His Tarnished Ruby

by Kelsey McKnight

  “Ye know, Philips, there are many tunnels and hidden chambers within my castle.”

  Andrew smiled politely. “Yes, Flora has told me so much about them.”

  Flora averted her eyes as she felt her brother’s gaze bore into her. She knew Conner would be upset at having a dramatic moment spoiled by her loud mouth, but she didn’t care. She knew his game and being a bully wouldn’t get him very far with Andrew.

  “Well, then,” Conner started slowly, after a pregnant pause. “Ye’ll know that I’m always watchin’, as are my men. We’ll know if ye mistreat Flora, or wrong her, or go on a midnight walk through the halls.”

  Andrew didn’t seem flustered by Conner’s declaration and merely replied, “I would never harm Flora in any way. I hold her in the highest esteem and plan to show you that I respect her as an equal in all ways.”

  Conner grunted and stood, giving Andrew one last pointed look before stalking off to join the crowd.

  “Goodness, he’s melodramatic,” Flora mumbled, feeling rather embarrassed by her brother’s show of force. “I’m so sorry he interacted with you in that way.”

  “It doesn’t bother me. But I actually met Drummond while getting your refreshment, and I must see him about something before the games begin. Do you mind?”

  Flora was surprised and curious as to what Andrew needed to discuss with Drum. She hadn’t known them to speak at all, if ever. She was about to ask why, but thought better than to demand answers. “Of course. Besides, I’d like to go mingle. There are many people here this year that I haven’t gotten a chance to see.”

  He nodded in goodbye and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Flora with a cup of rapidly cooling cider. She sipped the drink slowly, watching people as they passed. She smiled in greeting at those she remembered and averted eyes when she saw Mrs. MacNee walk by with a gaggle of fire-haired children at her heels. She hoped the woman hadn’t seen her, as her attention had been focused on one crying girl, but the shame she had felt hit her hard in the chest, whipping the air from her lungs.

  “Oh, I’m tired!” Gwen plunked down on the bench beside her, her hair falling from her bun.

  “Goodness, what’s happened to you?”

  She took Flora’s cup from her hand and drank the rest of the cider, then put the glass down. “I’ve been up since sunrise preparing. I needed to ensure the taxes were all adequately filed and ready for payment. I’m so happy Conner’s home to take over. He’s only just relieved me from my duties.”

  “Yes, I just saw him. He told Andrew that he was watching him.”

  “How ominous.”

  “It was. But he didn’t scare Andrew off, which was a pleasant turn of events.” Flora decided she didn’t wish to discuss Andrew again, as she felt she was becoming a bit of a broken record. “What’s the official line of events for the games?”

  Gwen paused, biting her lip for a moment in thought before answering. “Well, if I’m not mistaken, there will be the hammer toss, then the caber toss, and archery. Tomorrow will begin with either the swordfights or the horse races, but I can’t recall. Then we’ll have a judging of some of the baked goods from the women in the villages.”

  “Quite busy.”

  “Yes, but it’ll be good fun.” Gwen stretched her neck a moment, sighing lightly. “Shall we venture out to the hammer toss? It should be starting soon.”

  Flora looked around to see if Andrew had returned, but he was nowhere to be seen. She felt a bit guilty at leaving their bench. What if he returned and she was gone? But she tried to brush the thoughts from her mind. He didn’t exactly say he would come back for her; she merely assumed.

  The games would be held outside the keep, where there was a large flat piece of land for everyone to congregate. Gwen and Flora walked over to a small platform that had been erected for the MacLeods. Conner and Charlotte were already seated, with baby Alec tucked within his mother’s furs. Penelope was beside Charlotte and Charlie stood to their left, swaying a bit and with ridiculously red cheeks. Little Ian weaved between them, chasing an errant dog.

  When Flora was seated between Penelope and Charlie, Charlie leaned inward. “Where’s your gentleman caller, then? I thought I wouldn’t be able to pry Andy from your side.”

  Flora shrugged. “He needed to help Drum with something, I think. I haven’t seen him for some time.”

