The Scot is Hers: The Scots of Honor Series

by Knight, Eliza

  * * *

  This was madness.

  And yet, Alec had no desire to stop it. He loved the way Giselle was so eager for his caress. Eager to explore the sensations kissing and caressing brought. The harsh, uneven rhythm of her breathing when he skimmed his lips over her nipple. The way the tiny, pink bud had puckered excitedly against his tongue.

  Giselle touched the side of his face. Her fingertips were gently exploring the scars that marred him, and Alec stiffened. Waiting for her revulsion. Expecting her to leap off of his lap in horror. But she didn’t. Instead...she kept going, her kiss deepening as she slanted her head to the side.

  The mere graze of her hand on his scar should have sent warnings shivering through him. But it only made his heart beat faster, and that dizzying feeling he’d had when his friends mentioned “love” returned a thousandfold. This woman, this mad and silly woman, was giving herself over to him freely.

  That was a realization he had to cherish, cradling it like a fragile treasure. No one had ever made him feel this way, want this way, be this way.

  Alec returned her kiss with reckless abandon. To hell with anyone outside the doorway. This was a moment he wasn’t going to miss. A chance to show her how much he cared—though only to a certain physical point, as he’d not leave her with a child. For in the morning, he would ride off, and as confident as he was his bullet would find its way into Joshua Keith, he was also certain that Keith’s bullet was going to find a home in him. He could only pray that the man aimed for a non-vital part of his body.

  But knowing what a lech the man was, he didn’t have any doubt Keith intended to be lethal.

  Alec wrapped his arms tighter around Giselle, not wanting to let her go. Wanting to give her pleasure. Wishing that this moment would last forever. And then she started to move, a subtle shift of her hips that was likely unintentional, but the gasp that left her made his own heart skitter to a thundering halt. The warmth of her sex had slid over his cock, and though fabric separated them from touching skin to skin, it was enough to make him lose his breath. She did it again, gasping against his mouth.

  “Was that...what was that?” she asked, pulling away. Her blue eyes were dewy and hazy with desire, and he wanted to press his lips to the lids. To breathe in the sweet floral scent of her hair.

  “Which part, love?” he asked, hands roving over her supple hips.

  “There is something in your...something beneath your kilt.”

  It took everything Alec had not to laugh at her accusation. “Aye. Every man has one.”

  “Is it a weapon?”

  Oh, dear God, was she that innocent? “In a manner of speaking,” he drawled, hoping she’d catch his meaning, or at least that the realization would dawn on her any moment. Wouldn’t it?

  “Tell me what it is. Show me. Why would ye put it there?” She frowned. “That’s such an odd place. I’ve seen a lot of weapons, but this one felt...hmm, I do no’ know.”

  Apparently not. “Lass, ’tis—”

  Alec groaned when she unexpectedly reached for him, taking the length of his cock in her grasp. Mo chreach…

  “I’d let go if I were ye.” The words were nearly choked from him as she gave a little tug, then slid her hand down to the base of him and tugged again.

  “’Tis stuck.”

  He was going to die, right then and there, from pleasure and mirth all at once.

  “Why? What is it? It’s hard but soft at the same time.” Then her mouth formed a little O, and she let go of him suddenly, red flames coloring her cheeks.

  “I see ye may have guessed that ye had your hands all over my cock.” He couldn’t help himself. He started to laugh.

  “Oh my...I did no’ know. I’m sorry.” She leapt off of his lap then, her hands going to the flaming red of her face.

  “Ye need no’ apologize, love. Ye can touch me anytime ye want.” He grabbed her, pulling her back between his legs, laughing as he kissed her.

  A loud thwack had them both jumping as one of the croquet balls came through the glass window of the library.

  * * *

  “Where do ye think ye’re going?”

  Giselle whipped around in the corridor outside her bedroom to find her mother standing in the shadows. Why was she lurking there?

  “I wanted some fresh air.” She tried for nonchalance but wasn’t sure her mother was going to buy it. She’d been back in her chamber for hours now, having fled the shards of glass in the library for fear the guests would come running to find out what they’d broken.

