Highland Heiress - By Margaret Moore Page 0,23

Mr. Gordon McHeath—two people she wanted to meet even less than Big Jack MacKracken and Sarah Taggart.

Trying to look as if she were doing nothing out of the ordinary, she darted into the narrow lane between the baker’s and the bookshop before Robbie and McHeath walked past.

Although her instinct told her to avoid them both, she couldn’t resist looking at McHeath as he passed.

This morning he didn’t look at all like a solicitor. He wore a comfortable-looking wool jacket and trousers, with a plain vest and loosely knotted cravat, his tall hat shoved back on his head, revealing his thick waving hair. Dressed thus, it was far easier to see him as the man who had come to her aid instead of the solicitor representing the man for whom she’d lost all respect and whom she could never love.

However, he was that solicitor, and it occurred to her that if they were going to offer to settle, it might be best to start negotiations as soon as possible, without her father.

Even if that meant risking being alone with Mr. McHeath.

Seeing the way the villagers of Dunbrachie reacted to Robbie’s presence, Gordon could understand the origin of his friend’s arrogance. People smiled and nodded and tugged their forelock as he passed. Men moved out of his way as if he were a conquering hero, and women of all ages blushed if he so much as glanced their way. Small children stared in openmouthed awe and older boys with envy. Older girls giggled and looked modestly at their feet. Even the dogs seemed to regard him with deference—and Gordon duly noted that none of the dogs were huge and black.

Robbie seemed to accept the attention of the crowd as his due, reacting with the same sort of noblesse oblige he’d displayed toward Gordon when they were boys at school. Then Gordon had felt as if he’d been the chosen of the gods, and he hadn’t experienced anything quite so thrilling since.

Except once, when Lady Moira had kissed him.

He had to stop thinking about that, just as he ought to stop looking for her here. After all, why would she come to a village market? Merchants and tradesmen would be only too delighted to bring anything she might need or want to purchase to her father’s manor house.

“Oh, God, go left. To your left!” Robbie muttered under his breath, shoving Gordon in that direction with his elbow as they neared a wagon decorated like it was part of a May Day celebration imagined by a madman.

“Why? What’s wrong?” Gordon asked in a whisper, although he could think of only one possibility, and it was one that made his heart race, although he shouldn’t be excited by the possibility of another confrontation with Lady Moira.

Especially when he was with Robbie.

A swift glance over his shoulder brought a disappointment equal to his previous enthusiasm, for instead of Lady Moira, three young women dressed in what was probably the height of fashion in Dunbrachie were bustling toward them. The young woman in the lead was tall, bright-eyed and auburn haired, and possessed a wide smile that revealed slightly crooked teeth. Her pelisse was light blue, and her bonnet was decorated with flowers and ribbon to match. Trailing her like faithful handmaidens were a shorter, blonde, slightly plump young woman in a pelisse with frog closings and a smaller bonnet, as well as another dark-haired companion, who was dressed in a green gown, dark green Spencer jacket and a very wide-brimmed, overembellished hat.

Wondering how he and Robbie could escape, for that seemed the best thing to do, he turned toward his friend.

Who was no longer beside him.

Halting in confusion, Gordon spotted Robbie disappearing through the door of the tavern. He hadn’t gone left; he’d made a sharp right turn, obviously deciding to abandon his friend to his fate, or at least the three young women.

“I beg your pardon for being so bold,” the tall, auburn-haired young woman said as she stopped and curtsied, “but you are Mr. McHeath, aren’t you? Sir Robert’s friend from Edinburgh? I would ask him for an introduction, but he’s not here and my friends and I—this is Miss Mabel Hornby and Miss Emmeline Swanson—have been most anxious to make your acquaintance. I hope you don’t mind.”

Trapped, Gordon nevertheless bowed and answered politely. “Yes, I’m Gordon McHeath, from Edinburgh. I’m delighted to make your acquaintance.”

The Misses Hornby and Swanson giggled, while the spokeswoman went happily on. “I’m Sarah Taggart— Miss Sarah Taggart. We