  “Well, well, well…” Charlie slurred, his goblet of ale to his lips. “I do believe our dear Andy has been found.”

  Flora followed his gaze to where the men participating in the hammer toss were approaching. She spied Drum immediately, a head taller than the rest of the men. He crossed to Penelope, holding out his hammer for her to tie her favor on. She pulled a sky blue ribbon from within her cloak and attached it quickly to the handle.

  “How medieval,” Charlie muttered. “Will there be jousting next?”

  “It’s not like that. It makes it easier to find your hammer when you throw it.” She scanned the men, most of whom were going to their wives and sweethearts for their favors, then lining up, facing the empty hills beyond. “Now, where did you see Andrew?”

  Charlie bobbed down slightly, so that they were eye level, and then pointed. “A shock, I know.”

  Andrew was approaching, dressed quite unlike himself. Gone was his perfectly tailored suit, replaced with a kilt in the MacGregor tartan. His shirt—his tie was nowhere to be seen—was rolled up the elbows, showing up a perfectly matched set of well-muscled, lean arms. He looked a bit pink around the ears as he came to them, a hammer clutched in his own hands.

  “Flora…might I have your favor?” he asked, holding out the handle to her.

  Conner was leaning forward in his seat, watching them with interest.

  Flora was so caught off guard by his response, she could hardly speak. She didn’t think that he would be participating in any of the games, so she didn’t bring anything to give as a favor. It wasn’t as if she had planned on giving it to any of the Scottish men.

  “Andrew,” she began, feeling terrible that she would be sending him away empty handed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think to—”

  Gwen reached up and plucked a decorative gray ribbon from Flora’s bun and shoved it into her hand.

  “Oh.” Flora touched her hair, which now began to fall under its own weight. She had completely forgotten its presence there. “Thank you.” Then she tied it around Andrew’s hammer, her fingers trembling.

  Andrew smiled down at her then turned to join the other men, who didn’t recognize him as an Englishman. With his dark red hair and plaid kilt, he looked the same as the rest—a true Scot. Flora wasn’t sure why, but it made her rather uncomfortable to see him as…well, decidedly not him. She rather liked him as a gentle Englishman who favored books instead of a brutish Scot who lived by the blade.

  “I say, what a turn of events.” Charlie was almost shaking with excitement as he tugged on Flora’s cloak. “Did you know he’d be going full Drummond, so to speak?”

  “I had no idea.”

  “I suppose that’s why he needed to talk to Drum,” Gwen said, who began trying to salvage Flora’s fallen hair.

  Conner came up behind them, Ian perched on his shoulders like an excitable parrot. “What’s the lad doin’, then?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Flora shot back hotly. “He’s throwing a hammer.”

  Her brother glared down at her. “This is no’ a game, lass. He’s wearin’ tartan—”

  “Supplied by Drum,” Gwen cut in.

  Conner ignored her. “And now he’s out with the rest o’ them, tryin’ to look like one o’ us?”

  Flora would have punched Conner right in the sporran, if Ian wouldn’t have fallen as well. “Honestly, Conner, you’re being a terrible pest. Andrew has done nothing wrong and has been impeccably honest with everyone about his intentions toward me. He’s getting into the spirit of the celebrations and is doing his best to befriend all of you. So you can take your negativity and shove it up your bloody arse!
”

  The area around them was quiet as Charlie, Gwen, Charlotte, Penelope, and a dozen other spectators turned to stare in her direction, agape in surprise. As Conner stalked back to his seat, Flora set her jaw and turned back to the event, where everyone was finally lined up, their hammers primed to throw. She found Andrew and focused on him, trying to quell the angry storm Conner had sparked within her.

  She watched as the men raised their arms back. Andrew didn’t seem out of step from the rest as he threw his hammer. It arched smoothly upward, made visible by her gray hair ribbon. Flora couldn’t see where it fell, but waited with baited breath as a young boy ran out to see which hammer took first place.

  The boy picked up a hammer with a red ribbon tied to the hilt and Big Angus called out, “It’s mine!”

