Kiss the Wallflower: Books 1-3

by Gill, Tamara

  He was going to hell.

  “Elizabeth has attire that will fit ye well enough, but as I said, we’ll have to wait and see if the weather permits. It may be the case that ye’ll be back to yer travels before we can go.”

  “That would be a shame.” She glanced up at him, her dark-blue orbs glinting with mirth. “I should like to swim with you.”

  Heat prickled his skin and he turned abruptly, needing to move, to get away from the temptation that Miss Grant offered. Why she affected him so he could not understand. Perhaps it was because he could not have her. And damn it all to hell, he wanted her. Just one taste. One stolen moment would satisfy him for the many years that loomed before him. But alas, he knew that he could not act on his desires. He was destined for a marriage that would be as cold as a highland winter where there would be no swimming in spring or stolen kisses. Where there would be nothing at all except duty.

  The following day Sophie smiled as Gretel handed her a swimming outfit that Elizabeth had loaned her. She strode to the window, throwing up the sash and feeling the temperature of the air. It was decidedly chill and she sighed, disappointed that today would not be the day the laird took her swimming.

  She went about her morning routine, bathing and dressing in one of the new gowns Louise had purchased for her before traveling to Scotland.

  The breakfast room was empty upon her arrival and she looked at the clock on the mantel. Had she slept in? “Has everyone breakfasted before me?” she asked as a footman set a plate of ham and toast before her, along with a cup of tea. She added a dash of milk.

  “Miss Mackintosh and Miss Brodie have requested trays in their room this morning as the laird has traveled to Inverness for the day.”

  “Oh,” was all she managed. The day was simply getting worse and worse.

  Why she longed to see the laird again she could not fathom, not after how he’d treated her on the horse ride the other day. But in the tower yesterday she couldn’t help but think she’d glimpsed a part of him he didn’t often show, and she liked what she saw.

  He wasn’t so disapproving and cold. Quite the opposite. In fact, he seemed genuinely interested in her past and wanted to take her swimming.

  The idea of being in the water with him, having him touch her, left her skin to prickle with expectation.

  She shivered at the idea of his hands sliding over her flesh, of holding her in strong, capable hands. Sophie glanced out the window, willing the weather to be warmer tomorrow so she might feel exactly what she wanted.

  Him.

  She took a sip of tea, sighing at the sweet, rejuvenating tonic. She wanted to ensure that the truce that had sprouted between them continued, and the laird didn’t revert back to the cold, cutting self he was the other day. He was much preferable this way, and with time perhaps he would tell her a little about himself, just as she had.

  The day passed in a reasonable manner. After breakfast she’d gone to the library and picked out a book on the Scottish clans, wanting to know more about his people and the culture.

  Sophie had then looked about the first floor, walking through the great hall that was a room stuck in a time past. With a great hearth at one end and the dais that sported six chairs before it at the other, she could imagine the lairds of old sitting before their subjects, eating hearty meals and listening to music and clan gossip.

  Rows of tables sat within the hall. In years past the stone would’ve been covered in rushes, wolfhounds would have skulked about the clansmen’s legs, men and women living under the patronage of the Mackintosh laird, eating and enjoying their time within the fold.

  Sophie sat in a large, leather wingback chair set before a large bank of windows overlooking the grounds. She flicked through the book on clans, taking in the different tartans and the boundaries to each clan’s lands.

  “’Tis good to see ye taking an interest in the clans, lass.” Brice leaned over her chair, pointing out the Mackintosh clan’s land. “We’ve been here centuries and God willing we’ll be here hundreds of years more.”

  “I’ve always found history interesting and Scottish history is full of clan wars, wars against England. Culloden comes to mind.” She turned in the chair and met his gaze. “Did your clan suffer any losses at Culloden?”

  “Aye,” he said, a small frown marring his otherwise perfect brow. “Too many, but alas, ’tis a war the Scots were determined to have and so as with any war, good men are lost.”

  She turned back to the book, closing it. “I’ve been looking about your house, learning all its different corridors and staircases. Did you know you have seven staircases throughout the house?”

  He sat down across from her, grinning, and she couldn’t look away from his disheveled auburn hair or the wicked amusement that glowed in his eyes. “Actually, we have ten, two are servants’ staircases.”

  Sophie chuckled. “Ten? If two are servants’ stairs, that makes nine. Where is the tenth staircase?”

  “Oh aye, there is a dungeon staircase. Did ye not find that today on yer travels?”

  The thought sent a shiver across her skin and she shook her head. “No, I did not, but it sounds fascinating.” He didn’t further elaborate and Sophie wondered if she should ask him to show her. A little forward some would say, but the idea of seeing a dungeon, something she’d never seen before was too much of a temptation to pass up.

  “Will you show me?”

  He stood, holding out his hand. Sophie took it, and the moment her hand touched his a shock of awareness ran up her arm. His hand was warm and large and she couldn’t help but think of how those very capable hands could hold her close, keep her from harm. “Of course, I’ll show ye.”

  Brice made their way down to the cellars, which led farther into the two dungeons the castle boasted. They were made during the construction of the house, but very little information remained on who was held there or why.

