Rogue with a Brogue by Suzanne Enoch

me a letter since I left the Highlands. I was merely stating the fact that he was tall.”
    She paused at the mantel to run her finger along the spine of a porcelain dog there. Arran didn’t know where it had come from—but then Ranulf had purchased the house fully furnished so he wouldn’t have to go to the trouble of searching out English knickknacks. Personally Arran would rather have looked at bare walls and empty shelves, but then he wasn’t trying to become a Sasannach.
    â€œYe see my point, though,” he continued. “Jane’s been chasing me like I’m the last rabbit in winter. She’s too young, too agreeable, and too naïve. And I think ye know we’d both be miserable together, even if Ranulf hadnae decided we need the Stewarts aboot to keep his Charlotte safe.”
    She sighed. “Yes, I suppose so. It still would have been fun.”
    â€œNae fer me. Or fer her, after she realized I’m nae as nice as she thinks.” As he spoke, it was another young lady’s face who entered his thoughts, and it wasn’t that of his nearly betrothed. He barely knew Mary. And if a MacLawry ever married a Campbell, the earth would crack open and swallow the Highlands. That was the legend, anyway.
    He shook himself out of the ridiculous daydream. Of course his mind went to making a match with Mary, because it was so absurd. Nothing meant for rational thought, anyway, and far outside the future being laid out for him. “Ye said ‘firstly.’ Was there someaught else, then?”
    â€œYou and Ran are arguing. I don’t like that, so stop it—whatever it is.”
    â€œIt’s nae that simple, piuthar . Ye can pretend nae to be Scottish, but I cannae. I dunnae want to be a Sasannach. And Ranulf … Since when do we consider Sasannach opinions before we do someaught? Since when do we make alliances with clans we’ve had nae to do with for three hundred years just because now they bolster our numbers in Mayfair?”
    â€œTimes are changing, Arr—”
    â€œAye, they are,” he interrupted, warming to the argument. “Because Ranulf and ye are changing them! The only difference between now and six weeks ago is that ye left Glengask, Winnie, and he followed ye.”
    His younger sister stared at him. Then, putting her hands on her hips, she stalked up to him. “So you’d rather we were still all alone in the Highlands without any allies but those who owe us loyalty because their great-great-great-grandfathers bent a knee to ours? Ye’d rather we didnae have any friends or allies outside the village of An Soadh? Perhaps Maggie at the bakery there could show Ran how to manage English politics.”
    â€œWinnie, ye—”
    â€œPerhaps ye’d rather have had Lord Berling shoot ye last week when he aimed his pistol at your head, but I’m glad Ran could arrange a truce. Times are changing, Arran. And because Ran’s in London and nae far away in the mountains, he can see to it that we profit rather than perish. Here and back home.”
    She stood there, breathing hard and glaring at him, tears rising in her pretty, dark gray eyes. “Ye’ve made yer point,” he snapped. Being lectured to by a lass nine years his junior wasn’t something he’d ever tolerated before. Some things were definitely changing, then.
    But other things weren’t changing. Ranulf could dine with English fops, but he wasn’t permitted even to dance with a Campbell lass. Not even when their meeting had been completely by accident. And he couldn’t explain any of that to Winnie.
    Unless he could. For a long moment he gazed back at her. “What if I told ye someaught?” he went on in a calmer voice. “Could I trust ye with it?”
    â€œOf course you can. You’re my brother.” She must have said her piece and done, because her brogue had disappeared again. A damned shame, that.
    She