  Flora felt an odd pang of disappointment that Andrew didn’t win, although she knew he probably wouldn’t. Big Angus was built like a beast of burden and he would probably continue to win at all manner of tossing games until he had his own giant son to take his place. But Andrew didn’t seem to mind his loss either. He grinned as he approached her, his dimple on full display.

  “I can’t believe you did that!” she cried out as he stopped before her.

  “I just went to the field. I was sixth out of twenty.”

  “That’s wonderful.” She reached out and squeezed his arm lightly, the way she often saw Penelope do to Drum. “I had no idea you would do the hammer toss. And that kilt! It’s caught me completely by surprise.”

  “Yes, Andy,” Charlie exclaimed, batting at Andrew’s tartan hem. “Now tell us, what do you wear beneath your kilt? Flora is dying to know.”

  Flora couldn’t speak; she merely closed her eyes and let out a deep breath of utter humiliation. Damn Charlie and his never-ending antics. But then a hand clutched her arm and began pulling her away from the events place and back toward the castle. It was Andrew. He stopped them just within the gate, only visible by the few maids and footmen who were preparing to set out a spread for supper.

  “I’m terrible sorry for Charlie,” Flora told him. “I keep telling him—”

  She was suddenly silenced by his lips on hers. He pressed her against the cold wall of the keep, one hand beneath her fur cloak, wrapped tightly around her waist. She brought her hands up to his chest, feeling the muscles turn beneath her fingers. Flora could feel his heart beating wildly against her palms, echoing her own frantic one. She reveled in it before bringing both arms around his neck to pull him near. When Andrew coaxed her mouth open with his tongue, she complied.

  Flora had been kissed before. She had kissed a stable boy as a child, then the son of a nobleman who once came to call on her eldest sister. And she had kissed Jasper, as loath as she was to admit it. But she had never been kissed in the intoxicating way Andrew was kissing her then.

  His lips were soft and supple, but held a strong firmness that kneaded her own. She could taste the cider on his tongue and feel his hand drift up from her waist, skirting the line of buttons on the back of her gown, then moving toward her rib, stopping just below the curve of her breast. Flora knew what lust felt like. She relished the familiar feeling. But the sensation was made new by Andrew’s constant adoration of not only her body, but her as person. It made their embrace the most intimate she had ever known.

  When he drew back, his eyes dark with need and his lips parted, he gazed down at her with a look so full of longing, Flora felt her knees weaken. Her breasts rose and fell with each panting breath and she clutched his shoulders for support, grateful to feel them strong and firm enough to hold her.

  “What…what was all that?” she panted, wishing she had the strength to ask for more.

  Andrew’s hands went down to her hips, then back up her waist, skimming the fabric of her dress with his long fingers. “I just…I needed to do that.”

  “And the hammer? The kilt?”

  “I needed to do that, too.” He leaned up against her, pressing his lips to her forehead. “I needed to show you that I am a man and not just a scholar.”

  Flora felt something press into her hip and thought he didn’t need to show her anything to prove his manhood. She wanted to pull him close again and in the back of her mind she fought the primal urge to have him take her right there on the side of the keep. But she swallowed the feeling and covered it up with a small smile. “That’s silly.”

  “It’s not.” He looked back into her eyes. “Among your people—your family—I’m just a learned man with soft hands. But I’m more than that and I’m capable of the things you’re used to. I wanted to show you, and your family, that I respect your traditions and can live as you do.”

  “I don’t want to live as the Scottish do, with my people. I want to live as the British do…with you.” As soon as the words left her mouth, Flora wished she could call them back. Her presumptuous sentence hung in the air between them and she hardly knew where it had even come from.

  Flora waited for Andrew to say something, but he stayed silent. Instead of answering her with words, he kissed her again. She could feel the outline of a smile on his lips as he did. This embrace was unlike the one before. It was softer, gentler, with the pangs of lust settling lower and the emotional need taking front and center between their breasts. But it made her heart race faster all the same. And when they parted, he still said nothing, but brushed his hand upon her cheek, wordlessly accepting her confession. Her confession of what, neither truly knew.

