Christmas in Kilts

by Bronwen Evans

  “I don’t want to talk of the future,” she whispered. “Right now, I only want to feel and savor the stolen gift our time together has been. I want to treasure these precious moments.”

  Her words pushed all rational thought from his mind. Every day, they’d sat for hours across from each other in the carriage, wasting moments. How many times, today alone, had he fantasized about doing just this—feeling her body against his, feeling her lips against his.

  She raised her mouth to be kissed again, and he took what she offered. His hand slid over her breast, touching her through the dress, kneading her firm flesh. She leaned into him, a soft moan escaping her.

  Freya tore her mouth free. Her eyes were large and beautiful and filled with raw emotion when they looked into his. The burning color in her cheeks reflected the fire raging within her. And he wanted to be the wind that fanned those flames.

  “I have stored up memories of being with you,” she said raggedly. “They will be like flowers pressed into a sacred book. As the years pass, I shall page through these days and lift those faded blossoms to my lips, and remember. Right or wrong, I’ll cherish the taste of passion you’ve shown me . . . long after I marry another.”

  After I marry another . . .

  Anger flashed through him at the thought of her belonging to someone else. These stolen moments meant nothing without the promise of forever. The dazzling realization came to him with the unleashed power of a summer storm. He was falling in love with her. And he refused to imagine his life without her.

  But he didn’t have a chance to say the words, for a knock sounded and they jumped apart. Freya moved to stand in front of the fire, and their host entered.

  Chapter Nine

  The inn was a large stone building in Seagate, a bustling section of Dundee that was alive with activity. On the outskirts of the port, Freya watched as Gregory directed Ella’s attention toward a curious hill rising above the town. The “Law” was known to be an ancient fairy fortress, he told her. From that moment on, the child’s nose had been pasted to the window as they crawled through narrow streets jammed with carts and vendors. Down the smoky lanes, she excitedly pointed out the harbor with its forest of ships’ masts, silhouetted by the rising moon. In the little girl’s eyes, Dundee was far more impressive than any of the places they’d stopped before tonight.

  Following the routine established during their journey, as soon as their luggage was carried up to the rooms the captain arranged for, Dougal left on his mission of searching for any sign of Colonel Dunbar.

  They still had Stirling and Edinburgh to pass through before they reached Baronsford, but Freya sensed her cousin would find them here. Several of the colonel’s letters had mentioned Dundee, a place he apparently visited often.

  Since Aberdeen, Freya’s mind had been wallowing in the dark inevitability of her future, and she’d spent the day trying to hide her unhappiness. But every time she spoke, her words had sounded hollow.

  Freya watched Ella flit like a bird in and out of the large, airy sitting room, exploring the three bedchambers. The inn’s rooms here in Dundee were similar to those at Huntly, but larger and more comfortable. While Ella roamed, Freya and Shona reorganized the clothing in the trunks. In three days, she thought gloomily, they’d be meeting Lady Dacre. She wanted to be sure they were ready.

  The little girl wandered across the sitting room and pulled a chair to a window. Climbing up on it, she pressed her nose to the glass and peered down at the street.

  “Where is he going?” Ella asked a moment later. “Is he abandoning us?”

  The note of distress drew Freya’s focus from her own misery.

  Shona took a step over to the child and looked out the window. “Captain Pennington did just climb into the carriage, mistress. He’s going off somewhere.”

  “He is probably visiting some friends.” Freya kept her voice calm. “Or he has business to attend to.”

  Ella jumped off the chair and ran to her. “When is he coming back?”

  “I don’t know, my love.”

  “Isn’t he going to have dinner with us? He still owes me a game of backgammon,” she said, tugging on Freya’s hand. “How am I to go to sleep tonight unless he tells me another African story?”

  Her own heartache was only compounded by Ella’s obvious disappointment. Separating from him was going to be much, much harder than she imagined. For both her and Ella.

  “I can tell you a story.”

  “No, I want the captain do it.”

