Must Love Highlanders (26 page)

All his staff and the whole town knew he had a houseguest, and he was sure the grapevine had been speculating...one of the reasons he’d put in long hours this week. Aunt Davinia had left him a note.

Urgent business in London and apologies for leaving poor Sophie to the gossip.

I’m sure you can make it right by the lass, and do something to salvage her reputation.

Auntie was as subtle as a bulldozer.

He rushed home, looking forward to surprising Sophie with a nice dinner. He wasn’t trying to make it romantic, but he did have Mrs. McNabb set the grand dining room table for them. He hoped she’d found the candlesticks that had been packed away long ago. He walked a little faster.

As he rounded the last bend, something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. The outside light was on, and part of the loch was illuminated. Hugh heard Sophie’s voice, speaking quietly, calmly, before he actually saw her.

“It’s okay, boy, I’m coming out to get ye. Stay calm.” Sophie’s arms were in front of her, and she was shuffling her way out to the center of the loch.

“Holy fuck!” he whispered. His mouth went dry. One of his hounds had fallen through the ice, and she was going out to get him. That’s when the Bruce, standing at the shore, saw him and began barking. Hugh took off running.

“Sophie,” he yelled. “Don’t move.” I’m coming.

She glanced up, but didn’t acknowledge his warning. She kept talking to the Wallace as she crouched down to lie on the ice.

Good girl. She knew to distribute her weight.

He was close, so close. But as she inched toward the struggling Wallace, he heard the ice cracking, a sound so familiar that it jarred his bones. The sound of death.

He couldn’t get there in time. Just as she reached for the Wallace, the ice crumbled, and she went in, too.

Oh my God, not again! He ran to the edge of the loch, but stopped short. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. “Hold on, Sophie,” he said gruffly. God, he hated leaving her. But he ran full-out for the ghillie’s shed and the rope hanging inside. He grabbed Chrissa’s sled off the wall, too.

Back outside, he saw she had the Wallace in a death grip in one arm and struggled to tread water with the other. As he rushed back to the ice, he tied the rope to the sled.

“Are ye okay?” He read somewhere that talking to the victim could help keep them calm. “I’m on my way.”

“Hurry,” she said breathlessly.

He slid the sled out to her. “I need ye to grab on to this.” He hoped her hands weren’t too frozen.

“I’ll try.” When it reached her, she got a hold of it, but it slipped from her hand.

“Again, Sophie.” He couldn’t lose her.

“I don’t know if I can.”

“Ye’ll do it for me. For the Wallace. And for the Bruce.” The damned dog was still barking encouragement from the shore. “Grab on to it because we need ye, lass.”

She seemed energized by his words. This time when she grabbed the sled, she held on, gritting her chattering teeth. “P-pull, dammit,” she growled.

Hugh pulled the rope. The weight of the wet dog, Sophie, and her wet clothes was more than he’d expected. The Bruce barked more.

“Help, ye stupid mutt.”

The Bruce ran for the end of the rope, gripped it in his teeth, and tugged. Sophie and the Wallace came out of the water.

“Ye’re a damned good dog,” Hugh grunted as he pulled. They weren’t out of danger yet. It took everything in him not to run out and help her the rest of the way, but he kept tugging until at last he had her.

“I’m cold,” she said through chattering teeth.

He picked her up and rushed for the house.

“What about the W-Wallace?” she whispered.

He glanced back. “He’s coming. The Bruce is nudging him along.”

Hugh took her into the house, the dogs following, and straight up to his room. He flipped the switch on the gas fireplace to warm the interior and headed to the en suite bathroom. He turned on the towel warmer with one hand before stepping into the Roman shower, fully clothed with Sophie still in his arms. He turned on the water, letting the spray wash over them.

“We don’t want the water too hot,” he explained calmly. His darling Sophie was shaking so. “I promise this’ll raise your temperature.” He carefully set her on the stone bench with water cascading over her. “I’m going to take yere wet things off so we can get the warm water to your skin.”

“O-k-kay.”

While he steadied her with his body, he pulled off her boots and socks. Then he undid her waterlogged coat and removed it.

“Ye know, lass, many times this past week,” he said, trying to give her a playful smile, “I’ve imagined peeling yere clothes off of ye, though never under these circumstances.”

