Christmas in Kilts

by Bronwen Evans

  She had made this trip north for one thing. If she achieved her goal, at least then she’d be able to accept her spinsterhood and move to Cornwall.

  Her grandmother had left her the house in Cornwall near St. Ives. She’d spent many a holiday there helping her grandmother grow her wild flowers. Emma had decided that she would enter her spinsterhood gracefully. She would not linger in London the object of pity at every ball or society function. She would retire to Cornwall and be content—but she had one wish to be fulfilled first.

  She was quite prepared to ask for what she wanted. Dougray would be discreet, he had honor and he was her brother’s friend—but this was a fact she knew might also impinge on attaining her goal.

  She had, however, forgotten one thing. His guests. What would she tell them? Angus was the first to ask, but the others would too.

  “As I said I’ve always . . .” her words petered out at the sight of Angus’s mocking smile.

  “No lass comes all this way in winter to see a loch. You should think of a better reason than that, my girl.”

  Angus’s frank words brought a smile to her lips. “I’ve never been good at—”

  “—lying?” he finished for her.

  Emma blustered. “Not lying exactly. I would love to see Loch Linnhe.”

  “The Loch and the island with the monastery on it are beautiful, but I don’t think that is why you have come all this way. I do wonder why you are so determined to join our little party.”

  She really did need a good excuse. “I needed a change of scenery.” That was true. She wanted to escape the endless balls and social events that she was invited to, but where she was always kept on the outside of acceptance. Taunted and mocked for her increasing age—and her excessive height.

  “Change of scene, I can understand the need. What I’m trying to figure out is why here? One reason springs to mind and if I am right I am inclined to help you.”

  Angus’s sly smile sent hope and embarrassment in equal measure flooding her veins. “I think my reasons are private and not to be shared.”

  “Then how can I help you?”

  “I’m sure I have no idea what you mean,” as her face heated further.

  “I think your reason is six feet five inches of Scottish nobility. A widower earl who obviously has to remarry. I’ll give you one thing, your timing is impeccable. But I cannot for the life of me understand why a bonnie lass like you is not already married.”

  She ignored the fact that he had the wrong idea about her plan and went on the defensive. “I might ask the same of you Mr. McGregor.”

  Angus laughed heartily. “True. But I have to say my tale is a sad one. I’m in love with a lass whose father needs money through a good marriage, and as the poor cousin, I don’t have any.”

  “If she loves you she might not care.”

  All humor left his face. “I would care. It would bring hardship on the Mack—on her family.”

  “I see. I can respect that.”

  “So I ask again. Why do you need a change of scene? And why here?”

  “Anywhere away from society’s prying eyes would do and the wilds of Scotland seemed ideal.”

  Angus considered her. “Has there been a scandal?”

  “No. No, nothing like that it’s just . . . well, at my age, society is most unkind.”

  He nodded. “The English must be as dimwitted as I have always suspected.”

  “I just wanted some time away from the constant reminder that I remain unmarried. I promise I shall not interrupt your hunt in any way.”

  Angus sat back and looked like a naughty schoolboy who had a prank up his sleeve. He studied her studiously before leaping to his feet. “Please excuse me, I have a quick errand to run. I shall see you at dinner.”

  She watched him leave with apprehension. She hoped Angus did not try to interfere. It would be embarrassing all round. She wanted to approach Dougray in her own time and in her own way. She wanted a few days in which to study him and try to ascertain which approach would work best.

  Just then the door opened and a maid delivered her a pot of tea and some food. She smiled at the girl and thanked her. She should wait until dinner, but being so tall she could eat anything and still stay willowy. She wished she could become voluptuous like the women most men desired.

  An image of Francesca entered her head. She’d been so small and delicate and beautiful. Emma looked at her hand as it held her teacup. Then down her body to her feet. There was nothing delicate about her five feet eleven inches frame.

  She towered over most Englishmen and was certain her height put men off. Dougray was one of the few men who was taller than she.

  For the millionth time she cursed herself for coming. No one liked being rejected and she’d already been rejected enough that you’d think it would no longer hurt—but it did. It cut deep. This plan of hers might give her the deepest cut of all.

  She’d loved Dougray since the first day she’d met him. At sixteen she’d never met a man as handsome or as tall. For once she did not look down on a man, he had to look down on her. His smile was as bright as the sun and her heart had bloomed to life.

  While she sat drinking tea trying to keep her eyes open, she went over her well-thought-out plan and knew she’d overlooked one important thing. Who was she to think she might be attractive to Dougray? No other man found her attractive. She wasn’t called Giraffeworth for nothing.

  She suddenly lost her courage and wanted to run and hide in her room.

  Just then Angus reappeared. “Mrs. Jones informs me your rooms are ready. I’ll show you the way. For a hunting lodge the house is rather large as it has been added to over the years, and it’s easy to get lost. You’re in the south wing.”

  She eyed him suspiciously. “It is more like a castle than a lodge isn’t it.” The way he said “the south wing” sounded conspiratorial. She wondered if Angus had his own agenda. That’s all she needed. A man meddling in her affairs. She inwardly grimaced. She hoped there would be an affair to meddle with at all.

