"Ae? What is ae? Is that even a word?"
"It means one. One fond kiss, Eddi." He retrieved a twig of mistletoe from behind his back and wagged it overhead. "But I dinna want to say farewell after one kiss. I'll want another and another and another. Every day for the rest of our lives."
Before Edith could tell him what to do with his drunken proposal and Christmas serenade, he tugged her into his arms and covered her lips with his. His kiss was hot and slightly sweet from the spirits he'd imbibed. A tingling haze invaded her head, as if she were drunk too.
His mouth gently nipped at hers. She moaned softly and collapsed into him, circling her arms around his neck. Her breasts flattened against his massive chest. His fingers splayed on her back and held her secure. With the tip of his tongue, he teased the crease of her lips. She sighed, allowing him access. He made a leisurely sweep of her mouth, a loving caress that created an ache inside her. She'd never been kissed like this.
Deliberately. Skillfully. His kiss was meant to seduce, to stoke her desire. No clumsy groping or rush to get her between the sheets, which made her want him even more.
He broke their kiss but didn't release her. His mouth nibbled a trail across her cheek to her ear. "Eddi, mo chridhe," he whispered.
She couldn't understand when he spoke his native language, but it sounded lovely, whatever the meaning. She slid her hands to his chest, her fingers following the gentle slope of his muscles. If she'd been allowed to touch him like this several days earlier, she wouldn't have needed to guess at his measurements. She was uncertain the shirt she'd sewn for him would fit.
"Come with me." She eased from his embrace and captured his hand, entwining their fingers. He allowed her to draw him up the stairs and followed her down the corridor. As they reached her bedchamber door, he stopped.
"No, lass. I cannae enter your chambers."
She frowned. "I'm not inviting you into my bed. I have something to give you."
He pulled his hand free and crossed his arms. "I willna come inside yer room. Whatever you have to give me can wait until you become a McTaggart."
She growled under her breath. Did he truly expect her to believe he wanted to marry her? She, a woman of thirty and worse, English? Jimmy Gibb might have convinced her that his intentions were honorable, but she was no longer that naïve young woman. And Fergus McTaggart was drunk. He would regret his words on the morrow.
His jaw firmed. "Dinna look at me with contempt. I'll take you as my wife or no' at all."
She squared her shoulders, standing toe to toe with him. Despite him dwarfing her, he didn't intimidate her. She'd seen how gentle he was with Gracie. How tender he could be with her. Her heart pulsed with longing. She could accept his proposal and hold him to his promise come morning. He would marry her, because he was an honorable man. Yet the thought of forcing him to keep a promise made when he was impaired left a bitter taste in her mouth. Tomorrow he would realize he'd acted rashly, if he even remembered anything about the night.
"If you want to marry me, Fergus McTaggart, ask me when you have your senses about you." She opened her chamber door and darted inside before she changed her mind.
She would have a willing groom or none at all.
Kissed by a Scottish Rogue: Chapter Eight
CHRISTMAS MORNING FERGUS WOKE to hammer strikes against his skull. The sunlight forging through his bedchamber window only made the pounding worse. And his mouth was unnaturally dry. That was the last time he touched Prince Charlie's Liqueur. The concoction was poison.
He rolled toward the bedside table to reach for a glass of water, and his stomach pitched. "Dear Lord," he moaned and sank back into the mattress with his eyes closed.
As he lay in his bed, slowly breathing in and out to quell the tempest in his stomach, his encounter with Eddi on the stairwell trickled into his memory. He groaned a second time and threw an arm over his eyes to block his embarrassment as much as the blinding light.
Had he truly sang to her? What a drunken fool he'd been. It was no wonder the lass refused his offer of marriage. He expected nothing less of his Eddi. She was fearless in speaking her mind and confident she deserved more than a slurred proposal and lousy serenade. And she would receive a proper offer as soon as the room stopped spinning, and he could crawl from bed without tossing up his accounts.
As it turned out, it was early afternoon before Fergus recovered and was able to make it to the castle in his Sunday best. He entered through the servants' door and made his way to the kitchen as he always did. His mother's salt and pepper eyebrows shot up on her forehead in censorship.
