Christmas in Kilts

by Bronwen Evans

  She couldn’t answer truthfully back then because what was wrong was that he had smashed her childish and foolish dreams. She’d wanted to be his bride, to own his heart as he owned hers, but a beautiful young Italian wife destroyed all hope of that happening. She’d been filled with a jealous rage that at eighteen she hadn’t known how to conceal.

  She pushed aside her hurt and said, “I have come to ask for a favor.”

  He frowned and took another swig of whisky. “I’d be honored to help if I can.”

  “You have not heard what the favor is.” She could feel her face heat and it wasn’t because of the whisky. She hurried on. “Did you know I will be six and twenty in January?”

  He laughed. “I thought I’d known you for a long time. Ten years.”

  His smile faded so she said, “Lots has happened in that ten years.”

  He merely swallowed and nodded.

  “Anyway, on my birthday, I’m moving from Yorkshire to build my own life. I’m going to Cornwall to live in my grandmother’s cottage. She left it to me last year. I love it there. It’s near St. Ives and sits up on the hill overlooking the sea. It’s quite beautiful. She has a field of wild flowers surrounding the house.”

  He sat looking at her as if she were speaking a foreign language.

  “I would have thought your father and brother would have found you a husband by now.”

  She gave a small smile. “Would you let your father find you a wife?” She saw him blanch. How odd. His father had not been party to his wedding to Francesca. She forcefully said, “If I were to marry, I would pick my husband.”

  “If? Surely you want to marry.”

  She did. She wanted children. “I might wish to marry but it would appear I am not—that is—I have not met the right man.” Or any man who wanted her enough to marry her, large dowry and all. What was she thinking? Why would Dougray find her desirable when no other man had? Giraffeworth—the name said it all. Tall and clumsy. She towered over most men and they disliked her for it. She couldn’t help how tall she was. She swallowed back her fears that Dougray would laugh at her notion. She had come this far . . .

  “I made a decision that if I turned six and twenty still unwed I would embrace my spinsterhood. I’d gain my independence by moving to my own cottage.”

  He reached out and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “I think Englishmen must be mad or you’re very fussy. And I realize none of them are good enough for you. You are a beautiful woman, intelligent too. I’m not surprised you are being choosey but there will be someone out there for you.”

  There was. He was sitting beside her, but Dougray loved a ghost.

  He smiled and joked, “So, you want me to find you a strapping highlander? I suspect if I let it be known you were looking for a husband I would have a queue at my door for a bonnie lass such as you.”

  Emma loved it when his polish slipped and he spoke in his native brogue. She could imagine him a Scottish warrior of old.

  “No.” She took a deep breath and quietly said, “I want you to be my lover. During my stay I would like you to teach me about passion before I settle into spinsterhood.”

  The whisky flask slipped from his fingers to the ground and he cursed. Then cursed again at his curse, before grabbing the flask and drinking deeply.

  Only the sound of the birds and the gentle wash of the waves on the shore of the loch could be heard as he sat stunned, looking at her.

  He shook his head. “I think I must have misheard.”

  “Please don’t make me say it again.”

  He jumped to his feet and began to pace. “You can’t mean to do this. You’ll be ruined. You’re asking me to ruin you. No. I can’t. What if you decide to marry? What if I got you with child—”

  “Do you know what polite English society call me? Giraffeworth. No man wants his wife to tower over him. Believe me, I am unlikely ever to wed.” At his look of disbelief she added, “Not many men are as tall as you and Thornton.”

  “A child, Emma, would be born a bastard.”

  “I’ve heard there are ways to ensure that does not happen.”

  “No wonder you don’t want Thornton to know why you are here. He’d cut off my ba—that is, I mean, why me?”

  “Because I trust you.” And love you but she’d never tell him that. She was pretty sure he would send her home immediately if she told him her true feelings.

