One Hot Scot

by Suzanne Enoch

  “Clouds,” she decided, looking down at her makeshift wrap.

  He chuckled. “Clouds it is, then. Do ye care to have yer toast black or still showing its colors?”

  “Still showing its colors,” she said with a grin. “But I can help, you know. I may not know how to make rabbit stew, but I believe I can peel an egg.”

  “Nae. Ye take yer bath.” He handed her a cloth, sliding the bucket out from the flames. “I intend to watch ye, though. I’m nae much of a gentleman.”

  “Hm.” Holding his gaze with her own, Julia slipped out of the kilt and set it on the bed, then pulled the shirt off over her head. Then, naked and lovely as the day was new, she dunked the cloth in the water and began cleaning herself.

  “Sweet Bridget,” he murmured. “Keep that up, and I’ll have ye back on the bed again.”

  She smiled. “You should see me in a bath tub.”

  “Oh, I intend to. I’ve a great brass one just off the master bed chamber at Lenox House. I’ll give it ye, if ye’ll let me share it with ye once in awhile.”

  Her expression shifted a little. “‘Once in a while’? Am I staying?”

  Damnation. “If ye’d like, Julia. I’ve nae chains in my house, but I’d nae have bedded ye here if I didnae … care fer ye.”

  “Haven’t you had lovers before? I know you were no virgin, Duncan.”

  So now he was the moon-eyed simpleton. “The women I’ve been with—it’s been on equal terms, with precautions taken. A mutually-agreed on encounter.”

  Now she frowned. “That sounds very business-like.”

  “I’m a very cautious man. Except fer last night. Except fer ye, Julia. Ye spin my head aroond, and God knows that’s a rare thing fer me. Very rare.” As he spoke he approached her, finally putting his hands on her warm, bare shoulders. “Am I the only one spinning?”

  Brown eyes blazed into him. “I’ve been spinning for days, Duncan,” she said slowly.

  Keen … loss stabbed through him. Of course she had been. She barely knew where the ground was, and he’d … well, he’d taken advantage. “And I’m a stupid man. I apologize to ye, lass. Ye’ve nothing to fear from me. I—”

  She put the damp cloth against his mouth. “You made me stop spinning,” she whispered. “I don’t know what we are, but I’m … I don’t feel ready to give this up. To give you up. Because part of me believes I might have found something magical. And the other part of me wants to believe the first part.”

  “Is there a third part?” he asked, putting his hand over hers and lowering the damp cloth to his chest, over his heart.

  “Yes. The part that worries I’m being a complete fool.”

  “If ye are, then we’re both foolish.” Keeping her fingers captured, he tilted her chin up with his free hand and kissed her again, slowly and deeply and thoroughly.

  “Then I’m willing to risk another hour,” she returned, pulling his shirt from his trousers. “Are you?”

  “Aye. That I am.” With a grin, he lifted her into his arms.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The trousers felt scratchy against her thighs, but Julia tied the rope Duncan had given her around her waist and rolled up the bottoms of the legs until her feet stuck through. Even if he hadn’t suggested she not wear her ball gown she was more than tired of it—not just because it was dirty and torn, but because of what it represented. She’d been stupid and naive that night, and she’d paid for it with her reputation. If her grandfather hadn’t seen fit to gift her with forty thousand pounds upon her marriage, she would have lost her future, too.

  She glanced across the room at Duncan, seated at the table with her shoes and trimming a pair of rabbit pelts to fit around them. At this time yesterday she’d been in a corner of a bed chamber that didn’t belong to her, watching a man she thought she knew become more and more a stranger, and more and more frightening.

  At the beginning Bellamy had been pleased with himself, but polite and even a touch apologetic. When she didn’t swoon or fall to her knees and agree to marry him to save her reputation, his polite veneer had begun to melt away. By yesterday morning she’d begun to fear that he would resort to something physical—something like what she and Duncan had been up to last night and this morning. Except it wouldn’t have been the same, because the idea of Bellamy touching her like that disgusted and horrified her.

