Forgetting the Scot

by Jennifer Trethewey

  “Stand back, you pox-ridden son of a diseased cow.”

  The doctor dodged a lethal blow.

  Auntie Flora stormed into the library. “Stop your footerin’ or I’ll tie you to that chair. You’ve got a nasty cut, and Dr. Farquhar must see to it.” She’d gone to fetch help and come back empty-handed. No one was fool enough to try and hold him down.

  “I need to shave you clean before I can stitch you,” the doctor said, inching toward him.

  He would sooner lose his left bollocks than let someone remove his beard. He swung again. “Tell him to put the bloody razor down.”

  Auntie Flora shook a finger at him. “I willnae have that kind of language in my house. Look at you, bleeding all over my good carpet.”

  “That’s a deep saber cut you’ve got on your jaw,” the doctor said. “It willnae heal properly if you dinnae let me—”

  Magnus let loose a colorful stream of Gaelic aimed at the silver-haired doctor.

  “Magnus Fretageot Sinclair, cursing is cursing in any language.”

  “I willnae let him shave me,” he roared.

  “Now, Magnus,” Dr. Farquhar said. “Be reasonable. After all, it’s only a beard. It grows back, son.”

  Magnus shook the bloody rag at the doctor. “One more step and I’ll flatten you!”

  “That’s it.” Flora flung her arms up and opened the library door calling, “Come in and give me a hand, dear.”

  He hollered after her, “You’re daft if you think my cousin’s wee wife can tell me what to—”

  Auntie Flora returned with a woman trailing behind her. Not Lucy. One of the rescued women, the tall one with the long graceful neck and hair the color of honey, the one he’d held in his arms. He bolted to his feet.

  “Magnus, I believe you’ve met Miss Virginia Whitebridge.”

  “Hello again, Mr. Sinclair.” Miss Virginia stepped forward, stumbled on the edge of the carpet, and bumped into a side table sending a ceramic figure of a pig playing a fiddle flying. He caught it midair with his free hand before the delicate object met with its doom.

  “Pardon me,” she said. “I’m afraid I’m somewhat of a hazard. My spectacles went missing when I was abducted. I’m positively lost without them.”

  “Think nothing of it, dear.” Flora pushed him down into his chair by the shoulders, and he did not resist. “Dr. Farquhar, Miss Virginia has kindly agreed to help us.”

  “Have a seat here, Miss Virginia,” the doctor said, positioning a stool, “and hold Magnus’s left hand still while I work.”

  Miss Virginia sat at his side facing him, her slender figure nearly touching his. She groped and found his upper arm.

  “Oh. There you are.” She laughed.

  He liked the sound. Low and intimate, like a bedroom laugh. She’d just bathed, and her thick braid hung down the front of her right shoulder, making wet spots on her gown. She smelled citrusy and green like the soap Auntie Flora made. An insane impulse to lick her cheek nearly took hold of his reason.

  Her hands fluttered southward toward his wrist where he gripped the arm of the chair, lest he float away. “I’m pleased to have this opportunity to speak to you, Mr. Magnus.”

  He’d gone so dry his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Even if he could free it, he doubted he could find words to say to her. Which was odd. He’d never had trouble talking to women before. In fact, he was regarded by most as a favorite with the ladies. So, why the hell was he behaving like a dumb-struck loon?

  “You and the men of Balforss saved us from the unthinkable. My companions and I can never thank you enough for your courage.”

  He’d held her in his arms only hours ago. She was so slender, so fine-boned a strong wind could have blown her away. The sensation of her striking him, however weak and ineffective, seemed to have left a divot in his chest, for he could still feel the place where she had pounded her fist.

  “You protected me when we were fleeing the ship, and I feel responsible for your injury. If you hadn’t shielded me…”

  She was English. Her voice sounded pretty, like birdsong, light and refined. He normally didn’t notice that sort of thing. He liked women, as a rule. He liked this one a lot. More than most. More than any he could remember. He liked the way she smelled and the way her body had been soft and pliable in his arms, and the way she—he should pay attention. She was still talking.

  “And if it weren’t for your courage and skill, who knows what might have happened to us.”

