Peggy’s Love: The Victorian Highlanders Book 5

by St. Clair, Ellie

  “That’s not it,” he said, desperate to get out of her presence, to return some sense of rationality to his brain. “I simply think it is far past time for me to see you to your chambers.”

  She rolled her eyes at him as the barkeep passed her a glass full of amber liquid, as well as a long look of appreciation. “I’m no child, Rory. Now sit down and shut up, or go away and leave me alone.”

  He sighed but did as she said, sitting beside her, his hands clasped in front of him as he looked at the patrons around the bar. Suddenly he noticed that the barkeep, who had been so appreciative of Peggy before, remained rooted in front of them, though he seemed to be specifically ignoring Rory.

  “Can I help you with something?” Rory asked, hoping to scare the man off, but the Scot was nearly as big and as broad-shouldered as Rory, though his hair was closer to the color of Peggy’s than Rory’s blond.

  “I just had a question, that’s all,” he said, crossing his arms on the wooden top in front of Peggy, nearly ignoring Rory completely. “Are the two of ye together?”

  “No,” Peggy said, as Rory bit out, “Aye.”

  Peggy turned to look at him in astonishment.

  “Well, not together,” he clarified. “But clearly we walked into the room with one another, and we are… acquaintances.”

  “Acquaintances,” she repeated, looking at him with incredulity.

  “Well, aye,” he said somewhat defensively, though he realized it had certainly been a poor choice of words. “Are we not?”

  “I suppose, Rory, you are correct,” she said, a glint coming into her eyes, something that, for some reason, frightened him. “We are acquaintances.”

  “Well, then,” said the barman. “I’m pleased to hear it and pleased to meet you. I’m John.”

  “Hello, John,” Peggy said, bestowing upon him a warm smile.

  Rory snorted, earning himself another look of chagrin from Peggy.

  Get yourself together, man. Disgusted with himself, he rose from his seat, deciding he couldn’t stomach listening to another moment of this conversation. He contented himself with taking up a spot on the wall close enough that he could see them, but far enough that he wouldn’t be able to hear the two of them. So focused was he on the pair of them that he didn’t hear the woman walk up to him until she was completely within his space, and he jumped when she spoke.

  “I think the wall can hold itself up,” she said, and he turned to find that the sultry voice belonged to a raven-haired woman with warm brown eyes, a form-fitting dress, and painted red lips turned up in a smile.

  “I suppose you’re right,” he said cautiously, wondering what she wanted.

  “Are you always so sour?” she asked with a pout. “You seem to be a man who would be much more handsome with a smile on his face.”

  He obliged, though his cheeks stretched with the force of it.

  “Better?”

  “Much,” she said with a grin of her own.

  She turned out to be an entertaining woman. One that he knew he would very well have considered taking to his bed in the past. But he couldn’t forget that he was not here alone, and he couldn’t feel any attraction to her, not with Peggy just across the bar. In fact, he continued to sneak glances at Peggy, who sat engaged in conversation with the blasted John whenever he had a moment away from his drink fetching. Rory was inclined to take a seat at the opposite end and spend whatever money he had left following his night at the faro table asking John to fetch him drinks in order to keep him occupied and away from Peggy.

  “Well,” the woman finally said — Kirstie was her name — and he turned back to look at her, noticing the knowing smile that graced her lips. “I can see that your attention is elsewhere. I’ll leave you to her.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “About the woman you have been staring at for the entire time we have been speaking,” she continued. “I am not insulted. She is quite beautiful, if somewhat…. rugged.”

  “Who, Peggy? Oh no,” he said, shaking his head, denying her words. “She’s a friend. A friend of my sister’s, actually. I’m just watching out for her.”

  “You tell yourself that,” Kirstie said, chucking him under the chin as though he were a child. “Best of luck to you, my friend. My advice? Tell her how you feel. Now, hurry, she’s getting away.”