  Lady Bothwell straightened, staring Giselle down. “I’ll go with ye.”

  Giselle let out a suffering sigh. “Was there something ye needed, Mama?”

  “Nay, simply stretching my legs as well.” Giselle could smell a lie from her mother a mile away. She had most definitely been lurking. But why? Perhaps she’d even been standing guard, knowing that Giselle had not come in to rest earlier that afternoon.

  “Past my chamber? Seems as though ye were checking up on me.”

  “Do ye need checking up on?”

  “I do no’.”

  Having her mother with her now was putting a damper on her plans, foolish as they might have been. She’d rashly decided to leave Slains for Boddam in an attempt to beg Sir Joshua not to engage in the duel tomorrow morning. Perhaps it was luck or fate that her mother had chosen to skulk outside of her bedroom like a pickpocket.

  “Ye were no’ sneaking out to find Lord Errol, were ye?”

  Now Giselle was certain that her mother knew about the library or that she suspected. “Nay, Mother.” And that was the truth.

  “Hmm.” Lady Bothwell was also easily able to detect lies, but the pinch of her brows showed she’d not detected one now and was confused about it.

  Giselle was getting better at hiding her feelings—good.

  She couldn’t very well tell her mother that she planned to return to Boddam Castle, though only briefly, to convince Joshua to change his mind. First of all, her mother would never allow it. And the other reasons why were plenty—all of which should make Giselle change her mind about the madcap plan.

  But Giselle was frantic with panic. Tomorrow morning was going to change everything. It could mean the end of Alec’s life.

  How could she not want to put a stop to that?

  Her mother halted her at the top of the stairs. “Are ye certain there is no’ anything ye wish to discuss with me?” She searched Giselle’s face as if a housekeeper searching the maid’s drawers for missing silverware. If it was there, Lady Bothwell was certain to find it.

  Giselle pulled out her most winning smile and again told her mother the truth. “Nay. Nothing at all.” Because she had absolutely nothing that she wished to discuss with her mother at all.

  At the base of the stairs, they ran into Jaime, who eyed them both without expression. Though Jaime had forgiven Giselle for thinking she’d abandoned her, Jaime had yet to forgive Lady Bothwell for intervening and causing their rift. Besides, as her dearest friend in the world, Jaime knew what a strain Lady Bothwell put on Giselle, and they had an unspoken pact that she would intervene whenever she could.

  Jaime was, as always, elegant and graceful, so she smiled at both of them.

  “Your Grace,” Giselle’s mother said with a curtsy. “We’re headed to the garden for a stroll.”

  “How lovely, Lady Bothwell,” Jaime said with an incline of her head. “I was coming to find ye, Lady Giselle. I’d hoped ye might like an evening walk. Just my luck that I can now accompany both of ye.”

  A second person who would have stopped her from going to Boddam Castle and an uncertain fate. Giselle should take all of these interruptions as a sign, but she couldn’t help the dread that trickled like ice over her spine.

  16

  A white curling mist crawled along the moors as Alec made his way on horseback to the abbey with Lorne, Euan and Malcolm riding beside him.

  Before leaving, he’d checked to see that Giselle was stil
l abed, lest they arrived to discover another garden party delaying the inevitable. She’d been in a sound slumber, her cheeks pink from sleep, and her blonde curls splayed out enticingly on the pillow. It had been the hardest thing he’d ever done not to lean down and kiss her. To rouse her and tell her goodbye. To not crawl into the bed beside her and send a message to Sir Joshua Keith that he’d not be coming.

  Alec had laid a single rose upon the nightstand, along with a book from his library for her to read, not that him leaving her a gift would make her any less angry when she finally arose to find he’d left.

  The day before, he’d promised he’d wake her. But to bring her along with him would be madness—and she wouldn’t stay behind; he knew that much. Besides, he didn’t want her to see what happened between him and Keith, even if her imagination could give her all the images she needed. He feared the event would be too traumatic, especially if it didn’t go the way he wanted.

