Oh My Laird!: A Risqué Regency Romance

by Sahara Kelly

  They crossed the border late that afternoon, just as the sun began to slide down toward Scotland’s western horizon.

  Ian was aware that it had been a long ride, but the pace had been steady so he wasn’t experiencing anything other than an urge to stretch his legs. He was a little worried about Amelia though. She’d been quiet for the last hour or so, and he knew she must have been fighting some sizeable aches in her legs and back.

  She’d been the one who insisted they set a destination and arrive at it before stopping. A brief pause here and there, and she’d been ready to continue, impressing him with her determination.

  However, they reached the posting house at Colblair in better time than he had expected, so now they could rest for a day or so while he investigated the rumors of a certain auction.

  Colblair itself wasn’t a pretty village. Nor was it a thriving town. It was something in between; a place to stop and change horses in the middle of a long trip further north into Scotland, or a place to visit and find wares of all kinds in the large marketplace that bustled twice a week.

  An odd mix of practicality and commerce tucked away between rolling hills and river valleys. The air was brisk, the scenery lovely—at least to Ian’s eyes—and in no way dimmed by the somewhat utilitarian buildings that had sprung up as Colblair grew with the times.

  The inn was the largest building, offering some thirty rooms to guests, plenty of stabling and a selection of horses for everything from a single rider to a carriage and four.

  There were several dainty tea rooms for the ladies up and down the main street, and of course more than a few taprooms for the gentlemen. The inn offered both—a tap and a snug—so no matter what the preference, travelers would be well accommodated.

  It was an interesting and effective place to conduct business, mused Ian as he looked around. Especially business such as an auction of stolen goods. He had no authority here in Scotland; his Bow Street Runner warrant holder wouldn’t do him a damn bit of good unless he hit someone with it. He hoped it didn’t come to that.

  But there were a few other concerns as well. First was to get Amelia off her horse and upright on her legs without too many problems.

  He led them to the inn and dismounted, handing the reins to a groom waiting to care for the guests’ mounts.

  “Come on then, lass. Time to get down.”

  Amelia stared at him. “Uhh…”

  “Yes, I hear you.” He grinned. “Your legs are numb. Or jelly.”

  “How did you know?” She grimaced as she tried to move.

  “I’ve been there too. So here’s the easiest way. Just unhook your leg with your hands and I’ll take care of the stirrup. Then slide right down into my arms. I’ll catch you and steady you.”

  She gave him a disdainful look. “That’s what they all say.”

  “I’ve never dropped a woman yet.”

  “To repeat myself—that’s what they all say.”

  “Oh come on, lass. Where’s your spirit?”

  “It might be somewhere near my arse, but since that’s numb as a rock, we’ll never know.”

  Ian laughed, slipping her boot out of the stirrup and steading her with a hand on her thigh. “Now slide down. Don’t be afraid. I won’t let you fall.”

  “If you do, McPherson, I swear I’ll hunt you down and…and…” She slipped gracefully from the saddle and into his waiting grasp.

  He swept her off her feet as she groaned.

  “Put me down.”

  “Quiet. I caught you. That should be enough for now.” He caught the eye of the groom and nodded at her bag. “Untie that for me, lad, will ye? Then take both horses to the stables. They deserve a good meal.”

  Clearly used to his job, the groom deposited Amelia’s bag on top of her and led the horses off without another word.

  It was Ian’s turn to groan. “God woman. What’s in that saddlebag?”

  “A gun to shoot rude men with. Now put me down. I can walk.”

  He sighed.

  And put her down.

  He barely caught her as she crumpled on legs that had folded like paper beneath her.

  Picking her up again, she shot a threatening look at him. “Not even one tiny word.”

  Ian was nothing if not wise. He remained silent, but couldn’t help a wee smirk from curling his lips. Carrying her up the few stairs to the inn was no hardship, tall though she was, and he hoped it would give her time to regain her equilibrium before they reached the desk.

  Fortunately, she was able to slide down once more and steady herself against the solid wood surface, while Ian took care of the details.

  “Two rooms, if you please.”

  The man behind the counter looked at them. “Two?”