  And with that, she walked off. “But—” he called out after her, wanting to tell her that he didn’t feel anything for Peggy at all. But he knew if he said so, he would be lying — to himself, most of all.

  * * *

  Ire burned in Peggy’s stomach as she watched Rory with the stunning woman out of the corner of her eye. Oh, she was beautiful of course, the type of woman Rory always preferred. The perfect figure — not too tall, not too curvy, but just the right size. Her black hair gleamed in the candlelight and the gaslight from the streets outside the window. Peggy could have risen from her seat and returned to her rooms, and Rory wouldn’t even have noticed.

  Peggy bid goodnight to John, who was attentive though not overly interesting, and did just as she had contemplated, finishing her drink in one gulp before rising and beginning to stride down the hallway away from Rory. She couldn’t handle watching him take the woman to bed — she just couldn’t.

  “Peg! Hey, Peggy, wait up!”

  Peggy slowed as she waited for him, though she continued her forward progress. Rory finally caught up to her, bringing a hand to her shoulder as he gently turned her toward him.

  “What’s the rush?” he asked.

  “I’m going to bed now,” she said, shaking off his hand as they reached the staircase. “No need to worry about me any longer. You can go back to your woman down there without a care for me.”

  “But Peggy—”

  “Goodnight, Rory,” she said as she reached her bedroom door. She walked through, turned, flashed him a sarcastic grin, and then slammed the door in his face as hard as she could. It was childish, she knew, but when it came to Rory MacTavish, it was as though all of her polite upbringing vanished. He stirred emotions in her to which she didn’t want to admit, that she thought had left her now that she was older and — she hoped — much wiser.

  But no. She sighed as she threw herself back on the bed of the bare yet clean hotel room, staring up at the wood planks of the ceiling. Rory still caused her heart to beat faster, her palms to sweat, and her words to jumble. And now… something had changed. She felt more for him than she had even a year or so prior. If his skin touched hers or he came too close, unexplained fire coursed through her entire body, down to her very center. It was a sensation unlike any other, and she couldn’t deny that she wanted to experience more of it.

  Rory, however, would never be the man to make a commitment to her. As much as she wanted him, she could also be reasonable. She was only setting herself up for heartbreak. For even if Rory did flirt with her, it was only the same as he did with every other woman who walked by him. No, Rory would never love one woman. He loved this life and the multitude of women who came with it. He had proven that tonight. Sure, he had invited her out to show her a good time. But then just as easily, he had found himself a woman at the bar and was likely down there even now.

  Well, she thought, digging into the pockets under the folds of her skirt to find the coins she had won. At the very least, she had come away with something tonight. It may not be a man, but it would certainly help make this trip a little more interesting.

  Chapter 7

  Rory made his way down the stairs rubbing his eyes rather groggily. He had slept terribly the previous night. After Peggy had slammed the door in his face — why, Heaven only knew — he had thought to go back down to the bar and find the woman who had basically offered herself to him. But something held him back.

  While Peggy had made it clear that she was finished speaking to him for the evening, he had an innate sense to remain close by, to watch over her. Which was ridiculous — it was not as though he was keeping an eye on her door a
s there was a wall separating them.

  But their proximity turned out to be precisely the problem. Every time he nearly fell asleep, he could picture her lying there in the bed next door, her hair strewn over the pillow, those perfect, round breasts peeking out over the top of the sheet. He only had to knock on the door, she would let him in, and then—

  That’s when he would fly awake, sitting straight up in bed, perspiration breaking out over his body as he breathed heavily. He had absolutely no business in thinking of Peggy like this. Unable to remove the image from his mind in slumber, he ended up staying awake most of the night and now could barely keep his eyes open.

  “Late night?” Peggy asked with a raised eyebrow as he took a seat at the breakfast table, where she was already well into her plate, along with Roderick and Gwen. He eyed her warily. “Not particularly.”

  “No?” she asked with raised eyebrows, her face a picture of innocence. “Ye look remarkably tired.”

