Page 6 of A Stroke of Luck (Intrepid Heroines #4)

Three

T he young lady was right. Her problems were not any of his concern, Prestwick assured himself.

And she was wrong. It was hardly his fault that some submerged hunk of rock had sabotaged her plans.

Still, he could not help feeling a tad guilty for having contributed, however unwittingly, to the burden upon those slim shoulders.

He tried to imagine Lady Catherine—or any young lady of his acquaintance—left on her own in a foreign land, with two younger siblings to look after and naught but her own pluck and resourcefulness to fall back on.

To no avail, save for grim images of shattering vinaigrettes and fainting females. The confounded chit may be as abrasive as a pebble between his toes, but he couldn’t help feeling a grudging admiration for the flintiness of her courage.

Not to speak of a debt of thanks for saving his life.

And the lads themselves appeared to have redoubtable spirit, despite their tender years.

They had faced the uncertainties of the raging storm without a whine or whimper, and had shown a gritty self-reliance that would have put many a grown man to shame.

That their tongues were impertinent and their manners disrespectful was irritating in the extreme, yet he had to admit that the fierce loyalty and obvious affection the siblings had shown for each other was impossible to find fault with.

Ignoring the sting of his blisters, he picked up his pace a bit, so as not to fall too far behind the others.

Stump had lingered at the crest of the high dune and now fell in step beside him. “Good news. We have spotted a number of sheep up ahead. It is a sure sign that someone is living close by.”

“Good news, indeed,” growled the duke. “Even better news would be the sighting of a leg of mutton, garnished with roast carrots, baby peas and mint sauce.”

“Should have sampled the rabbit. It rivaled any of the specialties that your fancy Frog chef whips up.”

“ Hmmph! I suppose you, too, are going to roast me for being a pampered prig.”

“I’ve already done that,” replied the valet dryly. “But perhaps it bears repeating.” The snort from his employer caused the corners of his mouth to turn upward. “Come, this ain’t so bad, is it. Fresh air, a brisk walk, stimulating company?—”

“Another damn platitude from your lips and I swear, I shall throttle you on the spot,” muttered the duke.

A bark of laughter slipped from his valet’s lips instead.

“I’m pleased to see your sense of humor ain’t quite so waterlogged as before.

” Seeing his gentle teasing had coaxed a loosening of his employer’s rigid features, he added, “Wouldn’t want Miss Greeley and her siblings to think you naught but a peevish, pompous peer. ”

The duke’s jaw quickly tightened. “I don’t give a fig what the impertinent Greeley clan thinks.”

“Well then, go ahead and keep snapping and growling like a bear with a thorn stuck in his paw.”

Prestwick marched on in injured silence. Heaving a sigh, Stump followed with a heavy step. They continued on for a bit.

“I just might keep snapping,” grumbled Prestwick. “Seeing as I am a duke with a cursed stone lodged in his toe.”

“Perhaps you need a new bootmaker.”

“No, what I need is my high perch phaeton and team of matched bays.”

Stump’s good-humored grin had returned. “Aw, as young Master Perry said, this is an adventure. You don’t mean to say you are anxious for it to come to an end so soon?”

“It may be a moot point, as my demise from starvation may occur at any moment.”

As they crested yet another tufted mound of sand, their bantering was interrupted by the sight of the young lady and her brothers waving wildly at a lone cart wending its way along a narrow path between the dunes.

The commotion must have caught the attention of the driver, for the shaggy pony drew to a halt.

Slipping and sliding through the loose sand, the Greeleys hurried toward the waiting conveyance.

Urged on by the prospect of food and a ride, the duke broke into a shambling run as well. He reached the cart just as the bearded figure perched on the rough plank seat responded to Zara’s question of where in the world they were.

“Eyeaaah”

At least that was what the burred roll of vowels sounded like to Prestwick’s ears.

The answer must have been equally incomprehensible to the young lady, for she cleared her throat and asked him to repeat it.

“Eyeaaah.”

She exchanged puzzled looks with Nonny and Perry, then turned to the duke and his valet. “Have you any idea what he is saying?”

“Eyeaaah,” said Prestwick dryly.

“Very funny.” She did not appear overly amused.

“Well, you did say one was supposed to maintain a sense of humor about these things.”

“ Hmmph! ” was her only response. And yet, as she shot a warning look at the boys to leave off their giggling, he thought he detected a faint twinkle in her eyes. For some odd reason, he found himself feeling rather pleased he had made her expression lighten, if only for an instant.