  Ian looked back. “Yes. Two. One for her and one for me.”

  “Canna do it, sir. We’re overbooked now, see. Big day tomorrer in t’market.”

  “Damn.” Ian glanced at Amelia. She was pale now, and her knuckles were white where she clung to the counter.

  “Do you have at least one?”

  “Tha’ I do, an’ it’s large, sir. One o’ our best. The guest who was goin’ t’ take it lost everythin’ at a bout of fisticuffs last night. So he decided t’go home instead.”

  “Wise man.” Ian sighed. “We’ll take it.”

  “Verra guid, sir. If yer’ll sign fer yersel’ an’ t’Missus…”

  Amelia froze. “Ian?” Her expression spoke volumes.

  “Hush. We’ll work it out.” He signed with an illegible flourish. “If you’ve a few pails of hot water and a tub, I reckon it would be much appreciated.”

  The Scot behind the counter looked at Amelia and nodded. “Several hours on a horse will do tha’ t’ a body. We’ll set yer right up, lass, never worry.”

  Ian took the key and held out his arm to Amelia. “Come dear. Let’s get you settled.”

  She shot an icy glare in his direction, but took his arm, leaning heavily on him and walking awkwardly on legs that he knew would be either numb or starting to cramp. He’d ridden long hours himself before managing it without a few adverse effects at the end.

  When they reached the stairway leading up to the rooms, she paused, staring upward. “Dammit, Ian. Just…dammit.”

  “Yes.”

  He picked her up without another word and carried her upstairs, stopping at the correct door and fitting the key into the lock.

  And it was at that precise moment that Lady Maude Donaldson—well known as the biggest gossip in London—and her two daughters, emerged from a door across the landing. They stopped dead at the sight of Lady Amelia DeVere in the arms of a handsome unknown gentleman, about to enter a bedroom.

  All alone.

  *~~*~~*

  “Bugger.”

  Amelia heard Ian’s soft mutter and couldn’t have put it better herself. Maude’s eyes were boring into her and then flicking to Ian, cataloging, remembering, recording everything in that nosy mind of hers. Once she got back to town it would be all over every salon that Amelia DeVere was having an affair in Scotland.

  And Rigsby would probably shut down everything, including the promises she’d made to the servants of Natherbury Fell.

  She took a massive gamble. “Good day, Lady Maude. How surprising to meet you here.”

  The woman’s face turned sly. “Yes, isn’t it? You run into people in the strangest places. Has there been an accident? Are you quite well?” She stared rudely at Ian. “I see you have your man to help…”

  Amelia’s fingers tightened around Ian’s arm and she prayed that he would get her silent message.

  “Well, he’s not exactly my man.” She smiled coyly. “I’m sure you can keep a secret, can’t you? You and your daughters?”

  All the women leaned forward and nodded, strongly resembling three hawks staring at their prey.

  “This is my husband, Ian McPherson.”

  The arms holding her went rigid, but then relaxed. “How do you do, ladies? You may congratulate u
s, although my wife wanted to keep it secret for a little longer.”

  She heaved a sigh of relief. He’d understood. “I did indeed.” She lowered her gaze modestly. “You know how people are, Lady Maude.”

  The lady nodded, practically drooling with eagerness to learn more. “And is this a long-standing arrangement then?”

  “Och, no.” Ian answered, moving a little as several more guests walked up the stairs. “Amelia and I were recently wed after our first meeting. We knew it was right. Sometimes the wee chappie with the little bow and arrow shoots straight to the heart.” He looked lovingly at Amelia. “And now she’s ma wife.”

  Two sighs echoed each other as the girls appreciated the lovely story Ian told with his classic reference to Cupid.

  A passing guest congratulated them, and Amelia nodded, smiling her thanks.

  “Yes, congratulations indeed.” Maude didn’t sound thrilled at the romantic tale, but she didn’t sound too upset either. She had probably hoped for a scandalous affair and was doomed to disappointment. “And are you from around here, Mr. McPherson?”

  “A little further north, Ma’am. Ma family has a wee place up in Kilmalochan. I’ll be taking Amelia there shortly.”