  He simply glared at her, which only caused her to grin smugly. Finally, Roderick cleared his throat, breaking the tension.

  “I thought today we could go down to the building we were told about yesterday, see if it suits our needs,” he said. “What do ye say, Peg, would you like to come with?”

  “Of course!” she exclaimed enthusiastically. Where did the girl find all of her energy? “When do we leave?”

  “Within an hour,” Roderick said with a smile. “Hurry up and eat, Rory.”

  Roderick was true to his word, and soon they were off, walking the short distance to the neighborhood of Trongate, in the middle of the city.

  “It would be the ideal place to provide information regarding tourism,” Gwen mused as they walked. “It’s by the river, close to the theatre — the wealthy would be walking by, at the very least, as they pursue their pleasures, and those are the clientele you would want.”

  “Unfortunately,” added Roderick, and Rory shot a glance at him.

  “It’s because of them we do so well. That our people do well,” Rory reminded him.

  “I know that,” Roderick said with a huff. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

  Peggy rolled her eyes at the two of them. It was an ongoing battle that they all knew would never be resolved. It wasn’t as though Rory particularly enjoyed having random people roaming his land either. But it was what they currently needed to survive.

  Peggy, he noted, looked particularly the McDougall princess today, in her clan colors overtop her white shirt. What would she look like in green and gold? And why was he even considering her wearing the MacTavish colors?

  Good Lord, he had to get these thoughts out of his head.

  It was a fairly productive afternoon. They all agreed on the building, providing they could haggle the rents down, while Peggy was fascinated by the street culture — the fiddlers, the singers, the jugglers. All that was now commonplace to Rory came alive through Peggy’s eyes, and it was rather thrilling to see.

  She was equally as excited on the walk home when Roderick told her they would all be going to the Theatre Royal that evening, to see a new performance, The Forty Thieves.

  “Do you mean it?” she asked, a smile lighting her face, her blue eyes gleaming in the fading light of day. “Oh, that would be wonderful, Roderick. I’ve never been to the theatre, as ye well know. Have you Gwen?”

  “Can’t say I have — at least a formal theatre such as this one,” she said, with a half-smile.

  “What about you, Rory?” Peggy asked, turning to him, and he inclined his head.

  “I’ve been a time or two.” He had actually been a casual acquaintance of one of the frequent actresses, but he wasn’t about to tell Peggy that. He already knew what she thought of his numerous associations with the women of Glasgow.

  “And?” she asked, unrelenting. “What’s it like?”

  “It’s… intriguing,” he finally said, looking for a word that suited as they returned to the hotel. “But ye’ll soon find out for yourself.”

  * * *

  If Peggy had thought the street performances that day were something, she was unprepared for what the night held. She had heard it called a “pantomime,” and it was an odd mix of storytelling, songs, jokes, fights, and chase scenes. She was enthralled, as she was with the building itself.

  “How many people do ye think are in here at this very moment?” she whispered to Rory, who didn’t look particularly impressed, although she knew it wasn’t the first time he had been here.

  “They say it seats four thousand,” he murmured to her. “And it looks near full tonight, this being a new show and all.”

  “Is this the usual sort of play?” she whispered back, and he shook his head.

  “It used to be more operas than anything,” he said in his low voice, and his breath tickled the back of her neck when he leaned into her.

  She shook it off, trying not to think about it. He was her friend, she reminded herself.

  The performance seemed to be over as quickly as it started, at least in Peggy’s mind, and the thought of now returning to the hotel to sleep was painful.

  “Shall we go somewhere else?” she asked.

  “Such as…?” Roderick questioned her.

  “Oh, I don’t know, a place to have a drink or something of the sort?”

  “Do you really think I’d take ye to such a place?” Roderick asked, uncomfortably tugging at the collar of his shirt.

  “Oh, Roderick, don’t be so stuffy,” Gwen cut in, softening her words with a laugh. “We’ll go somewhere that’s somewhat respectable, where women are often found. What do you say?”