  When she’d found Duncan, after her initial aggravation—and in part because of it—she’d thought perhaps she was … infatuated. He’d saved her, after all, whether he’d set out to do so or not. But the more they spoke, the more she realized that she simply liked him. She liked his honest, straightforward manner; she liked the way he cared for his sisters, his sense of humor, the way he seemed to understand her and made her feel she’d been brave. Of course he couldn’t be perfect—no man was. But for heaven’s sake, he was gorgeous and compassionate and obviously seemed as stunned by the attraction between them as she was.

  When he’d said he would give her a bathtub and share it with her, her first thought had been that she did want him to do so. She did want more time with him. A great deal more time. The only thought that troubled her was her blasted money. Duncan knew she was ruined, since he’d helped a great deal with that. He also knew she would receive a very large dowry upon her wedding. When her grandfather had written up his will, she’d only been seven. And he’d likely been thinking that he wanted to ensure she had a fine, comfortable life. Unfortunately, he’d also seen to it that nearly every man in England saw her as a walking bank account. But did Duncan see her that way?

  “Put on yer shoes, lass, and I’ll see if I can bind them up fer ye,” he said, standing to bring her the light dancing slippers.

  When he knelt at her feet a thrill ran down her spine. Did it matter if he wanted her money or not? Certainly no one else had ever made her feel this way. And she had more than a suspicion that no one else ever would. “Perhaps I’ll begin a new fashion,” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder and placing her right shoe and foot atop the makeshift rabbit boot while he wound strips of leather around it.

  “Oh, I doubt that,” he returned, amusement in his voice. “But if it keeps yer feet warm and dry, I’ll call myself satisfied.”

  Once he’d wrapped up both feet, she took an experimental stroll across the shack. “You could be a cobbler,” she announced. It certainly was not high fashion, but with the fur on the inside her feet felt warm, and the hide on the outside should keep her feet from getting wet. It was very clever, really.

  “Well, if I fail as a gentleman farmer, I’ll set up a wee shop.” Standing, he walked over, kissed her soundly on the mouth, then shrugged a satchel over his shoulder and handed her a heavy coat. “Ye’ll nae look like Miss Julia Prentiss,” he decided, watching her shrug into the dark brown coat. “And we’ve only three miles to cover. Ye have the knife?”

  She lifted the back of the coat to show it to him, tucked into her waist against her spine. “I’d almost rather stay here.”

  “Aye. So would I.” Stopping in front of her, he cupped both her cheeks in his broad, longer-fingered hands. “I’ll nae let anyone harm ye, Julia. I promise ye that.”

  She lifted up on her toes and kissed him softly. “I know you won’t. Now let’s go, before I lose my nerve.”

  He’d already doused the fire, and when he blew out the last lantern they were left standing there in the quiet gloom. Then, before she could change her mind, he pulled open the door and walked outside. A heartbeat later he motioned for her to follow.

  Bellamy and the awful Orville Fersen were somewhere about. For all she knew they could be just over the next rise or around a stand of boulders. With a shiver she hurried her step, keeping her eyes on Duncan’s broad back. With a rifle over his shoulder and that determined look in his eyes, she certainly would have hesitated to accost him. She hoped anyone they wandered across would come to the same conclusion.

  “Duncan?” she said, to keep her mind from jumping onto every possible thi
ng that could go wrong.

  “Aye?”

  “I heard Bellamy say your great grandmother was a MacLawry. Is that why you’re a part of that clan?”

  “Aye. I also have a great uncle who’s a Campbell, but we dunnae talk aboot him.” He slowed a little, drawing even with her. “I like the MacLawrys. They’ve stood against the landowners trying to drive their own people out of Highlands in favor of sheep and grazing land, fer one thing. They’re good people, Glengask, his brothers and his sister, and their father before them.”

  “But you could have chosen to side with the Campbells, if you wanted to?”

  He sent her a sideways glance. “I suppose, though I’d have to have a damned good reason to change my allegiance. And even if I had been a Campbell, I wouldnae have given ye over to Bellamy. There’s allegiance, and there’s what right and true.” Taking a short breath, he brushed his fingers against hers. “I have sisters, Julia. I hope any man with sisters would have come to yer aid.”