Her attention was now focused back on the driver. “Forgive me, sir, but I seem to be having a spot of trouble in understanding what you are saying.”

After a tug at his grimy tweed cap, the fellow removed the briarwood pipe from his mouth and tried again.

The results were marginally better—the duke was able to make out two distinct syllables and a hint of a consonant. “Eye-la?” he repeated, looking to the driver for confirmation.

A dip of the beard seemed to signal his guess was correct. “Cannae unnerstand why yuh Sassinach hae so much trebble unnerstanning thay own King’s Englesh.”

“Islay?” Zara’s face fell. “Why, that is an island off the coast of Scotland!”

The fellow nodded again.

She went a bit pale. “Lud, I hadn’t realized that the storm had blown us so far to the north.” Then, forcing her chin up a notch, she drew in a deep breath. “Tell me sir, there must be at least a few people from here who sail regularly to the mainland?”

“Auch, aye.” The black and white dog by his side added a sharp bark. “Including mesself.

“How fortuitous! Would you, perchance, be willing to take us along?”

“Auch, aye.” He relit his pipe, then named a price.

Prestwick needed no translation. Nor, apparently, did Miss Greeley. After a choking sputter, she placed her hands on her hips. “That is outrageous, sir! I would rather swim to Glasgow than be taken for such a ride.”

“Speak for yourself.” The duke was also of the opinion that the deuced fellow was more mercenary than a Barbary pirate, but he didn’t care. “The lady may do as she pleases, but my man and I will pay double if you can depart within the hour.”

“Well, if that isn’t outside of enough!” The glint in her eyes was no longer remotely resembling a twinkle. “It appears that not only are you an insufferable boor but a skinflint to boot! After wrecking my boat, the least you can do is offer to pay for our fare, too.”

“You didn’t ask,” he replied with a deliberately supercilious smile. He intended, of course, to do just that, but for a few moments he wished to see her squirm a bit in payment for the small humiliations he had endured since being tossed into contact with the Greeley clan.

“Don’t worry,” he added. “You need not swim all the way to Glasgow. From what I recall of my schoolboy geography, it is only about fifteen miles across to Kilberry.” As he spoke, his hand was already reaching into his coat for his purse.

And came up empty.

A frantic search of the rest of his pockets proved equally fruitless. “Hell and damnation!”

“Must have washed away with the waves,” murmured Stump.

Muttering another oath under his breath, Prestwick made one last check before looking back to his valet. “You must have some pin money tucked away.”

“Not a penny, sir.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Prestwick saw that the young lady’s expression was beginning to change from open-mouthed outrage to a rather evil smile.

He thought for a moment, then smiled back at her.

“No matter,” he announced with an airy wave.

“As soon as we are ashore on the mainland, I shall send word to my banker to forward the funds to you.”

“Thee banker?” The driver ran his flinty gaze from the shriveled soles of Prestwick’s boots to the matted tangle of salt-stiffened hair, taking in the briny breeches, torn shirt, misshapen coat and unshaven cheeks.

The bark of laughter that followed caused the pipe to fall into his lap.

“Duyya think we Scots hae no more brains than yonder sheep?”

The wiry little collie bared its teeth and snapped.

“Supposin’ I have my banker go an chat with thae banker,” he continued with undisguised sarcasm. “And who shall he say sent ‘im? The bloody Prince ‘o Wales?

“The Duke of Prestwick,” replied Prestwick with as much dignity as he could muster. Considering the fact that he was under the scrutiny of at least four hostile sets of eyes, it was no easy feat.

“Auch, a bloody duke is it?” The man’s eyes narrowed so that they nearly disappeared in the leathery lines of his face. After lingering a moment longer on Prestwick’s less than ducal appearance, they shifted to Zara. “And I suppose you’ll be telling me that you’re his Duchess?”

An expression of horror spasmed across her face.

“Good Heavens, no! I never met the man before last night, when my brothers and I found him and his companion bobbing like corks in the sea.” Tucking a lock of her wheaten hair behind her ear, she essayed a wan smile.

“I am just a plain country miss who is trying to shepherd my brothers to the safety of our home in England. However, our boat was blown off course by the storm and we foundered on the rocks.”

The Scot’s face softened, but only for an instant, as he tugged at his beard. “Well, mebbe we can do a bit ‘o bartering on a fare, lassie.” The crook of a gnarled finger beckoned her to step closer.

“But Stump,” protested Prestwick, “Tell him that I really am?—”