  He began to pace again. “No. Absolutely not. I cannot believe you’d ask this of me. On my honor—”

  Now she stood, her anger and disappointment mixing to give her courage. “Honor? What of compassion? Can you imagine what it is like to have never known the intimate touch of another? I haven’t even been kissed properly. I’ve never even seen a naked man. I won’t spend my life wondering. I want to experience passion with a man I trust. Besides, if no men find me desirable now, I’m unlikely to get more desirable as I age.” She finished on a sob, mortified that she’d had to almost beg, and admit that she was not desirable to any man.

  He stopped pacing and walked toward her. He reached out and pulled her into an embrace. “Is this what this is about? You think no man will find you desirable?” He hugged her tightly and she breathed in his scent. He smelled of the outdoors, sea spray, forest, and whisky. “You are a beautiful woman. Any man would be lucky to teach you about passion. But your first time should be with a man who loves you, who wants to spend his life with you. That is true passion.”

  She felt her tears building. “I doubt you or Thornton waited to find a woman you’d spend the rest of your life with. I understand passion and desire often have nothing to do with love.” She spoke to his muscled chest while listening to his heart beneath her ear. “I’ve already waited many, many years. I’m not waiting for a miracle, because we all know miracles only ever happen in stories.”

  They stood there, Dougray holding her in his arms, her listening to the steady beating of his heart.

  “I’m not sure I can do what you ask. What about Thornton? Your brother is my best friend.”

  “Thornton need not know. I came to you because I trust your discretion. I also trust you to show me how magical passion can be. I hoped you were my friend, too, and that you’d help me. Is that too much to ask?”

  Chapter Four

  Dougray cursed his fellow sex under his breath. Men were such ridiculous creatures. How could men overlook such a beauty just because of her height?

  She’s not too tall for you.

  He felt her pain. Knew what it must have taken for her to ask this of him. She had to let go of her pride and her common sense.

  His emotions were rising like a gale-force storm and he hated the destruction these feelings might cause. A part of him wanted to give her what she had asked for, but that’s what stopped him. He did desire this woman in his arms. He could not deny his body’s stirrings, so much so he needed to put her at arm’s length or soon she would learn exactly how much he desired her.

  However, he should not be so eager to agree to her request. Emotions led to pain.

  He gently set Emma away from him. When she looked at him he wanted to say, yes, it would be such an honor, but he couldn’t get the words out.

  Only yesterday he’d told Francesca he had to remarry because he wanted a son. Having an affair with Lady Emma was purely about pleasure and his gut clenched with guilt at wanting her.

  Guilt and fear.

  “I will have to think about this. There is a lot for me to consider.”

  Her head dropped and she turned away from him.

  “It is not because I don’t find you desirable. I do.” Emma was the first woman he’d wanted since Francesca. “But this isn’t just about you and me. And I, too, think of you as a friend, and it would change our relationship forever. We wouldn’t be able to turn back the clock and forget this happened.”

  “I won’t ask you again, but I will wait for an answer. I won’t wait for long though.” She swung back to him, her chin lifted. “My stay here
is probably the only opportunity I’ll have to enact my plan without creating a scandal. If not you, perhaps one of your other guests—”

  “Like hell.”

  “I’m a grown woman who knows what she wants. I want it to be you but if you say no, I won’t change my plan.” She turned and began to walk to her horse.

  “I’ll tell Thornton.”

  She halted with her back to him, and he wanted to hit himself when he saw her shoulders hunch in defeat. She did not even look at him. She merely said, “I thought you would understand.”

  “Understand what?”

  “What it is like to be truly alone. To not have the one you love.”

  A rage roared through him like a wildfire. How dare she bring up Francesca’s death?

  She turned to face him, tears in her eyes. “I can’t have the man I love either. He might not be dead, but I know what loss is, just like you do. All I’m asking for is a moment. A taste of intimacy that I can use to imagine what my life could have been like. I did not expect that you, of all people, would deny me a moment of happiness.”

