Seduced By A Scot. Julia London

she gone?” Gavin asked.

      “I canna say for certain, but I’ve a good idea where,” Nichol bit out. “She’s got a good head start on me, aye? I need move with haste.”

      Gavin nodded. “I’ll gather our things.”

      Nichol stopped him with a hand to his shoulder. “Gavin, lad, I canna catch her with two of us on the horse.”

      Gavin’s brown-eyed gaze filled with uncertainty.

      “I mean to send you off to a place where you may wait for me.”

      Gavin’s lips parted. “Where?” he asked, his voice faintly tremulous.

      “The seat of the Baron MacBain.” Perhaps Nichol was imagining things, but Gavin looked suddenly very pale. “I grew up there,” he explained. “You will speak to my brother, Ivan, and he will see that you are looked after until I come for you, aye?” At least he prayed that was the case.

      “Should I no’ go to Stirling?” Gavin pleaded.

      “It’s too far to reach on foot, aye? Do you know how to shoot, lad?”

      Gavin shook his head. He was beginning to breathe heavily, almost in a pant. Diah, but Nichol wanted to shoot something just then. He would not like to be without his pistol, but he would not rest knowing the lad had nothing with which to defend himself. So he withdrew his pistol from his waist and held it out to him. “Watch me closely, then. We’ve no’ much time.”

      He showed Gavin how to load it, to cock it, to fire it. He made him do it three times until he was satisfied that he’d at least not shoot his own foot. “You’ll no’ need it, but you ought to have it. Now off with you, straight up the road. By day’s end you will come to an old castle ruin. The road forks there—turn east. You’ll be two miles from Comrie. Cheverock is about two miles more.”

      “What if I get lost?” Gavin asked, his voice shaking now.

      “You’ll no’ be lost. Look at me, Gavin,” he said, and went down on one knee before him. “You canna get lost if you follow the road. Walk until you reach the old castle ruin, then take the eastern fork,” he said, pointing east. “Tell Ivan I’ve sent you and I’ll come for you by week’s end, aye?”

      Gavin was trying very hard not to cry. He nodded and looked at the gun in his hand.

      “Look here,” Nichol said softly. “You’re a brave lad and a clever one, you are. You have everything you need inside of you, Gavin. Everything is there,” he said, tapping his chest. “You donna need me, no’ really.”

      “What if they donna believe me, then?” he asked through a sniffle.

      It was a fair point. Nichol suddenly stood and went to his satchel. He looked inside, in a pocket there, and withdrew a ring. It was an insignia ring, one that had belonged to his grandfather, a man he remembered with fondness. He turned back to Gavin and pressed the ring into his palm. “Give my brother this. Tell him I’d no’ ask for his help if it were no’ imperative. He’ll believe you.”

      Gavin looked at the ring, then slowly put it in his pocket.

      “There’s a good lad,” Nichol said. He patted him awkwardly on the shoulder, then handed him the bags. “There is food and ale. Put your pistol here, aye? If you see anyone on the road, hide in the forest until they’ve passed. You’ve nothing to fear, Gavin.”

      He hoped to God above that was true. Nichol didn’t know what the lad might expect when he reached Cheverock, as the estrangement between him and his father, and perhaps his brother, made it impossible to know. But he believed Ivan to be a decent man. He would not turn the lad out.

      Gavin looked up, and Nichol would have kicked himself squarely in the arse if he were able. He had no desire to send Gavin off into the deep of Scotland all alone, any more than he desired to ride like a thief across Scotland to catch Miss Darby before she ruined everything for him. “I must go—I canna risk losing the wench, aye? Go as quickly as you can. You’ll reach Cheverock by nightfall if you donna tarry.”

      He turned away from the lad whose eyes were as big as moons, grabbed up his things and stuffed them into his satchel and strode to where the lone horse stood. In minutes, he was saddled. He glanced back at Gavin, who had at least gathered his bedroll and the bag. Nichol threw himself on the back of the horse and reined him around. “God’s speed,” he said to Gavin, and set the horse to a trot, which he would turn to a run as soon as he reached the road.

      Miss Darby, that wee half-wit, would sorely rue the moment she stole his horse and escaped. Aye, he would make damn certain of it.