  As a child he’d played down here often, never finding it scary, damp or ominous. Elizabeth on the other hand refused to come down here, stating the rooms were haunted by a dark-cloaked monk.

  The small, narrow tunnel leading down to the dungeon was made of rough rock. An old rush lamp sat just where the cellar lights dissipated, and using flint, Brice lit the rush, bathing the area in light.

  He bit back a smile when he felt Sophie clasp the back of his coat, holding him for support.

  “Are ye alright, lass? Not afraid are ye?”

  “My holding on to you is not obvious enough that I’m terrified?” She chuckled and her laugh, both self-deprecating and soft, did odd things to his body, made him feel things he shouldn’t. Made him want things he couldn’t have.

  “There is nothing down here to be scared of. I promise ye that.”

  They came into the first of three chambers. Brice lifted the rush lamp and showed Sophie the walls. Even after the hundreds of years, they still sported chains and bolts hammered into the rock. The walls were damp, water oozing from the surface. “It would not have been the nicest place for people to be kept.”

  She stepped around him and looked about the space. She clasped her arms before her, rubbing them. “It’s cold in here. Do you not feel like someone is watching us?”

  Brice shrugged, glancing about also, anything to keep him from staring at the sweet Sassenach before him. “I dinna feel anything, but Elizabeth refuses to come down here too, so mayhap there are spirits still lingering, waiting to be freed.”

  Right at that moment, the rush lamp blew out and darkness enfolded them. Brice stood there a moment, the hair on the back of his nape standing upright. No such thing had ever occurred before. He gasped as Sophie threw herself against him, her arms holding his waist in an unyielding grip, her head huddled against his chest.

  He wrapped his arms about her and turned her toward where he knew the tunnel entrance was. “I’ll take ye back upstairs,” he said, her muffled reply unintelligible against his chest.

  He held her tight, probably closer than he need
ed to, but he liked the way she felt in his arms. Holding out his hand he came to the wall and worked his way across until he felt the tunnel entrance. They walked slowly and Brice kept his hand above him to ensure he didn’t let a low, overhanging rock hit him or Sophie.

  “I do not think I’ll come back down here again,” she said, just as the light from the cellar started to penetrate the space.

  Brice had to admit to feeling a little relief at making it back. He’d never had a candle or the rush lamp go out on him just as it did back then, and even he could admit to feeling a little unsettled by it.

  “’Tis all well now, Miss Grant. I’ll not let any harm come to ye.”

  She pulled him to a stop, glancing up at him. Unable to keep his attention anywhere but on the woman in his arms he met her gaze.

  His stomach clenched as she studied him, her face still a little ashen from her fright. He pushed a lock of hair away from her face, slipping it behind her ear.

  An overwhelming need assailed him to pull her close, lean down and kiss those delectable lips that were slightly apart and plump, ripe for the picking.

  “Here ye are, I’ve been looking all over the house for ye.”

  Sophie wrenched out of his arms and inwardly cursed the arrival of his sister. Elizabeth had an uncanny ability to turn up at the least unwelcome times.

  “I was showing Miss Grant the dungeons. We lost our lighting and I was assisting Miss Grant toward the light.” What on earth was he saying? He shut his mouth with a snap before anything else absurd came spilling out.

  “Really?” His sister glanced between them and he recognized that stare well. She was summing him up, wondering what really was going on.

  He clasped his hands behind his back lest he wrench Miss Grant back beside him. He’d wanted to kiss her, had been seconds away of doing exactly that. Perhaps he ought to thank his sister for interrupting them when she did. There was something about Miss Grant that made Brice realize that one taste of her would never be enough.

  “We’ve served tea in the drawing room upstairs. Come, Sophie, we’ll walk up together. Elspeth will join us there.”

  Brice watched them go, waiting a few minutes before he followed them up the cellar stairs. What had he been thinking? The reminder that Elspeth waited for his proposal sent shame spiraling through his blood.

  He owed it to his parents to fulfill their most-cherished wish. God knows he’d been difficult enough with all other things in his life while they were alive. He at least ought to do this one thing for them, even though it was too late to make amends for being a difficult child.

  Brice made for the library, wanting solitude and time to think. He needed a plan that would keep his hands off Miss Grant while also gaining enough courage to ask Elspeth for her hand in marriage.

  Neither option was appealing. He shut the library door and made his way over to his decanter of whiskey instead. A drink first, then everything else that he was to do would come next.

  Chapter 6

  Sophie watched the laird during dinner that evening, wondering if she’d imagined that he was going to kiss her earlier today. He’d certainly had a wolfish look about him as he leaned toward her before his sister interrupted them.

  All afternoon she’d been edgy, annoyed and fidgety that they had been interrupted. That in itself was vexing as the laird had not been the kindest to her when she’d first arrived here, but perhaps it was just his way. The day they were to go riding he’d been busy and she had been thrown into his care.

  Whereas today he’d offered to take her down to the dungeons. He’d had spare time to spend with her. His property was vast, it was possible that his coldness toward her the other day had been simply because he’d not had time to mind her.