  She crouched down before her niece. “The captain is not ours to keep. He has other friends. People with whom he might like to spend time. We have to respect his privacy. We can’t be expecting him to spend every minute with us.”

  “He doesn’t spend every minute with us,” Ella corrected her. “He sleeps in his own bed. That’s not every minute.”

  Freya took a deep breath, trying to keep her own emotions in check.

  “I think it’s time, sweetheart, for us to loosen our grip on Captain Pennington,” she said gently. “And it would be better to do it now, rather than later. We have to allow him to live his own life too.”

  Ella shook her head. “He likes us. I know it. He likes to be with us. He looks at you all day long.”

  “He doesn’t.”

  “He does too.” Ella appealed to the nursemaid. “Tell her, Shona.”

  He does. He doesn’t. He does. He doesn’t. Freya wasn’t about to play that game. She also wasn’t about to involve Shona as an arbitrator. None of it made any difference. Gregory was going away.

  “He can like us and still have his other friends too,” she said, hoping this was a way to put an end to the conversation. “And if we like him anywhere near as much as he likes us, then we have to allow him to go.”

  “Allow him to go where?”

  “Anywhere he wants to.”

  “Where?” Ella’s voice grew desperate.

  “I don’t know, my love. Baronsford. London. Boston. Wherever he wants to go.”

  “Where is Boston?”

  “It’s across the sea, in America.”

  “America?” Ella cried out, her chin beginning to quiver. “But that’s too far away!”

  Freya agreed, but what was she to do about it? What difference did it make that she was starting to love him? She knew he cared for her, and for Ella, but he had dreams of his own to pursue. Dreams that took him far from the Highlands, far from Scotland. Their paths had crossed for only this moment in time, and it had changed her, given her something special that she would cherish forever, but he could not give her a future to share. And she would never ask it of him. She would never try to hold him. What kind of love required the sacrifice of a dream?

  Reaching out, she pulled her niece into her embrace. But before she could console her further, a knock drew their attention to the door.

  Shona answered it and Dougal stepped in.

  “He’s here, mistress. Captain Dunbar. He’s found us. Downstairs, he is.”

  * * *

  Colonel Dunbar was waiting for her in a private dining room off the inn’s taproom.

  In the eighteen months since she’d last seen him, the changes in her cousin’s features were marked. When he stood to greet her with a bow, his manner still conveyed the self-assurance of a man convinced he could charm the feathers off a peacock. But the sallow complexion with the ruddy blotches on his puffy cheeks and nose told her this was a man often in his cups, a condition she’d always suspected. His bloodshot eyes were still shrewd, however, and he gazed at her appraisingly as she declined the chair the waiter held for her.

  As he dismissed the waiter, the thought struck her that this man was the reality of the rest of her life. He was a small man. A head shorter than Gregory, at least. The careless air he attempted to convey was belied by the constant and rapid movement of his gaze, as well as the nervous tic on the right side of his face. Standing eye to eye with him, she struggled to hide her disappointment. Colonel Richard
Dunbar did not measure up to Gregory Pennington. Not even close. But then again, no one measured up to Gregory Pennington.

  “My apologies for not meeting you earlier,” he said. “It was difficult to break away from my duties.”

  “I’m relieved that you caught up to us here,” she said politely, trying to keep any note of emotion out of her tone. “We’ve had a comfortable journey so far, thanks to the Pennington family, and as it stands, we should arrive at Baronsford with a few days to spare.”

  She again shook her head at the offer of a seat.

  “As I mentioned in my letter,” she continued, “I’ll be introducing you to Lady Dacre as my intended, and—”

  “About that,” he interrupted. “Our plans have changed.”

  For an insane moment, she wondered if the rumors Gregory had told her were the truth. Could it be that he was already married? But she had no time to either celebrate or mourn such an event.

  “I’ve decided that we shall arrive at Baronsford already married.”

  Freya’s heart sank. “Already married?”

