This Scot of Mine

by Sophie Jordan

  She sighed and arched beneath his touch. “Hmm. That sounds lovely . . .”

  “It will be lovely.” His hand delved beneath her nightgown and cupped the heat of her sex. He gently eased a finger inside her. “Too soon, lass? Are ye verra sore?”

  In response, she opened her thighs wide for his foraying hand with a purring moan. “Deliciously sore.”

  They kissed again . . . after a while though her lips slowed and stilled against his until she finally spoke. “Hunt? What of the future?”

  “Shhh. We will not speak of the future. We will live only for the present.” His finger increased its rhythm between her legs until she was gasping. “For this. For us. For now. Promise me. Say it.”

  Her head lolled on the pillow as her need grew, speech apparently too difficult for her.

  “Clara?” His hand stilled its feverish work. “Focus for a moment. Promise me. Say it.”

  Her eyes sharpened on his face. She reached out to brush her palm against his jaw. “I promise we will live only for the present. No more talk of the future.”

  Chapter 20

  For the next couple months, they did just that.

  Clara kept her promise. They lived only for the present. They never spoke of the future. They never mentioned the curse.

  A peace of sorts fell between them.

  They fell into a routine. Hunt was gone through most of the day, tending to matters among his clan and caring for the livestock roaming his property, protecting them from the ever present threat of thieves . . . even if said thieves happened to be his rascally relations most of the time. Apparently this was just a way of life here and one of the many things she had to grow accustomed to.

  Hunt’s grandmother began teaching Clara the day-to-day matters of running the keep. It was no small gesture when, over dinner one evening, Nana turned over the keep’s keys to Clara. She dropped them heavily atop the old wooden table. The widening of Hunt’s eyes only attested to the miracle of such an event.

  “Thank you,” Clara murmured, closing her fingers around the old iron keys, feeling the women, the many lives before her, that had possessed these keys. It was a fanciful notion, she realized, but the feeling was there nonetheless.

  “Best get accustomed tae yer new role,” the lady said. “How many more years can I have left? Twenty? Thirty?”

  Hunt snickered and Clara smiled into her napkin, well aware the woman had to be nearing ninety years.

  Nana’s wrinkled lips twitched, clearly alert to her own joke.

  It was strange indeed that it felt good jesting of one’s own mortality. Clara slid a glance toward her husband. Husband. Another thing that felt strange even with their growing closeness.

  She had accepted this man as her husband. She had accepted her life here. There would be no more running away. She would have her child and live out her days here.

  “I am certain you have another thirty years, at least, Nana,” Hunt agreed with a solemn nod.

  The old woman cackled.

  Clara felt the smile slip from her lips. Did Hunt have another thirty years? He should. He was a young man yet. There should be no reason he could not live to see his child grow to adulthood. No reason except . . .

  Her stomach knotted as her mind traveled down that much-to-be-avoided path. He’d had no accidents lately. At least none that he had revealed to her. She knew he would not confide in her if he had, though.

  She couldn’t help wonder, however. Wonder and worry. Were things happening to him when he left for the day that he did not report to her? Was his life at continued risk? The very possibility made her sick.

  Because they didn’t speak of it, Clara liked to pretend the curse wasn’t there. She told herself it wasn’t real. She wanted to believe that the curse was forgotten for good, but she felt it hovering, like a monster waiting, watching in the dark, readying to strike.

  As though Hunt could sense her thoughts, his gaze drifted to her where she sat across from him at the table. The slight curve of his lips faded as their gazes locked.

  He knew. He knew her thoughts. He knew her worry—that she was contemplating his fate now that she believed the curse was something to be feared. He knew but said nothing. It went against the pact they’d made.

  Live only for the present.

  They finished dinner and retired to the drawing room. Nana worked on her knitting. She was determined that the baby have plenty of warm garments. Marian sat at the escritoire, penning a letter home to her father and sisters. Apparently one of her sisters was being courted by the local squire’s son. There was much excitement over the courtship. Letters from various members of Marian’s family showed up almost daily, all regaling her with the delighted particulars.