She gave him a valiant smile, but shivered violently, sputtering when water got in her mouth. “I hope I don’t drown first.”

“Ye’re my braw lass.” He laughed, knowing it was a good sign that she was spouting off at him at a time like this. “Come on. Let’s get this sweater off of you. Ye can leave on yere bra.” He eased it over her head as her next sentence registered.

“I’m not wearing one.” And she wasn’t.

“Oh, God.” He thought he might hyperventilate. “Ye’re beautiful, lass.”

“Ye’re just hard up.” Her teeth chattered, and her arms were plastered down at her sides.

He kissed her. He couldn’t help himself—he was such a bastard to take advantage of her. But she kissed him back, melting into him as he held her tightly.

“Oh, Sophie, I don’t know what I would’ve done—” He broke off.

She shh’ed him. “It’s o-okay, Hugh. I’m okay.”

Fortunately, the way he was holding her kept her from seeing his face. Raw emotions coursed through him—anger, relief, gratitude, and terror. Gradually, the warm water left only joy where cold and upset had been. They stayed like that for a long while, until she wasn’t shaking nearly as much and he was feeling calmer.

Finally, he remembered his duty. “Let’s get these pants off of ye, too.”

“You f-first.” A bit of laughter was in her voice.

“Oh, God, don’t tell me that ye’re not wearing any skivvies.” He looked down, which was a huge mistake. Her wee perfect breasts were right there in his line of sight, and he was as hard as a rock.

“I’m wearing skivvies, as ye say. It’s just that, ye know, they’re a wee bit slutty.” Her cheeks were pinking up nicely, a good sign she was going to be fine.

He brushed her cheek. “Well, close yere eyes, lass, so ye won’t see me when I’m scandalized by yere underthings.”

He didn’t wait for her consent but undid her pants and pushed them down to her ankles.

“Step out.” His voice was hoarse with his face inches away from the black lace of nothing that she wore. And God help him, he put his mouth over the small V and gave it a worshiping kiss. Before he did more, he rose. “How are ye feeling?”

“Do that again, and I’d be damned near on fire.”

“Let’s get you dried off and warmed up under the quilts.” Keeping his boxers on, Hugh stripped out of his soaked shirt and pants, leaving them and Sophie in the running water while he toweled off. He dressed in fleece pants before grabbing two warm towels from the rack.

He turned off the shower, swaddled Sophie in the towels, and carried her to his room. For once, the Wallace and the Bruce weren’t on the bed, but were in front of the fireplace. The Bruce was lying up against the Wallace, licking his ear.

Hugh pulled back the covers with one hand while he set Sophie down. “Slip off those panties so yere bed won’t get wet.” He wanted to do it himself, but was pretty certain he wouldn’t be honorable in what he did next.

“My bed?” She looked at him incredulously. “Where are ye going?”

“Don’t worry, lass,” he chuckled. “I’ll be right back.” He went to the en suite and grabbed the other warmed towels and wrapped them around the Wallace.

He hurried back to the bed and pulled her into his arms, knowing the skin-to-skin contact was a good way to keep her warm. He tried not to think about her being naked, but she kept nibbling at his neck.

He looked up at the ceiling at the crack that had formed the year Chrissa died. It was past time to fix it. “I want to thank you.”

She stopped in mid-nibble. “For what?”

“For lying next to me these last several nights.” For helping him to remember his family in a good light.

She pulled away. “So ye were awake?” Her words were filled with hurt and disbelief. “The whole time?”

“Aye.”

She sat up, scooting away from him. “Ye pretended to be asleep, because what? I was too plain to have in yere bed?”

He pulled her back into his arms and kissed the top of her head. “Calm yereself, woman.”

“I’m going home tomorrow,” she whispered angrily. “I don’t want to go home a virgin.”

“Nay. Ye’re staying here with me. I mean to make you my wife.” He’d made the decision subconsciously while she’d held him night after night. He couldn’t ever let her go.

The word virgin finally sank into Hugh’s brain. “Ye’re a what?”

“Ye mean to make me yere wife?” Sophie’s voice was shrill. Water must still be in her ears. Or the chill had screwed with her brain.

“I’m finally going to do as Amy and Aunt Davinia bid me to do.” He looked confused—like he was saying one thing while puzzling over another. “They’ve nagged me to marry you for the last year, and now I will.”

