His Rebellious Lass (Scottish Hearts 1)

Because he had no idea what the situation was with Davenport and whether he had some sort of a hold over Bridget besides the drug, he slowly approached the inn.

As he entered, Davenport stood in the center of the common room, raising a glass of whisky, his arm around Bridget’s waist, her head resting on his shoulder. Even with her back to him, he could see she was not in good shape.

“Here’s to me and my betrothed, Lady Bridget MacDuff. We are on our way to Gretna Green to be married.” He downed the liquor in the glass to the cheers of men in the common room. The door to the private dining room opened as a serving girl exited, carrying dirty dishes. Lord Ambrose and his wife, Lady Ambrose, one of the worst gossipers in London, who were seated at the table in the room, along with their daughters, Lady Sarah and Lady Jane, looked out the door at Lord Davenport.

Lord Ambrose raised his quizzing glass as his wife smirked at her daughters.

…

Bridget lolled against Davenport’s chest, trying very hard to hold her head up, but it was impossible. Although she doubted he would kill her, because then he would no longer be able to marry her and steal her money, she’d complied, as he’d looked absolutely deranged and she feared a beating.

Now she looked as though she was cuddling up to him when she could barely move her eyes, let alone pick up her head. Suddenly, she was yanked away from Davenport and thrust against a warm, hard chest. Oh, Lord, not again. Was this the same man who had initially grabbed her? She tried to look up, but her head wouldn’t cooperate.

“Davenport, slowly lower your glass.”

Cam?

The low, rumbling voice was indeed Cam’s. She recognized his feel, his touch, his familiar smell. She slumped against him in relief. His arm tightened around her waist to hold her up. “Hold on, sweeting, we’ll get you out of this.”

She nodded. Or thought she nodded, not sure if she moved her head or not.

Davenport smirked. “Too late, Campbell. You can’t save her now. I just announced to the room that we are headed to Gretna Green. She is ruined. The only way to save her reputation and yours as her guardian is to allow us to marry.”

With one arm still wrapped snugly around her, Cam hauled his other back and threw a punch at Davenport’s face. She winced at the sound of bone crunching and a body hitting the floor. Since Cam still held her, it must have been Davenport who went down. If only she could stand upright.

“Here, then, what’s going on out here?” A voice she didn’t recognize bellowed from across the room. Possibly the innkeeper, as they generally did not like brawls in their places of business.

“I want this man taken to a room and locked up. He has kidnapped this woman and needs to be dealt with by the magistrate.” Cam shifted so he had a better hold on Bridget.

“Lord Campbell, if I may?” Another strange voice.

“Yes, Ambrose.”

“May I have my wife take Lady Bridget upstairs to a room? She appears to be quite drunk.”

“She is not drunk!” Cam’s bellow brought her head up. She turned in his arms, her head resting on his chest, to face an older couple with two young ladies behind them. She knew the man and woman but could not place them with a name.

Ambrose? That had been the name Cam mentioned.

One thing was certain. She was in deep trouble.

“Come, my dear.” The woman took her from Cam and addressed the innkeeper. “We need a room, please.”

With the older woman on one side and one of the young ladies on the other, they made their way up the stairs, being led by another woman, most likely the innkeeper’s wife. “Here you go, dear. Just lie down on the bed there.”

Bridget wanted to thank her, but her mouth wouldn’t work.

“You may take your daughter downstairs. I will attend to the lady.” Again that warm, friendly voice, which must have been the innkeeper’s wife.

Bridget was handed off from Lady Ambrose, who had continued to sniff disapproval, to the friendly woman who led her to a bed. She collapsed facedown and passed out.

…

Cam watched Bridget being led up the stairs by the innkeeper’s wife, along with Lady Ambrose and one of her daughters. The entire roomful of diners and drinkers had turned their attention to the performance of the upper class, no doubt happy to know money and titles didn’t protect one from trouble.

This was a mess.

He reached down and pulled Davenport to his feet by his jacket lapels then turned to the innkeeper. “I repeat. I want this man locked up. As soon as he is secure, I intend to notify the local magistrate. If it is too late now to summon him, please do so first thing in the morning.”