The Laird and I: A Kilts and Quilts of Whussendale novella (3 page)

Delayed, she jumped to her feet, more embarrassed than she’d been in her whole life. “Sorry.” She’d have to pass Hugh to make a run for it, but there was no helping it. She didn’t make eye contact, but put her head down and started for the door.

“Sophia.”

His deep burr curled and hugged her given name soundly, too intimate for so late at night, and too much for her senses. It made her pause as each syllable registered low in her middle. As she tried to slip by, Hugh grabbed her arm gently.

“Ye needn’t tear out in the middle of the night, lass.”

His breath hit her cheek. Her arm tingled where he held her. She wanted to go up on tippy-toes and find out what it would be like to kiss him.

He must’ve read her mind, for he dropped his hand and stepped away.

Great! Rejected once again by the insufferably gorgeous Hugh McGillivray.

“Come.” He stepped from the solarium.

For a second, she wondered if he had been speaking only to the dogs, for they trotted after him.

He stuck his head back in. “I mean you, lass.”

She followed and found him retrieving an old-fashioned skeleton key from a little basket that hung by the room next to his. For a second, he gazed upon the key and then determinedly shoved it into the opening and turned the lock. He pushed the door wide, flipped on the light, and stood back for her to enter.

The room was large like Hugh’s, but not decorated in masculine tones. This room was all pink and floral—rose wallpaper, a gingham bedspread, rose motif pillows, and a matching sage afghan across the bottom of the bed. The Wallace and the Bruce slipped past Sophie and circled the room reverently.

“Whose room is this?”

Her eyes fell to the key grasped in his hand. The key shook with a slight tremor.

“It was my sister’s.” He frowned like he wanted to back out of the room and pretend he’d never unlocked the door.

Sophie knew all about his sister—falling through the ice on the loch, the drowning—the reason he’d gone to live with Amy and their aunt when he was twelve. His parents had been so distraught that Aunt Davinia had rescued him from his family’s grief. Amy had said Hugh took a long time to recover, but he finally learned to laugh again, the two cousins having grand times together.

“Isn’t there another room?” Sophie couldn’t stay here. “Anywhere will do.”

“Nay. After my parents…” he trailed off, but then changed tracks. “All the rooms have been cleared for redecorating. There’s not another bed in the house. None, except mine and Chrissa’s.” His voice caught on his sister’s name.

She touched his arm.

He jerked away as if her hand could scorch. “Stay. The room’s just going to waste.”

Chrissa’s bedroom looked regularly maintained, not a speck of dust anywhere.

Sophie couldn’t go back to his warm bed, and she certainly didn’t want to sleep in a room that caused him pain.

“Good night,” he said abruptly, leaving the key where it sat on the dresser. He was gone.

The Wallace and the Bruce looked conflicted.

“Go on now. Go sleep with the master.”

They each gave her one more worried glance and then trotted from the room.

For a long moment, Sophie stood in the middle of the floral paradise—perfectly feminine, perfectly preserved. When the quiet had thoroughly settled over her, she pulled the sage afghan from the bed, left the key on the dresser, and stepped into the hallway. She walked over to Hugh’s closed door and laid a hand on it, worrying about the grief that she’d dredged up in him. But she didn’t knock, knowing he didn’t want comfort.

She sneaked down to the parlor to the loveseat in front of the fireplace. She wished now the dogs had stayed with her for company. When she lay down, the puzzle still remained—Amy had suggested that she housesit, but who had written those emails?

And more important, what would she do now?

***

Morning came too soon. Hugh rolled over and swore, because last night he hadn’t slept well. All he wanted to do this morning was to have a lie-in. But it was Sunday. And light was pouring into his room. “What the…?”

He sat up, remembering…Sophie, this bed. Then it hit him.
The window overlooking the loch is uncovered?
It was never uncovered! Why had Sophie pulled back the drape? The view was more than he could handle. Especially in the dead of winter!

He stomped to the window and yanked the curtain closed. While he was there, he pulled the drape on the Munro as well.

He fell back into bed, but he still had the same problem as he’d had last night. His bed smelled like the woman who slept in the room next to his, and he still didn’t know how she’d ended up here. And across the room in his rocking chair was a quilt that was clearly Gandiegow. Had the lass moved in for good?

