My Enemy, My Earl

by Tammy Andresen

  He chose a seat across from them both, attempting to focus on Fiona. He’d ask her a question. Women liked that. Though admittedly, his skills in wooing women had dwindled significantly in the past ten years. “How have ye fared?”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Since last I saw you?”

  “Well, yes, I suppose.” He sensed trouble brewing. He should have practiced before arriving. Spending all his time with soldiers, he’d forgotten how to talk with fair maids.

  “Well, good, poor, happy, sad….it has been nearly half me life since I saw ye last.” Her tone dripped with sarcasm.

  Clarissa hid a smile behind her gloved hand, clearly celebrating her cousin’s victory. He clenched his jaw. They were in league against him. Lady Clarissa was likely at the heart of it.

  “And you, Lord Dumfries?” A teasing smile played on Fiona’s lips. It was the same one she wore when she’d put frogs in his bed when she’d visited as a child. He knew to be wary of that smile.

  “Well,” he cleared his throat. “Of the ten years since we met, I spent eight of them in service to the British Armed forces and the last two at war in India. So I have had less, well and happy and a lot more poor and sad.”

  The smile disappeared, embarrassment creasing her brow. “Of course, Lord Dumfries. Forgive my inconsiderate question.”

  He gave a terse nod, but already he felt like a heel for saying such things. This was going all wrong.

  Ainsley bounced in her seat, her excitement palpable. “What was it like, being on the battlefield?”

  Keiran spared him answering, thank the saints. “Mostly wet and cold when it wasn’t scorching hot. Dreadful business.”

  Smartly, Keiran had left out, terrifying and maddeningly grotesque. Keiran had been correct yesterday. Ewan needed his friend here.

  Agnes gave him a curious look. “Is that why you didn’t help us with our wheel? You don’t like being wet anymore?”

  Ewan bit back the smile at Keiran’s red cheeks. His friend’s normally strong jaw tucked into his chest in embarrassment. Ewan wasn’t the only one floundering now. There was nothing like a pretty little miss to make a man remember what was important in life.

  “Agnes,” her mother chastised from the other side of the room.

  But Agnes turned to Ewan, beaming at him. “Thank you again, my Lord, for your help.”

  Ewan gave a nod of acceptance, “Ye’re welcome.” He returned her smile, glad to have at least one female ally. His shoulders relaxed by some small measure.

  Two servants entered carrying trays of tea and cakes. Keiran jumped up gleefully. How that man stayed so trim, he had no idea. He nearly sighed with relief, eating meant a break from this conversation.

  As tea was poured, he found himself glancing at Clarissa once again. She caught him staring and he nearly cursed aloud. He was going to make a fool of himself even more than he already had. He’d have to ask her something now. “Lady Clarissa,” he cleared his throat, “what brings you to Scotland?” He needed a reminder that she was English. He hated the English. They talked of a unified country but mostly they used the Scots and their resources for English gain. He was here for a Scottish bride, not another English trouncing.

  A moment of horror, then anger, followed by shame, crossed her terribly expressive face. Every emotion played out on her features. “I…uh…I wanted to visit my family.” She answered quietly, all the fire gone from her voice. He’d clearly struck a chord because she’d been nothing but haughty since they’d met.

  What caused her so much distress? “I understand that. I missed me land and family more than I can say while I was gone.”

  She gave a nod and relief clearly made her relax. What didn’t she want to discuss?

  Keiran swallowed a giant bite of cake. “I thought everyone who was anyone in England went to London for the season?”

  And just like that she tensed again. Every muscle tightened and her face pinched as though she was in pain as she struggled to formulate an answer. “I…that is to say…I was…I…”

  Curiosity and sympathy warred within him as he watched her struggle. He couldn’t fathom why he cared, but he couldn’t leave her dangling either. Just like yesterday with the carriage, he couldn’t abandon her to try to fix this on her own. “We were in London at this time last year on our return trip from India. ‘Tis an amazing time of year to be in that city, if ye like that sort of thing.” He gave her a pleasant smile. “Glittering gowns and balls till dawn.” Then he shrugged. “I found it a wee bit exhausting.”

