The Lass Who Kissed a Frog Page 8

  “If I escort ye to York and help ye on whatever yer mission may be, all I’ll ask in return is a kiss. Ye’ve kissed one frog already,” he reminded her teasingly.

  The shock had faded from her eyes, replaced by an intriguing sort of speculation. She cocked her head to one side and studied him. “One might argue a train ticket and hotel room would be enough payment.”

  “Aye, one could argue that and be fine with it, but no’ me. I’m a champion arguer, and I’ll keep pushing until I get what I want.”

  “Which is a kiss.”

  He dipped his chin. “From ye, aye.”

  She was studying him, and to his surprise, Roland suddenly very much wanted her to approve. “And if I dinnae want to kiss ye? Ye are quite different from any man I’ve ever considered kissing before, ye ken.”

  I’ll wager I am, milady.

  He was poor and broken and—well, not dirty, not anymore, but this bush of a beard was fairly unkempt. Oh, and he was barbaric, with his knees sticking out for all the world to see. He was likely as far down on her list of possible kissing partners as—as that frog.

  But before he could try to persuade her further, she suddenly nodded once, firmly. “Ye have a bargain, Mister Froggie. If ye keep me safe from harm on the journey, and help me complete my mission, I’ll provide ye with a train ticket and lodging—”

  “And a kiss?”

  Her lips twitched as she thrust out her hand to shake on their bargain. “And a kiss, Froggie. If ye meet me at the train station tomorrow morning at eight, I’ll give ye a journey ye’ll never forget.”

  As Roland took her hand and felt the warmth from her touch, he suspected she was right.

  Chapter 6

  “Anything, Seonag? Were ye able to get the crystal ball working at all? Ye’ve been working on it since yesterday!”

  “Frazzmugglit too! Hab’n wizz f’r nae piddlins, eh?”

  “Was that a nay?”

  “It was a nay, Broca. Here’s yer tea.”

  “I dinnae want the tea. I wanted the leaves!”

  “Och, well, then ye’ll just have to drink the tea, will ye no’? Who kens what those two are getting up to without us watching over them!”

  “Grisel’s right, sisters. Drink up. But…in a suitably godmotherly fashion, please.”

  “What does that mean, Evangeline?”

  “Well…occultly, Willa. Drink occultly. Then pass your cups, without touching the leaves please, to Broca. Until Seonag fixes the crystal ball, Broca’s ability to read tea leaves might be poor Willa’s only hope.”

  “Oh sure, fine, but nae pressure, eh?”

  “Oh, there’s plenty of pressure, Broca. We’re all counting on you.”

  “Shite.”

  * * *

  I’m doing it!

  I’m really doing this?

  Vanessa had questioned herself four dozen times already this morning, and it wasn’t even eight yet. She’d been up for hours packing, sneaking food, and whispering with Bonnie. Now, her sister gave her one last, big hug.

  “I believe in ye, sister. Thank ye for doing this for me.”

  “Of course!” Vanessa squeezed her back. “Ye’ll have yer publishing company if this works.”

  “I’ve already written a letter to Mr. Grimm asking him to consider selling to me. So we’d better find a way to get the money.” Bonnie stepped back and glanced toward the door. “I am nervous about ye traveling all the way to York. It could be dangerous.”

  “I will be fine. I look verra different from normal, do I no’?”

  Vanessa brushed her palms down the front of her rough woolen skirt, then checked in the mirror once more to ensure the lumpy brown shawl they’d borrowed from Mrs. Oliphant made her look as shapeless as possible. Her oldest blouse, and one of the dirty caps Mother used to make Ember wear to hide her hair, completed the disguise. She and Bonnie had even rubbed a little ash along her jawline and cheekbones, and even under her eyes, to make her look gaunter.

  “Aye, ye do,” chuckled her sister from where she peeked out into the corridor. “But appearances arenae everything, remember. Did ye find a companion?”

  Vanessa hesitated, knowing her sister wouldn’t approve of her choice. She wasn’t even certain she approved of her choice. “I did. We will meet at the station.”