  Though mesmerized by the movement of her lips, he had a vague awareness of the doctor and the straight razor, its scraping having become background noise like the hum of bees. She was so close, he could feel her breath on his cheek. She had delicate eyebrows that rippled when she spoke, and a bitty nose, narrow and straight. He thought her eyes were green, but on second inspection they were both green and brown, depending on how the sunlight hit them. Her cheeks had a hollowed look. Most likely that bastard captain hadn’t fed her well. The idea, the notion of what may have happened to her and the rest—had he and his cousins not boarded the ship and rescued the women—burned a slow, simmering path down his spine.

  Just then, her pink tongue slipped out to wet her lower lip. His own tongue slithered out in sympathetic response. She squeezed his hand, drawing all sensation away from the biting insect buzzing near his right cheek to that single point on his body. She was touching him skin to skin, holding his hand in one of hers, and with the other, slowly swirling her fingertips in light circles on the top of his hand, comforting him.

  “The doctor says to hold very still.” She squeezed tighter. “I promise I won’t leave your side until this ordeal has ended.”

  Ah, dinnae fash, lass. I’m no’ going anywhere so long as you keep hold of my hand.

  Pretty wasn’t the right word to describe her. She wasn’t what some might call beautiful, either. Goddess was more like it. Yes. He would like to get on his knees and worship this woman.

  She was nothing like the women with whom he normally passed the time. They were comely and good-natured. But they hadn’t been like Miss Virginia. She was something altogether different and not because she was English. He’d had English lassies before. French lassies, as well. He’d even spent the night with a robust Dutch woman once. As he recalled, every one of those encounters had been enjoyable, although, he’d be at a loss to describe the color of their eyes.

  He wasn’t the marrying sort, like his cousins Alex and Declan. He lived the life of a bachelor. For years, he’d enjoyed the company of many willing lassies and never once had he seen the appeal in having only one woman. Yet, after falling into his arms on board the Tigress amidst the smoke and blood and carnage, this exquisite lass had inspired in him a deep need to have her exclusively to himself. Why? He knew what it was about her that caused the stirring below his belt. But what was it that stirred the unfamiliar feeling in his chest? Was it because no woman had ever focused on him so intently as did Miss Virginia?

  “There, now,” she said, revealing porcelain-white teeth. “It’s done. Did that hurt you very much?”

  “I’ll do.” God, she smelled delicious.

  “I’m afraid you’ll have a scar.”

  “I dinnae mind at all.” His deep voice made the crystal stopper on the whisky decanter rattle. He was suddenly conscious of his impossibly large body, too big for the room, too crude for an elegant woman like Virginia. He stank of blood, sweat, and sea water. How could she tolerate his filthy condition when she was so clean and…perfect?

  Auntie Flora touched Virginia’s shoulder. “Thank you, dear. You’ve been a great help to us. Do go and join the others for your dinner.”

  When Miss Virginia rose, Magnus pushed the physician aside and stood towering over her. She made a pretty curtsy, and he bobbed his big head. The sound of her rustling skirts as she swished out of the room only added to his intense desire to know what was under them.

  When the library door closed behind her, a cool breeze tickled his face
. He slapped a hand to his cheek and rounded on Dr. Farquhar.

  “You bloody bastard. You scalped me.” The doctor had shaved one side of his face—the injured side—and left the other side be. He must look like an eejit—a big, blundering, lumbering eejit.

  Dr. Farquhar didn’t reply. Instead, he and his aunt tipped their heads to the left in unison.

  “What?” he demanded.

  The two tilted their heads to the other side like some strange puppet dance.

  “What?”

  “Nothing, dear,” Flora said. “It’s just that, well, I havenae seen you clean shaven since you were a lad.”

  Dr. Farquhar cleared his throat and gathered his things. “Keep those stitches clean and dry. Send someone for me if it festers.” He collected his hat and headed out the door.

  “Thank you, Doctor,” Flora said without looking away from Magnus’s face.

  His nerves chafed under his aunt’s gaze. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “I think you best let me shave the other side, aye?” she said. “But no more fuss. Sit.”