  And just like that she’d doused the flames of rage. This morning while she played the piano he’d thought a man had hurt her. He wished he could avenge her. She did not deserve to be hurt so. He also did not want to think of her missing out on part of life’s special experiences.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She challenged him. “Sorry for threatening to tell Thornton, or sorry that you cannot help me?”

  He walked over and offered her help to remount. “Sorry that I did not understand the reasons behind your request. If I had the power to make this man love you I would move heaven and earth to do so.”

  “Thank you.”

  As he swung onto Zeus’s back he said to her, “I will seriously consider your request tonight, and let you know my answer tomorrow. However, I hope that whatever answer I give, you will still consider me a friend.”

  A shadow crossed her features before she sighed and said, “Of course.” Then a smile broke on her lips that took his breath away. “I’ll race you back to the lodge,” and just like that she was gone, riding like the wind.

  He couldn’t help but smile. She thought she might win. He’d wait a few moments and let her think she would win. A part of him already knew the answer he would give her tomorrow.

  He wanted her.

  He wanted to, how did she put it, share intimacy with someone special, and there was no doubt in his mind that Lady Emma was very special indeed.

  And it frightened him senseless.

  If he had sense he’d send her home today.

  On that thought he pressed Zeus into a gallop and chased after the one woman whom he should run a mile from but who, for some reason, drew him like a starving man to a table laden with food.

  She was a feast for his senses. Senses that had been dormant for far too long.

  On that thought, once again Francesca’s smiling face flashed in his head. But her image was blurry.

  It pained him that over the years her features had become less clear. He could never quite remember the shape of her nose. He was losing her all over again and reliving his pain each time.

  That’s why he’d hesitated to agree to Emma’s request. She made him feel.

  He did not want to feel again. That’s why he’d picked Fiona Mackenzie.

  The pain of loss—it was why Emma asked for an affair. She knew what loss felt like, too. To fall in love, to give all of yourself to someone, and then to lose them—nothing caused more agony. He could not, would not, let himself fall in love again.

  He overtook her just as they reached the drive, because he couldn’t be nice and let her win. If he agreed to her request to teach her about passion, he had to keep himself coolly detached. Something inside him warned him that Emma could penetrate the fortress he guarded around his heart.

  And he’d never let that happen.

  As he came to a halt in the stable yard, Angus sauntered out to greet him with a smug smile upon his face.

  “I thought you’d wait for me, but I see you have more enticing company.” Angus looked up at the sky. “And back just in time.”

  At Angus’s words the rain began to fall. Emma rambled into the stable yard just as the heavens opened. Rain poured down and Dougray dismounted and hurried to help her from Curlin.

  “Inside with you, Angus and I can take care of the horses.”

  She didn’t need to be told again, and hurried toward the steps. As he watched her go, he wondered why he wasn’t feeling trapped. Why hadn’t he simply said no? Instead, he would give Emma’s request consideration.

  “She’s a very bonnie lass.” Angus said in his ear as they stood in the pouring rain. “Englishmen are daft creatures. If she’d been born in Scotland she’d have been married by now. Aye, snatched up and with a couple of strapping little boys.”

  He knew what his friend was doing. “I’m marrying Fiona Mackenzie.” Before Angus could say anything Dougray turned and walked the horses into the stable and handed the reins to the groom.

  When he reentered the stable yard Angus was still standing in the rain.

  “Lady Emma could make you happy. I’ve never known you to take a lady riding.”

  “Emma is a family friend, I’ve known her and Thornton for years. Do not read more into it.”

  Angus fell in beside him as the men made their way to the house.

  “Friendship is a good basis for marriage. Perhaps that is why Thornton allowed her to attend. He, too, sees a good match.”

  Temper got the better of him. He rounded on his friend. “Why are you pushing this? What does it matter to you if I marry Fiona or Emma? Stop interfering in my life and get one of your own.”