  Bonnie was distracted and didn’t ask who would be traveling with her, thank goodness. “Good. Everything looks clear out here. And in here…”

  They both glanced toward the bed where a combination of pillows and a counterpane had been arranged to look like Vanessa was still sleeping under the blanket.

  “Do ye think she’ll fall for it?” Vanessa whispered.

  Bonnie knew exactly which she mattered. “Ye ken Mother is content to allow us to recover in peace. I’ll just tell her yer cramps are particularly bad this month, and ye dinnae want to be bothered by noise or light or pampering. Just let ye die in peace, oh the pain, et cetera, et cetera.”

  “Thank goodness for menses, eh?” Vanessa asked drily.

  “Every two years or so they become useful as an excuse, but that doesnae make up for the pain in the arse they are the other twenty-three months.”

  “Pain in the ovaries, I think ye mean.”

  Bonnie snorted, then glanced out the cracked-open door and gestured. “Alright, yer escape is clear. Go now, but remember, I can only stall Mother for three days, nae more!”

  “Aye, and my thanks,” Vanessa hissed in a whisper, as she picked up the carpetbag they’d found in the attic and slipped by her sister.

  She made it out of the inn without encountering anyone who recognized her, then picked up her skirts and practically ran to the train station. She was wearing Bonnie’s most practical pair of boots, which they’d scuffed so as not to draw attention, and she was grateful they’d thought of it. A faint smile came to her lips as she remembered the thoroughly impractical heeled sleepers—Ember’s creation—she’d worn to the ball.

  Even the memory of dancing with Roland at that ball—Roland, whom she’d now lost—couldn’t diminish the satisfaction of knowing Ember was happily married to Max DeVille and well on her way to creating a new line of footwear for the ladies of Scotland.

  And I helped her by showing off those shoes at the ball.

  There. She’d done one thing right, at least.

  And now, she was on her way to have an adventure. Granted, not the kind of adventure she would’ve necessarily chosen, but she knew this could help Bonnie, and if she could help another sister achieve her dream, she most certainly would.

  She was still grinning from the excitement when she reached the train platform, and when she saw Mister Frog standing there, his hands clasped behind his back as he stared off in the distance, her grin only grew. She slowed to study him, since he wasn’t looking at her, and quietly climbed up the platform on his blind side.

  What fit of madness had possessed her to say yes to his offer yesterday? She’d fretted over it half the night, reminding herself she didn’t know him, and he could very well be an ax murderer for all she knew.

  But for some reason, she trusted him. She didn’t know why, but she knew—deep down, as if the knowledge was some sort of magical knowing—he wouldn’t hurt her. And yesterday, he’d promised he’d allow no harm to come to her on this journey.

  Perhaps that’s why she trusted him.

  Or maybe it was because of the way he teased her, or the look in his good eye when he’d offered his protection. As if she was important.

  For a reason other than the way she looked.

  Today at least, no one would look twice at her, not dressed as she was. In fact, she looked a proper match for someone like him with that ratty tam and the old kilt and dirt on his knees.

  She eyed his legs, and realized they really were well-formed. What was wrong with them to cause his limp? She wondered if she’d have the courage to ask on this adventure.

  Well, one thing was for certain: if she were wrong about him, and she neede
d to get away from him fast, she’d be able to outrun him, thanks to that limp.

  Snorting quietly, she then muttered, “Likely no’ an ax-murderer.”

  He suddenly jerked and whirled around, lifting his arms as if in defense. When he saw it was her, he tried to turn the motion into a little wave, as if he’d meant to do it. But when he saw her grinning at his attempt, he scowled and dropped his arms. “Ye snuck up on me.”

  “No, ye just didnae hear me.”

  Still scowling, he tapped the eyepatch over his left socket. “Nae depth perception, and I cannae see shite on this side.”

  Strangely comforted—rather than scandalized—by his coarse language, Vanessa hefted her bag and cocked her head to one side. “That thing was on the other side yesterday, was it no’?”

  He frowned, affronted. “I dinnae think so. Surely I’d remember which eye I’m missing, aye?” Turning again, he nodded to the train rolling slowly toward the platform. “Ye have our tickets?”