  “We mustn’t keep you, Lady Maude.” Amelia decided enough was enough. “I’m sure you and your lovely daughters have your own errands, so we must get on.”

  “Indeed.” Maude nodded. “Come girls. The carriage will be waiting for us.”

  “Yes Mama.” They curtsied and stared again at Amelia in Ian’s arms. “Miss DeVere.”

  “That’s Mrs. McPherson, now, girls. Where are your manners?”

  Ian smiled. “’T’is no fault of theirs, my Lady. Indeed, we’re not used to it ourselves yet. We’ll bid ye good evening then.”

  And he whisked the two of them through the door, shutting it firmly behind him, and locking it.

  Then he let Amelia down, gently, near the bedpost so that she could hold on and steady herself.

  “Thank you, husband.” She grinned at him. “And thank you for going along with that, Ian. She’s the worst gossip anywhere in the entire known world and I couldn’t risk Rigsby turning down my request for help with Natherbury.”

  Ian sighed. “I canna decide if he’ll have my head or shake my hand when next I see him.”

  “I’ll sort it all out, never fear. In fact, I’ll get a good deal of pleasure from making her and her unpleasant chicks look like fools.” She took a step and groaned. “Dear God, I had no idea that sitting on the back of a horse could damn near kill a body stone dead.”

  “Let me see about that hot water. You’ll feel a lot better when you’ve soaked those muscles.”

  She snorted. “I’ll believe that when it happens.”

  A knock on the door heralded the arrival of a copper tub and several buckets of hot water…a sight most welcome to Amelia, who hurt just about everywhere at this point.

  “Ahh.” She sighed. “Relief is in sight.” She stopped one of the servants. “Is there a maid free who might help, do you think?”

  The young lad blushed furiously and kept his gaze on his feet. “Don’ think so, mum. Real busy it is now. Lotsa people.” And he scurried off to follow his companions from the room.

  “Damn.” She sat on the side of the bed and bent to unlace her boots.

  “Oh for God’s sake, here. Let me.” Ian pushed her hands out of the way and did the job for her. “I’m your husband, remember?” He stripped away her stockings before she could utter a word.

  “Stand up. If you can.”

  Determined not to buckle, she managed to make it to her feet, wondering how far he would go.

  The buttons were undone in seconds and her woolen bodice promptly removed. “I’ll put your clothes on the bed. You can deal with them when you’re done with that bath.” He turned her so that she could hold onto the bed post.

  Her ties were loosened and her riding skirt dropped to the floor, followed by the undergarment, leaving her only in her chemise.

  She should have been cold, but she wasn’t. His heat radiated close behind her and she could sense his warmth against her bare skin.

  “Are you going to wash my back as well?”

  He made a sound, halfway between a groan and a curse. Then he pulled her back against him with his hands at her waist. “D’you want me to?”

  He nipped her neck where it joined her shoulder, a tiny pain he eased with the touch of his tongue.

  She sighed with pleasure. “Perhaps I do.”

  His hands slid upward, cupping her breasts, weighing them, and then teasing the nipples through the thin silk of her chemise. “I am thinkin’ about claiming ma husbandly rights, lass…”

  His voice was thick with Scotland and desire, a sensual and heady mix that made her lean her head back against him and close her eyes. “It’s a big bed, Ian,” she whispered.

  “Aye.” He squeezed the full globes, and she forgot about the pains in her legs. A new ache had begun—between her thighs.

  She let him take her weight, then gasped as her muscles began to come back to life and another cramp hit her calf.

  “Ah hell. C’mon. Hot water for you.” He helped her stagger to the tub and rest her hands on the edge. “I have to leave you. Don’t drown. I’m only human, Amelia, and having you this close to naked is—well, you know damn well what it is. Take your bath and ease those muscles. I’ll round us up some food and drink. After that…we’ll talk.”

  In spite of her pain, she shot him a seductive glance. The beneath-her-lashes one. “Just talk?”

  He laughed and shook his head as he headed for the door. “Ye’re incorrigible, wife.”

  “Of course. That’s why you married me, husband.” She yelled after him as the door closed.

