A Scot's Surrender

by Tammy Andresen

  Agnes slipped out of the room to prepare herself for dinner.

  She would have denied it if anyone asked, but she took extra care with her appearance. Her dinner dress was a lovely shade of blue that matched her eyes, and she pinned her hair loosely back, allowing a great deal of it to cascade down her over her shoulder.

  The candlelight lent a soft glow to the dining room as Agnes entered.

  Clarissa had managed to make it downstairs for the meal as well, and she beamed at Agnes, her gaze giving Agnes a sweep. Agnes knew Clarissa had noted the extra care she’d taken to look nice.

  “Agnes, ye look lovely,” Ewan called, leaving his wife’s side to draw her into the room.

  Agnes blushed, seeking out Keiran with her gaze, but he didn’t look at her as he leaned against the fireplace mantel, his eyes cast down at the flames.

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  Her mother entered the room just behind her, Aunt Rhona and Ainsley on her heels.

  Keiran barely acknowledged their presence, his gaze flicking to them for barely a second as he mumbled, “Good evening.”

  Agnes felt her skin prickle in irritation. How rude. The moment she thought he might actually be a gentleman, he seemed to forget his manners entirely. “How was your trip back to the village?” Agnes asked, assessing him, her own irritation rising.

  Kerain allowed himself to look at her then, as she directly asked him a question. Bloody hell, she looked lovely. The candlelight danced off her skin, giving it a glow that made him ache with longing. Actually, he’d been aching all day; it grew more acute each time he saw her. “Fine,” he rasped out, his voice harsher than he’d intended.

  The ride back to the village had been easy enough, but once he’d collected the cradle, the ride back to Iverness had been damn painful.

  The young man had been gone from the house but his sister, as he’d learned she was, had just apologized over and over for his behavior. Said that the strain of supporting them was taking its toll. He’d nodded politely but didn’t know what else to say.

  When he’d finally been able to extricate himself, he’d had to set the cradle on the floor, between the seats, his legs splayed out on either side. As if that weren’t uncomfortable enough, every time he looked down into the thing, all he could picture was Agnes’s gentle hand running along its wood. He imagined the soft look on her face as she’d assessed it, then his mind had really begun to wander.

  He’d seen her in his bed looking equally soft, but so much more wanton. He’d pictured her snuggled close against his side, the growing of her belly, and finally, he’d seen a beautiful little baby with blond hair and blue eyes staring up at him. Agnes would pick the child up, hold it tenderly in her arms, and smile at him with all the warmth and love he knew she possessed as she cradled his child close.

  It made him ache because it was a dream that would never be a reality. The way she was looking at him now proved it. War had changed him, and he couldn’t be what she needed. Agnes deserved a man who would cherish her, shower her in love and affection, rather than be prone to moody fits of temper like himself. He wouldn’t expose her to the darkness.

  Ainsley sidled up next to him and he gritted his teeth. Lovely as she was, the Scottish filly was the furthest thing from his mind. He preferred a woman who was quieter, kind yet strong, giving…he stopped as his gaze wandered to Agnes once again.

  “She’s lovely, isn’t she?” Ainsley whispered as she held out her hands to the fire.

  Blast it all to hell. Now Ainsley was going to start badgering him too. “Who?”

  Ainsley rolled her eyes as she sauntered away.

  They moved into the dining room and Keiran was forced to admit, she was lovely. It only soured his mood the more.

  By the time they sat down, he wanted to be somewhere else, anywhere else.

  The conversation started around him, but he ignored it for the most part.

  That was, until Agnes chimed in, “We’ll return to England in the spring, won’t we, Mother?”

  “Of course, dear. A year in Scotland is quite a long time. Longer than I intended on staying.”

  Keiran felt his brows draw together. The only thing worse than sitting there with Agnes was the thought that she would leave and he wouldn’t see her sitting there again. But perhaps it was for the best. Once she was gone, he could go back to his normal life.

  “It’s been so wonderful to stay for so long.” She beamed at Clarissa. “But I missed my first season, and I’d like to be back in time to participate this coming year.”

