Must Love Highlanders (27 page)

She pushed past him. “Come, boys, walk me downstairs.” The Wallace and the Bruce followed her down the stairs, one towel staying on the Wallace until he hit the final step.

Sophie went into the parlor, wishing she could make a quick getaway, but Ramsay wouldn’t arrive for some time. She threw a log on the fire for the hounds, and then sat at the writing desk to do some light therapy as she waited.

The longer she sat in front of her lamp, the sadder she felt. She was going home defeated and would live with her parents for the rest of her life. The truth was, she would miss being at Kilheath Castle, miss holding the Laird while he slept.

She loved Hugh—there was no denying it—she only wished he loved her back. She wiped away a tear. And just in time, too.

Hugh brought a tray in and set it down on the coffee table.

“Eat,” he said. “Drink. Refuel.” He didn’t seem capable of full sentences.

Sophie turned off her lamp, unplugged it, and carefully wound up the cord. She put it with her other things by the parlor entrance before walking to the tray, all the fight gone from her. She grabbed a tart and the mug of tea.

He pointed to the loveseat. “Sit.”

She couldn’t relax as she had on her first day here, when she’d pretended to be queen of the castle. All those illusions had been vanquished. The dogs came to lie next to her as if they didn’t want to miss one second of her being there either. As the time ticked away, Hugh seemed to inch closer to her, also.

After a long while, he sighed heavily as if the fight was all gone from him, too. “Ye have to tell me what happened. Ye owe me at least that before ye go.”

A sharp rap sounded at the front door. For a second, Hugh kept staring at her like he hadn’t heard.

The knock came again, longer and harder. Hugh stomped off toward the foyer.

What could Sophie say to the Laird? He hadn’t asked for her hand. Even more glaringly, he’d said nothing of love.

Sharp voices from the hallway interrupted her regrets—having Ramsay fetch her had been exceedingly stupid. She certainly didn’t want punches thrown in her name. Ramsay was her friend, and nothing else.

She grabbed her luggage as she hurried from the parlor. The dogs popped up and followed. She found Hugh in the foyer, standing nose-to-nose with Ramsay.

“What’s this?” Hugh said to her accusingly.

“He’s my ride.”

Hugh wanted to punch the bloke in the jaw. He remembered him—Ramsay, Amy had called him. He was from Gandiegow, the same huge fellow Sophie had left with from the céilidh last summer. Where Hugh had acted the stubborn prat. He should’ve danced with Sophie. He should’ve made her his then.

He stepped into Sophie’s path. “Ye don’t have to do this, lass.”

The Wallace and the Bruce each rubbed up against her, also presenting their arguments as to why she shouldn’t leave.

Ramsay looked to Sophie. “What is it? Stay or go?”

“I’m ready.” She sounded sad, but determined.

The bloke grabbed her bag and her lamp. For a moment, Hugh thought Ramsay might give them a moment to say good-bye in private, but the bastard just stood there, waiting for Sophie to go out first.

Hugh reached for her, but she sidestepped him and fled into the night.

Ramsay shrugged. “The lass has made her decision.” And he was gone, too, closing the door behind them.

Hugh punched the wall, barely feeling the bruising of his knuckles. The dogs whined. The Wallace went to the door and scratched at the ancient entry, barking. The Bruce began to howl.

“Enough,” Hugh yelled, but it did no good.

“What’s all this racket?” Aunt Davinia said, coming in from the kitchen. “I stopped by to borrow some clotted cream for tomorrow morning’s scone and find this. Where’s Sophie?”

The dogs ran to his aunt as if to tattle.

She glared at him sideways. “What did ye do, Hugh-boy?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t do anything. I told Sophie she was going to be my wife, and she couldn’t be rid of me fast enough.”

He didn’t add that she’d left with another man. Not just any man. Ramsay and Sophie had a past. His Sophie! Hugh wanted to howl like the dogs.

Auntie snapped her fingers, and both beasts sat, as if turned to porcelain. She narrowed her gaze on Hugh. “So did ye tell the lass that ye’ve finally come to yere senses, that ye love her?”

“She didn’t exactly give me the chance.”

“No, ye didn’t give her a chance,” his aunt said. “She needed to hear it from you, how ye feel about her, the words from yere heart. What did ye do? Did ye just tell her how it was going to be? Of course that’s what ye did!”

She motioned to the Wallace and the Bruce. “Dammit, Hugh, she’s not one of the hounds. She wants to be asked. She wants to be wooed. She wants to be cherished.” Auntie shook her head with more disappointment than he’d ever seen from her. “Get off yere arse and go after her. Do it right now, for goodness’ sake.”

He started to argue. But, dammit, it didn’t matter that Ramsay might be a towering, warrior of a Scot, Hugh’s equal. Hugh had something greater going for him. He loved Sophie!

“Come on, Wallace. Ye, too, Bruce. We’re going after the mistress of the castle.”

Sophie cried silently in the darkness as Ramsay drove. As she’d expected, she didn’t have to explain anything to him. Ramsay was a good friend, and she hoped someday he’d find himself a good woman.

Back in home in Gandiegow, though, Sophie couldn’t dodge her mama’s scrutiny. Annie hovered and clucked, made her a cup of tea, and sat with her on the couch. At Mama’s insistence, Da came in and sat with them, too.

Sophie didn’t tell them anything, though Annie had tried every trick in the book to get her to spill it.