  She shivered as she remembered his hands, clasping her firmly about the waist, holding her fast before him. It had taken all her willpower not to lean into his touch when he’d placed her hair behind her ear.

  She swallowed, reaching out to take a sip of wine. She glanced at him and found him watching her. His gaze took in her face and dipped over her body and Sophie’s breath caught in her lungs. With each inspection over her person she swore she could feel it as if he were touching her himself.

  She’d had men look at her so in London, certainly after her sister had married the marquess and placed her higher in society. That her brother-in-law had bestowed on both her and her brother a modest inheritance also helped.

  But with the way the Laird of Mackintosh drank her in, as if she were the sweetest honey to swallow, a thrumming ache formed low in her belly and she couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to be taken in his arms, kissed within an inch of her life.

  How delectable that would be.

  Her skin heated, but she would not look away from him. If he were trying to scare her away, or warn her off with his heated gaze, he’d mistaken her character for a woman who could not hold her own. She was a Grant, not a woman to be toyed with or assumed to be weak simply because she was female. If he would look at her so boldly, then she would in turn take her fill and take a portrait of him in her mind for the many years to come when hundreds of miles separated them and they went on with their busy lives.

  Elizabeth cleared her throat and only then did his lordship look away.

  “I was thinking since the weather has been so lovely that we may picnic at the Viking ruins tomorrow. Would ye like that, Sophie?”

  To visit Viking ruins sounded simply wonderful and she nodded. “I would love to see them. I understand that the Scots have a lot of ancestry to thank the Vikings for.”

  Elizabeth smiled, spooning some soup into her mouth. “We do. If ye have not noticed my brother is obscenely tall and walks about as if he should have a sword in his hand.”

  Sophie chuckled and his lordship scoffed. “Who says I dinna have a sword, sister?”

  The idea of seeing him wield one was not an image she needed to imagine. She was already picturing him too perfectly as it was. Even so, to explore outside the house, see a little of the Scotland she wanted to before their carriage broke down sounded like a wonderful day out.

  The carriage ride to the ruins was of short duration and it wasn’t long before servants set up a small table and chairs along with food and wine.

  The ruins were located in a heavily wooded area near a small river that apparently ran into Loch Moy. “The Vikings would use waterways to transport their goods, and travel.”

  She glanced up at the laird, having not heard him come up behind her. His voice ran over her like a soothing balm and she couldn’t think of a more pleasant way to pass the time than to listen to his Scottish brogue.

  “Will you show me about?”

  He glanced toward where Elspeth and Elizabeth sat at the table, having tea and biscuits. “Aye, of course. This way.” He gestured for her to precede him and she went ahead.

  They walked on in silence for a time before his lordship said, “I must admit that I’ve never met a woman like ye, Miss Grant. Ye’re not what I expected when ye arrived at Moy castle.”

  “Really?” she asked, curious to know what he thought of her. “What did you think I’d be like?”

  “Spoiled. A London debutante who was used to getting her own way and would look down on anyone she deemed beneath her.”

  Sophie raised her brow, halting her steps. “You do not have a very high opinion of the English, then.” She continued on and felt more than heard that he was close on her heels. “I suppose because I’m not spoiled and have known menial chores in my life that I’m not like that. Not that I do not enjoy having servants now, I must admit I loathed having to wash my own clothes, but no, I would never look down on anyone for their situation in life. I know my future would have been vastly different had my sister not married a marquess.”

  “I’m very glad that yer sister did marry the marquess.”

  Again she stopped and turned to face him, settling her gaze on his. They were hidden from view here within the trees.
Through the foliage about them she could make out the stone ruins of the Viking location. “Why do you say that?”

  Their eyes met and held. Her heart beat like a drum in her ears, and if she were of a more delicate constitution her knees may have given out on her in that moment. He was devilishly handsome and oh so tempting.

  “We would not have met had she not.”

  She smiled, pleased he would think such a thing and say it aloud to her. “We may have still met, but I doubt your sister would’ve invited me to stay.” A sad truth when one was beneath another due to wealth and rank. How many people missed marrying their soul mate due to being married off to other people that family and society thought appropriate?

  She would never do such a thing. If she fell in love with an innkeeper or farmer she would marry him and enjoy her life and love. She would even leave London and her family if it meant living with the man who made her heart flutter. Even if that meant leaving her family whom she’d only just been reunited with after all the years apart.

  “If she had not invited ye, I would have I’m sure.”

  She raised her brow. “Really? You did not seem too fond of me accompanying you the other day horse riding. Are you certain you would’ve invited me to stay?”

  He ran a hand over his jaw, looking up at the sky as if it would help him explain himself that day before looking at her. “I apologize for leaving ye behind and being so rude.” He frowned and she wondered what was going through his mind. “I acted appallingly and I hope ye forgive me.”

  “I will think about it,” she said, turning toward the ruins. Her booted foot caught a stick and Sophie toppled forward, the ground coming up fast to meet her nose. Strong, capable arms wrapped about her waist and stopped her fall.