  “How is your sister’s courtship proceeding?” Clara inquired.

  Hunt was reading near the fire, a glass of whisky held loosely between his fingers. He did not look up.

  “Brilliantly,” Marian replied, the letter crinkling in her hands as she lowered it to her lap. “Papa is anticipating he will offer for her soon. And he really is a fine young man. I remember him well. As a lad, he was always taking in injured animals and attending to those less fortunate in the village. He is a very kind soul and so is my sister. They are well matched. I can imagine no couple better suited.” Her words dropped over the sound of the softly crackling fire.

  Once the words were out, Marian’s smile disappeared and her cheeks pinkened. Her gaze darted back and forth between Clara and the laird, well aware that in complimenting her sister and her suitor she had possibly offended them.

  Clara shifted awkwardly in her seat and told herself not to look in Hunt’s direction. Easier said than done. Impossible, actually. She was much too aware of him. Always. Even across the room she felt him. She felt his stare. She felt him like heat radiating from the sun, singeing her skin.

  She looked up to find him studying her. She lifted her chin. Marian shouldn’t be embarrassed. She said nothing wrong. She’d only been speaking of her sister.

  It seemed glaringly obvious that she and Hunt weren’t well suited. They were simply making the best of it.

  “Of c-course, I don’t venture out very much to make comparisons,” Marian stammered, casting Clara a regretful look.

  Clara gave a swift single nod, conveying that she should not worry about it. The state of her marriage with Hunt was not Marian’s worry. Her friend need not try to make Clara feel better.

  Clara rose from her seat. “I’m weary. I think I’m going to retire for the night.”

  “’Tis the babe,” Nana volunteered. “Takes all yer energy. Ye need tae start taking naps in the day. Store your energy.”

  Hunt unfolded himself from his chair. “I’ll escort you.”

  He always did that. Every night. As though she were some fragile creature that might fall to mishap. As though he was not the one susceptible to mishaps. After escorting her upstairs, he left her at her bedchamber door. He always did that, too.

  Alone in the chamber, her maid soon arrived and helped her undress and unpin her hair. Nana must have spoken the truth because once Clara was snug in her bed, she was asleep in minutes, awakening only later in the night when Hunt joined her. This was becoming habit, too.

  They were together like this at night. Every night they came together in bed. He might not be there when she went to bed, but he was always there, reaching for her sometime during the night. If she woke in the morning to a cold and lonely bed, it was just as well. He said they would not talk about the future. In fact they weren’t talking about much of anything at all, but she had this. Every night she had this.

  His arm slid around her now substantial waist and pulled her against him. She sighed and relaxed, her back nestled against his chest.

  In moments she was asleep again, his hand cupping her belly and his breath warm on her neck.

  When she woke he was gone and the maid was in her room pulling back the drapes. “Good morning! Or should I say good afternoon?”
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br />   Clara stretched and swung her legs over the side of the bed. The amount of sunlight pouring into the room told her it was well past morning. “You let me sleep so late.”

  “I am under strict instructions tae let ye sleep.”

  Of course. Hunt’s grandmother wanted her to have more rest. “You don’t need to listen to her when it comes to my sleeping—”

  “Oh. It was the laird. He bade me tae let ye sleep.”

  Hunt? She mulled that over as the maid selected her garments from the bureau.

  “I almost forgot! A letter came for you.” The girl reached into the pocket of her pinafore and handed her a letter.

  Clara eagerly tore into it. She scanned the contents and then looked up, one hand pressed over her suddenly racing heart. “It’s from my brother. His wife has had the baby. We must go. We must leave for Kilmarkie House at once.”

  They left the following day.

  They didn’t travel with the same rigor as previously. They took their time, much to Clara’s aggravation. She had never witnessed horses moving so slowly. She was quite certain she could outpace them with a brisk walk.