  No point to objecting now. He flopped into the chair, but before his auntie raised the blade to his cheek, Lucy burst into the room. “I saw Dr. Farquhar leave and I—” She stopped dead in her tracks, mouth open, quiet for once, the wee bizzum.

  “What? You, too? What is it?”

  Lucy dimpled. “Why Magnus, you never told us you were hiding a handsome face behind that beard.”

  Chapter Two

  Virginia practically staggered out of the library, her close encounter with Mr. Magnus leaving her quite addled. Damn and bollocks. Mr. Magnus must think her a complete ninny. But she couldn’t help herself. He was so…large. And the way he’d stared at her, like he enjoyed looking at her. No one had ever examined her like that before. The sensation was so new, so unfamiliar, she was not prepared and, as a result, she’d been reduced to a blathering idiot.

  Virginia paused outside the library door until she regained her footing, then felt her way into what she thought was the dining room. She wasn’t exactly blind. It was just that everything looked rather fuzzy to her. The edges of objects had no definition. As a result, she often misjudged their boundaries and bumped into things.

  “A clumsy ass.” That’s what Langley called her anytime she misplaced her spectacles and had to fumble about the house for them. He’d had little tolerance for her nearsightedness or any of her shortcomings, for that matter. Yet, Mr. Magnus hadn’t chastised her at all when she’d stumbled. On the contrary. He’d actually seemed to enjoy her company, and she’d enjoyed his. In fact, she was still flush from spending so much time near the big man. So near, she could see him. Clearly.

  “Has the doctor finished?” That was Lucy’s voice.

  “Yes. All done.”

  “I’ll go check on him. Morag and Lady Charlotte are waiting for you.” Lucy brushed past her.

  The rectangular table lay ahead with two fuzzy shapes seated on the right side. Dining rooms were dangerous places to be without one’s spectacles. So many breakable things.

  “Over here,” Morag called. “Sit next to me.”

  Morag was a sweet girl. Of all the women held captive aboard the Tigress, Virginia was most distraught over the fifteen-year-old. Between grief and sea sickness, Morag hadn’t been able to eat and had grown weaker by the day. Her mood and her appetite seemed much improved now that they had landed safe in the embrace of the Sinclair family.

  Virginia found her place without breaking anything and slid into the chair between Morag and Lady Charlotte.

  “Smells like heaven, doesn’t it?” Charlotte said, pouring Virginia a cup. She sounded chipper, as usual, only now they had something real to celebrate. They were free. “I thought I’d never have tea again.”

  “Where’s Mary?” Virginia asked.

  “Taking her time in the bath.” Morag took another bite of gooseberry tart and added with her mouth full, “Miss Lucy said she’s met you a’fore.”

  Virginia swallowed a bite of her scone and wiped the corners of her mouth with her serviette, buying time while she thought of what was safe to reveal. “We attended the same school for etiquette when we were girls, and we saw each other at social events in London. Her father is the Duke of Chatham, you know.”

  “Isn’t that just too rich to be true?” Charlotte chuckled. “To meet an old friend, hundreds of miles from home in the remotest part of Scotland—the daughter of a duke, no less. The next thing you know, we’ll be lunching with the King of Spain.”

  “Never,” Lucy said, catching the last of Charlotte’s comment as she entered. “I’m pleased enough to have your company.”

  “Were you and Virginia great friends in London?” Morag asked.

  “Heavens no. We were rivals.” Lucy’s teasing tone was obvious even to the girl.

  “Hardly.” Virginia sent Lucy a cautionary look.

  “I was determined to marry Lord Langley.” Virginia stiffened and Lucy caught herself before she gave the game away. “Alas, Langley chose another.” After a beat, Lucy continued as if performing for the stage, holding the back of her hand to her forehead. “I was devastated. I cried for weeks. Then my cruel father sent me away to Scotland and forced me to marry an ogre named Alex Sinclair.” She aimed a devastating smile at her audience. “You probably met him. He was the extremely unattractive red-haired man.”

  Charlotte and Morag laughed.

  “What’s funny?” Virginia asked. Not being able to see well, she was often left out of the odd joke.

  “Alex is quite possibly the most handsome man I’ve ever seen,” Charlotte said.