"Look at ye all dressed up. Ye realize Christmas service was several hours ago. I noticed ye missing from the church pew this morning, Fergus McTaggart." She slapped an onion on the cutting board, grabbed her knife, and glowered. "Dinna tell me it was a lassie that kept ye away all morning."
The whack of her knife was a little more violent than usual as she cut the onion in half.
"Not exactly." He rubbed the back of his neck as heat stole into his face. "It was that damned bonnie Prince Charlie and his private poison."
His mother stopped chopping to point the knife in his direction. "I told ye no' to imbibe."
"You've told me many things over the years. I'm only now beginning to listen."
She rolled her eyes and returned to her work. His cousins bustled around the kitchen trying to appear busy, but they were not very convincing with the way they kept staring in his and his mother's direction. They were straining to catch every word.
He approached the butcher's block where his mother stood and lowered his voice. "Would you like to know just what advice of yers I've decided to follow?"
His mother shrugged without looking up from her task. "Why should I care what ye do? Yer a grown man now. Ye dinna need a mother telling ye what to do."
Now she was just being sulky and throwing his words back at him, but he wouldn't rise to the bait. "True. I dinna need a mother ordering me about, but what about a wife?"
Her knife clattered against the butcher block. "A wife?"
A smile eased across his mouth. "Aye. A bonnie wife who knows her way around a kitchen. I am here to ask Mistress Gallagher to marry me."
His mother gasped, her hands flying up to cover her mouth. She watched him warily as if uncertain she should believe him. His cousins abandoned their posts to join his mother at the butcher block. Finella slid her arm around his mother's shoulders.
"You like Mistress Gallagher, do you no', Mother?" He leaned forward, eager for her approval and a little anxious her silence meant she wouldn't grant it.
Tears welled in her eyes and she dropped her hands from her mouth. "Fergus McTaggart, ye've made me so verra happy."
She circled the butcher block to gather him in a hug. "This is the best Christmas gift any mother could receive, other than making me a grandmother by giving me a wee bairn to hold."
He laughed and hugged his mother close. "We can discuss bairns some other time. Mistress Gallagher hasna accepted me yet."
"She will if the lass has any sense, and Mistress Gallagher strikes me as a smart one. Have ye thought about how ye will ask her?"
"Is there more than one way? I will simply ask her."
"Of course, there is more than one way," his mother said. "There is the wrong way and the right way."
His cousins slowly shook their heads as if pitying him. He frowned at all three women. "Weel, I'd prefer the right way." He'd already botched his proposal once. This time he wanted Eddi to say yes. "Can you help me?"
His mother grinned. "Oh, we can help ye. And yer sister will want her say too."
"I'll go find her," Finella said and dashed for the kitchen door.
He chuckled. He expected he was going to receive more advice than he could use, but he wouldn't turn away help from the McTaggart women. Eddi wasn't the only smart one at Aldmist Fell.
EDITH SIGHED AND ALLOWED the heavy brocade curtains at her bedchamber window to drop back i
nto place. Just as she'd expected, she hadn't seen hide or hair of Mr. McTaggart since their parting last night. No doubt he'd been too foxed to remember his impulsive proposal when he woke this morning, or he remembered well enough and wished he'd minded his tongue better. Either way Edith wasn't going to mope about feeling sorry for herself. She'd never truly believed his offer of marriage had been real.
Hoped, but not believed.
She sighed again, feeling like one of those maudlin heroines in the gothic novels Lady Thorne favored. The baroness invited Edith to browse the library at her leisure and choose any books she liked, but Edith was not an avid reader. She hadn't finished the book Lady Thorne loaned her at the start of their stay at Aldmist Fell. It was senseless to hang onto it if she wasn't going to read it, especially with Lady Thorne's sister Pearl visiting. Edith had never seen anyone devour novels the way Pearl did.