The Wallace began to whine, and like clockwork, the Bruce started in, too.

“Good God!” The woman and beasts were out to get him. “Can’t a man get any rest in his own house?” Maybe he’d let the dogs out and leave them in the cold for a good long while. That would teach them to drag him out of bed early. Even better, maybe he should put them in with Sophie and she could deal with their morning routine.

Hugh rolled out of bed again, went to his bureau, and pulled open the top drawer. He stared in disbelief. Lady things stared back—lacy, sexy bits of intrigue and color. With one index finger, he scooped up a turquoise thong that was erotic to look at, and soft to the touch…and didn’t exactly match who he thought Sophie Munro was. He dropped it back into the mix and slammed the drawer shut. He opened the second drawer only to find bras and wool socks. The bras ranged from black to brightly colored, and he slammed that drawer as well.

The Bruce whined loudly this time.

“I’m trying, dammit. I can’t verra well take ye out with naked feet.” Hugh pulled open the third drawer and found women’s jeans on one side and sweaters on the other. “What the hell is going on here? Sophie’s certainly made herself at home.” Had she decided to move in forever? In the closet, two dresses were hanging, while his shirts had been pushed to one side. He found his socks, skivvies, and other folded clothes thrown into a basket and deposited at the back of the closet. “Good God. Is nothing sacred?” He dug out a pair of socks for himself and quickly dressed. All the while, he groused loud enough to their adjoining wall to make sure his houseguest woke up.

Once in the hallway, he was surprised she hadn’t come out to see what the ruckus was all about. Why was the lass still abed? Had she had trouble sleeping, too?
He decided to leave her be and deliberately passed her doorway without another glance. Downstairs, the leashes weren’t hanging by the back door where he’d left them yesterday. He searched the kitchen first and then went to the parlor to see if Sophie had left them there.

Hugh didn’t find the leashes, but found Goldilocks on the loveseat fast asleep. He would’ve liked to have had a few seconds to gaze upon her longer, but the Bruce and the Wallace wanted her attention. Each of them nudged and licked her face.

“Off with ye,” she laughed, coming awake. She sobered quickly when she saw Hugh, tugging the green afghan around her.

“I’m glad ye’re awake, Sleeping Beauty. Yere loyal servants would like to relieve themselves, but their leashes have gone missing.”

Sophie made an O with her enticing lips and reached around her, shoving her hand into the sofa cushions. “They’re right here.”

Hugh adjusted the pillows in the wing chair. In this house things were always put back in their place. What he’d seen of Sophie so far screamed disorder. Her tussled hair, her skewed nightdress, and the chaotic emotions she brewed up in him.

He relieved her of the leashes. “The room abovestairs wasn’t to yere liking?” He should’ve been more polite—say good morning first, before starting the interrogation—but the woman had disrupted his sleep.

The hounds jumped up on either side of her, acting as if they were Yorkie pups, trying to crawl into her lap. She hugged them to her.

“Down, you two,” he said.

The dogs didn’t budge.

Hugh gave the command again, pointing to the floor this time, and they both hopped off and sat in front of him, obediently. Now, if he could only get the woman to obey.

“I suggest while I walk the lads that you toddle upstairs and ready yereself for church.”

“Church?”

“Aye. The place with the pews and the preacher.” He snapped a leash on each dog. “I don’t know what ye heathens do in Gandiegow, but us God-fearing Scots in Whussendale go to church on Sundays.”

“Pretty cheeky for this early in the morn, Hugh,” she countered, unfolding herself from the sofa.

“On our way to the kirk, we’re going to discuss how you came to be in
my
bed
.
”

She momentarily anchored her hands on her hips…until she realized her nightgown wasn’t exactly covering her perfect little breasts, and that Hugh was an opportunistic bastard, feasting his eyes upon her.

She snatched up his flannel shirt from the loveseat and huffed from the room. “Ye would think that a man who owned a castle would be more of a gentleman.”

“Not when there’s such a view to behold. Hurry up now,” he called after her. “Dress warmly. We’ll leave in the next thirty minutes.” He laughed openly as her grumbles continued up two flights of stairs.