  “That’s a nice thought, but not everyone values what’s right over money and allegiance.” And she’d been supremely lucky to find someone who did.

  “I hope ye didnae share my bed because ye’re grateful that I’m nae a dastard.”

  She shook her head, moving a half step closer so that their fingers touched with every step. “Every man should be a gentleman, but not many are. But I didn’t share your bed because of that. I shared your bed because I wanted to.” More than she’d ever wanted anything else in her life. Badly enough to risk whatever might come next.

  His fingers curled around hers. “If yer family, when they get yer message, decides to return ye to London, do ye think ye’d mind having a Highlander and his three sisters come to call on ye there?”

  Julia looked up at his profile, the black hair lifting from his forehead in the stiff breeze. “You would go all the way to London?”

  “I’d go all the way to China, lass, if ye’d see me.”

  “I would see you.” She ducked her head, knowing from the heat in her cheeks that she was blushing. “I’d be happy to see you.”

  “Well. I’m glad that’s settled, then.”

  They walked through the rough countryside in silence for a short time, holding hands. The wind on her face was cold, but with the heavy coat and trousers and rabbit-reinforced shoes, Julia barely felt the chill. She’d thought going to Scotland would be a quaint adventure. She’d asked for the gift because it would take her away from the Season in London, from the parade of suitors who were far more interested in her income than her character. The gift of an escape from her future. When Bellamy had grabbed her, the gift had become a nightmare. Now, though … Now she would be perfectly happy never to return to London at all, if it meant she could see Duncan and hold his hand and kiss him whenever she chose.

  “Are ye tired, lass?” he asked, glancing again over his shoulder.

  “No. I go for walks all the time.”

  “Let’s hurry a bit then, shall we?”

  The outside chill abruptly found its way down her spine. “Is it Bellamy?” she asked stiffly.

  “Two men on horseback. I dunnae if it’s him or one of his, but we’ve only half a mile or so to go. I’d prefer to be indoors before they catch up.”

  “So would I.”

  He sent her a reassuring grin. “We’ll nae run, because they’ll chase us like hounds. But some haste wouldnae do us wrong.”

  Oh, she agreed with that. He helped her over a stone wall covered with moss that looked older than the Roman conquest, and they strode along a faint path worn in the grass and heather as trees blew wild around them. “Is another storm coming?” she asked.

  “Another storm’s always coming here,” he returned with a quick grin. “Once we round the hill, ye’ll be able to see Lenox House. I’ve men aboot, but the cotters are on the far side of the valley by the river.”

  “You have cotters?”

  “Aye. Aboot a hundred or so. Nothing close to what Glengask has. Or Bellamy.”

  The trail curved around the green, sloping side of the hill, and if they hadn’t been in such a hurry, she would have stopped in her tracks. Lenox “House” was something of a misnomer. It was nearly a castle by English standards, all tall stone walls of white and windows looking across the valley. It was at least the size of Bellamy Park, and much more … friendly looking, if she said so herself. But it did look welcoming, and warm—or perhaps that was because she knew its owner was much the same.

  “It’s lovely,” she said aloud, panting.

  A gun fired somewhere behind them, the sound echoing into the hills and mountains like high-pitched thunder. Julia flinched and nearly lost her footing. Swiftly Duncan caught her up under the elbow, holding her close against him until she had her balance again.

  “Nae need to worry, lass. They willnae shoot ye. They only want us to stop.” He whistled loudly, and a trio of men appeared from the direction of the stable. “Lads, find yer muskets and get to the house!” he bellowed.

  The men disappeared again. Julia risked a glance over her shoulder and nearly shrieked. Bellamy and his cousin were only a hundred or so yards behind them and riding at a full gallop. “Duncan!”

  “I know.” Turning around, he unslung his rifle and lowered it in their direction. “Go to the side door, lass,” he said, backing in the same direction.

  “Give me what’s mine, you thief!” Bellamy yelled.

  “Come and take her, then!” Duncan returned, “if ye can do it with yer head blown off!”