Grabbing the book from her bedside table, Edith left her chambers and headed toward the library. As she neared Lavinia's chambers, the sound of muffled sobs carried into the shadowed corridor. Edith froze outside the door. She didn't like the idea of eavesdropping, but she couldn't pretend she didn't hear her friend crying. She strained to listen for Lord St. Ambrose's deep voice providing comfort, but she heard no one besides Lavinia.
Tentatively she knocked on the door. When she received no reply and the crying continued, Edith eased open the door a crack. Lavinia was reclined on the bed, her face turned away from the door. Edith stole inside and closed the door behind her.
"Lavinia?"
"Edith." She didn't sit up or turn toward her. She simply cried harder, her body shuddering with each hiccupping sob.
Edith hurried around the bed, dropping the book on the marble top table. Her friend's eyes were red and swollen, and her complexion was blotchy.
"Lavinia, what is wrong?"
Lavinia squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, seemingly unable to speak. Edith nudged her over on the bed and sat beside her to stroke her hair away from her face.
"It is all right," Edith crooned. "You needn't tell me now. Just have a good cry. I won't leave you."
Lavinia looked up at her with shimmering blue-green eyes then buried her face into the covers and sobbed harder. Edith kept her word and stayed to comfort her friend until she was spent. When Lavinia's tears began to dry, Edith retrieved a wet cloth from the washstand.
"Thank you." Lavinia sat up on the bed. Her shoulders slumped forward.
Edith waited patiently while Lavinia wiped away the evidence of her tears before holding her hand out for the cloth. Once she'd returned it to the washstand, she sat beside her friend on the edge of the bed.
Lavinia grabbed her hand and held on tightly. Her expression was so dire Edith knew whatever she was about to reveal would be dreadful news. Edith's heart knocked against her breastbone. She steeled herself.
"I—" Lavinia's whispered voice broke. "I am pregnant."
Edith clenched her teeth. If the marquess had tossed Lavinia aside after learning of her current state, Edith was going to bloody his nose. Better yet, she would ask Mr. McTaggart to perform the task. He would do just about anything for Lady Thorne and her kin, and Edith suspected he might enjoy punching a Sassenach, especially one who deserved it.
"That dirty, despicable blackguard! Where is he?" She hopped from the bed. "Is he still in the castle?"
Lavinia blinked at her. "Who? St. Ambrose?"
Edith's hands landed on her hips. "Of course I'm referring to St. Ambrose. Tell me where he is and I'll make sure he gets what he deserves."
When Lavinia continued to stare with a slack jaw, Edith waved an impatient hand in the air. "Forget I asked. You are in shock, you poor dear. He couldn't have gotten far."
Edith tried to storm for the door, but Lavinia launched from the bed. "No!" Her friend nearly tackled her to the floor. Fortunately, a plush chair broke Edith's fall. She lay sprawled across it, no less in shock than Lavinia now.
"For pity's sake, Lavinia. Were you trying to kill me?"
"Oh, dear." Lavinia rushed forward to grab her under her armpits. "Edith, I'm so sorry. Did I hurt you?" She tried to lift Edith, but she didn't have the strength, and with the way Lavinia had Edith's arms locked straight out at her sides, Edith couldn't push herself up.
"Just let me go," Edith snapped. "You shouldn't be lifting in your condition."
Lavinia released her and stepped back. "Sorry."
After several moments of wrestling her skirts, which seemed determined to keep her prostrate across the chair, Edith managed to stand. She plopped her bum in the chair with an exhausted sigh and yanked her skirts hard to straighten them.
Lavinia giggled.
Edith glowered in return.
"Sorry," Lavinia said again. If she was truly contrite, however, she had an odd way of showing it. She burst into laughter, doubling over and holding her stomach.
"Lavinia!"
She laughed even harder. Her laughter was infectious, and soon Edith couldn't help joining her friend in cackling like a lunatic. She didn't even know what was funny—Lavinia was having a baby. Her benefactor might have ended their association—and yet Edith hooted with Lavinia until tears streamed down her cheeks.
Eventually their laughter began to die down. Lavinia sat on the arm of the chair and grinned down at her. "I'm truly sorry," she said.
Edith patted her leg. "Stop apologizing and tell me what has happened. Is Lord St. Ambrose angry? Has he left you here?"