  It was funny. She was actually enjoying herself, in spite of her discomfort. She’d wanted an adventure and now it appeared that she was having one. With difficulty she slithered out of her chemise and gingerly moved first one leg and then the other in to the tub.

  Easing down, taking her weight on her arms, and finally ending up submerged in hot water…well it was bliss, all right. Not quite as erotic as she’d hoped for, but then again, the night was young.

  With that intriguing thought, she reached for the soap and began to wash.

  Chapter Nine

  The inn was overflowing as Ian reached the ground floor and turned in search of some food. The lad hadn’t lied—it was busy as could be with barely room to squeeze behind knots of people.

  “What’s afoot then?” He asked a man standing by the fireplace. “Whole lot of folks here for something…”

  “Aye.” The man nodded. “Big day at market tomorrow. Harvest’ll be in soon and prices have to be determined. Every local farmer will bring his anticipated yields and the Agricultural Committee will set the rates. So a lot depends on this market, every year. More wheat, lower prices. Less beans, higher prices. D’ye see?”

  “I do.” Ian had run across a few such arrangements before. Mostly they worked well for farmers, averaging out the differences in farms and crops. “Where’s it to be then?”

  “Right in town center, lad. You can’t miss it.”

  Ian smiled his thanks and moved on. While his body thought of Amelia, naked upstairs in that tub, his mind had not lost complete touch with his mission. So he moved into the tap and over toward where there was food on the tables, correctly deducing that somewhere nearby were the kitchens.

  Following his nose, he found himself in the very rear of the inn, surrounded by heat and noise and pots and pans. Not to mention the most delicious smell of fresh bread. His mouth watered as he moved to look at the loaves cooling on a cloth near the fire.

  “Ian McPherson, as I live and breathe. What’re ye doin’ here, lad?”

  He turned, stared and then grinned as he recognized Hetty Kincannon, a woman he’d known at Kilmalochan. “Hetty, you’re as pretty as ever.” He hugged her.

  “Och, go on w’ ye.” She glo
wed. “I’d chat but it’s a right bustle we’re in.”

  “I can see that,” he nodded. “Could ye spare a wee loaf and some o’ that stew that smells like the angels just made it?”

  “Just you?”

  Ian paused, knowing he was about to take a rather large step. “Nay. Me and ma wife.”

  Hetty’s eyes widened. “Yer ne’er say…”

  “I do indeed.”

  “Well I ne’er dreamed…” She hurried to a cupboard and seized a tray, filling it with plates and pots and cutlery and then adding bread, a pat or two of butter and the stew. “If ye can manage all this, I’ll send along a bit of ma honey puddin’ fer ye.”

  His mouth watered. “Hetty, you are a gift. I always said so.”

  “You did that,” she hugged him. “’T’is so proud I am of ye. Ye’ll be takin’ the lass home to Kilmalochan then?”

  “Soon, I hope.” The thought reminded him of something. “Hetty, if I were lookin’ for a wee bit o’ bauble for my lass, would I find anything at this market, tomorrow, d’ye think?”

  “Hmm.” She frowned. “Well now, seems I’ve heard of a gentleman what likes to offer baubles at a good price. Too good if yer was to ask me.” She narrowed her eyes. “Would it be yersel’ that’s askin’ or the Runner?”

  He held a finger to his lips. “Sshh. Would the answer be the same?”

  “Aye, it would. Man by the name o’ Royce.”

  “Then enough said, m’dearlin’. And I thank ye for the tray and the information.”

  With much dexterity he negotiated his way back through the crowd and brought the tray to their door unscathed. He tapped, then walked in.

  Amelia rose from the tub like Venus arising from the foam. It was all Ian could do to keep his tongue in his mouth, let alone a grip on the tray.

  “For the sweet Lord’s sake, woman.” He slammed the tray on the bureau and shut the door behind him with a bang. “Are you trying to kill me or just show off that fine body to anyone passing our door?”

  “I’m so sorry,” she looked down demurely. “But I couldn’t reach a cloth to dry myself.”

  “You are going way too far overboard, Amelia.” He sighed and fetched the cloth, passing it to her as if she had the plague.