Margaret nearly stamped her foot. "There is no need-"

"My advice, Miss Pennypacker, is for you to accept your fate. Once you think about it, you'll realize it's not such a bad one. A warm bed, a good meal-how can those be so very offensive?"

"Why are you doing this?" she asked suspiciously. "What is in it for you?"

"Nothing," he admitted with a lopsided smile. "But have you ever studied Chinese history?"

She shot him a wry look. As if English girls were ever actually allowed to study more than embroidery and the occasional history lesson-British history, of course.

"There's a proverb," he said, his eyes growing reminiscent. "I don't remember how it goes precisely, but it is something about how once you save a life, you are responsible for it forever."

Margaret choked on her breath. Good God, the man didn't think to watch over her forever, did he?

Angus caught her expression and nearly doubled over in laughter. "Oh, do not worry, Miss Pennypacker," he said. "I have no plans to install myself as your permanent protector. I'll see you through until daylight and make certain you're settled, and then you may go on your merry way."

"Very well," Margaret said grudgingly. It was difficult to argue with someone who had one's best interests at heart. "I do appreciate your concern, and perhaps we might search for our errant siblings together. It should make the job a bit easier, I should think."

He touched her chin, startling her with his gentleness. "That's the spirit. Now then, shall we be off?"

She nodded, thinking that perhaps she ought to make a peace offering of her own. After all, the man had saved her from a horrible fate, and she had responded by calling him a lunatic. "You have a scrape," she said, touching his right temple. It had always been easier for her to show her gratitude through deeds, rather than words. "Why don't you let me tend to that? It's not very deep, but you ought to have it cleaned."

He nodded and took her arm. "I would appreciate that."

Margaret caught her breath, a bit surprised by how much larger he seemed when he was standing right next to her. "Have you secured a room yet?"

He shook his head. "Have you?"

"No, but I saw a vacancy sign at The Rose and Thistle."

"The Canny Man is better. Cleaner, and the food is hot. We'll see if they have room first."

"Cleanliness is good," she commented, more than happy to forgive his arrogance if it meant clean sheets.

"Do you have a bag?"

"Not anymore," she said ruefully.

"You were robbed?"

"I'm afraid so." At his darkening look, she added quickly, "But I didn't bring anything of value."

He sighed. "Well, there's nothing to be done about it now. Come with me. We'll discuss what to do about your brother and my sister once we're warm and fed."

And then he grasped her arm a bit more securely and led her down the street.

Two

Their truce lasted all of two minutes. Margaret wasn't exactly certain how it came about, but before they were even halfway to The Canny Man, they were bickering like children.

He couldn't resist reminding her that she'd been beyond foolish in setting out for Scotland by herself.

She just had to call him an arrogant boor as he propelled her up the front steps and into the inn.

But none of that-not one single snippy word-could have prepared her for what happened when they stood before the innkeeper.

"My wife and I require rooms for the night," Angus said.

Wife?

By sheer force of will, Margaret managed to keep her jaw from dropping to her knees. Or maybe it was an act of God; she didn't much think her will was strong enough to keep her from smacking Angus Greene in the arm for his impertinence.

"We have only one room available," the innkeeper informed them.

"We'll take that, then," Angus replied.

This time she knew she was subject to divine intervention, because there could be no other explanation for her restraint in the face of her massive desire to box his ears.

The innkeeper nodded approvingly and said, "Follow me. I'll show you up. And if you would like a meal-"

"We would," Angus cut in. "Something warm and filling."

"I'm afraid all we have at this late hour is cold meat pie."

Angus pulled a coin from his coat and held it forward. "My wife is very cold, and given her delicate condition, I would like to see that she receives a good meal."

"My condition?" Margaret gasped.

Angus smiled down at her and winked. "Come now, darling, surely you didn't think you would be able to hide it forever."

"Congratulations to you both!" the innkeeper boomed. "Is this your first?"

Angus nodded. "So you see why I'm so protective." He snaked his arm around Margaret's shoulders. "She's such a delicate woman."

That "delicate" woman promptly bent her arm and jabbed her elbow into Angus's hip. Hard.