  Hunt insisted on their dawdling pace. Despite her protests, he could not be swayed. He was not moved by her eagerness to reach her family and see the new baby. Due to her condition, he insisted that they take this ridiculous pace. Almost as though she were the one with a threat of death hanging over her head. It would be amusing if it were not so very real and so very sobering.

  They stopped for frequent rests so they ended up needing two nights at an inn instead of the usual one. She and Marian shared a room. She was not sure where her husband spent his nights, and she told herself not to worry about it. He could take care of himself. At least she told herself that. She told herself that he would be fine. Perhaps their crawling progress benefitted him. There could hardly be any risk of accident when his horse ambled at a snail’s speed.

  Despite her eagerness to be on her way the final morning of their journey, no one woke her early and it was almost midday when they departed for Kilmarkie House.

  Apparently she couldn’t fight this chronic weariness. Perhaps she would have to start taking Nana’s advice and nap during the day.

  Riding through the gates to her brother’s home, eagerness hummed along her skin. They were finally here. She glanced around thoughtfully. Already the place felt different. Smaller somehow. The dark sea glinted in the distant horizon beyond the house. She and Alyse had yet to take that walk along the shoreline and see the dolphins. She supposed that would have to wait. Given Alyse recently gave birth, she wouldn’t be taking hikes any time soon.

  Months ago Clara had thought she would return here without her husband. Now she was back here with her husband in tow and a definite waddle to her walk. She couldn’t see her toes anymore. Perhaps that was the true reason he had not shared a bed with her at the inn. Perhaps her appearance was no longer tempting to him.

  They all stopped their mounts in the courtyard and she shoved the troubling thought from her mind. Hunt dismounted first and was at her carriage door, pulling it open and reaching for her hand to assist her down. She smiled down at him with a tentative curve of her lips. He smiled back, but there was something repressed about it. The smile did not quite reach his eyes.

  The front door opened and her brother emerged, his expression eager and delighted. She didn’t think she had ever seen him appear so happy.

  “Welcome.” He embraced her and kissed her warmly on the cheek, and she felt some of the tension easing from her shoulders. He looked down at her very swollen belly. “It appears that it will soon be your turn, dear sister.”

  She nodded cheerfully, resting a hand on her stomach.

  “Come, come. Inside with you all. What would you like to do first? Rest and partake of refreshments or—?”

  “Alyse and the baby,” she exclaimed, lightly swatting him on the shoulder. “I want to see them, of course. Take me to them.”

  “Of course.” He chuckled and led them inside. They quickly shed their coats and gloves and hats and then proceeded through the house until they reached the master bedchamber. Clara could scarcely contain her excitement as they entered the massive chamber.

  Alyse was settled into the center of the large bed, looking dazzling with a baby nestled in her arms. Her face glowed, eyes shining brightly. A wave of emotion rushed over Clara. Happiness for her brother. Happiness for her sister-in-law. Longing for herself.

  She wanted the same joy. She wanted the fear gone. Eradicated. She wanted to know she would have this day with her husband at her side. She was desperate for that assurance, but it couldn’t be given no matter how desperately she wished.

  Clara hastened to sit at the edge of the bed. For a moment she could do nothing more than stare in awe, overwhelmed at the sight of her nephew. Finally, she regained her voice. “Oh, Alyse. He’s beautiful.” Her gaze shot to her sister-in-law. “You look beautiful, too. Radiant. You are well, yes?”

  It was no exaggeration or empty compliment. Alyse was beaming. “We are both very well. Would you like to hold him?”

  “Oh, yes. Yes.” Clara nodded, resettling her weight and holding out her arms, thrilled to meet her nephew. She only wished Mama was here for this. She assumed she would be visiting soon with the rest of the family. At least her last letter had promised as much. Mama had her hands full with the twins. The rambunctious five-year-olds kept her occupied. Mama had never been the type to leave child-rearing to members of the staff, after all.