  Mr. McGregor walked her to her bedchamber door. Before she entered he leaned against the doorframe and said, “May I offer some advice?”

  She reluctantly nodded because admittedly she needed all the help she could get.

  “Don’t play games. Dougray will respect you more if you are direct.” When she did not reply he merely smiled. He chuckled as he walked off and threw over his shoulder, “I think Dougray is going to enjoy this house party for a change.”

  Chapter Three

  Dougray’s head pounded as if a smithy was hammering a horseshoe in it. He had stayed up late with Angus and Thornton playing billiards and drinking copious amounts of Angus’s fine Scottish whisky long into the early morning hours. Lady Emma had been too tired to join them for dinner so it had been just the men reminiscing.

  He’d been relieved. Emma’s presence unsettled him. He worried about why she had come and he worried at his reaction to seeing her again. He bloody well knew one thing though. She was the reason he’d drunk so much last night.

  She stirred something in him that he did not want or need.

  With such a thick head he’d even missed his morning ride, he’d forced himself out of bed around eleven and come to his study to try and get the important correspondence seen to before he had to spend time with his guests.

  He was progressing well, and soon his large pile was down to ten missives and a set of accounts for the highland sheep farm, which was part of his estate. He was thinking he might have time after lunch to take a ride in the fresh air with Thornton, when someone started to play the piano in the ballroom next to his study. While the playing was competent, the sounds vibrated in his already thumping head, making it difficult to concentrate.

  Then the singing started.

  He sat at his desk with his head in his hands because the playing was now accompanied by what was the worst singing he’d ever heard. It sounded like a stable-yard cat was being strangled. As it was
a woman’s voice the only person it could be was Lady Emma Duckworth. Did she not comprehend how awful her singing was?

  Curiosity and self-preservation made him rise and follow the noise. He was about to tell her to cease the infernal racket, when at the doorway to the ballroom all he could do was stand and stare. Emma looked ethereal with the sunlight flittering over her as she sat lost in the music. Her head was thrown back as she sang with passion. She played a soulful melody and sung the words to the song with such sadness in every ill-hit note that he was not surprised to see tears streaming down her cheeks.

  He listened to the words of the song:

  ’Tis the last rose of summer

  Left blooming alone,

  All her lovely companions

  Are faded and gone!

  No flower of her kindred,

  No rosebud is nigh

  To reflect back her blushes,

  Or give sigh for sigh.

  I’ll not leave thee, thou lone one,

  To pine on the stem; Since the lovely are sleeping,

  Go, sleep thou with them:

  Thus kindly I scatter

  Thy leaves o’er the bed

  Where thy mates of the garden

  Lie scentless and dead.

  So soon may I follow,

  When friendships decay,

  And from love’s shining circle,

  The gems drop away,

  When true hearts lie wither’d,

  And fond ones are flown,

  Oh! who would inhabit

  This bleak world alone.

  As she sang the last line, This bleak world alone, a strong and unwanted longing filled him. He was sick to the stomach of being alone, but the idea of opening up his heart filled him with dread. Plus, how could he be true to Francesca if he let another woman into his life.

  He would never put himself in that situation again. Nothing hurt worse than the total agony of being in love, and then having the love of your life die—in your arms, with you powerless to save her.

  So caught up in his own sorrow, he almost missed the fact that she’d finished singing and that she was sitting quietly sniffling back her tears at the piano. He didn’t want to disturb her in her private sorrow. He wondered who had hurt her so. Perhaps he had met a kindred spirit, someone who understood the devastation of loss. As he made to turn away she looked up and saw him, quickly wiping the tears from her face.

  “Thomas Moore always makes me cry. I hope my singing didn’t disturb you. I’m terrible at it,” she added with a self-depreciating laugh.

  He returned her infectious smile. She did not seem to care how really awful she was, and he admired her for it. Francesca had never done anything unless she’d been perfect at it. “I did think a cat was being strangled, but you play very well.”

  She stood up and approached him not offended at all by his observation. “Thank you. It’s a shame I can’t sing, as I rarely get to play now. Most ladies are expected to sing as well as they play. After my first performance my mother made sure I was never asked to play again.”

  “You may play and sing here whenever you want. Perhaps just close the door,” he added with a laugh.

  And soon they were both laughing, and in that moment his headache was forgotten. On the spur of the moment he asked, “I feel like some fresh crisp air. Would you care to accompany me on a ride?”

  “I’d like that. Best we make the most of a fine day. You never know when the weather might turn.”

  “True.” He gave her a mocking smile. “Besides, you seemed very keen to see Loch Linnhe. That is the reason for your visit is it not?”

  She laughed again, a light tinkling sound that lifted his spirits further. Emma did not seem to mind being teased. Francesca had hated to be the brunt of any joke.

  “Perhaps on our ride, if the sights you show me are impressive, I’ll share my reasons for invading your little hunting party,” she teased back.

  As her smile faded he said, “I promise I will not pry.” She merely nodded and he added, “Shall we meet in an hour on the front steps? And in the meantime I’ll get the groom to find you a suitable mount. As I recall, you are a competent rider?”

