"

Margaret was so surprised, she started to cough. "I beg your pardon," she finally managed to get out.

His voice was hard and strangely flat as he repeated his question. "Do you want to hurt him? He would have dishonored you."

Margaret blinked uncontrollably at the odd light in his eyes, and she had the most horrifying feeling that he would kill the man if she just gave the word. "I'm fine," she choked out. "I believe I managed a few blows earlier m the evening. It quite satisfied my meager bloodlust."

"Not this one," Angus replied. "You hurt the other two."

"I'm fine, really."

"A woman has a right to her revenge."

"There's really no need, I assure you." Margaret glanced quickly about, trying to assess her chances for escape. She was going to have to make a run for it soon. This Angus Greene fellow might have saved her life, but he was completely mad.

Angus dropped the man and pushed him forward. "Get out of here before I kill you."

Margaret began to tiptoe in the opposite direction.

"You!" he boomed. "Don't move."

She froze. She might not like this huge Scotsman, but she was no idiot. He was twice her size, after all.

"Where do you think you're going?"

She decided not to answer that one.

He quickly closed the distance between them, crossed his arms, and glowered down at her. "I believe you were about to advise me of your plans for the evening."

"I regret to inform you, sir, but my intentions were not following that particular line of-"

"Tell me!" he roared.

"I was going to look for my brother," she blurted out, deciding that maybe she was a coward, after all. Cowardice, she decided, wasn't really such a bad thing when faced with a mad Scot.

He shook his head. "You're coming with me."

"Oh, please," she scoffed. "If you think-"

"Miss Pennypacker," he interrupted, "I might as well inform you that when I make a decision, I rarely change my mind."

"Mr. Greene," she replied with equal resolve, "I am not your responsibility."

"Perhaps, but I have never been the sort of man who could leave a lone woman to her own defenses. Therefore, you are coming with me, and we will decide what to do with you in the morning."

"I thought you were looking for your sister," she said, her irritation clear in her tone of voice.

"My sister certainly isn't getting any farther away from me in this weather. I'm sure she's tucked away in some inn, probably not even here at Gretna Green."

"Shouldn't you search the inns for her this eve?"

"Anne is not an early riser. If she is indeed here, she will not resume her journey any earlier than ten. I have no qualms about delaying my search for her until the morning. Anne, I'm sure, is safe this eve. You, on the other hand, I have my doubts about."