  Alyse transferred the precious bundle to Clara’s arms. He stirred lightly at the adjustment, his tiny fists jerking on the air, and then he settled back down, sweet little cooing sounds escaping him that melted her heart.

  “He’s just too beautiful. Even if he does have Marcus’s nose.”

  “Hey,” Marcus objected from the foot of the bed.

  She giggled, hot tears pricking her eyes. She teased, but emotion welled up inside her. “Simply beautiful.” She brought her face close to his head and inhaled his pure baby scent. “He smells lovely.”

  Lifting her head up from the baby, her gaze caught on Hunt standing just inside the room. He stared at her with an elusive expression on his face, his eyes dark and unreadable across the distance of the room, lips unsmiling. What was he thinking and why would he not come closer?

  The baby stirred and gurgled. She looked down at him again and stroked his tender cheek. “Now, now, everything is fine.” The words rang a little hollow in her ears, and a deep ache throbbed in her chest. She wanted everything to be fine. She needed everything to be fine.

  When she looked back up, Hunt was gone.

  Chapter 21

  Hunt sequestered himself in Autenberry’s study, deciding it best if he stayed out of the way. He had no wish to ruin everyone’s joy with his less than cheerful face.

  After helping himself to a drink, he settled himself in a wingback chair near the window that overlooked the gardens and, in the distance beyond the gardens, the sea.

  He stared out into the deepening dusk, growing pensive as day disappeared into night.

  Seeing Clara with the baby in her arms was a jolt. It was too much. A reminder of all he was going to miss. It hurt more than he ever could have anticipated. A dull ache pulsed at the center of his breastbone. He had convinced himself he was content.

  Everyone had to die someday. At least he would leave behind a legacy. And there was Clara. She would live. She would go on. She would not be weak like his mother and break beneath the burden of her ordeal. She was stronger than that. She would be a good mother to his child, and he’d convinced himself that they could enjoy each other for however much time they had left together and he could be at peace with whatever happened.

  Now it felt as though he had been lying to himself all along. He could find no contentment. Only longing. Only loss for what was to come. For what he would never have, for what he would never even witness.

  Clara.

  She was und
er this very roof right now, holding a baby and looking as natural and as beautiful with that babe in her arms as he had ever seen her—as he had ever seen any woman. But this woman, Clara, was his wife. She carried his child. In another life, in different circumstances, they could have been happy. They could have been in love. His throat thickened uncomfortably. It would be easy to love her.

  He’d left her alone the last two nights as they traveled, permitting Marian to share the larger, more comfortable room at the inn with her each night. He had missed her those nights. Missed the warm and giving sensation of her body pressed against him. It seemed remarkable that he had gone so much of his life without her there in his bed. In a mere two nights he suffered the lack of her presence.

  “MacLarin, what are you doing in here?” His brother-in-law entered the room, jerking him away from his troubling thoughts. The man looked happy. And why wouldn’t he be? He had everything.

  Autenberry clapped his hands merrily. “It’s almost time for dinner. Shall we move into the dining room? Alyse is going to join us tonight. She insists she is ready to be up and about.”

  “We shall join them in a moment. First we must speak.” He knew when he left for Kilmarkie House that he had to have this conversation with his brother-in-law.

  Autenberry advanced into the room. “Very well. Sounds important.”

  “Aye. ’Tis.”

  Autenberry settled into the seat across from him. “Well then. Proceed. There’s a fat pheasant begging for our attention.”

  “I need your assurance that you will help your sister.”

  “Help my sister?”

  “Aye.”

  He shook his head. “What do you mean?”

  “I want . . . nay, I need tae hear you say that you will take care of your sister and my child when I’m gone.”

  “Gone? Where are you going?” He chuckled. “You’re not abandoning my sister, I hope. Because then I would have to track you down and kill you, MacLarin, and that would not do.”

  A beat of silence stretched between them and the mirth faded from Autenberry’s face.