Much,muchmore.
A pretty redheaded lady released a piercing shriek. “Oh, my goodness!Campbell.”
Her heart clenching, Lucy stepped back—and kept retreating, each step fueled by rising panic.
In fact, she would have turned and executed a full-on sprint through the lightly snow-covered lanes to flee the McQuoid-Smith clans entirely.
The only thing keeping her rooted was that her adopted family would never keep pace. Uncle Tasgall and Aunt Nettie—both perched stiffly at the front of the cart—looked as overwhelmed as she felt. And she’d certainly never abandon them.
The same, apparently, held true for the McQuoid-Smiths.
The family—large enough to have defeated an English army centuries earlier by sheer number alone—swarmed the cart.
Delicate fingers wrapped around Lucy’s forearm.
Overwhelmed, she looked to the red-haired young woman heavy with child, her eyes swimming with tears. “…Is he alive?”
“…I…aye…” Lucy stammered.
Though it was doubtful the distraught lady heard anything beyond her own wailing.
Unnerved, Lucy looked to the rest of Mr. Smith’s family. “His pulse is strong,” Lucy offered, hoping to provide them with some comfort.
“The lass saved the lad, she did!” Aunt Nettie crowed from her perch.
The older gentleman’s white eyebrows as bushy as his side-whiskers shot up. “You saved the lad?”
The crowd converged. Even outside like they were, Lucy began to suffocate. “I did not!” she protested.
More like her establishment had nearlykilledhim.
She shot Nettie a look. “What she meant to say—”
“Nettie always says exactly what she means,” Uncle Tasgall cut in. “Lucy threw herself under the lad and took the full weight of him, or his head would’ve split open on the cobbles.”
Miss Smith and Miss McQuoid linked arms and sighed. “She did save him!”
Lucy pressed her eyes shut. “I…you are all mistaken…about…”All of it.
No one was listening.
Desperate, Lucy looked around for help.
Another woman grabbed her free arm.
“…We are so grateful to you!”
Younger by a year or two, also clearly with child, this lovely, dark-haired lady possessed a calmer presence. “How did you come by him?” she asked gently, almost curiously. Not accusing.
“I…” Lucy tried to answer, but new questions came faster than breaths.
“Do you know him well?”
Lucy whipped her head in search of the latest speaker—a small young woman with the biggest dark brown ringlets. “…I—” Only the small pieces he’d let slip over the years.
“She knows Campbell, why don’t we know her?” another lady demanded, sounding wounded. “How dare he keep the lady a secret from us?”
They didn’t know her because she was a common innkeeper. People of their station didn’t recall people like Lucy.