  With that he stormed off to the house to get out of his wet clothes and into a hot bath. He had a few hours before the rest of the guests would begin to arrive, and he had thinking to do.

  Embarking on an affair with Emma was dangerous because God damn it, Angus was right. She was a woman any man would be lucky to fall in love with.

  And love was the last thing Dougray wanted in his life.

  He sat on the edge of the chair in his room, dripping water everywhere while pulling off his boots, and listed all the reasons why he should gently and compassionately turn Emma down. He had one boot off with one to go when he heard that terrible screeching singing coming from the suite next to his. No it could not be . . . She would not dare.

  He stormed through the connecting door, through Francesca’s old dressing room and into the room that had been kept empty for over six years. The room was a reminder to him of the pain that love could bring, a reminder to never let anyone get that close again.

  But when he stormed into the room he stopped as if he’d hit an invisible stone wall. The boot in his hand fell to the floor and he stood trapped by the beauty of the woman before him.

  It was as if time stood still. Emma stood naked, water sluicing down her body in the middle of a bathtub placed by the fire. He should look away but he couldn’t. She was like a Greek goddess come to life.

  Her face flushed a bright red and she quickly leaned over to grab a towel.

  He finally found his voice. “What are you doing in this room?”

  A look of confusion passed over her face. “This was the room I was given by Mrs. Jones.”

  She lied. Mrs. Jones knew never to put anyone in this room. “No. She knows no one is to be in here.”

  Emma slapped her forehead and cursed. “Mr. McGregor showed me to the room.”

  That made sense. Bloody Angus. He’d kill him.

  Emma looked at him with pity. “I’m sorry if I have upset you. I can ask Mrs. Jones to move my things immediately.”

  He stood looking at her as she modestly held the small towel in front of her. He was overreacting. If he married Fiona she would have this suite of rooms. It was merely the idea of Emma being in the mistress of the house’s bedchamber that unsettled him.

  He kept staring,
his body flaring to life as he watched the now wet towel fit her body like a second skin. It molded to her breasts, which sat high and firm on her chest, her nipples hard and prominent. The towel showed off the flare of her hips from her tiny waist and oh, my God, her legs. They were long and firm and he could almost feel them wrapped around his hips as he drove into her tight welcoming heat.

  Arousal hit hard and fast, taking his breath away. Never had he wanted a woman as much as he wanted the one standing in front of him.

  He swung away from the intoxicating sight before he did something he might regret. “I’m sorry for the intrusion. There is no need to vacate the room. I just hadn’t realized you’d been given this suite.” Last night he’d been too drunk to notice. With that he began to leave the room back the way he came.

  “You have forgotten your boot.”

  Now his face turned red. He could feel the heat slip along his cheekbones. He had to turn back and try not to look. He almost accomplished that until as he picked up the muddy boot he allowed his eyes to travel up those long, enticing legs, lingering a tad too long at the heart of her womanhood, and then up to those pert breasts and, worse still, her cheeky smile.

  She understood the effect she was having on him and if he didn’t retreat this very instant she’d spy the evidence of his arousal. He grabbed for the boot and escaped back to his room.

  Christ. He’d never sleep tonight knowing she was so close. And the request she’d made of him . . . It would be so easy to start her introduction to passion tonight.

  Remember where your unbridled passion led last time. His lust had led to a woman who’d stolen his heart then broke it with her death.

  He threw the boot in the corner of his room and tried to get his aroused body under control. He paced the room. If he could find Angus he’d strangle him. Angus had deliberately given Emma his wife’s old room. He really could not understand why Angus was so against his marriage to Fiona. How could he make his cousin understand he did not want to find a woman he could care for, or love? What if he fell in love again and he lost again. He’d not survive that. He wanted children and he knew women sometimes died in childbirth. Or what if she caught a dreadful lung disease, or was thrown from a horse, or drowned like Francesca?