  She nodded. “Yes. I love to attend the foxhunts. When in Yorkshire I ride almost every day.”

  “Then you must feel free to do so here as well. I shall put a horse and groom at your disposal. It’s not safe to ride alone in an area you do not know.”

  “That is most kind. If you’ll excuse me I shall go and change.”

  He stood watching as Emma made her way up the stairs. He could not remember the last time he’d wanted a woman’s company. It must be the song. As he made his way to the stables to organize a sturdy steed for Emma he realized he hadn’t looked forward to a ride in a long time.

  * * *

  Emma’s hands shook as her lady’s maid helped her don her riding habit. What on earth had possessed her to say she’d confide in him the reason why she was here?

  But here is your chance.

  Was she brave enough to ask him for what she wanted most?

  The fact he’d asked her to join him on a ride so soon after arriving had to be an indication that he was not averse to female company—her company. She tried not to get her hopes up, but she’d never spent any time alone with Dougray, or in fact any man who was not her brother, and her nerves jingled with anticipation. At home in England she’d never have been allowed to ride with Dougray without a chaperone.

  She would behave herself and hoped she did not do anything stupid like ask about Francesca. She wanted to know about her. She knew she should not compare herself to his dead wife, but Francesca was so different in looks and temperament and that could mean he would never consider her attractive.

  She desperately needed him to find her attractive.

  Only one way to find out, she told herself as she made her way down the stairs exactly an hour later. Her pulse was hammering as she saw him waiting for her on the front steps where two horses stood saddled in the driveway. He looked so handsome her head spun.

  She barely noted the fact the sky was filling with clouds as he smiled and helped her mount.

  Even through layers of cloth, Emma’s body tingled where he’d touched her. Her breathing grew rapid imagining his touch on her bare skin.

  They trotted down the long tree-lined drive and then turned right across open fields.

  “Zeus here wants to stretch his legs; care for a gallop?”

  “Absolutely,” she answered excitedly.

  “Try to keep up,” and then his large black steed was off and she had to work hard to keep him in her sights. Her gelding, called Curlin, valiantly gave his all but she had to wait for Dougray to stop before she caught up.

  They slowed the horses to a walk to cool them down and soon Emma could smell the sea. Loch Linnhe was a sea loch with other freshwater lochs feeding into it, not far from Dougray’s hunting lodge. As they came out of a small copse of trees, there was the grandeur of Loch Linnhe, the water glittering in the midday sun.

  “Oh goodness, it does take your breath away.”

  “Aye. I’ve been coming here since I could barely walk and it still stirs my soul.”

  There was sadness in his tone and she could see he was lost in memories. She raised a hand to shield her eyes and looked southwards to where the waters of the loch met the sea. She pointed. “Is that the island with the monastery on it?” When he nodded she asked, “How far is it to ride? Can we see it?”

  “No.”

  His tone was hard and certain. She waited for an explanation but he said no more. Dougray was still staring south and seemed lost in memories—was he thinking of his wife? She didn’t know what she’d said but obviously she’d upset him somehow. The silence lengthened and Curlin started stamping his feet and throwing his head.

  Suddenly on a loud sigh Dougray swung down and pulled a length of tartan cloth from behind his saddle. “Shall we sit and have a wee talk. I’d love to hear why you thought it wa
s appropriate to accompany your brother to my gathering.”

  With that he reached up to help her off Curlin and she looked deep into his eyes and something primal passed between them. She instinctively knew this man held so much honor in every bone of his body that he’d never hurt her.

  She trusted him with her secret and she would trust him with her reputation.

  While he tethered the horses she laid the plaid on the ground under a tree where the ground was dry, and sat to gather her courage. He sat next to her and handed her a silver flask he’d pulled out from a pocket in his jacket. “A bit of whisky to keep the chill away. I’m hoping we get home before it rains.”

  She looked up and noticed the clouds beginning to gather, and then reached for the flask hoping the liquid fired her courage.

  “Now why don’t you tell me what has you running all the way to Scotland? I assume it’s something your brother cannot help you with.”

  She choked on the whisky.

  No. She definitely could not go to her brother with this.

  “Leave some whisky for me,” Dougray laughed. “It has a habit of creeping up on you if you drink it too quickly.”

  She handed the flask back reluctantly, knowing she had to ask him. But where to begin? How to broach such a delicate subject?

  “Come now, you can’t be in that much trouble. You know I shall help you as much as I can—but if I feel it necessary I will have to inform your brother.”

  Emma couldn’t help but laugh. Once she explained, she doubted Thornton would be told anything.

  “I’m sorry, my lord, but Thornton is the last person I’d want to know about my situation.”

  “Has some man dishonored you?” he asked with thunder in his voice.

  “Not yet,” she answered glibly and then cursed herself under her breath. This is not how she imagined this conversation to go.

  He stared at her as if she’d gone mad, then he softly asked, “What is it, Emma?”

  She remembered him asking her that question on his return from Europe with Francesca as his wife. She’d behaved like a petulant child and one night she’d purposely spoiled a game of chess he was playing with Thornton. He’d asked her what was wrong that night too. He’d noticed her terrible behavior.