  She reached a heavy oak door at the side of the house. Just as she had a heartbeat to wonder if it would be locked, it swung open, and a tall, red-headed man motioned her inside. “In with ye, lass. Where’s Master Duncan? I heard him bellowin’.”

  “Right behind me.”

  She ducked behind the door so she could watch without being seen; as she was the bone of contention, staying out of Bellamy’s view seemed the wisest thing she could do. Duncan stood a few feet before the open door, his rifle leveled in the earl’s direction. Bellamy and Orville rode back and forth in front of him, clearly trying to see if they could make their way past his guard.

  “This is trouble you don’t want, Duncan!” Bellamy called out, scowling. “Whatever she’s told you is a lie. She belongs to me, and you’re only doing yourself and your sisters a disservice.”

  “If ye dunnae know what she’s told me, how do ye know it’s a lie?” he shot back.

  “You’re protecting her, so she’s lying. Hand her over, and we’ll forget this ever happened.”

  “Get off my land, and ye’ll live to see sunset,” Duncan replied, his voice as cool as if he was talking with Julia over their game of chess.

  “Bah. We’ll be back, with help. You have until three o’clock to come to your senses, Lenox!”

  He stood there blocking the door until both men had ridden out of sight. Only then did he lower the rifle and walk into the house. “Murdoch,” he said, “I want men with weapons at the windows.”

  “Aye, Master Duncan.” The servant took Duncan’s rifle and then their coats and hats. “Bellamy brought himself by here yesterday, asking after a brown-haired English lass. Insisted on looking through the house. I let him, but I kept that damned Orville Fersen ootside.”

  With a nod, Duncan took Julia’s hand, leading the way into the bowels of the house. “Where are my sisters?”

  “When the ruckus started, Sorcha herded the other two upstairs to yer grandmama’s room.”

  “Good. Who else is here?”

  “Just the usual lads, and Mr. Finchey and Father Ross come to ask for donations for rebuilding Mrs. MacGeath’s house after her boy kicked over the lantern.” The red-headed man kept pace behind them, as if he was accustomed to his employer dashing headlong through the large house. “This would be the brown-haired English lass, then?”

  “Aye, though any man with eyes could see that her hair’s auburn, nae brown.”

  As simple as it was, that seemed
like a compliment. Heaven knew she hated it when people said her hair was brown. “Brown” sounded like such a dull color. “Auburn,” though … Julia shook herself. Clearly she was exhausted if she could spend time worrying over how people described her hair. She half turned and waved a hand in the butler’s direction. “Pleased to meet you, Murdoch.”

  “And ye, lass.”

  “Keep Finchey and Father Ross here, Murdoch,” Duncan ordered. “If they’ll nae help, they can at least be witnesses.”

  “They’ll nae be leaving, then. I’ll see to it now.” As they started up the stairs, Murdoch veered away toward the rear of the house.

  “Is he your butler?” she asked, winded and her fur-bound feet clumsy now on the precise stone stairs.

  “He organizes the house, so I suppose so. Dunnae call him that, though, or he’ll be putting on airs.”

  Duncan was glad that Julia could still take a moment here and there and notice what lay around her; most women in her position would likely be in a dead faint by now. But then he’d already realized that she wasn’t like most women. Or any woman he’d ever met, truly.

  With Bellamy giving them until three o’clock, he had somewhere around three hours to prepare for a fight. Until yesterday he would have spent a great deal of effort to avoid just this sort of conflict, because the last thing he wanted was to have neighbors who preferred him dead. Unfriendly was one thing, and the lot of them were accustomed to that. But this was different.

  He stopped at the top of the stairs and turned to the right, heading for the westernmost bedchamber on the floor. Belatedly it dawned on him that perhaps his first priority shouldn’t be introducing Julia Prentiss to his loved ones, but that was what he meant to do. He wasn’t going to leave her sitting in the morning room while he made plans to protect her.

  Aside from that, his lasses needed to like her—not because he would surrender her if they didn’t, but because it felt … vital that they view her the same way he did. So he could know that this wasn’t some faerie tale, but a real woman and a real … chance at something wondrous and unexpected.