Page 132 of What a Highlander’s Got to Do

“Be careful.”

“We’re being careful.”

Declan and Robert, even more put out that they were not helping, continued to pout. “What shall we do?” the former asked.

“There’s a highwayman over there.” Isobel pointed to where he was still wheezing on the ground. “He’ll need to be firmly trussed. And Mr. Breedlebum, in the coach.”

“Mr. Breedlebum?” Declan asked.

“Oh, please doona truss him. He was the other passenger. I doona know if he is alive.”

“We’ll check, Isobel. Don’t worry. Why don’t you go sit and wait?”

Sit and wait?

She didn’t. She couldn’t. She would not leave Nick’s side. She followed him to the coach and took the prime seat beside him and held his hand, even though he didn’t respond. Mama came to sit across from her and she set her hand on Isobel’s knee and murmured silly things like, He’ll be fine and Doona worry.

As all the men set about cleaning up the mess, including helping a dazed Mr. Breedlebum from the coach and collecting the two highwaymen—including the one Isobel had beaned with a rock—she stayed by Nick’s side.

It seemed to take forever for everything to be finished, but finally the men piled into the other coach and the cavalcade turned around and headed for the inn they’d passed several miles back.

Isobel passed the time in a fog, alternately kissing Nick’s face and covering it with tears. Mama tried to comfort her, but the fact was, Susana Dounreay Lochlannach had never been much of a comforter. Isobel wished her father were riding in this coach. He had always been able to soothe her.

Aye. A girl needed her father. And a boy did, too.

And now they—if they indeed existed at all—might lose their father before they were even born. What a tragedy that would be.

Which started the flow of tears again.

Which made Mama even more uncomfortable, because she was powerless to stop them.

“Darling, please,” she said in a tone that was almost peevish. “You have to be strong. You’re no good to him if you make yourself sick.”

Isobel paused in her weeping to glower. “I’m no’ making myself sick.”

“You will if you continue this caterwauling.”

“The man I love has been shot,” she snapped.

Mama blinked. “You do love him then?”

Tears welled. Isobel’s throat closed. Still, she managed to say, “Of course I do. I lo-lo-love him with all my he-he-heart.”

“Then why, darling? Why did you leave like this?”

Why? “Because I’m a fool. I thought I could escape it, but I canna.”

Mama frowned. “Escape what, for heaven’s sake? What is there to escape? The man is a prince among men. And a viscount to boot.”

“I kn-kn-know.”

“What . . .” A deep, reedy voice mingled with her sobs, and Isobel stilled. She looked down at Nick’s face and her heart swelled when their gazes clashed. Oh, lud. She’d thought she might never see his eyes open again. And lovely. They were lovely.

“Nick, my love.” She covered his face with more kisses and tears, but these tears were a trifle happier.

He took her hand and squeezed it. Hard. She frowned at him.

“What?” he asked again.