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refused his arm, but let him accompany her as they weaved their way down Lawnmarket, past the tall buildings that stood
     shoulder to shoulder along the street. They made an admittedly odd pair—an Englishman in the guise of a Highlander escorting
     a lass in the guise of a lad. For someone accustomed to blending in with the crowd, Drew felt dangerously exposed as they
     ambled down the Royal Mile.
    Still, he’d sworn to accompany the lass to the inn. He supposed if he was marching to his execution, he might as well do it
     with a pretty wench at his side.
    Josselin grew curiously quiet as they walked past the crowded shops. When Drew gave her a sidelong glance, he saw that she
     was worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. The closer they got to their destination, the tighter she knitted her brows. Apparently,
     the stouthearted maid wasn’t quite as stouthearted as she pretended to be.
    In golf, when Drew was faced with the prospect of a particularly daunting match, he found it best not to dwell on the game
     too much. A bit of distraction was beneficial. Perhaps he could distract the lass from her worries with his Highland charm.
    “So tell me, lass … Jossy, is it?”
    “Josselin.”
    “Tell me, Jossy,” he said, ignoring her disapproving scowl, “where did ye get your trews? From your father?Brother? Lover?” He cocked a brow. “Or is that what all the lasses are wearin’ in Selkirk?”
    She gave him a long-suffering glare. “My da.”
    “Ah, the same da who warned ye away from strangers… and taverns… and losin’ your temper?”
    She sighed. “Aye.”
    “Did he also teach ye to fight with a knife?”
    “Nae, that was my other da.”
    That stopped him in his tracks. “Your
other
da? How many do ye have?”
    “Three.”
    “Three?”
That
she needed to explain. He reached for her elbow, hauling her around to face him.
    She instantly wheeled on him with her dagger drawn. “Get your bloody—”
    Before she could finish, he’d seized her wrist and plucked the blade from her.
    Her jaw dropped.
    He, too, was startled. He hadn’t needed his defensive reflexes in a while. It appeared they were still in good working order.
    After a moment of mutually shocked silence, they spoke at the same time.
    “What the…?”
    “How did…?”
    “Sorry.”
    “I didn’t mean…”
    “Reflexes.”
    “Instincts.”
    They avoided one another’s eyes, finally exchanging brief sheepish smiles.
    He returned her dagger.
    She sheathed it.
    After an awkward moment, they resumed their journey, turning left down Grassmarket.
    In the prolonged silence, Drew stole sideways glances at Josselin, who looked strangely adorable in her floppy hat and her
     baggy trews. ’Twas hard to believe such a sweet-faced kitten had such sharp claws. He wondered if she possessed sinuous feline
     curves as well beneath that voluminous clothing.
    Before long, the lass started biting nervously at her lip again, and Drew was struck with the most profoundly mad urge to
     kiss her fretful mouth. Indeed, he decided that if he weren’t sure she’d run him through, he’d be glad to distract her from
     her worries with a kiss. Seduction was the best diversion he knew.
    Lord, what was he thinking? He was already taking far too many chances in escorting the lass. The wise thing would be to bid
     her a quick farewell at the inn and, considering the wicked bent of his thoughts, perhaps take himself to the nearest bawdyhouse.
    In the meantime, he’d continue with the second-best diversion he knew—conversation.
    “Knife-fightin’, eh? I suppose ’tis a good skill for your three da’s to teach ye,” he said with a shrug, adding pointedly,
     “if they’re goin’ to let ye wander loose on your own.”
    “Wander loose?” she echoed. “I’m not a bloody sheep. I’ll be damned if I need watchin’ o’er.”
    “Ach, lass!” he said, wincing. “Did ye learn the filthy language from your fathers as well?”
    She pierced him with a