This Scot of Mine EPB

by Jordan, Sophie

  “I am quite certain you had a couple of dubious ideas over the course of your life.”

  “Shall I give you an example of one of my more spectacularly brilliant ideas, lass?”

  “Please do.” She rested her hand on his arm, allowing him to escort her along the shoreline. She was vastly enjoying herself. She liked this lighthearted Hunt. She had a flash of him laughing as he brawled in a taproom. He was joy. He was exciting.

  He is mine.

  “Well,” he began with heavy exaggeration. “I met this fetching lass. She is charming, really. She even enjoys taproom brawls.”

  She snorted. “She enjoys them? Really?”

  “Aye. She appreciates them as one does fine art . . . or a good whisky. When others flee, she stays and watches. She is truly a female ahead of her time.”

  She laughed outright, holding her side. “Oh, she sounds marvelous. A female after my own heart.”

  “She is. She is indeed, and I knew at once. Clearly this was the woman I should wed.”

  “Clearly,” she agreed with gleeful mockery.

  “I am glad you agree. It was a verra good idea. One of my best.” He shook his head. “So can you believe she refused my suit at first?”

  “No!” She feigned astonishment. “Daft girl.”

  He shook his head with consternation. “Some people haven’t the sense tae recognize brilliance.”

  She tsked. “What a shame.”

  “Happily for her, she came around tae the idea of me.” Smiling seductively, he leaned down and kissed her mouth deeply, leisurely. As though they had all the time in the world. After several moments, he lifted his head, all mockery gone from his eyes. “Happily for me, tae,” he amended, his voice whisper-soft.

  All at once it occurred to her that he just called marrying her a happy thing. Even though it might kill him. Her heart swelled within the sudden tightness of her chest.

  He reached between them and took her hand, his gloved fingers lacing with her own. “Let’s start back. I’m sure you will want tae rest before dinner and refresh yourself.”

  They turned and headed back toward the house, their hands locked and swinging between them. Her heart brimmed with emotion at the gift of this day . . . of all these recent days. She couldn’t help thinking this was what life was about. What it was meant to be. Good times. The building of memories. Family. Love.

  Immediately her thoughts jumped to the man she had married and she felt a wave of emotion. She blinked back burning eyes. Goodness. She was so very sentimental lately, prone to tears over the slightest thing. It wasn’t just Hunt and what he did to her heart.

  Every time she held her nephew, tears sprang to her eyes. She couldn’t get enough of little Edward’s sweet smell or cooing gurgles or the comforting weight of him in her arms. It made her all the more excited to meet the child growing in her womb . . . until she remembered that quite possibly meant losing Hunt. Then the tears came again with renewed vigor.

  They departed for home the next morning, and exchanging good-byes with her family was only another opportunity for her to shed a few tears.

  Hunt actually spent some of the journey back home riding with her and Marian inside the carriage. That was a new occurrence and one that did not go unappreciated. He still insisted they travel at a snail’s crawl again. She didn’t object, though. His concern was endearing. Really. She was too happy spending time with him to protest.

  This time they shared a room both nights at the inn. He acquired Marian her own room. Clara wasn’t certain what had shifted exactly between them, but something had.

  He talked to her now. He shared things with her. He teased her, for goodness’ sake, revealing his playful side. Oh, they never discussed the curse. That was not to be spoken. Not allowed. Not ever. No sense in ruining their happy existence, however fleeting it might be.

  It was almost dusk as they neared home. Yes, home. She was beginning to think of MacLarin Keep as her home. As wonderful a place as Kilmarkie House was, she was glad to be returning to her home.

  Hunt was riding his mount this last leg of the journey. Every once in a while she would peek out the curtains to spy on him. She had just settled back down in her seat and stuck her tongue out at Marian for her smirk when the driver shouted.

  The carriage pulled up hard and jerked to a shuddering stop. Clara grabbed the loop above the door to keep her seat and not end up on the floor.

