The Scot is Hers: The Scots of Honor Series

by Knight, Eliza

Both Euan and Almsley shook their heads, and Euan said, “Everything was satisfactory. A terrible misfortune.”

  “Terrible, indeed.” The doctor placed a handkerchief over what was left of Sir Joshua Keith’s face.

  * * *

  Alec’s limbs felt heavy as he entered the grand foyer of his castle. The rivalry that only seemed to worsen with time was at an end, but the cost had been substantial. Though he’d not pulled the trigger, he still felt at fault. He should have tried harder. His friends, even Keith’s associate, had all told him there was nothing he could have done. He’d given Joshua plenty of chances to change his mind, and he’d not done it. He’d insulted him, threatened to murder him in his own house.

  The doctor had murmured about it being justice served and then marched off with his bag of coin.

  Alec hesitated outside the parlor, knowing that the rest of their guests would be inside, worrying over what happened on the moors—especially Giselle.

  “I can no’ and will no’ marry him! He’s a beast!” Giselle’s voice cut through his sluggish brain and stabbed him right in the chest.

  My God, the timing of him overhearing such an outburst. Alec pressed his hand to his chest, feeling as if he’d been shot, the ache was so potent. Her words had been filled with anger, vitriol. Incredibly bitter.

  She didn’t want to marry him. This had all been a ruse. And now he wished Keith’s gun had not backfired but instead hit its mark. He stumbled back a step, trying to find the balance that seemed to elude him more and more where Giselle was concerned.

  The door to the parlor burst open then, and he came face to face with her. She looked as crestfallen as he felt. Alec started to turn away, but she grabbed him by the hand.

  “Ye’re alive.” Her voice sounded completely different. The Giselle he knew, but brighter. Was this yet another act?

  Alec shook his arm from her grasp. “I release ye,” he said, his words sounded bitter and hurt, the opposite of what he wanted to show her. He wanted to be strong, to pretend her words hadn’t wounded him. To pretend that nothing that had happened between them mattered. But it did. All of it fucking mattered.

  “What? Release me?” Giselle shook her head, having the audacity to sound flummoxed. “What are ye talking about?”

  Alec held up his hands as if to ward off whatever spell she’d been able to cast over him and he took a step back. “I heard what ye said in there, and I’ll no’ make ye wed a beast. I’m no’ a monster, even if I look like one.”

  Giselle looked thoroughly confused, hurt even. Her hand fluttered toward her neck, where her skin flushed. “Alec, ye misunderstood.”

  “I misunderstood nothing. My ears work fine.” He marched toward his library, intent on drowning his sorrows in the decanter of whisky he had there. Probably would ask for a refill as well.

  She trailed him. The clomp of her riding boots clipped against the wood floor behind him.

  Again she tried to touch him, but he kept out of her reach, pushing through the doors of his library, and trying to close them behind him.

  “Do no’ follow me,” he said, without bothering to look behind him.

  She ignored him, coming inside and shutting the door behind her, with anyone who’d witnessed their exchange seeing that too.

  “Stop right there, Lord Errol.”

  Alec did stop at the tone of her voice. He’d never heard it before, and it made him feel oddly young. Turning slowly around, he took in her rigid stance, her hands at her hips.

  “Ye’re incredibly stubborn and hardheaded,” she said.

  “And ye’re verra observant.”

  “Aye, and ye’re clearly no’.”

  Alec narrowed his eyes but said nothing. He crossed his arms over his chest and glowered down at her in a way that would have had one of his subordinates melting into the carpet.

  “As I said before: ye misunderstood me. Could ye no’ see my relief at finding ye alive? Ye left without saying goodbye. I feared never to see ye again. My mother told me my engagement to Sir Joshua Keith would stand if he returned, and ye did no’. That is what ye heard me talking about. No’ ye, ye lackwit.”

  Alec raised a brow at the insult but acknowledged that she did appear to be telling the truth. And he felt immediately contrite for his behavior. His arms fell from where he’d crossed them, and the tension in his body eased, but not all the way. He was fairly certain after the events on the moors, he’d be stiff for weeks, months even.

