Hit Me With Your Best Scot (Wild Wicked Highlanders #3) - Suzanne Enoch Page 0,106
hair color, but at least this way it looked a proper, gentlemanly style. “How’s this?”
He turned around, and Coll spent a long moment perusing his attire. “Aye. As long as ye’re nae face-to-face with anyone. Ye dunnae look like a poet with consumption.”
“Thank ye for that, anyway.”
His oldest brother continued gazing at him. “Ye certain about this? I reckon ye could find a lass who’s a lot less trouble.”
“Aye. Mayhap I could. But she’s my adae, and I’ll nae be without her.”
Heavy bootsteps pounded up the stairs outside the bedchamber, and Aden shoved open the door. “We’re ready,” he said, out of breath. “Saint Andrew, Niall, ye almost look like a proper Sassenach.”
“Nae need to insult me.” His heart began a hard, steady rhythm. A great many things could go wrong from this point forward. “And thank ye for this.”
Coll clapped him on the shoulder. “Thank us when ye’ve finished.”
Neither of his brothers had hesitated when he’d outlined his plan. Half of it was likely because of the mayhem it could cause, but the other half—and perhaps a bit more—was simply because they were brothers. The MacTaggerts. They always stood together.
Outside Gavin waited on horseback, the reins for the other three mounts in his hands. Not quite certain he could manage to climb into the saddle without splitting his trousers, Niall took his time swinging a leg over Kelpie’s back and settling in. Only then did he take a closer look at the groom. “That’s nae what ye’re to be wearing, Gavin,” he said, frowning.
“I asked Farthing, and he said ye gave me the wrong colors. I reckon I’ll get some fresh ones in a wee bit.”
“Ye brought a Sassenach into this?” Coll queried, his brow lowering.
“Well, they dunnae say ‘deas’ or ‘clì’ when they turn a team, and I knew it wasnae ‘starboard’ or ‘port.’ I deemed I should be authentic, aye?”
“So, what is it?” Aden asked.
The groom reddened. “‘Gee’ and ‘haw.’”
Niall snorted. “That sounds familiar.”
“How was I to know that, Master Niall? I’m telling ye, this London is nae a place for sane men.”
They set off south at a trot. “I appreciate ye making certain, Gavin,” Niall said over his shoulder.
As they reached Curzon Street, they headed right, then after a block or so turned down a short side street behind a wagon piled with what looked like old furniture. Gavin hopped to the ground, tossing his reins to Aden. “I’ll take a look, shall I? It’s bonny I’m nae dressed like a harlequin, I reckon.”
“Dunnae miss him, Gavin, or ye’re walking back to Scotland,” Niall warned him.
The groom looked offended. “I wouldnae do such a thing to ye, or stab my eyes with a needle.”
Patience, Niall reminded himself. The others had consequences to worry over as well, and none of the benefits he was looking to reap. “I apologize, Gavin. Off with ye.”
“There are easier ways to do this, ye ken,” Coll commented, edging forward with Nuckelavee just enough so he could see around the corner.
“A straight-up brawl, aye. That willnae gain me what I want, unless ye mean we should murder a man.” Niall flexed his hand around the reins. “And me killing a Sassenach lord isnae likely to aid me in finding domestic bliss.”
Aden snorted. “‘Domestic bliss.’ I reckon I’ll be after one of those empty-headed lasses, after all. I’ve a dozen lasses in the Highlands who dunnae expect me to sit in the parlor while they embroider.”
“And I hope ye find one who makes ye want to give up yer gambling just so ye can sit at home and watch her embroider,” Niall returned.
“The hell ye say.”
“Gavin’s waving at me,” Coll announced.
Niall blew out his breath. Once they left this alleyway, there was no turning back. Amelia-Rose was worth this. But he still didn’t know the other side of the equation—if she would think he was worth this. “Let’s go,” he ordered, kicking Kelpie in the ribs.
Gavin stood in the middle of the street, gesturing like a madman. Aden tossed the reins of the gray gelding back to him, and the groom swung into the saddle like a man who’d been born to it. “They turned north,” he said. “Came out of the carriage drive like he was late for his own wedding.” He sent a glance at Niall. “Apologies, Master Niall.”
“Nae need.”
Three blocks up they caught sight of the coach, a big black monstrosity with the red-and-blue coat of arms of the Marquis of Hurst. “Aye?” Aden asked, gazing at Niall.