  “How sad fer ye.” Keiran sneered across the table, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

  She blinked, her gaze turning to him. “I’m not sad. I’ve loved this time. It’s simply that I would like to—”

  “It’s just that ye’re ready to get back tae yer life where ye do things fer yerself and don’t have to think of anyone else.” He didn’t know why he was being so mean. Agnes was the least selfish person he knew. But he didn’t dig deeper into his feelings. In fact, something told him he shouldn’t think about it at all because he wouldn’t like the answer. That thought succeeded in intensifying the anger coursing through him.

  Several people gasped around the table while Ewan let out a growl. “Keiran.” His deep voice cut through the noise.

  He ignored Ewan, his gaze swinging to Agnes. She was so quiet and still, he almost missed the trembling of her bottom lip.

  But the tears that welled in her eyes were unmistakable. “I don’t know what I’ve done to give you such a poor impression of me.” Her voice wobbled as she spoke.

  Guilt rose like bile in Kerian’s throat but he started this and wouldn’t back down now. It really was best that he push Agnes away. “Ye just are who ye are.”

  She stood then, and a single tear slid down her cheek. It may as well have been a knife, the way that little drop cut into his heart. “If wanting a husband and family of my own is selfish, than I suppose I would have to plead guilty.”

  Another tear fell, ripping him open. “That’s the only reason ye’d return? Not to stay up late and dance and flirt—”

  “Enough,” Ewan’s fist hit the table, causing several of the ladies to gasp again.

  But Agnes held up her hand to her cousin-in-law. “It’s all right, Ewan. Keiran can judge me if he wants.” More tears fell down her cheeks, but she stepped around the table, coming to stand next to his chair.

  She leaned down, and despite the tears, her jaw was set. “I may seem like a silly English girl who only cares about dancing and parties to you, but you are a crusty rogue. I don’t see how you can accuse me of being selfish. I saw you sit on your horse and leave Ewan to help us alone that day the wheel of our carriage broke.”

  “Go ahead, lass,” he stood then, pushing his chair so hard with the motion of his body that it fell to the floor. Dimly, he heard Ewan rise too. “Tell them the other reason you think I’m a rogue. The real one that has nothing to do with a wagon wheel.”

  Her cheeks heated and her mouth opened and closed. Of course she couldn’t say it. They’d be married if she did. She stepped closer to him, though, not backing down. And he felt a niggle of pride in her backbone despite the hurt she must be feeling. He pushed that emotion away. Now was not the time.

  Her scent wrapped around him as she turned her face up to him, and his chest constricted almost painfully. Even in his anger he wanted to wrap his arms around her and comfort her in her hurt. Her voice was soft and clear as she spoke, notching her chin toward him. “I think the pot is calling the kettle black.” And then with a swish of her skirts, she turned and exited the dining room without another look back.

  Keiran was aware that if someone were counting victories, his would have been a glorious defeat. He’d been an arse. Everyone there knew how selflessly sweet Agnes was. He, on the other hand, was guilty of all that she’d accused. What was more, she’d gotten the last word in and then, left.

  While he still stood there, with five p
airs of accusing eyes staring at him, he picked up his chair and made to follow Agnes. But he hadn’t made five steps into the hall when a hand at his shoulder stopped him.

  “If ye were any other man,” Ewan rumbled, “I’d knock ye senseless.”

  “Why don’t ye just do it then?” Keiran turned. Fighting was exactly the distraction he needed. It would vent the anger, the passion, and the desperate wanting rising inside of him.

  “What the bloody hell is wrong with ye?” Ewan’s voice rose in anger.

  Keiran shook his head. “I dunnae ken.”

  “Well, figure it out or leave. But we’ll not have an incident like that again. Ye’ll upset Clarissa, and Agnes does nae deserve it.”

  Keiran nodded as he made his way to his room. Somehow, he had to find a way to control himself around Agnes. Because whether he was wrapping her in his embrace or yelling at her in front of everyone, what he couldn’t seem to do was leave her be.