  Her hands lowered from her hips, and her features softened. “What happened?”

  Alec blew out a harsh breath and approached the sideboard, pouring himself a dram of whisky and expecting her to ask if it were necessary so early in the morning as his mother would, but Giselle remained silent, unjudging.

  “His weapon backfired. He shot himself in the face.” He slugged back the whisky and set the cup down on the sideboard.

  Giselle was quiet long enough that he was able to pour and drink another glass.

  “Is he…” She didn’t finish the question.

  Alec nodded. “Dead.”

  “Oh.” Giselle closed the distance between them, wrapping her arms around his waist and laying her head against his chest. “I’m so sorry. That must have been awful.”

  Alec let out a shuddering breath, the emotions within him fighting for power. But having her there, the comfort she provided, seemed to anchor him in reality. To give him strength. He enfolded her against him, tightening his hold as he realized how much he’d almost lost by going to that field. Joshua had fired early, and the move had failed. Cost him his life. But Alec also was aware that if the gun had not fired, his enemy meant to kill him.

  “I tried to negotiate with him. Offered him a way out several times, in fact,” Alec said with a shake of his head. “He wanted no part.”

  “Ye did what ye could, and Fate took care of the rest.”

  Was it Fate that a man should die by his own hand? Alec couldn’t decide on an answer, only that he was glad he wasn’t dead.

  “It was ye or him, and he wanted to make sure it was ye. Where did ye aim your weapon, Alec?” She leaned back a little, gazing into his eyes.

  “His shoulder.”

  “Ye see? Ye did no’ aim to kill him. Can ye say the same for where Sir Joshua aimed?”

  Alec shook his head, picturing turning around, raising his weapon, taking sight. He was fairly certain Keith’s weapon was pointed at him. Knew for certain he fired before Alec had even thought to put his finger on the trigger. “I can no’ say, but he made it clear his aim would be lethal.”

  “And still, ye aimed for his shoulder.”

  Alec nodded, “Mhmm.”

  “His death is tragic, aye,” she soothed, “but ye offered mercy in the end to a man who would never have given ye the same courtesy. Do no’ allow him to have power over ye even in death.”

  Her words struck him with their honesty and the sense they made. He was giving Keith too much power over him. A guilt that would slowly eat away at him when he’d not even been the man to shoot him.

  Alec nodded, pressing his forehead to hers. “Thank ye, lass.” He closed his eyes, breathing in her scent. “I’m sorry I did no’ wake ye.”

  “There’s no need to apologize. ’Tis over, and we’ll never be in this situation again, aye? No more dueling?”

  He smiled softly, sadly almost, except being here in her arms gave him the warmth and comfort he needed. “No more dueling.”

  “Also, we need to talk about the book choice ye left on the nightstand. Romeo and Juliet, really? A tragedy about star-crossed lovers who kill themselves?” Giselle chuckled.

  “I admit that was a poor choice. But asking ye to be my wife, that was no’. I love ye, Giselle. With all my heart.” He thought admitting the truth to her would be terrifying. But it wasn’t. If anything, it made him feel lighter, happier.

  “I love ye, too, my Beast of Errol.”

  Alec grinned. “I used to think ye meant to be offensive with that
.”

  “I never did.” She smiled up at him and touched the scar on his face. “Ye’re my beastie.”

  He kissed her then, showing her how much of a wild, feral beast he could be.

  * * *

  Alec’s kiss was ardent, demanding, and everything Giselle needed and wanted at that moment. The fear she’d felt before he’d walked through the doors of Slains—right before she herself had been ready to rush out—flooded into relief that now allowed itself out of her body in trembling waves.

  She clung to him, unable to let go, unable to stand on her own if she tried.

  He’d not been killed. Their future together was assured.

  And he’d said he loved her. The moment the words had left him, she’d been powerless to hold back her own. She loved him so much. More than even mere words could express. When she thought she’d have to live her life without him, it had been a torment to draw breath.

