It wasn’t pretty.
Everyone said it was the red hair that did it.
“I was comforting my friend as some damn bastard and half-witted fool had broken her bloody heart!” Sam raged, before avoiding a punch from Ross which would have knocked him sideways if it had connected.
Freddie gasped but Sam dodged the punch, then another, as Ross advanced on him.
“Can’t we talk about …” Sam began, before he was forced to duck again and decided enough was enough.
“Ross!” she exclaimed, trying to gain his attention. “Ross, stop this…. Sam! Sam, pack it in. Oh, for heaven’s sake!”
Sadly, it was clear that both men had experienced a surfeit of emotions, either their own or Freddie’s, and by now both were in the mood for a good mill.
“Best leave ’em be,” John Coachman advised with a sage tone from his perch on the carriage, observing Freddie’s distress. He was stuffing his pipe in a leisurely fashion, and gestured to the two brawling men. “They’ll feel better once they’ve knocked each other about a bit. You’ll get no sense from them before that.”
Recognising this as one of the inevitable peculiarities of the male of the species, Freddie sat down on the carriage steps and waited for them to subside.
Five minutes later they were breathless, sweaty and covered in dust and grime. Ross was by far the broader and more heavily built, and a force to be reckoned with, but Sam was lithe and quick on his feet and seemed to know a few tricks of his own. To Freddie’s relief, however, Sam was mostly just trying to stay out of harm’s way as she was fretting over the wound in Ross’ shoulder and looked like he was in considerable pain. With more luck than judgement, Ross grabbed hold of Sam and drew back his fist.
“Not the nose!” Sam shouted in alarm, which rather stopped Ross in his tracks.
“What?” Ross demanded, outraged.
“I said, don’t hit me in the nose,” Sam repeated, and then took advantage by kneeing Ross in the bollocks.
Ross doubled over, clutching his nether regions and looking like he might cast up his accounts. “Where the hell did ye learn to fight so dirty, ye bastard?” he demanded, while his eyes watered and he groaned in misery.
“In my line of work, you pick up a thing or two,” Sam said, trying to brush the worst of the dirt from his coat before cursing and giving it up as a bad job.
“Freddie, ye’d best hope ye are already with child,” Ross muttered, glaring at Sam. “For yer friend here has just ended my career as a father.”
Freddie, who was still a little bewildered by what was going on, regarded him warily.
“I was unaware that you had any desire to have a wife, let alone children,” she said, her tone icy, deciding that if the great lummox didn’t tell her how he felt now, she would never hear it at all. She was damned if she’d forgive him before he’d told her he loved her and proved everything Sam had said to be true. “You’ll certainly not have this wife, if you’re only doing it out of some misguided notion about honour, for I’ll not have you under those terms.”
Sam, sensing the need for privacy, moved out of earshot, taking an amused John Coachman with him.
Ross hauled himself to his knees, before—carefully—staggering to his feet. He winced and cursed, and then hobbled over to her and sank to his knees once more before her.
Freddie watched him, her entire being quivering with hope, as he reached and took her hands in his.
“What terms would ye accept, lass?” he asked her, and this close she could see the doubt in his eyes, hear it in his voice, and knew that Sam had been right.
“What are you offering me?” she asked, hardly daring to hope.
“Nothing that’s worth a damn, mo leannan,” he said, his expression bleak. “Only the knowledge that I’ll die if ye leave me. I ken what I am, Freddie, and I ken well what ye deserve, and I reckon ye must have been that dreadful wicked in a past life if it’s me the good Lord has seen fit to saddle ye with.”
“Dreadfully wicked,” Freddie agreed, her heart expanding in her chest at such a rate she feared it would burst.
“Aye, well then,” Ross said, clearing his throat and looking awkward. “I love ye. I love ye so much it scares me to death because I know, eventually, ye’ll realise I’m nae worth the bother, but I can’t deny it, and I can’t keep the truth from ye any longer. Ye have my heart, mo chridhe, and I can’t live without it, so… I must keep ye by me now, for always. If… if ye think ye can forgive me for being such a… a….”