  They arrived at the abbey at nearly the same time as his lifelong enemy. Keith was glowering in his usual fashion, his clothes rumpled, which was not normal at all. Seemed the idea of coming today had ruffled his feathers, too. Good. Perhaps he’d changed his mind or would be willing to talk about it.

  The doctor too had already arrived, looking a wee bit blearier-eyed than Alec appreciated in a man who was supposed to save their lives.

  “Keith,” Alec said, not curbing the disgust in his voice.

  “Errol.”

  The men climbed from their horses, the ground soft beneath their feet. Joshua had brought along his second, the same man Alec had not recognized from before.

  “Who’s your second?” he asked.

  “This is Almsley. He’s my horseman.”

  Ah, so the mysterious breeder he’d met with the day before. Another testament to the fact that Joshua Keith had never been able to keep any friends. The man must have been promised a hefty amount of coin to stand in as second to a bastard he barely knew. And also a clue that he’d changed the time to today on purpose, perhaps to give himself another day to live.

  “If ye’re ready, let’s get this over with,” Alec said, hoping that would lead Keith into declining if he wanted. “I’ve got a breakfast to attend to.”

  “Ye should have canceled it,” Keith spat with all the anger his venomous eyes guaranteed.

  Alec grunted in reply. They both carried their pistol boxes to the center so their seconds could inspect them, making sure they were up to snuff and nothing awry. Alec had used his plenty of times in target practice with his friends, but also on the field of battle. The weapon had saved his life more than once, and if it came to it today, he prayed it did the same now too.

  As Alec’s second, Euan looked over Alec’s pistol first, and then Joshua’s, nodding in satisfaction. There’d been a split second where he wished his friend would have found fault with one or the other, so Alec could call the whole thing off. His stomach had started to twist itself into knots, and all he could imagine was Giselle waking at that moment to realize he’d left without allowing her to say goodbye, even though he’d been able to do so silently. Keith’s second checked the pistols himself, nodding when he finished.

  “Ye may proceed,” Euan said.

  “Thank ye for everything,” Alec said to his friends.

  He passed Lorne two sealed envelopes. One for his mother and one for Giselle, should he not make it.

  “Are ye certain ye want to do this?”

  “Aye.” He had no choice. He had to protect Giselle’s honor and his own. This needed to end. Today.

  Alec lifted his pistol from the box and marched to the place he and his friends had established would be the most advantageous spot when they’d checked the day the first scheduled duel was thwarted.

  Joshua Keith took his pistol from his box and walked toward Alec.

  Alec stared hard at Joshua as he approached, seeing the cruelty buried beneath the depths of his eyes. “I’ll give ye one more chance to make this right,” Alec offered. “Admit what ye did in battle, and swear to apologize to my future wife, and we can end this now. Neither of us needs to die today.”

  Keith scoffed. “Ye’re an arsehole if ye think I’ll be admitting to any such thing. Do ye honestly think a woman like that would want to marry an ugly creature like ye? I’ll be pissing on your grave before the day is through.”

  Alec decided not to comment further with the small-brained maggot, as it would go nowhere. Best to get on with it and pray he was home by breakfast.

  He turned his back, waiting to feel the press of Joshua’s spine to his. The moment they touched, Lorne shouted, “Ten paces.”

  Alec walked—sturdy on his feet, his hand still and firm on the pistol—until he was ten paces away. He drew in a long, steadying breath. Everyone around them quiet, likely not breathing either. There was a slight breeze over the moors, and one of the horses snorted.

  Alec focused on his breathing and turned.

  * * *

  Giselle woke with a start when the morning sun filtered through her bedroom window, indicating it was well past dawn. At first, she stretched, the warmth of the sunlight on her skin and the silken sheets beneath her welcome. She was still at Slains.

  Oh, my goodness. She was still at Slains—and it was past dawn.

  She threw back the covers with such force they hit the unlit candle on her nightstand, sending it flying, along with a red rose and a book.

  She picked up the rose, pressing her nose to the soft petals and inhaling. Only one person could have been there to give her the rose and a book.