  Agnes and Ainsley both leaned forward in their excitement at his words but Clarissa’s shoulders sagged with relief. “I didn’t find that it suited me all that much either.” Her face was pale but her eyes grateful.

  “I understand,” he answered as kindly as he could. “I prefer the quiet of my home.” His tongue itched to ask her more. Why she didn’t want to be in London. She was a mystery he was so tempted to unravel. Why did she seem so immune to his charms? Why didn’t she like London?

  She gave him a curious look as though she didn’t quite believe him.

  Fiona cleared her throat. Her hand reaching for her cousin’s once again in an almost protective gesture. Then she turned to him, giving him a bright smile. “You went overland for this trip rather than by sea. Why lengthen the journey?”

  He had the distinct impression Fiona was changing the subject on purpose. She was also protecting Clarissa, but why? “Aye. I love the sea, but spring in Scotland is a sight my eyes missed.”

  “We should go riding tomorrow,” Emilia suggested, speaking for the first time. “We can ride inland toward the loch of Kirkcaldy.”

  Several younger members of the party nodded their agreement and he smiled to himself. No one beat a Scot on a horse. He was sure this was Fiona’s place to shine. Because he wanted a Scot bride, not a prickly Sassenach with big grey blue eyes that cried out to him for comfort.

  Tomorrow would be the day he put Lady Clarissa out of his mind and focused on a proper Scottish lass.

  Chapter 4

  Clarissa was not going riding. She sat in the breakfast salon assessing her four cousins. Uncle Haggis had his paper up, ignoring the conversation. Her aunts sipped their tea.

  “First of all, I don’t like it all that much. Second, I don’t want to spend time socializing, except of course with the four of you, and third—”

  Ainsley cut her words off. “But the four of us will all be there and you’ll be here by yourself.”

  “I am truly fine with that. Alone time is what I need—”

  “You need a distraction,” Emilia nodded. “The less you think, the less you’ll remember.”

  “Besides,” Fiona added. “I’ve the perfect horse for a novice rider.”

  Clarissa’s eyes narrowed. She loved Fiona but her cousin could be a real menace if she scented an opportunity to play a trick. There was nothing her cousin loved better.

  “Please, Clarissa? I don’t want to go without you,” Agnes begged from her right.

  The last plea was her undoing. She couldn’t deny Agnes anything. “Very well,” she sighed. “But no tricks with the horse, Fiona.”

  Fiona gave her a feline grin and Clarissa cringed. She was going to regret her decision. She was about to give Fiona another warning when Ewan and Keiran came striding into the breakfast room. Her words died on her tongue as Ewan’s green eyes captured hers and that wave of sickening butterflies filled her stomach.

  He was altogether too disconcerting. Here to court her cousin, his eyes strayed to her far too often. Though she had to admit that he’d saved her during their discussion at tea yesterday and on the roadside. While he had some gentlemanly tendencies, it didn’t make him less a rake. He was obvious in interest of her even while being a potential bridegroom to Fiona. After what had happened to her, she had no use for a man like that.

  She turned away. “Fiona,” she whispered. “Are you considering Lord Dumfries?”

  “Da is considering him.” Fi
ona shrugged. “I am far less certain.”

  “I agree. He appears to be a first-class rake to me.” Clarissa gave a nod.

  Fiona rolled her eyes. Her trepidation the day before had vanished like the mist. It was so like Fiona. Clarissa had a much harder time shaking off her feelings.

  “Do not be ridiculous. He’s not a rake, just a bore.” Fiona’s words came out in a rush. “I want a man that makes me sing with life. Not one that wants quiet country strolls.”

  Clarissa’s head snapped back. Her cousin didn’t understand. She hadn’t seen the sorts of things that Clarissa had. She vowed to speak with her cousin again soon on the matter.

  Ewan cleared his throat as he sat in the empty chair next to her. She tried to keep the rolling waves in her stomach at bay. “Pleasant mornin’ to ye,” he said softly.

  “Boring,” Fiona whispered in her other ear.