  Roderick looked at the three of them, all who seemed banded against him, as Rory was shrugging a shoulder in a gesture that seemed to be asking what harm could it do.

  “Fine,” he sighed. “Rory, you know this city best. Lead the way.”

  “I know just the place,” he said with a grin, and away they went.

  The building he stopped in front of looked nothing like the establishment he and Peggy had visited the night before. No, this pub had a street front and was brightly lit inside, with patrons coming and going through the wide front doors.

  When they entered, a bell tinging above their heads, Peggy immediately noticed the center of the room had been cleared into a dance floor, the tables bordering the area as drinkers watched on.

  In the corner, a trio of musicians played a jaunty jig as heels and skirts flew around in front of her with a speed that nearly made her dizzy.

  “This is magnificent!” she said, but before she could go too far, Rory caught her hand.

  “Stay with me,” he said in her ear above the din, and she nodded.

  She followed him to the bar, where he secured drinks for the four of them. They found seats, two and two, at a table nearby, and Peggy found herself alone with Rory once more. She turned to speak with him, but his attention was quickly caught by acquaintances he knew, and she was left alone staring at the dance floor.

  “Miss McDougall, we meet again!”

  She turned to the voice, looking up into the face of the man who had sat with her at breakfast only yesterday — Matthew Gowan. The man whom Rory hadn’t been particularly fond. She knew Rory wouldn’t want her to speak with this Mr. Gowan again, but then, Rory was otherwise occupied, and what was she to do? The man had come over and spoken to her, and Rory was sitting right beside her, so she didn’t see the harm in returning his conversation. Would it not be rude to ignore him?

  “Mr. Gowan,” she said, inclining her head.

  “What is a woman like you doing in an establishment like this, and all alone?”

  “I’m not alone, Mr. Gowan,” she said, inclining her head behind her. “Rory MacTavish is here, as I’m sure ye well know, as are my brother and his wife.”

  “So they are,” he said with a slow smile, looking at Rory, who was turned away from them, deep in conversation. “Tell me, Miss McDougall, what brings you all to Glasgow?”

  “My brother
and his wife, along with Ror—Mr. MacTavish, are here on business, and I simply wanted to see the city.”

  “Have ye been before?”

  “Aye, as a child,” she said, blushing from the attention he was showing her. “But not recently. It is certainly different to experience it now. To see all that it has to offer.”

  “Oh, but there is more, Miss McDougall. I wish that I could be the one to show it to you.” He sighed wistfully.

  “What is between you and Mr. MacTavish?” she asked. Rory hadn’t exactly been forthcoming about the man, other than his particular hatred of him. Perhaps Mr. Gowan would tell her directly.

  “We’ve had… business disputes in the past,” he said with a shrug. “Nothing particularly untoward. Your Mr. MacTavish holds a grudge, that he does. But let me ask ye the same — what is between you and MacTavish?”

  “He is the brother of my sister-in-law,” she answered immediately, her cheeks flaming even warmer if that were possible. “We grew up not far from the MacTavishes and spent a great deal of time together as children. Today our families are partners, I suppose you could say. So if you have a dispute with Mr. MacTavish, that likely means you have a dispute with the McDougalls as well.”

  “Have ye ever heard of the Montagues and the Capulets?” he asked, leaning toward her, so close that she could feel his breath on her cheek.

  “I believe I have,” she said, nibbling her lip as she struggled to think of where she had heard of them. In a book, she thought, one in her family’s library. She wished Rebecca were here, for she would know exactly of what he spoke. But no, Rebecca was back in the Highlands with Peggy’s brother Adam, busy working away on their own house. Adam had always enjoyed keeping to himself, and now that his wife Rebecca was soon to have a babe, they had decided that Galbury, while large enough and with more rooms than were necessary, was a bit too crowded for their liking. Duncan was still insulted, but Peggy understood — Adam and Rebecca enjoyed time alone, and there wasn’t much of that to be had at Galbury.