  “Yes,” he responded flatly, brushing at a speck on the cuff of his uniform. “There is a solicitor here in Dundee that I have had business dealings with in the past. We shall stand before him tomorrow, exchange our oaths, and sign a contract of marriage. This way, Lady Dacre will have no doubts about your niece’s future.”

  Freya’s mind raced. She was no fool. She’d known this man her entire life. He was not one to do anything for anyone unless he benefited somehow.

  “There’s no need for such a drastic step,” she said.

  “Do you really consider it ‘drastic,’ Miss Freya?” he asked with a feigned air of nonchalance.

  “What I mean is that I believe Lady Dacre would be satisfied meeting you and knowing of our engagement,” she told him. “I see no need to delay an extra day here.”

  “You just said yourself that we’re ahead of schedule,” he said. He shrugged and then fixed his shrewd eyes on her. “But it really doesn’t matter. I insist that the wedding take place here, before we get one step closer to Baronsford.”

  There was no point in arguing about waiting for a church wedding. They both knew that in Scotland the exchange of marriage vows did not require the authority of a church to make the union legal. No reading of banns was needed, only a witness to attest that the couple declared themselves married before him. Her sister’s marriage had not taken place in a church. But Lucy and Fredrick Dacre had been in love.

  Freya looked on at her cousin’s cold expression.

  “Why?” she asked. “Why are you so adamant about this wedding taking place now?”

  “Isn’t it what you want?” he replied. “Marriage? Security for you precious niece?”

  She wasn’t satisfied with his refusal to answer.

  “What is the reason for this haste?” she persisted. “You know that my own fortune is modest. You’ll eventually inherit the Sutherland estates.” Freya paused as the light dawned.

  Dunbar wouldn’t say the words but the truth was too obvious.

  “You need my five thousand pounds now. As my husband, you take that money for yourself.”

  “Very well,” he said with a toss of his head. “What of that? We both need something right now. You need a husband—or the promise of one—to keep your niece. I need money for . . . well, what I need it for is my own affair. We each get what we bargained for.”

  He pulled a card from his hat and flipped it onto the table next to her.

  “You’ll find the address of the solicitor on his card. I expect you to be there tomorrow at nine o’clock . . . on time.”

  Freya stared at the card as he walked past her. She was no gambler, but she knew he was holding the winning hand. She had no choice but to show up tomorrow and marry the man.

  * * *

  The bells in a half dozen of Dundee’s church towers were ringing out eight o’clock as Penn climbed from the carriage in front of the inn. The streets of Seagate were still alive and active, but sailors and dockworkers intent on revelry had now replaced the day’s carters and vendors. Climbing the stairs to their rooms, he was happy to realize that it was early enough. Freya would still be awake. They had so much they needed to discuss.

  He found the sitting room empty and frowned in the direction of Freya’s closed door. Ella would undoubtedly be asleep by now, and he wondered how he could get Freya to come out without disturbing the child. His dilemma was resolved before he had time to hang his greatcoat.

  The door creaked open. The problem was that Ella was the one who slipped out.

  “Not asleep yet, eh?” he asked softly, watching the child close the door quietly. “Where is your aunt?”

  Ella put a finger to her lips and tiptoed away from the door. “She cried herself to sleep.”

  Ordinarily, Penn would have considered her words part and parcel with her usual dramatics. But there was a difference in her tone . . . and in the red-rimmed eyes. She walked slowly toward him, her trembling chin on her chest, her eyes avoiding contact.

  “Hullo there, what’s wrong?” He crouched down on one knee.

  She stopped just out of his reach. “Why do you have to go to Boston?”

  “Boston?” he asked. How the blazes did she know about Boston?

  The Simpsons, he realized. Freya must have learned about it from Myrna.

  “Is that why she’s crying?” he asked gently, glancing over at the closed door.

  “Her life is in ruins. But she’s being a martyr.” A tear streaked down the child’s cheek and she stabbed at it. “He’s here and she’s going to marry him. Tomorrow.”

  The low-down conniver! The calculating scoundrel!