  “That may have been true until a few minutes ago. Wait until you see our Magnus clean shaven.” Lucy added in a hushed voice, “I believe the best word to describe him would be Adonis.”

  Virginia had been close enough to Magnus to get a good look at his face. Lucy spoke the truth. He was a handsome man, but more than that, he was the man who had saved her, protected her, caught the blade that would have taken her life. Magnus was her champion, and she wasn’t certain if she liked the way the others were talking about him as if he was a prized stud up for auction on the marriage block.

  The library door opened and an argument spilled out into the entry hall.

  “You’re being unreasonable.”

  Then a low-pitched, “You’ll no’ see me until it grows back.”

  Dishes clattered and chairs scraped as her dining mates scrambled out of their seats and dashed toward the passage to the entry hall.

  A chorus of saccharine female voices crooned, “Hello, Mr. Sinclair.”

  Deep rumbling echoed in the entry.

  “Magnus, stop your growling,” Lady Sinclair said.

  The front door slammed and a burst of uncontrolled female giggling filled the room. Were they laughing at Magnus? How could anyone poke fun at such a kind, brave man? Taking issue, she asked sternly, “Please tell me what is so funny?”

  Lady Sinclair entered on a sigh and found a seat at the head of the table. “It appears Magnus feels naked without his beard.”

  Just then, Mary Tucker flounced into the dining room. “I wouldnae mind seeing the whole of that big man naked.” The Scottish woman always said the first thing that popped into her head, no matter how outrageous.

  “You’re looking refreshed, Mary, dear,” Lady Sinclair said, the caution in her tone barely discernible. “Come help yourself to tea.” She asked Morag to pass the scones, then continued, “At any rate, Magnus has threatened to remain in his cottage until his beard grows back.”

  “I’ve never seen him clean shaven,” Lucy said.

  “No one has. At least not since he was old enough to grow hair on his face.”

  “Did you know he was so good looking?”

  Lady Sinclair bubbled with laughter. “He was very awkward looking at fifteen. His hands and feet were too big for his body and he had spots.” She reflected for a moment, then said, “I shouldnae be surp
rised. Laird John’s younger brother Steven was his father. He was a good-looking man.” She spoke of Magnus’s father wistfully. The man must be dead. Poor Magnus. “Och, quite a figure Steven cut in his uniform. Magnus gets his size from Steven, but he gets his dark coloring from his mother, Aunt Agnes.”

  “Well,” Charlotte began, “if Magnus plans to stay in his cottage for the next month, someone better check on his stitches now and then.”

  “I’ll do it,” Mary said.

  “But it was my idea.” Charlotte sounded thoroughly put out.

  Morag said, “What about me?”

  “You’re too young,” everyone chimed in unison.

  “I know,” Lucy said. “Charlotte and Mary will both go. The two of you will take it in turn to bring Magnus his meals every day until his beard grows back.” Lucy laughed. “The poor man will be married before he knows what’s happened.”

  Virginia prickled at the notion. Both Charlotte and Mary were beautiful, the kind of women all men were drawn to, but Lady Charlotte would only toy with Magnus’s heart. She’d end up hurting him in the end. And Mary would bully him. Virginia couldn’t tolerate the idea that any woman would belittle a great man like Magnus. He’d saved her life, and therefore he was her champion.

  …

  Magnus slammed the front door to Balforss behind him and headed for the stables. He hadn’t slept in nearly two days. His jaw ached from the saber wound, his face stung from the shave, and his belly groaned from lack of food. Auntie Flora had offered to feed him. She’d even offered to let him sleep in the library until he recovered, but the anger over losing his beard had him fleeing the house.

  Jesus. Those women. Laughing at him. Everyone was laughing at him. He could imagine the fun his cousins Ian and Alex would have when they got home. They could all go to bloody hell.

  “Except for Miss Virginia,” he said, his voice so low even the birds wouldn’t hear. “She didnae laugh.” The racket inside his head slowly died down just thinking about her bonnie face.

  His big chestnut warhorse waited where he’d left him, tied to the paddock fence. He lifted his foot to the stirrup and missed. Bloody hell. Was he too weak to mount his blasted horse? Like Samson, had the shave robbed him of his strength?