  Chapter Six

  Agnes cried for over an hour before her tears finally dried. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t known Keiran was not a man of honor. Gentleman helped ladies in need and they certainly didn’t yell at them in front of a room of assembled guests.

  Knowing what she did about him, she tried and failed to understand why he could hurt her so? Why did she care? She already knew the answer. He was strong, handsome, and he had some moral fiber. He hadn’t touched her at the inn. Agnes and her mother had been making their way in the world without her father for some time. When she was with Keiran, she felt…safe again. In a way she hadn’t in a long time. When he wasn’t berating her that was.

  But she did need a man who would cherish her, and that wasn’t Keiran.

  With a sigh, she readied herself for bed.

  The next morning dawned gray, but the rain held off, and after breakfast, Agnes headed outside to work on the cradle. Collecting up a pail, lye, and a rag, she began by washing the piece down. Then, using a bristle brush, she removed any dirt or debris from the cradle. As she finished, she heard what started as the pitter-patter of rain on the roof.

  But it picked up in intensity until it was coming down in near buckets. Agnes sighed. She couldn’t paint with it this wet, and she couldn’t return to the house. She’d have to sit and wait it out.

  The barn door creaked open and Keiran came striding into the barn, soaked through. Agnes stood when she saw him, every muscle tensing. Which Keiran might she get today?

  His gaze swung to hers and she noted his grimace. Why should he be upset? He’d been the one to be mean to her.

  “What are ye doing in here?” Her voice was sharper than she’d intended, but she was angry at him. He’d been a cad at dinner last night and seeing him reminded her of how mean he could be. It also brought out the other feelings she had for him, the tender ones and the heart throbbing need she couldn’t deny. That, in turn, made her even angrier. Why couldn’t she move past that?

  He ran his hand through his soaking hair, shedding water as he did so. “I was circling the lower field and the upper one for fresh signs of poachers when the storm came in.”

  Agnes swallowed, much of her ire evaporating. In that way, Keiran was so noble. Helping his friend who was in need. “Any luck?” she asked, looking away and sitting back down to continue brushing the dirt from the cradle.

  “Nay, and any sign will be lost now.” He walked into the stall where she was working. “A hog is missing though, and I can’t help but wonder if they are related.”

  She gave a nod as she turned the cradle over to brush the bottom. There was likely very little dirt there, but her hands needed to be busy now. “It does seem likely.”

  “The cradle looks better already.” He cleared his throat.

  With a nod, she continued brushing the legs and the bottom without answering. Truth be told, she admired the work he was doing on the estate, but she didn’t want to make small talk with him like nothing had happened.

  “Agnes, I am sorry about what I said last night.” He moved closer. “There’s no excuse for it, but I hope ye’ll forgive me.”

  “Of course,” she answered automatically, without emotion. He moved away from her then, and she was sure he was leaving, but then she heard the stove swing open as he fed more wood into its belly. Returning to the stall, she noted that he wasn’t wearing his jacket or his shirt. An ache started between her legs as her gaze swept down the broadness of his shoulders and the sculpted muscles of his chest. She gasped. “Where are your clothes?”

  He gave a chuckle, but it held little humor. “I suppose this counts as one more time I’ve been less than a gentleman.”

  It was Agnes’s turn to look abashed. That hadn’t been a nice thing for her to say either. “I didn’t intend to be so rude—”

  “It’s all right.” He waved his hand. ”I deserved it. When it comes to ye, I haven’t been much good. I know it’s not a proper reason, but the war in India began during the monsoon season. I spent weeks soaked to the bone, couldn’t get dry. I’ve wondered if I should leave Scotland because I hate the rain now.”

  Agnes bit her lip. That was why he hadn’t gotten off his horse that first day. “You didn’t fix the wheel because of the rain?”

  He didn’t look at her, his voice quiet. “It’s not a good reason, I ken. Any man should help a woman in need. I was tired in body, and my wounds, the ones deep in my soul, are still healing.”