  “What happened?” Marian cried, righting herself on the cushion.

  Shaking her head, Clara pushed open the carriage door and clambered down.

  “Careful,” Marian cried in warning. “Mind that you don’t fall.”

  Once on the ground, Clara peered around, rubbing a hand on her belly as though the motion lent comfort. There was no sight of her husband. Much of the snow had melted, but that didn’t mean the road wasn’t wet with mud and occasional ice patches.

  She stepped forward to address the driver still in his seat. “Why have we stopped? Are we stuck?”

  He shook his head and hopped down from his perch, pointing ahead of them. “The laird was riding just ahead of us and suddenly he went down. I dinna see him anymore.” He pulled out a pistol from inside his coat and glanced around, as though searching for enemies. “Could be brigands about—”

  He didn’t even finish the sentence before she was gone. Running as fast as she could, which, given her condition, wasn’t very fast at all. Still, she pressed on, desperate to reach him. Desperate to assure herself that he was not injured.

  “Clara! Clara!” Marian called. “Have a care. You shouldn’t be running in your condition.”

  The driver shouted after her, too, but she ignored him. Just as she ignored Marian’s shout. She had to get to Hunt. She had to reach him. It was her only thought.

  She topped a slight incline in the road and stopped, panting and holding her stomach as she scanned the landscape, searching and finally spotting Hunt in a ditch along the side of the road. His mount milled a few yards away, nosing the ground for grass in the barren earth.

  “Hunt!” She ran down the sloping road toward him. Lifting her skirts in one hand, she carefully made her way into the ditch, mindful of her footing.

  He didn’t stir. His eyes were closed, but thankfully his face wasn’t submerged in the muddy water. Alarm pierced her heart. She grasped for his arm. “Hunt! Are you hurt?” She cringed. Of course he was hurt. He was unconscious.

  Not dead. Not dead. Be not dead.

  She slid her arm under his shoulders and carefully lifted him up, pulling him against her. She didn’t know the extent of his injuries.

  “Clara! Is he alive?”

  She looked up to where Marian and the driver hovered, concern writ all over their faces.

  “Of course I’m alive,” a voice grumbled just below her ear. The familiar gruff brogue sent a wave of goose bumps over her skin. He was alive! He was still with her. She had not lost him—yet.

  She looked down into Hunt’s wide eyes staring back at her. “Hunt! What happened? Can you move? Are you . . . seriously hurt?”

  “Think I just had the wind knocked out of me. Stunned me for a spell.”

  Her racing heart gradually subsided. He wasn’t dead. Not dead.

  He shook his head and then winced, his hand flying to the back of his head to touch gingerly. “My horse threw me.” His voice sounded as astonished as she felt.

  “Your horse threw you?” she echoed.

  How could that be? Hunt was an excellent horseman. He rode his horse everywhere. Every day. He spent more time atop that animal than with any other living soul. She knew it wasn’t impossible, but it seemed unlikely. Very, very unlikely.

  “Aye,” he said slowly, his gaze drifting over to where his horse wandered aimlessly. The beast looked as docile as a lamb. Hunt stared at the beast thoughtfully, his forehead creasing in contemplation.

  Her chest clenched tight, the now familiar fear resurfacing. She knew what he was thinking. It was the same thin
g she was.

  “Have you ever been thrown by a horse before?” She nodded her head in the direction of his mount. “By that horse?” She tried telling herself that accidents happened all the time. They had nothing to do with curses . . . but the assurance didn’t ring true in her mind.

  He shook his head rather than answer.

  They both released a heavy breath. Words were not needed. They both understood perfectly without them.

  The curse had not forgotten them.

  Chapter 24

  For the next few months they held to their original agreement and did not speak of the future. Nor did they speak of the curse, which, of course, was tangled up in the threads of the future. They both clung to this rule as though it was the only thing keeping their fragile world intact.