"He doesn't know, and you cannot tell him."
Edith swiveled in the chair so she was facing her friend. "Lavinia, you are with child. How do you expect to keep this information from him?"
"It's impossible, I know. But I can't tell him until we are far from Scotland. If August learns I am having his child, he will insist on marrying at once, and there aren't many obstacles in Scotland to keep us from becoming husband and wife."
Edith frowned. "You can't think to remain unmarried now. Your child would be a bastard."
"Don't you think I know the consequences?" Lavinia surged to her feet and paced several steps away before turning to face Edith. "It is early yet. What if the pregnancy doesn't progress as it should? If August marries me now and something happens…" Tears flooded in her eyes again. "I will not trap him in marriage. I wouldn't be able to live with the knowledge he could have done better."
Edith huffed. "Lord St. Ambrose would be the first to tell you there is no one better suited for him. You must tell him. He deserves to make the choice for himself."
"I will tell him, but I want us to be safely away from Aldmist Fell before I do. And I don't know if I can keep my condition a secret for three more weeks. I have to convince him to take me back to London soon." She returned to where Edith sat and knelt before her. "I know you love it here at the castle, but if you are planning to return with me, would you be willing to depart earlier? I'm desperate to leave this place."
Edith's heart dropped. She did love Aldmist Fell, and she would miss it and all the wonderful new friends she had begun to make. Nevertheless, Lavinia was her dearest friend. She'd saved Edith's life. How could she deny Lavinia anything?
Edith's throat grew tight as she thought about leaving—of never again seeing Ismay, Mrs. McTaggart, or the entire McTaggart clan. And worse, never having another adventure with Mr. McTaggart, even if she'd been very put out with him earlier.
Lavinia smiled sadly. "You do not have to answer now, and if you choose to stay, I will understand. Give it some thought first. Promise me."
Lavinia might understand, but Edith would still feel she was disappointing her. Edith nodded. "I promise."
Kissed by a Scottish Rogue: Chapter Nine
EDITH STAYED WITH LAVINIA UNTIL IT was time to dress for dinner. A cool cloth held to Lavinia's eyes had reduced the swelling enough to where only those who knew her best would suspect her of crying. Edith fretted that Lord St. Ambrose would know the instant he saw her friend.
The man was uncom
monly aware of everything about her. His discovery of Lavinia's pregnancy could come at any time. Part of Edith wished it would happen sooner rather than later, because the marquess dearly loved Lavinia and would insist on making her his wife. Edith wouldn't be opposed in the least to St. Ambrose using the pregnancy to trap Lavinia in marriage. Nevertheless, Edith would never betray her friend's confidence.
As Edith entered her chambers, she discovered Mr. McTaggart's sister laying an exquisite light blue gown across her bed. Ismay directed a wide smile in Edith's direction. "There you are. I wondered where ye'd hied off to this late." She waved Edith forward. "Weel, come on then. We havena much time."
Edith did as Ismay commanded, even though she couldn't fathom any reason her new friend was back to help her dress a second night. "Time for what exactly? And where did you find that gown?"
Ismay spun Edith around and began unfastening the back of her garment. "Lady Thorne insisted I choose any gown from her wardrobe. The blue will match yer eyes verra weel, and it is a bit more demure. I think it will suit you nicely."
Ismay's response didn't answer Edith's question, but she was tugging the day dress over Edith's head before she could pose her question again.
"Milady bid me to wish you weel, and assure you no' to concern yerself with missing dinner with yer clan."
"They are not my clan," Edith said before Ismay tossed the lovely silk gown over her head. "Lord and Lady Thorne are my employers. I am no different from you or any of the other servants at Aldmist Fell."
The girl beamed. "You are no' telling me anything I dinna already know. You are one of us through and through." Having secured the gown, Ismay hurried her toward the dressing table. "I havena the time for anything elaborate with yer hair. My brother will be walking the floors as it is. No need ta stir up his nerves anymore than necessary."
Ismay pushed her onto the bench in front of the dressing table and started removing pins from her hair.
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