  Clarissa couldn’t help it, her lips twitched into a smile. “Indeed, the sunshine is lovely.”

  Fiona made a sound like a snore. Uncle Haggis’s paper dropped to assess her and she folded her hands primly.

  Clarissa also did her best to concentrate on her eggs and sausage without looking at Ewan McDougal at all. She wasn’t trying to be rude, but she had no use for male conversation, especially not from a man as suspicious as he or as handsome.

  She heard him shuffle, each little noise jangling across her nerves. It was as though she were aware of every move he made. “Will you ride with us today?”

  “I’m afraid they’ve talked me into it.” She wrinkled her nose as she looked at him. Which was a horrendous mistake because a tingling reverberated through her at the proximity of his strong jaw, penetrating eyes, and soft lips.

  “You don’t like to ride?” He looked…relieved by that information. He gave her a patronizing smile. “I ken ye were an English lady and not a Scottish lass.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” She could feel herself bristle.

  He shrugged. “To each his own, I suppose, but every Scot not only likes horses but is a first-rate rider.”

  She huffed a breath. He was insulting her again. It seemed as though he thought her less for simply being English. “Does every Scot also have such a high opinion of himself?”

  She heard Keiran chuckle, though it was muffled by the food in his mouth. “She’s got you there,” Keiran called across the table.

  She could hear one of her aunts clucking her tongue, but she ignored it.

  He glared at Keiran and then turned back to her. “It’s not an opinion, simply a fact. Scots are as good on a horse as they are with a weapon. That’s why the Sas—I mean the English—draft us in droves into their army.”

  The anger was coursing through her veins, reaching her fingers and toes, making her long to slap him, kick him, or kiss him…though why she had thought that last one she couldn’t possibly say. “Is that what all your little barbs are about?” She pointed a glare at him as her eyebrows rose.

  “What little barbs?” He fired back, though guilt flitted across his face, pinching his mouth.

  “You know perfectly well…”

  “Enough, both of you,” Uncle Haggis called. “We’re breaking fast, not bones.”

  “My fast is broken.” Clarissa stood, tossing her napkin onto the table. Holding one side of her skirt, she did her best to sweep from the room. She’d not tolerate another second of Ewan McDougal.

  Ewan watched her walk away, back straight, skirt out to one side, hips swaying as she went. He couldn’t blame her for leaving. Without meaning to, he raked his hands through his hair. He was being an arse. The question was why? One half-blooded English lady should not have him so out of sorts.

  He amended to be nicer to her on the outing today. Stop insulting her English heritage. He was making an arse of himself. If he hoped to make Fiona his bride, he’d best not fight with her cousin. His hands found his hair again, his eyes closing for a moment. Did he really hope to make Fiona his bride? It was what he came here for, and he should give her a chance, but somehow all he could focus on was Clarissa whenever she was in the room.

  He returned to the task of eating his breakfast but several people around the table gave him curious stares. He swore to himself. This trip had been a disaster.

  Two hours later the party set off toward the loch, Ewan riding next to Fiona in the front. She was everything he’d expected her to be on horse. Graceful, in command. He suspected she’d keep up with him if given the chance.

  The other ladies fell in line behind them with Agnes and Keiran at the back.

  A horse’s snort caused him to turn. Clarissa’s horse pawed at the ground, skittering sideways. It was too large and powerful for her by half.

  He’d been doing his best to neither look nor talk to her, but a flutter of a different kind rose in his chest. Seeing her on that beast made him afraid. Their eyes met, hers the size of saucers.

  “Fiona,” she choked. “You said you’d get me a gentle—”

  Fiona’s laugh cut her off. His eyes swung to her. Her gaze was filled with mischief. He recognized that look. It had annoyed him when she was a child, it always meant trouble. But now, it absolutely terrified him.

  He pulled his horse to a stop and turned, reaching back for the reins of Clarissa’s animal. But the beast sidestepped and then came up on two hooves, pawing the air.

  Ewan nearly cursed and Clarissa’s eyes were so wide with fear, she looked like a spectre. But she held on, even as the horse took off across the open land.