  Alec lifted her in the air, walking back until her spine hit the books on the shelves. His lips abandoned hers to kiss her neck, her collarbone, feathering down her chest to the swells of her breasts.

  He was frantic almost in his touches, his kisses. Needing and wanting to be everywhere at once, and she felt the same way. He was alive, and this life, their future, needed to be celebrated. She ran her hands in his hair, over the muscles bunching in his back, lower to his arse—which she’d not been bold enough to grip before, and now she did—needing him closer, and closer still, until she felt he might be a part of her body.

  “I do no’ know how I got so lucky to have ye as mine,” he said, gently capturing a nipple he’d freed between his teeth and teasing it with his tongue. “But I am a damned happy man.”

  “We were both searching,” she said. “For something. Someone to complete us.”

  “God, I love ye.” His mouth crashed against hers at the same time a fist crashed against the library door.

  “’Tis no’ locked,” she whispered. “Should we escape?”

  Alec grinned down at her, the mischief in his eyes mirroring her own heart. What irony that she’d escaped and found him once, and now they would escape again—together.

  “Aye. This way.” He gripped her hand, and she shoved her breasts back into her bodice.

  They went up the tight circular stair to the library's second level as the pounding on the door continued. She was fairly certain she heard her father’s voice on the other side, followed by her mother’s, demanding to be given entry.

  Just as they went through the secret entrance behind the hearth, she heard the door to the library burst open and the sputtering surprise of her father at finding the space empty.

  “I could have sworn they went in here,” he said.

  “Ye must have seen wrong,” her mother answered, sounding a wee bit condescending.

  “Aye, they must have gone somewhere else,” replied the dowager countess, a hint of something mischievous in her tone.

  Alec’s mother knew precisely where they’d gone. But she didn’t give them up, and Giselle didn’t wait to hear what happened next.

  17

  The secret passage opened into Alec’s bedroom. The chamber was starkly masculine, embodying the tones of a wealthy, sophisticated bachelor. The curtains were dark green with gold tiebacks. The bed was massive, the largest Giselle had ever seen, with four thick posts the size of tree trunks and covered in a matching dark green counterpane.

  The carpet on the floor was a massive, thick tartan of red, green and white. An oversized leather wingback chair sat before the hearth, singular in its accompaniment, as if the master of this room wanted to send a message that this was his domain not to be shared with anyone else.

  Wood furnishings took up space against the walls—a wardrobe, tables, a sideboard, with books on every surface.

  “They’ll no’ disturb us here.” He tugged her farther into the room. “Can I get ye a dram? Or a glass of wine?”

  Giselle shook her head. “I want ye.” She didn’t want to set aside her time with him to have a drink. She wanted to keep on kissing him. To complete what they’d started before. To finally feel him, all of him.

  To be alive with him.

  Alec’s face darkened with desire, and he hauled her against him, lowering his mouth to hers. Whereas in the library, their kiss had been desperate, hungry, primal in its need to consume, this kiss was more tender. A promise of what lovemaking with him would be like, what a lifetime with him would be like.

  “Are ye certain ye want to do this?” he asked.

  “I do no’ want to wait another minute. I do no’ want to ask permission, or wait for the answer. I’ve been running from what others required of me my entire life. And now that I’ve found ye, nearly lost ye, I do no’ want to waste another minute trying to figure out what is right and wrong, acceptable or no’, when I know in my heart this is as it should be. Ye and me. I love ye, Alec.”

  “I love ye, too, sweet Giselle. I only ever want to make ye happy.”

  Giselle curled her fingers into his hair. “Then make me yours.”

  Alec lifted her into the air, taking her to his bed, where he laid her gently upon the mattress. He came down beside her, kissing her gently and whispering how beautiful she was. His bare knee brushed hers where her gown had crept up toward her thigh, and she gasped at the delicious sensation of skin on skin. He placed his hand on her his, the heat of his palms searing through her dress.

  Pinching the ribbon that held her hair in place, he pulled until the mass of curls that had been contained were free, and he spread them out on his pillow.