  They lived for the present. They continued loving, talking, laughing as though it were their mission. They spent all their time together. All their days.

  Thoughts, however, were another thing entirely.

  Thoughts could not be controlled, sadly. Fear lurked. Hunt often read it in her eyes and that was when he would distract her with a walk or a game—or he would simply make love to her.

  As the days passed and winter melted to spring, Hunt watched Clara grow and swell with his child almost in concert with the flowering buds on the trees.

  Life was renewing, and he couldn’t help wondering what his child would be like, who the babe would grow to be. All thoughts he kept to himself, of course, relying on the assumption that he would not be there for any of it. He would be gone.

  He consoled himself with the fact that Clara and his child would live on. They would be well. There would be a period of mourning, but Clara was strong and resilient. She would recover. She had family to support her. Hers and his. Nana would likely never die.

  Sitting down to a fine dinner of fresh salmon and roasted pheasant, he admired his wife across from him. Clara picked at her food. Her appetite had been off lately. Nana insisted it was normal—that she didn’t have very much room for food in her belly.

  Her time was near, and Hunt was still here. Still alive. Even though he shouldn’t, hope swelled in his chest. There had been no accidents lately. Perhaps the curse would skip him. Perhaps he had won. Perhaps they both had.

  “Are ye no’ feeling well this evening?” Nana directed the question to Clara across the table as she was served more wine. Once her cup was refilled, she lifted it to her lips, eyeing Clara with concern. These days, her gaze was always concerned.

  Nana had continued to be solicitous. He could not fault her since their late-night conversation. She took special care of Clara, attending to her and looking after her needs. Her expertise when it came to midwifery was very useful. She knew more than any woman around when it came to childbirth. He felt fortunate they had her.

  Clara shook her head, lifting her gaze to Hunt. She offered him a wan smile, her eyes tired. She hadn’t been sleeping well of late.

  He smiled back encouragingly. He knew she had been vastly uncomfortable these last few weeks and he had done everything he could to make her feel better, rubbing her back and feet, bringing her things so she needn’t fetch them herself, but there was only so much he could do. Discomfort near the end was the nature of things. He knew that. Everyone assured him of this. But he still hated to see her suffering.

  She gasped and her eyes flared wide.

  Everyone at the table looked to her.

  “Clara? Is something amiss?” Marian asked sharply.

  She shook her head, stopped and then nodded. “I—I think my waters have broken.” She looked sheepish. Embarrassed even.

  Everyone rushed to stand. The dining room became a festival of motion. Hunt swept his wife up into his arms.

  “Oh! I’m much too heavy!” Clara swatted him on the shoulder. “Put me down! Put me down at once before you wrench your back.”

  “Hush now. I’m fine. And you’re light as a feather,” he lied.

  At this she laughed but the sound gave way, broken with another sharp gasp from her.

  “Take her upstairs!” Nana admonished.

  He obeyed, glancing behind him where she followed. He knew she knew what he was thinking. This was too soon. Clara had another fortnight. Perhaps two. She was just so very large already. Perhaps her body couldn’t wait. His grandmother had informed them that MacLarins were always big babies. His wife wasn’t particularly small, nor was she large.

  She shook her head once at him, signaling what, he wasn’t sure.

  They all converged in the master chamber. He settled Clara in the bed and then looked to his grandmother expectantly, waiting on instructions. Serving girls arrived with items and Nana began snapping commands. Marian sank down on the bed beside Clara and clasped her hand, rubbing the fingers between her own, lending what comfort she could.

  “Nana?” he murmured quietly beside his grandmother. “What should I do?”

  She turned on him quickly. “I have been waiting for this moment.” She snapped her fingers at a pair of grooms Hunt had not noticed standing nearby. If the room wasn’t so busy he would have noticed them. They were big lads and obtrusive as the only other men in the room—in a room they had no place being.

  But they were here at the behest of his grandmother.

  “Take him,” she announced. “Lock him in the storage closet. Remember, no one enters and he’s no’ tae come out until I come for him.”