The Wallace had wiggled his way under Hugh’s hand, and Hugh hadn’t even realized the mutt was there. The dog looked up at him with consternation.

“I know, lad. I shouldn’t be throwing petrol on the fire.” The Bruce head-butted his other hand, wanting attention, too. “But I can’t help myself. There’s something about that lass when she’s throwing flames.”

After Hugh’s brisk walk with the dogs down the lane and back, he found her in the kitchen. He watched from the doorway as she made tea. She was wearing a vintage wool dress with a million buttons up the front. On her feet she had an old-fashioned pair of lace-up boots. She looked timeless and en vogue—classic, a woman from the past, but one who could also walk the runway of a London wool-revival show. Hell, he could hire her to be one of the lasses to model his woollens. Her blond hair cascaded down one shoulder, making Hugh yearn to wind his hands through her golden waves and hold her in place while he kissed her.
And work at undoing all the buttons of her dress.

Such impure thoughts, especially before church, had him stepping into the kitchen, making himself known.

“Since you’ve made yereself at home, did ye make enough for two?”

She went right on rattling the porcelain and rifling his drawers, the epitome of cheek and sass.

“Aye.” Finally, she shrugged. “I thought ye might be cold after walking the dogs. Sit yereself down, and I’ll pour.”

Hugh opened the bread box and pulled out the oatcakes that Mrs. McNabb had left for him. Because things were becoming a little too domesticated and because he needed to remind Sophie that this was his house—
his domain
—he started up the interrogation once again. “Tell me, Sophie Munro, how did all this start? How is it ye’ve come to take up residence here?”

She ran her thumb over the edge of the silver butter knife. “Amy.”

“Amy?” He was getting a small idea of what was going on.

“Aye. She told me ye were needing a house sitter for the next week. She said that ye wanted
me
to do it.”

Sophie set his steaming mug in front of him.

“And ye believed her? I barely know you.” Which wasn’t really true. He knew a lot about Sophie Munro. Amy had tried to set them up last summer, and she’d told Hugh everything there was to know about the lively lass in front of him now. But Hugh hadn’t been in any shape to court anyone. Especially one so lovely as she.

“Nay. I didn’t believe her. But I received several emails from
you
. I showed you only one last night. I have the rest in my bag. Upstairs.” She set the sugar and milk at his elbow, but didn’t pour herself a cup. “I’ll get my things from yere room when we get back from church.”

Damned straight, ye will!
It was his house.

She gathered the dog dishes and filled them with water—as if it were
her
house, too.

He ignored the good care she gave his hounds. “Aye. I’d like to read those emails that
I
wrote.”

“Oh, ye were kind and charming. Very helpful, ye were. Ye told me where to find the key. Told me to help myself to yere food. Even told me I was to take yere bed.
For the view
.”

“Helpful, kind, and charming,” he repeated. “And ye believed it? That Amy needs to be turned over my knee for a good spanking.”

Sophie set the bowls before the dogs and slung a dishtowel over her shoulder exactly like his mum used to do. “Don’t be angry with Amy. She’s a mama now. A good one.”

“She certainly thought she had the right to meddle.” Both Amy and his aunt.

Sophie glanced at her watch. “You said we had thirty minutes before church. We best be going.”

“Aye.”

She twisted her watch. “I’ll call my mother afterwards to come get me.” She looked as if more was bugging her than being sent on a fool’s errand. She seemed to be conflicted about going home.

“What’s wrong, lass?”

“Ye wouldn’t understand.”

***

No. A man like Hugh McGillivray wouldn’t understand what it was like for Sophie to finally be on her own. Her freedom had lasted less than twenty-four hours. Deydie’s veiled prediction that she would turn tail had come true. Sophie couldn’t tell the man beside her either. Hugh had been to the far reaches of the world. And Sophie…well, she’d been nowhere.

She grabbed her coat from the hook at the back door, where she’d stowed it yesterday—when she’d pretended this was her house…her castle for the next week. Now, today, she was going home.

She laid her hand on the doorknob and looked back as Hugh downed the rest of his tea. He unfolded himself from the chair and followed her out.

The drive was empty. “Where’s yere car? The barn?”

“We’ll walk,” he said. “It’s a mile or so. The weather is only a wee bit chilly.”