The Devil Wears Kilts Read Online Free PDF Page B

is.”
    “As ye say, m’laird.”
    After he scrawled out the note and sent Peter off to deliver it, Ranulf made his way back to the bedchamber he’d chosen for himself. It looked over the street on the north, and the stable yard on the east, and gave him a good view over a fair part of the lane. He’d left for London with almost no luggage and no wardrobe at all fit for so-called proper Society. At least the bed looked more comfortable than the one at the inn where he and the lads and the hounds had spent the night.
    He’d worn buckskin trousers, riding boots, and an old coat to call on Hanover House. He supposed he could do the same today, and then find a tailor’s shop to see him in something better suited to Mayfair. While he didn’t give a damn about what the English thought of him or his attire, Rowena would. Embarrassing her would not be the way to convince her that Scotland and Glengask held more promise for her than did London. A damp nose pushed at his hand, and he absently scratched Fergus behind his rough gray ears. “What in God’s name are we doing here, boy?” he murmured, answered only by a tail wag.
    Owen rapped at his door and leaned in. “Shall I valet ye then, m’laird?”
    “I can put on my own boots, but thank ye, Owen. And valet isnae someaught ye do; it’s what ye are. See that Debny saddles Stirling, will ye?”
    “A ’course.”
    When he arrived back downstairs ten minutes later, the dogs on his heels, the silence of the place finally struck him. Back home the grand house was occupied not only by his siblings and himself, but by myriad servants, friends, and on numerous occasions, various clan subchiefs and their families, in addition to the pair of pipers who sounded off every morning and evening from the rooftop. If it was anything, it wasn’t quiet or solitary. This was, and while at the moment it felt peaceful, he was fairly certain that wouldn’t last. Trouble had a way of finding the MacLawrys.
    Touching a hand to the pistol in his left coat pocket, he opened the front door himself, stepping to one side of the wide entry as he did so. No sense in making himself an easy target. Three horses waited in the drive, with Debny and Owen already mounted. “Are ye ready for this?” he asked, taking Stirling’s reins from the head groom and swinging up into the bay’s saddle.
    “I’d rather face all of Bonaparte’s army in naught but a kilt,” the footman answered, “but ye cannae go aboot London alone.”
    “One day in London and ’e’s already uppity,” Debny drawled. “Don’t ye worry, m’laird. We’ll see ye and Lady Rowena safe, or die in the tryin’.”
    Ranulf nodded, appreciating the sentiment. “Let’s be off, then. And keep that blunderbuss ’neath yer coat, Owen, or ye’ll panic the Sasannach.”
    The dogs padding behind them, they clattered down the street toward Hanover House. His rented home might be quiet, but compared to the Highlands, London seemed far too close and too crowded, and amazingly, chaotically loud. Practically elbow to elbow, the residents were, all of them talking at the top of their lungs to be heard over their fellows. He hadn’t noticed it so much last evening, but then he’d had only one concern—finding Rowena. Today the cacophony didn’t so much rattle his nerves as it ground his short patience into gravel.
    What the devil had he been thinking, to let Rowena have her way and remain here? She’d fled from home without even leaving a note, damn it all, and deserved nothing so much as a switch across her backside and a long ride home. In fact, this was ridiculous. He would see to it that she returned with him to the house he’d rented so he could keep an eye on her, and then they would head north on the morrow. She could hate him for a year if she chose, but at least she would be safe and where she belonged. And that did not make him a bully. It made him a responsible brother and head of his family.
    At Hanover House he tossed