  Alec. He’d come into her room to say goodbye, but then decided not to wake her.

  She picked up the novel from the floor. Romeo and Juliet by Shakespeare. A tragic love story.

  “Bloody hell,” she cursed under her breath, glad her mother was not there to hear her language.

  Fear and panic raced through her veins as she leapt from the bed, only to feel her ankle protest at the quick, harsh movement of hitting the hard floor. But there was no time to worry about the pain.

  She yanked off her nightgown, her arms getting stuck in the sleeves, and she groaned, deciding she would have to rip the fabric to be freed when it finally untangled itself. She wrenched open her wardrobe and grabbed the first gown she could find, tugging on the dress she’d worn the day before and not caring that someone might notice.

  After knotting her hair up quickly with a ribbon, she then pulled on her riding boots, which did not in the least match her day dress, but she didn’t care. She didn’t bother to lace them all the way. There was no time. She had to find Alec, wherever he was. Her ensemble was absurd and would cause ridicule, she was certain, but there was no time to worry. Her heart was thudding in her chest, and she felt close to fainting, having to remind herself to breathe. She needed to get to the moors. To the abbey to find out what happened. And she prayed she wasn’t too late, even though she was certain to be. Pistols at dawn was not pistols after sunrise.

  Panicked voices came from the parlor, and when Giselle rounded the corner, she found Lady Errol and Jaime standing together. They both looked at Giselle with stricken eyes, faces pale.

  “What’s happened?” Giselle felt dizzy, pressing her hand to her stomach. Her vision started to blur, and she swayed on her feet. She grabbed onto the back of the closest chair to keep herself from falling over.

  No one spoke, only staring at her as if they’d seen a ghost. Or maybe they needed to tell her about one.

  “Tell me what’s happened!”

  * * *

  Everything transpired in slow motion.

  Alec caught Keith in his sights. Raised his arm, which felt heavy, sluggish. He pointed his pistol, taking aim for Joshua’s shoulder. A shot that would be punishing but not lethal. After all, he wasn’t a murderer.

  There was a loud crack that cut through the fog of his brain, then smoke from Joshua’s gun. A spray of blood at Joshua’s face. Cursing from the men and the doctor. And then, Sir Joshua Keit
h was falling backward.

  But Alec had not pulled the trigger. He looked down at his gun to see if he’d been mistaken, but there was no smoke from the barrel; he’d barely even touched the trigger. There was no pain in his body. No bullet had pierced his skin. Nothing made any sense.

  Joshua had fired early.

  “What the bloody hell?” Alec lowered his pistol and ran forward as the rest of the men knelt by Joshua’s fallen side, save for the doctor who was rummaging in his medical bag.

  Joshua’s face had a gaping hole in the center where his nose used to be. Blood covered his face, making it hard to tell what was left of it.

  Alec let out a curse and dropped his pistol at his feet. “I never fired my gun. What the hell happened?”

  “His gun must have backfired,” Malcolm said.

  Almsley knelt on the other side, staring in horror at what used to be Sir Joshua Keith’s face, now horribly disfigured by some terrible accident.

  “How could it have backfired?” Alec asked incredulously, feeling quite in shock. He dropped to his knees. Not because he wanted to get closer, but because his legs couldn’t hold him up anymore.

  Everyone shook their heads, just as puzzled as he was.

  “Make way, make way,” the doctor huffed, shoving them aside so he could get a view.

  He pressed his fingers to Joshua’s neck, feeling for a pulse. Seeming to find none, he bent his head over the mangled mess to feel for breath. Again, nothing.

  “He’s dead.” The doctor pinned an accusatory stare at Alec, who raised his hands into the air.

  “I never fired my gun. Look at it.”

  Joshua Keith’s second took Alec’s pistol, opening the cylinder to see that it still contained all of the bullets within. “He’s telling the truth. Every bullet is accounted for. He did no’ fire. As Malcolm said, it must have backfired.”

  “Neither of ye saw anything wrong when ye checked his pistol?”