The innkeeper must not have heard the ensuing grunt of pain, because he just took the coin and rolled it around in his hand. "Of course, of course," he murmured. "I'll have to wake my wife, but I'm sure we can find something hot."

"Excellent."

The innkeeper moved forward, and Angus made to follow, but Margaret grabbed the hem of his coat and yanked. "Are you mad?" she whispered.

"I thought you had already questioned my sanity and found it acceptable."

"I have reconsidered," she ground out.

He patted her on the shoulder. "Try not to overset yourself. It's not good for the baby."

Margaret's arms were sticks at her sides as she tried to keep herself from pummeling him. "Stop talking about the baby," she hissed, "and I am not going to share a room with you."

"I really don't see what other choice you have."

"I would rather-"

He held up a hand. "Don't tell me you'd rather wait out in the rain. I simply won't believe you."

"You can wait out in the rain."

Angus ducked and peered out a window. Raindrops were beating loudly against the glass. "I think not."

"If you were a gentleman…"

He chuckled. "Ah, but I never said I was a gentleman."

"What was all that about protecting women, then?" Margaret demanded.

"I said I don't like to see women hurt and abused. I never said I was willing to sleep in the rain and give myself a raging case of lung disease for you."

The innkeeper, who had walked on ahead, stopped and turned around when he realized that his guests had not followed. "Are you coming?" he inquired.

"Yes, yes," Angus replied. "Just having a small discussion with my wife. It seems she is having a remarkable craving for haggis."

Margaret's mouth fell open, and it took several attempts at speech before she managed to say, "I don't like haggis."

Angus grinned. "I do."

"Och!" the innkeeper exclaimed with a broad smile. "Just like my wife. She ate haggis every day while she was expecting, and she gave me four fine boys."

"Brilliant," Angus said with a cocky smile. "I shall have to remember that. A man needs a son."

"Four," the innkeeper reminded him, his chest puffing out with pride. "I've got four."

Angus slapped Margaret on the back. "She'll give me five. Mark my words."

"Men," she spat out, stumbling from the force of his friendly pat. "A bunch of strutting roosters, the lot of you."

But the two men were too involved in their manly game of one-upmanship-Margaret fully expected them to start arguing about who could toss a caber farther any moment now-and clearly didn't hear her.

She stood there with her arms crossed for a full minute, trying not to listen to a thing they were saying, when Angus suddenly patted her on the back and said, "Haggis, then, for dinner, my love?"

"I'm going to kill you," she hissed. "And I'm going to do it slowly." Then Angus jabbed her in the ribs and glanced at the innkeeper. "I'd love some," she choked out. "My very favorite."

The innkeeper beamed. "A woman after my own heart. Nothing protects one from the spirits like a good haggis."

"The smell alone would scare off the devil," Margaret muttered.

Angus chuckled and gave her hand a squeeze.

"You must be a Scotswoman, then," the innkeeper said, "if you love the haggis."

"Actually," Margaret said primly, yanking her hand back. "I'm English."

"Pity." The innkeeper then turned to Angus and said, "But I suppose if you had to marry a Sassenach, at least you picked one with a taste for haggis."

"I refused to ask for her hand until she tasted it," Angus said solemnly. "And then I wouldn't go through with the ceremony until I was convinced that she liked it."

Margaret walloped him in the shoulder.

"And a temper, too!" the innkeeper chortled. "We'll make a good Scotswoman out of her yet."

"I'm hoping," Angus agreed, his accent suddenly growing stronger to Margaret's ear. "I'm thinking she ought to learn to throw a better punch, though."

"Didn't hurt, eh?" the innkeeper said with a knowing smile.

"Not a bit."

Margaret ground her teeth together. "Sir," she said as sweetly as she could muster, "could you please show me to my room? I'm a terrible mess, and I would so like to tidy myself before supper."

"Of course." The innkeeper resumed his trek up the stairs, Margaret right on his heels. Angus loitered a few steps behind, no doubt grinning at her expense.

"Here it is," the innkeeper said, opening the door to reveal a small but clean room with a washbasin, a chamber pot, and a single bed.

"Thank you, sir," she said with a polite nod. "I am most appreciative." Then she marched into the room and slammed the door.

Angus howled with laughter. He couldn't help himself.