  Hunt looked wildly between his grandmother and the grooms. “Nana! What is the meaning of this?”

  She nodded emphatically. “I have given this a great deal of thought. Ye made it this far. I will no’ see ye die before this child enters the world. Ye will be safe until that time. Ye will be the one tae break this curse for future generations. It ends here. I’ll no’ have yer life stolen in these last few hours.” Her eyes gleamed with a triumphant light and he knew she really believed that. “I have taken . . . precautions.”

  “Precautions? I dinna ken what you speak of, but it’s no’ necessary. Nothing is going tae happen tae me.” He motioned to his wife. “She is about tae give birth.”

  “Aye, and my husband died on his way tae my birthing bed! He fell off his horse and broke his neck. Until then we’d thought he’d escaped the curse, too.”

  “I promise no’ tae go riding—”

  “Nay!” She cut a hand angrily through the air. “I will no’ risk it. Ye will be locked away in a room where nothing can happen tae ye.”

  Incredible. She really believed that locking him in the closet for however many hours could save his life.

  He looked back to the bed where Clara’s face was now flushed in pain, and then he looked back at his grandmother. “I am no’ leaving her.”

  She made a groan of frustration and threw her hands up in the air. “She will be fine. Yer the one I’m worried about.”

  He sank down on the bed beside Clara. “I will no’ abandon her when she is like this. No’ when she is in this state. I’m staying right here. Right by her side.”

  With the woman I love.

  With a Gaelic curse, Nana shook her head. “It must be this way. The lads here will see ye tae the closet. ’Tis best fer ye.”

  Hunt stood abruptly from the bed and leveled a deadly stare on both grooms. “I’m your laird.”

  They stopped and swapped hesitant looks, then gazed at Nana for help.

  “Och! Ignore him. Ye will be saving yer laird’s life. He will give thanks later.”

  “I’ll no’ thank you,” he promised. “You will be looking for a new home when this is all over because you will no’ be welcome here. No man in this clan goes against me.”

  The lads backed down and Nana stomped her foot.

  Clara reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. “Perhaps ye should go. We will all feel comfort knowing you’re safe somewhere until this is over . . . until your son is born.”

  He scowled and dropped down beside her, lifting her hands to press a kiss on them. “I dinna wan
t tae leave you.”

  “You’re not leaving me. Someone will come for you as soon as it’s over.” She pulled a face, trying to hide how uncomfortable she was. He felt the tension coursing through her body as she fought against the pain—and in that moment, he knew he was a distraction to her. She should not be thinking about him. She should be focused on the work of getting through this and bringing a baby into this world.

  He stood. “I’ll go and leave you tae it then.” He swept a glare over everyone in the room. “You will send for me if anything . . .” He could not finish the thought. Not in front of Clara.

  Nothing would go amiss. Not for her. Not for him.

  He had to believe that. He did believe that.

  With a quick kiss to her lips, he left her. Only he did not lock himself like a coward in some closet, waiting for the storm to pass. No, he had spent enough of his life in hiding. He had quit that. He took to his library and poured himself a drink.

  Graham soon joined him and together they waited, minutes sliding into hours, the only sounds in the house the screams of his wife from upstairs.

  Something was wrong.

  Clara knew it. She felt it in the pain vibrating through her. A pain so acute it made her teeth ache. There was no part of her unaffected. Something was going to happen. Something bad.

  Except she didn’t think it was going to happen to her.

  The threat was to her husband. Even now. After all this time. After these many months without mishap, something was going to happen to Hunt. She was convinced. Wherever he was, he was not safe.

  Nana had taken a position at the foot of the bed, examining Clara, guiding and instructing her in a soothing voice with knowledgeable words. It was surprising. Who knew at the start of all this that Nana would be the one to provide such comfort?

  “Aye. You’re close, lass.” She patted Clara’s sweat-slick knee. “Verra close now.”