  He took hold of Ella’s shoulders and looked into her face. This was the first time he’d seen her shed actual tears. “Colonel Dunbar came here?”

  “Fie went downstairs to speak with him,” Ella said, sniffling. “She was crying when she came back up. Fie never cries. I heard her tell Shona to keep me here tomorrow morning until she signed the papers and came back.”

  Blast him, Penn thought. He should have known Dunbar would catch up to them here. Why couldn’t the rogue show up in Stirling? Or Edinburgh? He thought he’d be prepared for it.

  He wasn’t, however, and this news of Dunbar’s meeting with Freya chilled him.

  Penn drew Ella to his chest and pressed a kiss onto her hair. “I want you to go back to bed, little one.”

  “But I can’t sleep. I’m mourning.”

  “You shouldn’t mourn. You go back to bed, and I’ll promise to take care of things.”

  “How will you take care of things?” she wanted to know.

  “It will be a surprise.”

  The little girl’s face lifted, the brown eyes rounding with hope. “I like surprises.”

  “Excellent. Then off to bed with you.”

  Ella started to go and then stopped. “I have one question.”

  “What is it?”

  “What is mourning?”

  * * *

  The waiter downstairs had been hesitant about helping Penn, but a little monetary incentive had loosened his tongue. The colonel had asked if the Mermaid, a gaming den, was still shut down. Learning it was open again—for the time being—he’d gone off.

  The Mermaid turned out to be a rat’s nest, located in the ground floor of a dilapidated building down by the docks. Whores and drunks milled about in front of the place, which was distinguished by a pair of thugs standing beneath a green lantern.

  The two bruisers gave him a looking over and then one jerked a thumb, which Penn took as permission to go in. Reminding himself to keep his focus on the business side of what he had to do, he pushed open the heavily scarred door, ducked his head, and entered the stinking, smoke-filled rooms.

  During their days on the road, Penn had gotten the idea that Freya thought a mere introduction of the colonel to Lady Dacre would be enough. Perhaps that was all the dowager required. But after what
Penn had heard from John Simpson, he knew that a promise of future liquidity was not sufficient for Dunbar. The colonel needed access to money that was available now, and he wanted it fast. Every sharp in Scotland had muscle like the two out front, and they loved extracting payments from debtors. And particularly from gentlemen.

  Searching through the crowded rooms, Penn knew he was gambling, as well. He was acting on behalf of Freya while she was still unaware of his intentions. They had not declared their affection. He had not even disclosed all he had learned from Captain Simpson about Dunbar’s fictitious engagement. It was possible that he was off in his assumption that she didn’t want to marry the man, though he didn’t believe it. And what of her father’s feelings about Dunbar as a son-in-law? That aspect of the situation had never even been hinted at.

  Perhaps it was a gamble, but Penn liked his odds.

  For the first time in his life, he was acting on the emotional impulses of his heart instead of the rational processes of his mind. As he spotted Dunbar at a card table in a private room at the very back of the place, Penn hoped he was doing the right thing.

  He walked toward his rival, and the colonel eyed him steadily, appraising him. Friend? Agent of the general’s staff? Another card player that he could take advantage of? From the scarcity of coins in front of him, Dunbar appeared to be losing.

  “I’m Captain Pennington, Colonel,” he said, clearing away any confusion as he arrived at the table.

  Recognition was immediate. “I’m grateful for all you’ve done for Miss Freya on this journey, Pennington.” Dunbar made a motion to an open seat at the table. “Would you care to join us for a drink and perhaps some cards?”

  Penn shook his head. “I need a private moment with you. Now, if you don’t mind.”

  There was a long pause as they stared at each other. Penn wasn’t asking. He was telling him.

  He had never possessed a quick temper, like his father, the Earl of Aytoun, or his brother, Viscount Greysteil. He’d never called out another man to fight a duel. In public argument, he tended to be the voice of reason. But right now, looking at Dunbar, the irritation that was building in him made him consider lifting the man physically out of that chair.