An arrow pierced straight through Sophie’s heart. Not one of Cupid’s arrows either.

Something was very wrong with how she was feeling. She had liked Hugh even before she’d met him. Amy’s stories about Hugh and their misadventures as children and young adults had painted him in the most lovable light. When Sophie had seen him for the first time, she’d contracted a serious case of lust over him, though he’d been a prat.

Then somewhere along the line in the last week, she’d fallen hopelessly in love with Hugh McGillivray, the flesh-and-blood man. The real deal. Perhaps it had happened when they were isolated at the cabin and he’d shared his deepest, darkest secret with her so she would know she wasn’t alone in her pain. Or maybe while she’d been holding him night after night while he lay next to his dead sister’s bed. Hell, as hard up as she was, she’d probably fallen in love with him on the first night…when she’d seen him naked.

Shouldn’t she feel grateful to him that he’d given in to his relations’ hounding and had agreed to marry the unmarriageable Sophie?

Except she couldn’t marry him if he felt forced into it!

“Get me some pajamas,” she said coolly, pushing away from him. “I need my cell phone, too.” Being demanding was better than crying.

“Ye don’t need pajamas.” His voice was as hard as the ice on the loch should have been.

“I do. And don’t forget the phone.” She was going home—now. She wasn’t going to inflict herself on him any longer.

Hugh had a confused expression on his face as he rolled out of bed. He pulled his pajama top from the closet and retrieved her cell from the dresser. She wouldn’t look at the beautiful vase he’d given her. She wouldn’t.

“Here.” He left her with the things and went into the loo.

Sophie couldn’t tell him the truth. It was too painful. If only he wanted her for the right reasons!

She would not crumple into a heap. Not now. She started to call Mama, but no way did Sophie want to be stuck in a car with Mama questioning her all the way back to Gandiegow. Sophie pulled on Hugh’s pajama top and dialed the one person who wouldn’t badger her to death about what had happened and how she was feeling.

“Ramsay, it’s me, Sophie. I need ye to come and get me,” she said, starting to shake, and not from the cold either.

“Give me the address,” Ramsay said. “I’ll leave now.”

She gave him the directions and hung up. She looked up and found Hugh standing in the doorway.

“What’s this about?” he said roughly.

The dogs raised their heads and gave her a questioning stare. They all waited for her answer. She didn’t have the energy to speak. It had been a harrowing evening, and the depression was swallowing her and taking her words with it.

“Ye’re not going anywhere,” he said.

Sophie didn’t meet his eyes, but went to the dresser and scooped out her panties, laying them on the comforter. Hugh’s eyes flashed with desire at her slutty undies, but then his glare went icy cold in the next second.

She went to the third drawer and pulled out a turtleneck, jeans, and a sweater. She opened her mouth to tell him to step out of the room while she dressed, but he’d already seen all she had—maybe even seen to her very soul. She had a moment of gumption as she pulled his pajama top over her head like she was a snake shedding its skin. A new woman. Naked, but with a new determination. She silently dared Hugh to say something as she put on a warm turtleneck.

He glared at her with his hands on his hips. “What has got into you?”

“Nothing’s got into me.” Amy and Aunt Davinia would have to come up with a new woman for Hugh to wed. And bed.

But underneath it all…Sophie was amazed that during Hugh’s non-proposal—somewhere, somehow—she’d found her own worth.

She didn’t have to marry to feel like a whole person.

He grabbed her arm. “Talk to me, dammit. Don’t shut me out.” He paused for a second as if the answer had occurred to him. He dropped her arm and stepped back. “Do ye need time in front of yere lamp?”

The question knocked the air out of her.

She grabbed a pillow and threw it at his head, wishing for more—like a club to use on his thick skull.

He’d done her a favor with his last words, reminding her that she was damaged, defective, giving her just enough energy to go. She jammed all her clothes into her suitcase. She looked mournfully at the vase. She couldn’t keep it without thinking of him. She left the vase sitting on his dresser. As she wheeled her bag to exit, he stood in the doorway, blocking it.

“Don’t,” he said through clenched teeth.

But he was settling. He didn’t want to marry her. Maybe he thought it was time he tied the knot. Ultimately, he wanted to get married only because his family wished him to. The Laird may not love her, but Sophie had finally figured out that she loved herself.