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“I’ve arranged to have four men inconspicuously follow the coach. I’ve also hired an unmarked conveyance but have assigned two of my best men to drive.” His gaze gravitated to Bethea’s pale face, and he offered an encouraging smile. “Just a precaution, lass. I doubt the earl is still in Scotland.”

To her credit, she notched her chin up and straightened her spine. “As long as Camden is with me, I’m no’ worried.”

The trust she put in him humbled and scared the hell out of him.

Casting a glance to the window, he took in a sky gray from coal smoke and rain clouds before examining the mantle clock. He wiped his mouth, then rose. “We’d best be off.”

“Wait. Please.” Branwen limped into the room with the aid of her cane. “I want to say farewell.” Her gait uneven, she thumped toward her sister, but Bethea rushed to meet her.

“Can ye see this posted for me?” Camden pulled the letter from his coat pocket and extended it to Keane. “Read it first. There’s information included ye should be aware of.”

That brought Keane’s eyebrows crashing together. Nevertheless, he accepted the folded paper and firmed his mouth in assent.

Branwen glanced at Keane and then to Camden. “I wish we didna have to remain in Edinburgh.”

“Ye canna travel with yer injured feet, darlin’.” Bethea drew her intrigued regard from the letter and smiled at her sister. “We’ll be together soon. A month will fly by. Ye’ll see.” She kissed Branwen’s cheek and hugged her.

Both Keane and Marjorie also kissed Bethea. After embracing her, Marjorie tucked her hand into the bend of Keane’s arm and gave a subtle squeeze.

He was truly beside himself with concern. For a man who’d had the guardianship of two girls thrust upon him when he’d barely been a man, himself, he’d risen to the occasion admirably. The affection between the Glanville sisters and their guardian was obvious.

They were a family.

Camden clasped Keane’s hand. “I’ll keep her safe, Cousin.”

“I ken ye will.”

Ten minutes later, Camden and Bethea left Edinburgh behind, and rumbled toward a future he’d never anticipated.

Bethea was silent and although she didn’t seem fretful, he sensed she wasn’t at ease, either.

“Are ye all right, Bethea?”

She turned from staring out the window and curved her pretty mouth. “Aye. I’m tryin’ to figure out who would’ve alerted Montieth. Do ye think it was one of the mercenaries?”

“I’d bet on it,” he said.

Likely Anderson. What Camden didn’t know for certain was if Sir Walter was somehow involved. His gut told him he was.

Bethea returned her attention to the passing scenery, shadows starting to elongate the trees. “How far will we travel?”

“I’d like to put as many miles between Edinburgh and us as possible.”

“Mmm.” She made a soft sound that was impossible to interpret.

To lighten the mood, he cocked his head. “What shall we call ourselves when we arrive at the inn?”

She faced him again, her eyes bright. “I’ve always liked the name Moria.”

“And I’ll be… Hamish?”

“That’s too predictable.” She wrinkled her adorable nose. “Isna there a name ye’ve always liked that’s a little unusual?”

“One of my middle names is Tavin.”

“Tavin.” She tried it on her tongue. “I like it.” Grinning, Bethea nodded. She’d lowered her hood hours ago, and the loose curls at her temple pirouetted with the motion. “So we are Moria and Tavin, what?”

He put a finger to his chin in mock concentration. “Somethin’ common, I think. Smith? Brown? Johnson? Thomson?”