  Agnes didn’t realize she had stood until she was crossing over to him. She stopped just short of touching him, though part of her wanted to reach up and comfort him. She understood how the past could affect one’s present. Wasn’t she carrying around her own hurts? “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  He shrugged. “Ye didn’t think much of me anyhow. And it’s not something I admit often. I haven’t even told Ewan…”

  “Your secret is safe with me.” She reached for his hand grasping it in her own. It was warm and firm, his skin heating hers. Because she couldn’t be mad anymore, not after he’d laid himself bare.

  “I’m sorry too,” she started, but he put up his other hand.

  “Don’t be sorry. You’re right. I’m not gentleman enough fer ye.” Keiran stood then. “But as soon as the rain lets up, I’ll cover ye with my coat and get ye inside.”

  “Well, that’s very nice of you, Keiran. And you should let me apologize.”

  He shook his head. “I wish I could have known ye before I left. Or maybe that I’d never gone at all. But I know I can’t change who I am now.”

  Guilt made her wince. He thought he was lacking? Of course he did, likely because she’d made him feel that way. “Why would you want to?” She stepped closer, she lifted her other hand to touch his bare chest. It was a mistake because his skin beneath her fingers felt rough and hard and so right. “I was wrong to judge you that day in the rain.”

  He brought his free hand up to tangle in her hair. His voice was gentle. “It’s more than that, Agnes. I wish it weren’t so, but I’m not meant to marry. I don’t want a wife.”

  She wanted to refute what he’d said. Nausea was rising in her stomach. His words making her shake her head in denial. “I feel this connection with you. Yesterday on your horse, I know you felt it too.”

  He sighed. “I want you, Agnes. There is no point denying it, and there is nothing wrong with passion. Ye need to ken that. But I won’t marry, so it’s best we keep our distance.”

  Her heart jumped into her throat. She supposed it would have been worse if he hadn’t admitted that and had taken advantage of her. In that way, he was upstanding. To admit he wanted no part of marriage, however, was just too much. “Oh, I see,” she answered with a blandness she might normally use when discussing the weather. Inside, however, her chest ached and tears pricked at her eyes. She wouldn’t allow him to see her cry again. Not after yesterday.

  But she understood clearly now. His past and hers were at odds. She needed a man willing to do whatever it took to heal the wounds her father had left, and Keira
n had too many wounds of his own to help with hers.

  She let her hand drop as she stepped away. “I can’t paint the cradle with it this wet.” Then she turned and fled out of the barn, running headlong into the rain.

  Keiran watched her go and debated chasing after her, but decided against it. It wasn’t because of the rain. Much as it had pained him to hurt her, it had to be done.

  He waited until the rain let up and then shrugged his damp clothes back on. He still needed to check around the coops for the chickens, and tomorrow he’d search the woods. While the deer did not belong to Ewan, the land did, so hunters were not to use it for their own gain. He’d take the aging gamekeeper with him. Hopefully the man would remember where he’d made kills.

  The rain had brought frigid air with it and Keiran tried to shake off the cold. He’d make a quick circle of the coops, and then he’d head inside to change. His thoughts immediately strayed to Agnes. What was she doing? Would he see her?

  Clenching his teeth, he tried to eliminate her from his thoughts as he rounded the corner to the first coop.

  He was barely paying attention when the sight of a man with two dead chickens in either hand caught his attention. There was something familiar in the set of his shoulders, but Keiran didn’t have time to place it before he yelled, “Hey.”

  The man gave a quick glance back and then broke into a run toward the trees. Keiran pulled out his pistol as he picked up the pace to follow. He didn’t know why he pulled out the weapon, other than it was force of habit from fighting for his life.

  “Stop this instant,” Keiran yelled.

  The man looked back then and suddenly halted, dropping the chickens and raising a gun of his own. Keiran realized his mistake a second too late. He would never have shot the poacher, but the other man felt threatened. The same moment Keiran was about to yell not to shoot, the pistol’s blast rent the air.

  He felt it hit his arm, a burning, stinging pain, but he didn’t slow his pace. He leveled his own gun and fired back. He narrowly missed as the poacher reached the forest line and disappeared into the trees.