“Half-wit?” Freddie supplied helpfully, before adding. “Bottle-headed gudgeon, clodpole, jingle brains….”
“Stupid bastard?” Ross suggested, a smile tugging at his lips.
“I’ve plenty of my own suggestions,” Freddie replied with dignity. “I don’t need any help. I was getting to stupid bastard, I assure you.”
“I never doubted it,” he said, staring at her like he believed the earth would stop turning if she rejected him. “Ach, Freddie, I’ve been a damned fool and I cannae promise I’ll do nothing to make ye wish me to the devil again, but there’s one promise I know I can keep. I’ll love ye until the day I draw my last breath, and I pray to God your face is the last thing I see before I close my eyes on this life. Please, lass, have pity on an ignorant brute and say ye’ll put me out of my misery. Marry me, lass, because I’ll nae survive the day if ye don’t.”
“Oh, Ross.” It was all the answer that Freddie could muster in the light of such a declaration, and she threw her arms about his neck so hard she overbalanced him, tumbling them both to the ground.
“Was that acceptance?” he asked, eyeing her suspiciously.
“Yes, you great oaf,” she said, laughing now. “That was a yes, please, Ross, of course I’ll marry you.” She leaned in and kissed him, and his big arms held her tight, crushing her to him. It was a glorious sensation.
She pulled back for breath and Ross beamed at her, his smile so wide and his eyes so bright and happy that Freddie thought her heart might give out after experiencing such a surfeit of misery and joy in so short a space of time.
“Will you promise me something?” she asked, serious now as she reached to stroke his cheek, feeling the prickle of stubble beneath her fingers.
“Anything, mo chridhe.”
She smiled, knowing now, after having questioned Mrs Murray, that it meant, my heart. “Well, speaking of your heart, in the future you must promise to tell me what’s in it, Ross. Don’t go thinking I know, or believing I’m thinking something without asking me and finding out the truth. Don’t just assume the worst, because when you do it’s contagious and I end up doing the same thing.”
Ross frowned a little, his expression troubled. “I promise to try. I’m… I’m nae good at speaking of feelings and… emotions,” he said, looking vaguely disgusted at the notion.
Freddie laughed, shaking her head. “Well, after everything you just told me, I would have to disagree, but a promise to try will do.”
She kissed him again and he took her mouth in a heated kiss before groaning and pulling away.
“Ye’d best get up,” he said with regret, though there was a wicked glint in his eyes. “My blood’s up after that fight and my cock’s thinking of joining the party. It’s only fair to warn ye there’s nothing but me under this kilt.”
Freddie blushed scarlet, very aware of the truth of his words and the shock of desire that surged through her.
“Aye, lass,” he murmured, his eyes darkening. “But even I’m not so depraved as to take ye here in the dirt on a public road, though I can’t pretend I’m not sorely tempted.”
Freddie bit back a grin, unsure if she ought to be as thrilled as she was by his warning.
“There’s a village up ahead,” he said, looking a little doubtful and somewhat sheepish now. “Reckon there’ll be a blacksmith too, if—”
Freddie squealed and rolled off him before taking his hand and tugging him to his feet.
“Come along then,” she
said, her tone brisk now. “There’s no time to lose.”
Ross chuckled and followed her to the carriage. “There’s nae fire, lass, ye’re well and truly stuck with me now, and once we’re married,” he added, an unmistakable promise in his voice, “ye’re not to leave my bedroom for at least a fortnight.”
She turned and patted his cheek, a mischievous look in her eyes. “Yes, darling, I’m quite in agreement, but before any of that I want it official and in writing. In fact, while we’re about it, I may have property of Fredericka Wycliffe tattooed on your forehead before you go getting more foolish notions about not being worthy or some such idiocy. After all, we all know you’re capable of it.”
Ross snorted. “That would Fredericka Moncreiffe,” he corrected, kissing her nose. “And I’ll tattoo it on my bum if it’ll please ye, love.”
