“Aye.” A bitter smile twisted Arran’s mouth. “The Lord enjoys His little jokes.”
“Falling for Campbell’s sweetheart?”
Arran let his head thud against the stall door. Once. Twice. Again. “I did not—” Intend to. “And I know, Dallin. I bloody know.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “And I’ve not acted on—” Not entirely true.
Dallin’s face drained. “Oh my God. You didn’t.”
“Do you think I wanted this?” Arran rasped. “I barely know her, and yet—”
“I understand.”
The calmness in his brother’s voice cut its own wound.
Dallin scrubbed at his hair. “I fell in love with my wife in a single night.”
“Aye.” Arran exhaled heavily. “Difference being Alexandra wasn’t betrothed to our kin.”
“Well—yes.” Dallin attempted a smile. “That did make things easier.”
“There’s nothing easy in this,” Arran muttered. “Nothing but divine intervention will—”
A shout rang from the courtyard. “Hullo? Anyone here?”
Arran and Dallin exchanged a look and rose.
A lanky fellow stood spinning in a slow, bewildered turn, shock of red hair jutting from beneath his cap. “Only an English mon wouldnae hae a stable lad—hullo!”
Dallin approached. “Can I help you?”
“Joseph.” The man bowed. “Nettie and Tasgall sent me.”
“Nettie and Tasgall,” Dallin repeated.
Arran stiffened. “Lucy’s servants.”
“Aunt and Uncle,” Joseph corrected.
Shock punched Arran low. “I…” He’d assumed. Damn him. What must Lucy think?
He flinched inwardly. He’d been wounded thinking she believed him too highborn to see her—yet he’d mistaken her kin for servants.
Joseph beamed. “Hate to interrupt her fun, but the inn’s had a turn of luck. They need her to help tonight.”
“I…see.” Dallin’s look said he did not see at all.
Arran did.
A hard thud slammed his ribcage.
Lucy was expected to serve ale, stew, and whatever else to a roomful of men. Grabbing hands. Coarse jokes. The kind who saw a woman as part of the entertainment.
Rage flashed white-hot behind his eyes.
He’d gut any man who dared—
“Arran?” Dallin warned.
He inhaled slowly. Coldly. “I’ll send help to The Spotted Elk,” Arran said, voice a miracle of control. “Enough staff that Tasgall and Nettie won’t need to lift a finger tonight. Or ever again. Miss LeBeau, however, is—”