  “When I saw ye this morning with your hair like this, I wished only to see it on my pillow,” he murmured.

  “It is wild.” A point she was often self-conscious about.

  “Like ye.” He winked, and her heart swelled. “Just the way I adore ye.”

  He curled a tendril around his finger and brought it to his nose, breathing in deep before rubbing the length on his cheek. “So soft. Everything about ye is silky, tempting.”

  Giselle smiled up at him, her eyes taking in the blue green of his gaze. “Ye are a verra handsome and kind.”

  He chuckled. “Do no’ let anyone hear ye say ‘kind.’ I’ve a reputation to keep.”

  Giselle urged him to lower for a kiss. “Your secret is safe with me.”

  With his mouth on hers, Giselle reached for the buttons of his frockcoat, plucking one after the other until the jacket gaped open. She slid her hands inside, urging the fabric over his shoulders, down his arms until he shrugged the rest of the way out of it and sent it flying.

  “I see now ye want me unclothed,” he teased, bringing back to mind the moment they’d shared during the naughty chess game.

  “Aye. I’m ready.”

  She pulled at the knots of his cravat, the fabric falling somewhere on the bed as he nuzzled her neck, and she continued with his shirt until it was loose, and he yanked it over his head, barely taking a break from his lips on her skin.

  Alec’s shoulders were as broad and muscular as she’d imagined them to be. A dusting of freckles danced over his flesh. His chest had a sprinkling of hair so light it appeared gold, rather than the same ginger on his head. Little scars marred his skin, slashes and puckers from battle. Wounds that showed his bravery. She touched each one delicately, leaning up to press her lips to the center of his chest.

  “The scars do no’ scare ye?” he asked, a hint of vulnerability in his voice.

  “No’ in the least.”

  He swooped down to capture her lips once more, his hands roving over the front of her bodice. She’d not bothered with stays in her haste to leave her bedroom this morning, and Alec groaned when his palm rubbed over her breasts. He skimmed his fingers along her hip and then her thigh, inching the fabric of her gown higher.

  The slow movements were a torment when she longed to feel more of his flesh against hers. Thankfully, Alec too seemed to want her naked, and he rolled her to the side, plucking at the si
mple ties at the back of her bodice. The fabric loosened but not enough to free her. Giselle shoved at her sleeves until it slipped down her arms, gathering at her waist. But even that wasn’t enough because she still wore a chemise.

  With a huff, she moved away from Alec and stood beside the bed.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked, concern wrinkling his brow.

  “I want to be free of this.” She plucked at the chemise. “I want to be all the way naked with ye.”

  “My, ye are just the wicked woman for me.” He raised a brow as she stripped out of her clothes and stood there in only her riding boots and stockings.

  The cold air licked at her skin, but his heated gaze warmed her quickly.

  “Help me?” she asked sheepishly, putting her foot up for him to unlace her boots that her mother had insisted a maid tie when she’d entered the parlor earlier that morning.

  He grinned, looking as roguish as ever. “Always.” He made quick work of one boot and then the other. But before she could remove her stockings, he picked her up and brought her back onto the bed beside him.

  The mere touch of his hand on her waist sent a warm shiver through her. His chest collided with hers creating a delicious friction against her breasts and making her nipples taut. Jolts of desire zinged through her limbs. The roughness of his kilt scratched her thighs in a way that was delicious and tantalizing.

  Alec covered her mouth with a kiss, his hands caressing and exploring her hips, belly and bare breasts. She sighed into his kiss. Every place he touched heated and prickled, sending wanton pulses of pleasure from the very spot to the center of her body. She rubbed her thighs together with need, and then his hand was there, cupping the heat of her sex, and she gasped.

  His fingers slid through her curls, dipping into the damp heat, and she moaned as otherworldly sensations rippled through her.

  “Ye’re so soft,” he murmured against her lips, then eased his way lower, flicking his tongue over her nipple before taking it in his mouth with alluring possessiveness.