Regency Proposal. Ann Lethbridge

he raised his head over the brow, a whiff of pipe smoke tickled his nostrils. ‘Damn it, man. Put that out. It can be seen for miles.’

      Davey had brawn, but no brain. He knocked the bowl on his heel and stamped on the embers. “Tis all right for them down in the gully. The wind’s damn cold up here, Laird.’

      ‘It’ll be hot in hell if you get yourself shot.’ Ian swept his gaze around the surrounding countryside. ‘Hear anything?’

      Davey gave a smug laugh. ‘Aye, I heard something, all right. At first I thought it was a rabbit. I walked back along the path a ways.’

      ‘And?’

      ‘I caught a lass creeping up on us. Ranald has her.’

      What had been a faint unease across his skin was now a full-fledged alert in his gut. ‘A woman?’

      ‘A Sassenach by her voice.’

      This really wasn’t good. ‘Stay here and keep a sharp look-out.’

      ‘Aye, Laird.’

      Ian strode along the stream bank, until he came to the place where it disappeared underground. ‘Ranald?’

      The burly innkeeper rose up out of the heather. ‘Here.’

      ‘Davey said you caught a wench spying.’

      ‘Aye, Laird, I have her tied up over there beside the horse.’

      Definitely not good. And yet something lightened inside him. It was the oddest sensation. Shoving it aside, he strode to the cluster of rocks indicated by Ranald. He held up his lamp and looked into a pair of very angry brown eyes.

      ‘Lady Selina. I might have known.’ He knelt beside her and undid her gag.

      ‘Your man is an idiot,’ she hissed. ‘I told them I had a message for you. I told them to fetch you, but they wouldn’t listen.’

      He pulled out his knife and sawed at the ropes around her wrists. ‘What message?’ He started on her ankles, keeping his gaze fixed on the job and not letting them stray to her shapely calf. Or at least, not much.

      ‘The Revenue men know about tonight. They have set a trap. You have to leave here right away.’

      So, his instincts had not played him false, curse it. If they left without the goods, it would be another year before he could set his plans in motion. And Lord Carrick would not be best pleased. ‘How do you know this?’ He cut through the last of the rope and helped her to her feet. God, she was small. The top of her head barely came to his shoulder.

      She rubbed at her wrists. ‘Never mind that. You have to go. Now.’

      ‘Where are they waiting for us?’

      ‘Surprisingly enough, they didn’t give me any details.’

      The sarcasm in her voice made him want to laugh. ‘How did you get here?’ And then he saw for himself. Beau. And no saddle in sight. ‘You rode bareback?’

      ‘I couldn’t saddle him myself.’

      He shook his head. It seemed there was still something of the spirited girl inside the sophisticated woman.

      She pulled her cloak around her. ‘I’ll go now.’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Why not?’

      ‘Because I said not.’ Gaugers weren’t above firing their muskets at shadows, let alone at a fleeing horse. ‘Ranald,’ he called softly.

      The innkeeper appeared like magic. Obviously, he’d been standing close by, listening. ‘Keep her here. I’ll go warn the men on the beach and return to take her home. And, Ranald, not a word of this to anyone, understand?’ Ranald nodded.

      Ian glanced at the stubborn set of Lady Selina’s jaw. ‘Whatever you do, keep her here.’

      What they needed now was some sort of diversion.

      Selina glared at Ranald. ‘I told you he would want to hear my message.’

      The man mumbled something under his breath, then covered his lantern. Selina blinked furiously to adjust her vision to the gloom. She should leave. She could be home in bed before anyone noticed her departure, her conscience clear.

      What Ian did on his own account was his concern. But if she was caught aiding them Father would be mortified. And furious. If Dunstan discovered she’d warned the smugglers, after he’d let fall information about his mission in her presence, he’d call off their betrothal. If nothing else, a man expected loyalty from his wife. And that meant she’d have to start looking for a suitable husband all over again. Unless the scandal ruined her completely. It probably would.

      But she’d known the risks when she set out. And she would do it all over again if required, because she was honour bound to help him as he had helped her when she’d asked. Not to mention that she did not like the thought of him being sent to prison.

      Only now she needed to go home. She rubbed her cold hands together and looked at the horse and then at Ranald. ‘Let me go. I’ll return the horse in the morning.’

      ‘Ye’ll stay put,’ the burly man said. ‘The Laird said so.’

      ‘The Laird is an idiot.’

      ‘Take one step and I’ll tie you up again.’ The tone of voice made it clear he meant it. She huffed out a breath. Men. They always wanted to rule the roost.

      The minutes lengthened. She watched Ranald, waiting for him to lose interest, to give her a chance to slip away. At any moment the Revenue men could be upon them, or, worse yet, Dunstan and his militia.

      That really would be her undoing.

      The sound of booted feet on rocks brought her head around. Men. Coming up from the shore at a run, leading a couple of ponies with muffled hooves and ladderlike carriers on their backs. Empty carriers. They guided the beasts to the path along the cliff top towards the village. What on earth were they doing?

      Another pony emerged from the gully. This one was laden with tuns and turned away from the village and disappeared into the dark. Blast the man. He had taken absolutely no notice of her warning and was continuing as if nothing was wrong. She was a fool to have thought she could help.

      A shout rang out on the headland in the direction the first two ponies had gone. A flash. A loud bang. Clearly a shot. Then more flashes and bangs, getting closer.

      They were shooting at the men he’d sent along the headland. Someone was going to get killed. Was Ian mad?

      The train of loaded ponies continued on, one after another, while she bit her knuckles to stop from giving voice to her fears. The men leading the ponies passed by at a run, heads down and faces covered with mufflers. Then there were no more. Like ghosts, they had disappeared.

      Where was Ian? She peered into the gloom, moving closer to the rocky path.

      Shouts came from farther along the cliffs. The sound of men fighting hand to hand. Ranald muttered a curse, clearly impatient to be gone. Could Ian have somehow slipped past her to join in the fray now that the smugglers had departed with their booty?

      Another figure emerged from the path up from the beach, cursing and swearing as he pulled on the leading rein of a resisting animal. It squealed indignantly. Its handler threw an arm over its nose to muffle the sound. The ass snorted a protest.

      Selina understood just how it felt.

      Then the damn thing surged forwards as if terrified. The man holding it cursed again. A flash of white at the animal’s heels told Selina all she needed to know. ‘Gilly,’ she whispered.

      The handler halted the ass and stared at her. ‘Lady Selina?’

      ‘Logan Gilvry. Another idiot. Where is Ian?’

      He shook his head. ‘He’ll be up shortly. He’s helping