  He didn’t think or speak, he just kicked his own beast into action. His horse was lightning-quick, but Clarissa was so light on that giant steed’s back that he was eating the ground before him. Clarissa was bouncing about her sidesaddle, barely keeping her seat. He couldn’t hear a sound other than the wind and the thuds of his own heart but she must have been screaming.

  Closing the distance between them, he wondered what to do. Should he try for the reins again? But that had spooked the animal to begin with. Pluck her from her seat? They were moving very quickly.

  Drawing up next to the horse, he grabbed at the rein and gave it a firm tug, trying to calm the animal with a show of dominance. The horse pulled up and, without hesitation, he grabbed Clarissa around her waist and plucked her from the animal and onto his own saddle across his lap.

  He’d expected it to be difficult but her tiny frame slid easily onto his. What he hadn’t anticipated was the absolute jolt that shot through his groin at the contact of her bottom against it.

  It was deliciously curvy, soft, and a near perfect fit between his thighs. Her arms snaked around his neck and she twisted her torso to press chest to chest. Her breath came out in short gasps and his teeth clenched. She was afraid. Only afraid. It wasn’t desire that caused her breath to hitch so.

  But he responded to it anyway and the insane urge to lean his head down and kiss those plump, panting lips nearly overtook him.

  He slowed his horse to a slow walk. His job was to comfort her, and he tightened his hands around her waist. It was meant to keep her safe, but it only drew them closer.

  Her cheeks were now flushed and her body molded to his. Bloody bullocks, she fit against him like she was meant to be there. He’d been so afraid. Now, holding her in his arms, he wanted to crush her to his chest and never let her go.

  He wanted to kiss those pretty lips and then he wanted to feel her skin…his mouth was drawing closer to hers. It wasn’t as though he meant to, it was just happening.

  Even more strangely, hers seemed to be moving toward his. Her eyes, which had been wide open, were now drifting closed. She wanted to kiss him too.

  And that shocked him back to reality. “Are ye all right lass?” His voice was a husky murmur with her body fitted to his.

  She blinked several times as though coming back to reality. “You…you saved me.” Her honey voice had a breathless quality about it. He nearly groaned, the sound tugging at his manhood, making it even more difficult to not cap
ture her lips with his.

  He couldn’t help it. Her already loose coif had released several tendrils around her face, glossy soft curls that were now brushing against his shirt. He lifted one hand, securely holding her with the other, and brushed the hair back.

  Slipping through his fingers, the locks were more like water from a clear stream than anything else. Silkier than he’d imagined, he ached to bury his face in the strands. He’d been dreaming about her hair. Having it trailing over his chest, his hands tangled in the locks. To touch them nearly undid him.

  “You didn’t think I was going to let that horse kill ye, did ye?” He gave a little chuckle and God help him, he let his hand slide into her hair at the nape of her neck.

  She looked to the side then. “You’ve earned the right to tell me you were correct.”

  Confusion clouded his mind. He didn’t understand what she might be referring to, but perhaps that was just because, in turning her head, she’d exposed the creamy column of her neck. And he was trying to decide which he’d most like to kiss, her lips or the trail of skin from her ear to the neckline of her dress. “What are ye talkin’ about, lass?”

  “You said that a Sassenach can’t ride like a Scot. I am the only one whose horse ran away with its rider.” She bit her lip, still looking to the side.

  And that was when all reason left his brain. Because the sight of those perfect little teeth nibbling on that full, sumptuous-looking skin was more than a man could take. His fingers slid from her hair, across the delicate column of her neck and to her chin where he gently turned her face back to his.

  His head dipped and his body tightened at the thought of claiming those lips for his own.

  “Is everyone all right over there?” Keiran called.

  Curse words he hadn’t said in years bubbled to the forefront of his tongue but he pressed his lips together to keep them from tumbling out.

  Instead he whispered, “Tonight we can plan your revenge against Fiona.”

  And that was when it happened. She gave him a smile with no malice, no distrust even, just a beautiful unreserved grin that lit every hollow of her face. “Thank you,” she whispered back.