  Raising her brow at his commanding tone, she reached for a pocket in her bag and pulled them out. He snatched them out of her hand, then reached for her bag. She had just enough time to wonder if she’d been wrong to trust him, when he suddenly thrust out his elbow.

  She stared at it. He was acting as if…as if they were a couple. When she glanced at him, he merely gazed back, offering no excuses. But when she still hesitated, he waggled his elbow again.

  “Come along, no’ milady. Ye wanted to look like a simple couple on a journey south, aye? So cozy on up to yer husband.”

  Husband.

  The idea of being married to a man like him would’ve made her laugh only a month ago. She’d had her heart set on the most eligible bachelor around, but then had lost her opportunity. But here was a poor man, one with wit and intelligence, and rather fine legs—

  Stop looking at his knees, ye ninny.

  Hesitantly, she placed her hand on his arm, and when a bolt of lightning completely failed to strike her down, she stepped closer and linked her arm through his.

  This time, she felt a bolt of lightning alright, but a different sort. This warmth spread throughout her chest and settled lower. The reminder that, while this man might not be the sort she’d marry, she was beginning to think of him—and his legs—as very desirable indeed.

  And rather than being ashamed of that, the thought made her feel…free.

  She might be the most beautiful woman the Oliphants had seen in a generation—and since it was the truth, there was no harm in admitting it, aye?—but who said she had to marry someone like Roland Prince?

  Well, her mother. And years of belief on Vanessa’s part. But the last few days had been curiously freeing, and had shown her Viscount Blabloblal wasn’t the only man who could be her future husband. She still wanted a husband and bairns of course, and she was wise enough to know she shouldn’t settle for a man without money to support them…but perhaps she shouldn’t be as single-minded in her purpose as she had been the majority of her life.

  When I return, I’ll have to think long and hard about finding a new dream to fix my sights on.

  As the train pulled to a steaming, clanking stop, he glanced over at her. “Well, mistress? Are ye ready for yer adventure?”

  Slowly, a smile spread across her face. “I really think I am. I can feel myself changing already.”

  His gaze slid over her, more familiar than it ought to be as he studied her features, and when he finally nodded, she thought she saw a hint of approval in his single green eye.

  “Come along then.”

  When they stepped up onto the train, she noticed he didn’t appear to be limping. But before she could ask, someone bumped into her from behind, and she turned to see a young mother juggling three small children.

  “Sorry, missus,” she gasped, trying to contain a squirming toddler. “I’m just trying to get to our seat.”

  Smiling, Vanessa pulled Mister Frog out of the path. “Certainly. Can I—we—help ye at all?”

  “Nay, but ye have my thanks. Ian! Stop licking that pole! Hold yer sister’s hand and kindly keep yer finger from exploring the contents of yer nose. Nay, Jenna. Ye cannae have a lolly. Come along, both of ye. The baby’s fretful.”

  Chuckling, Vanessa watched them go, then turned back to find her companion studying her. Slowly, her smile faded. “What?”

  But he shook his head and stepped into the aisle once more, as the train began to puff away from the station. “Nothing.”

  “That’s no’ true.” She hurried to keep up with him. “Ye were looking at me strangely.”

  “Let us simply say, Miss Oliphant, that ye surprised me.”

  What? How?

  She wanted to ask him, but Vanessa wondered if it would be vain to ask him to speak his thoughts of her. Instead, as he pulled her—still not limping—to a pair of seats beside one another, she hissed, “I’m no’ Miss Oliphant on this journey, remember?”

  “Aye, but Mrs. Frog sounds worse.” He held her hand as she slid across to her seat, and she wondered, had she been wearing gloves, if they would’ve prevented the spark of heat between them.

  “Well, ye expect me to call ye Frog, do ye no’?” She tilted her head to one side as she watched the countryside begin to slide by. “Monsieur Grenouille is, perhaps, a little better,” she murmured, stifling a yawn.

  He hummed and stretched his legs out as far as they would go, which wasn’t very far, thanks to the seat before them. Lowering her lashes so he couldn’t see the direction of her gaze, she studied the defined muscles of his legs.

