Rogue with a Brogue by Suzanne Enoch

shame ye went and followed yer heart. But then ye can always throw yer obligation at someone else, so all’s well.”
    The marquis tilted his head. “Is yer heart leading ye somewhere?”
    â€œNae. Of course not,” he answered, hoping he hadn’t answered too vehemently.
    â€œThen shut yer mouth and stop making trouble.”
    Arran hefted the snarling, wriggling wastebasket and carried it down the hallway, down the stairs, through the foyer, and out the front door. Setting it down on the drive, he sat on it again to keep it from tipping over and rolling away. His older brother looked at him for a long moment, stone-faced, then faced the milling servants.
    â€œThe excitement’s done with,” the marquis said, “though there’s a bit of a mess upstairs. Back inside with ye.”
    Owen began urging servants toward the front door. “What do ye mean to do with that thing?” he asked.
    â€œWhy didnae ye shoot it?” Peter, the footman, seconded. “Damned thing near frighted me to death, coming back to life like that.”
    â€œDo ye remember where ye and the dogs flushed it, Peter?” Ranulf asked the footman.
    â€œAye, I reckon I do, m’laird. Ye want me to find more of ’em fer ye? Though if ye mean to carry them aboot in buckets, I dunnae know why ye want them.”
    â€œHitch up a wagon and take it back.”
    Peter stared, clearly baffled, at the marquis. “Are ye mad, m’laird? If ye dunnae want to ruin the pelt, I’ll droon it fer ye.”
    Ranulf sent another glance at Arran. “Nae. Arran’s gone and named it Munro. We cannae kill it now.”
    â€œAfter yer own brother, Laird Arran?” Now the servant seemed concerned that at least one of the MacLawrys needed to be carted off to Bedlam.
    â€œAye,” Arran answered, caught between surprise that Ranulf wasn’t suggesting he be hauled away and drowned, and reluctant amusement. “If ye please, take wee Munro back to where ye found him.”
    The footman sighed. “I’ll do it fer ye, m’laird, but I’d nae be yer true and faithful man if I didnae speak my mind.”
    The marquis nodded solemnly. “Say yer piece then, Peter.”
    â€œI think ye’ve been in London too long, m’laird. The madness of these Sasannach is seeping into yer brain.”
    â€œYe may have the right of it,” Ranulf returned, sending a glance at Arran. “But I’ll nae leave here withoot Lady Charlotte. Ye’ll have to keep a close eye on us until we’re safely back to Glengask.”
    Peter drew himself up even straighter. “Aye, m’laird. I’ll see to it ye keep to the Highlands way.” With that he claimed the wastebasket and hauled it off in the direction of the stable.
    â€œAnd what is the Highlands way?” Arran asked, trying to decide whether attempting to slip the note from Ranulf’s pocket would be worth the additional scrutiny if he was caught at it. More than likely he’d explained it away well enough, and the next time Ranulf looked at it he would simply discard it rather than bring up the topic of Mary Campbell again. Best to leave well enough alone.
    â€œI dunnae. Kilts and brawling and nae saving badgers, I suppose.”
    â€œThe badger didnae mean to end up at Gilden House with deer hounds nipping at his heels.” Arran looked over at Ranulf as they walked back to the house. “I dunnae see myself as the badger, ye know. I killed my share of men over in Spain and France, so I’m nae squeamish. Ye know I’ll hunt fer food, but I’ve nae eaten badger. The—”
    â€œYou made a good point, Arran,” his brother interrupted. “I likely should have been the one to marry a Stewart. But I’ll nae have any lass but Charlotte. And there wasnae a chance fer an alliance anyway, until ten days ago.”
    â€œAs ye say.”
    Owen held open the door as they