Freddie considered this, perking up at the idea. “I’d like to see that,” she said, nodding.
“May we conclude everything has been settled and offer our congratulations?” Sam asked, as he and John Coachman peered around the side of the carriage.
“Ye may,” Ross replied, sliding his arm around Freddie and tugging her close. “And if ye’d be so good as to convey us to the next village, we’d like to get married.”
Sam let out a sigh of relief. “Thank God,” he said, walking up to shake Ross’s hand. “My cravats can’t handle that amount of weeping, wailing, and general abuse,” he added, gesturing to his ravaged neckcloth. “Come to that, neither can I. I’m sorely in need of a drink.”
Ross handed Freddie into the carriage before turning to his brother. “Aye, well the drinks are on your head tonight. Ye can drink to my bride and my bollocks, for if ye’ve ruined my wedding night I’ll be coming for blood, Sassenach.”
Sam considered this and gave a grave nod. “Thank you for the warning.”
“’Twas a promise,” Ross retorted, glowering a little at his brother before climbing in after his bride.
Chapter 22
“Wherein … an anvil wedding.”
Freddie walked out of the blacksmith’s workshop feeling a little dazed. In a matter of minutes, she’d become Mrs Moncreiffe. After her early morning flight from the castle, suffering both the depths of misery and, shortly after, the pinnacle of happiness at Ross’ heartfelt declaration, it all felt a little surreal.
Less surreal was the very solid, very handsome man to whose arm she was clinging.
“No regrets?” he asked, his voice soft.
She smiled, knowing it was him who was seeking reassurance. “Not one. Not ever.”
He leaned down and pressed his mouth to hers, although they were in full view of the street.
“I need my dinner, a bath, and a bed with my wife naked on top of it, in that order,” he said, leaning in to nip at her ear.
“Ross!” she squeaked, turning scarlet and glancing about to be certain no one had heard him.
“What?” he demanded, looking affronted. “Ye told me I had to learn to speak of my feelings and emotions, did ye not?”
“Well, yes….”
“Aye, well if ye’d like to search beneath my kilt ye’ll discover I’m feeling as randy as a goat, and I have my heart and soul set on debauching ye in every position I can come up with.” He paused for effect, looking smug. “And I’ve a vivid imagination,” he added with a wink.
Freddie felt like her cheeks were aflame as she stared at him. The wretch was looking far too pleased with himself.
“Was that what ye were after, lass?” he asked, all wide-eyed innocence.
It took Freddie a moment to gather herself, but she replied with tolerable composure—considering her thoughts had snarled up remembering just what was beneath his kilt, and bearing in mind the open invitation to help herself.
“Yes,” she said simply. “An excellent example of honesty of which I heartily approve. Shall we find somewhere to stay, then? I’d like to be debauched in comfort and privacy if possible.”
His eyes darkened, the corners of his mouth twitching a little.
“Aye, lass,” he said, the words a low growl. “Reckon we shall.”
***
The inn was a small one but the room spotless, the food excellent and the hot water plentiful.
Lying in the comfort of her husband’s arms, Freddie could only look back on the events of the day with bewildered astonishment.
“Happy?” he asked, the question a low murmur as he nuzzled her ear.
Freddie shifted in his embrace so she could look at him, and pressed a kiss to his jaw. “Blissful.”
He turned onto his side, sliding down the bed a little so their faces were level.
“I can’t believe ye are truly mine,” he murmured. “I feel like I’m caught in a dream. I’m feart I’ll wake and discover I’m alone again.”
“Never,” Freddie said, stroking his cheek. “You’ll never be alone again, and neither will I. We’ll have a home and people we care for and who care for us.”
“I never thought to have friends, and certainly never a wife. I….” He paused and gave an incredulous laugh. “Ye have given me so much, I feel ye made a bad bargain.”
“Stop that at once,” she scolded, her tone severe. “You are a good, kind and wonderful man, and I love you.”
“Ye were calling me every name under the sun not long ago,” he reminded her with a smile.