  Perhaps kilts arenae quite so barbaric as I’d assumed.

  “Ye could call me Albert,” he finally said, gruffly.

  She stifled another yawn with the backs of her fingers. “If it really is yer name, Froggie.”

  “One of them.”

  When she lifted her gaze to tease him about his names, it was to find him frowning thoughtfully at her once more.

  “What?” she demanded in exasperation.

  “Yer disguise is quite good. Nae one on this train will guess ye are a celebrated beauty.”

  She wasn’t certain if it was praise or not, but Vanessa found herself flushing. “Thank ye. My sister and I worked late into the night to perfect it.”

  Her companion nodded curtly. “It worked well.”

  “I only wish I werenae so tired. I’ll miss—”

  When he reached over and grabbed her hand, which she’d raised to smother another yawn, Vanessa yelped. Which, since she was mid-yawn, caused her to sort of choke, then wheeze, and by the time she was able to regain control, she realized he was holding her hand.

  It was clumsy. It was strange.

  It was wonderful.

  Dazedly, she stared down at her thigh where their joined hands rested. He held hers as if it were the most natural thing in the world, while she was stiff and awkward.

  But then, without looking at her, he started to trace small circles on her palm with his thumb. Slowly, she exhaled, feeling herself relax once more as he increased the pressure. It felt so good, not just because of the little warm tingles rushing up and down her arm, but because he seemed to know exactly which muscles to rub. When he moved to the thick pad of muscle at the base of her thumb, she actually whimpered, and he glanced at her in concern.

  “Does that hurt?”

  “Nay.” She sighed happily. “It feels divine. Aye! That’s the spot,” she murmured.

  When he chuckled, his shoulder brushed against hers, and it felt so natural, so right, to be sitting beside this man, where she wasn’t the celebrated Oliphant Beauty, but just…Vanessa.

  “Ye like that?”

  She sighed again, which turned into another yawn. “I love it. I wish ye had two thumbs.”

  “I do have two thumbs.”

  “Nay, I meant on this hand.” Her eyes closed briefly, and her lips twitched. “That might be awkward.”

  “Do frogs have thumbs?” he wondered out loud. “And if they did, would th
at increase the chance of ye kissing another one?”

  Her eyes flew open. “Kissing another frog?”

  He increased the pressure of his massage, tugging at her hand enough to get her to turn to him. When she did, he lowered his voice. “Kissing me.”

  Immediately, she felt her face flushing, her heartbeat hastening. “I— But the bargain…” she stammered, unable to admit the idea of kissing this man—this Froggie—wasnae as horrible as it ought to have been.

  “Aye, milady. The bargain.” His lips curled, but it wasn’t a particularly nice smile. In fact, despite the beard obstructing much of his features, it was somehow…familiar. Gently, he disengaged his hand from hers, and a chill swept over her as she lost his touch. “Once we’ve reached York and accomplished whatever ye have planned, dinnae think I’ll no’ collect.”

  It was a vow; one she was surprised to discover she didn’t mind at all.

  “When we reach York—” Her words were interrupted by a loud yawn she couldn’t contain. “Oh, excuse me.”

  He folded his arms across his chest and rested his head against the seat behind him. “York is many hours away, and we’ll have to change trains a few times. No need for ye to be awake for all of it.”

  Perhaps it was the lack of sleep last night, but she wasn’t following his reasoning. “What?”

  “Go to sleep, milady,” he grumbled. “I’ll watch out for ye.” His good eye was fixed on something down the aisle, though she had the impression it was more because he didn’t want to look at her than it was anything particularly interesting. “I’ll keep ye safe.”

  Why did that simple vow send a flood of warmth through her?

  Sighing, she decided to trust him, yet again, and closed her eyes. The seat wasn’t as comfortable as the first-class compartments her father had rented all those years ago when they used to visit his aunt at Fangfoss, but at least they weren’t wooden benches.

  She tilted her head to one side, and when her cheek found his shoulder, neither of them flinched away. With her eyes closed, she could only imagine the stiff way he was holding himself, but the thought made her smile.