  Then the caber toss was over and the revelers were approaching the keep again, Drum at the head, the obvious winner. Flora and Andrew broke apart, keeping a semi respectable distance. But as they sat with the rest of the clan at the long, wooden tables in the courtyard, Andrew’s hand found hers beneath and they ate and drank and laughed with their fingers intertwined.

  For the first night in a long time, Flora opened her window before she went to bed, letting the starlight and dreams stream inward.

  Chapter Sixteen

  When she awoke, a heavy shower of icy sleet was falling. Her bedroom window, which she had dreamily left open, had allowed a small, frigid puddle to collect on the stone floor. She guiltily shut the latch and threw a towel over the wetness, trying to sop up the water. Although her mother lived all the way down in the lowlands with her eldest sister, Flora could almost hear her chastising her for her negligence.

  Then she donned a deep purple velvet gown and wrapped herself in a heavy wool shawl before brushing her hair and hastily pinning it up. The chill outside had seeped into the castle and she practically dashed down to the great hall, where the damp wooden tables and benches had been brought back in. The dozens of people and giant fireplace made for a toasty chamber, for which she was very grateful. Charlie, Gwen, and Andrew were nowhere to be seen. Charlotte and Penelope stood amongst a gaggle of women while Conner and Drum were at the head table, shoving their faces with fried eggs and slabs of meat.

  “Good morning,” Flora greeted politely as she sat.

  “Mornin’,” Drum replied, while Conner merely grunted. “Where’s your man today, Flora?”

  “He’s not her man,” Conner drawled, spearing a sausage with more force than necessary.

  Drum shoved Conner roughly in the shoulder. “Do no’ fash, Conner. We’re only havin’ a bit o’ fun. Ye know, ye are no’ much fun now that your wee sister has found a match. He’s a nice lad, that Andrew.”

  “Ye do no’ know that.”

  “But Flora does, and ye should trust her.”

  Conner looked from Drum to Flora with his lips tightly pressed. Then he heaved a sigh and left the table.

  Flora felt the tension leave with him. “Thank you for intervening. It’s much too early in the day for Conner’s dramatics.”

  Drum shrugged and swallowed his bite of toast. “He’ll come around. Ye understand why he is so vexed, aye?”

  She did. She knew he feared another Jasper; another man who would use her for her station, her heart, her body, then leave her behind. But
she knew that Andrew was different. Certainly many other young women said the same about their wayward paramours, but she could feel it in her bones that Andrew wouldn’t cast her aside on a whim. No man would travel so far after being denied just to use and abuse her.

  “And the plaid? What did ye think?” Drum asked eagerly.

  “I’m not sure I liked it.”

  Drum’s green eyes widened. “Ye did no’ like it? I dressed the lad in my own tartan.”

  “I know you did and I adored the sentiment behind it.”

  “But…?”

  She looked down at her plate. “But I adore him as he is even more. If I wanted a Scottish man, I could have one…but Andrew doesn’t need the brute force and clan backing to make him worth something to me.”

  Drum nodded, apparently pleased with her answer. He finished his food and left, leaving her alone. But not for long. A frazzled Gwen practically fell into his seat, the hem of her dress soaked and muddy.

  “Everything is cancelled for the day.” Gwen groaned as she was poured a cup of tea from the pewter pot beside her. “That spoils tomorrow’s festivities and the bonfires planned for tonight. There were entire pigs that were meant to cook all day outdoors, and now the kitchens are positively overwhelmed.

  Flora thought that Gwen needed a dash of something strong in her tea, and for the first time in days, she wished Charlie was there. Come to think of it, she hadn’t seen him in some time, but him disappearing wasn’t anything new. “It’s all right, Gwen. Everyone’s having such a good time indoors. Besides, there aren’t many people staying overnight in the castle. Most are down in the village and won’t need to be entertained by you today.”

  Gwen dropped her head to the table, which was how Charlie found her when he finally arrived. “Started on the drink early, have we?”

  Flora shook her head. “No, but she should. She’s rather stressed.”

  “We can’t have that now, can we, my little golden child?” With a grand flourish, Charlie produced a flask from his jacket pocket and splashed something into Gwen’s teacup.