“I remember,” she said tartly. “And you notice that I did not say you were perfect. You’re undoubtedly pig-headed, not to mention bad-tempered and touchy. You also have a flair for bad language, but that’s all to be expected and it’s nothing I can’t handle, I assure you.”
He reached out and traced the shape of her mouth, the tenderness of the gesture making her heart swell with emotion.
“I love ye something fierce,” he said, reverence in the words.
“And I you,” she said, laying her hand upon his chest, upon heavy muscle and warm skin, where the reassuring thud of his heart beat against her palm.
“I think I knew it would happen the first time I saw ye,” he said, the words soft. “Drunk as I was, I still knew if I stayed in yer company for too long I’d do anything ye asked of me, and would follow ye like a lamb.”
Freddie laughed. “Well, no wonder you cursed and warned me off.”
“Aye,” he said grinning. “I’d no idea then that I’d be happy to be in yer power, grateful for the chance to love ye.”
“I am every bit as much in your power, you foolish man. Have you no idea what the sight of you naked did to me that first day? I’d never even seen a man without a waistcoat, let alone everything else! I could think of nothing else ever after.”
He gave a bark of laughter, sounding rather triumphant. “Ach, I knew it, the sight of my cock did turn yer head,” he said, looking ridiculously pleased with himself. “‘Ben Nevis is my first mountain’ indeed, ye saucy wee devil.”
Freddie blushed, but couldn’t help but laugh at his delight.
“Mind, it’s a good job I hidnae gone swimming afore ye’d seen me, I’d a been a sight less impressive, I can tell ye. The water’s cold enough to shrivel your balls to acorns.”
She snorted now, dissolving into hysteria as he grabbed her hand and tugged it below the covers, guiding her to where he was indeed impressive and ready again for her attention.
“I’m thinking I’ll name it Ben for ye,” he murmured, amusement in his tone. “As ye seem to think I’ve so much in common with that huge edifice.”
“Little Ben?” she asked, pretending innocence.
“Ye take that back,” he exclaimed, effecting outrage as he clambered over her and settled between her legs.
“Wee Ben,” she giggled, trying to imitate his accent.
“Ach, does this feel like Wee Ben?” he demanded, sliding against her intimately before pushing inside.
Freddie gasped and arched, her laughter dying on a sigh of pleasure as he filled her.
“Well, wife?” he said, his voice low
, the question breathless as he moved inside her. “Answer the question.”
“I don’t remember what the question was,” she murmured, her hands running over powerful shoulders, revelling in the shift of muscle beneath her palms.
“You were questioning my manhood,” he said, fastening his mouth to her breast and suckling until she cried out.
“I… I… would never… n-never… do such a foolish thing,” she managed, between breathless pleasure and the urge to laugh. “Ben is… is… magnificent,” she squeaked as he slid his hand between her legs to find the little bud that made her writhe and moan beneath his touch.
“I should think so,” he said, mollified now and turning his full attention to the job at hand.
Freddie closed her eyes, clinging to him and knowing that he would fill her heart and her life for as long as she might live. She wondered if perhaps there was already a child, and felt impatient for their lives to begin. Ross deserved a family, a home filled with love and noise and happy chaos. Everything he’d never experienced, she was determined to give him, but then the pleasure rose within her and took her over.
She gasped and cried out, and he swallowed the sound with kisses, following in her wake as they lay together, sweaty and sated and as blissful as any two people had a right to be.
Freddie snuggled into him as he turned onto his back, taking her with him. She felt sleepy and content, but there was something that had been puzzling her and she had to ask.
“Why do you sometimes smell like vanilla?” she asked, cracking open an eye to regard him.
He pursed his lips and she opened both eyes, frowning. “Are you blushing?” she asked, delighted by this development.
“Na,” he said, sounding far too defensive.
“You are!” she said, accusing now and sitting up to get a better look at him. “You’re blushing.”
“Ah amnae,” he muttered, his accent thicker than ever with indignation.
“Well, now I have to know,” she demanded, staring at him.
The Scent of Scandal (Rogues and Gentlemen Book 16) Page 22