“Ye talk to her, Russ. She needs to tell us what happened so we can help her.” Annie patted her on the hand, and then glared at Sophie’s da.

Da leaned forward, giving Sophie a look of understanding. “Ye don’t have to tell us a thing. Ye only need to give me the nod, and I’ll give Hugh McGillivray a visit he won’t soon forget.”

Sophie loved these people, but she was done being their troubled daughter. “Nay. It’s not Hugh’s fault. It’s me.”

“What do ye mean it’s yere fault? Nighean, ye’re perfect,” Annie said.

Sophie considered hurling her mug at the hearth, but it was Mama’s favorite. “You and I know I’m far from perfect.”

Maybe it was time for some gut-wrenching honesty between her and her parents. “I heard you and Da speaking before I left to housesit at Hugh’s.”

Her mother looked at her, confused. “About what?”

Da grabbed a fishing magazine from the coffee table and leaned back in his recliner.

Just as he was opening the pages, Sophie jumped in with both feet. “I heard you two agree that I was past my prime. Too old to find anyone. Too bossy.”

Da dropped his magazine, straightening back up, his attention on her. “What are ye talking about, hen? I never…” His voice trailed off.

Mama stared at Da, very serious-like. “No.”

The two of them burst out laughing, Annie clutching Sophie’s da.

“I don’t see anything funny here,” Sophie said. This day had gone from bad to worse.

Mama calmed a little and patted Sophie’s arm. “Ye got it all wrong. We were speaking of Deydie, not you.”

“Da, what’s Mama talking about?” Sophie asked.

Her father pulled out a wrinkled handkerchief and dabbed at his eyes. He shoved it back into his pocket. “Yere mama and the other ladies of Gandiegow think ol’ Deydie and Abraham Clacher would make a fine couple. But, good grief, I don’t see it. That woman is too old and crotchety, and Abraham is too salty of a fisherman, for those two”—he chuckled again—“for those two to get married.”

“See, nighean, we weren’t talking about ye after all. Ye just misheard.”

Sophie didn’t have time to process the revelation as someone started pounding on the door. She went to answer it. Ramsay stood there, but then the Wallace and the Bruce tore past him in a blur and jumped on her.

They would’ve knocked her over, too, if two strong arms hadn’t caught her. It wasn’t Ramsay who had her either, and it wasn’t Ramsay who was scolding the deerhounds.

“Down, boys,” Hugh said. Ramsay had been shoved to the side.

Ramsay tipped an imaginary hat at Hugh. “My work here is done.” Then Ramsay was gone.

Hugh shut the door behind him, still holding on to her, keeping the dogs at bay—sort of. Based on the way he was holding her, he wasn’t letting go.

The laughter in the living room had come to a complete halt. Da rose and came to stand near Sophie. Hugh wrapped a protective arm around her—or was that a possessive arm?—and pulled her tightly against his side.

“Do I need to have a talk here with yere young man, daughter?” Da was an inch shorter than Hugh, but her da was giving him a glare that would’ve had a lesser man running for the door.

“I’d introduce myself, sir, but apparently ye already know who I am,” Hugh said respectfully, but firmly. “May I speak with yere daughter alone?”

Da looked to Sophie, and she nodded.

“I’ll leave ye be,” her father said. “For now. But the second she’s done with ye, ye better let her out of your grasp.” He glared at the hand that gripped her shoulder.

“Sophie, we’ll be in our room, if ye need us.” Mama took Da’s hand and led him away.

Sophie broke free and went to the couch. The dogs went with her, climbing up, each laying their heads in her lap.

“What do you want, Hugh? I heard all I needed to hear back at yere castle.”

A strange thought hit Sophie. If she’d been wrong about her parents and what they thought of her, maybe she was wrong about Hugh, too. She scratched the Bruce behind the ears as he groaned.

She kept her gaze down as Hugh walked into the living room and sat in her da’s recliner. She did a double take. He was wearing the kilt she’d made for him.

“There are things I failed to say.” His voice was a hoarse whisper.

The emotion behind his words forced her to peek at him. He sat forward, making the old recliner creak and looked vulnerable. She wanted to go to him and put her arms around him, but she couldn’t…not until she was certain why he’d chased her through the night and what he’d come to say.

He leaned closer. “I got the order all screwed up.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.” And it wasn’t what she wanted to hear.

He cleared his throat and swallowed. “I should’ve told ye how much ye’ve come to mean to me, Sophie Munro.”

The Wallace yawned loudly and stretched further across her lap.

She wanted to say, And? Because her traitorous heart was impatient and hopeful that Hugh really did care for her.

He took her hand. “I should’ve told ye that I loved yere arms being wrapped around me night after night.”

Da harrumphed loudly from the other room.

Hugh glanced in that direction, but soldiered on. “I’m not afraid of the dark anymore. I haven’t had a nightmare all week. But most of all, ye helped me to remember all the wonderful things in life—past, present, and future. Ye’ve healed me.” He kissed her palm. “I should’ve told ye that I love ye. Ye made me whole again, lass, and I’d be a fool not to claim ye as mine for always.”

Mama’s “ahhh” slipped from under their bedroom door.

Hugh got down on his knee and took Sophie’s other hand from the Wallace. “Please say that ye’ll marry me, Sophie.”

“Down, boys,” she commanded, and for a second, Hugh pulled back. “Not you. You stay.”

She fell to her knees and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him. Mama and Da started to bicker in the other room. Sophie didn’t get a chance to answer Hugh before Mama burst through her bedroom door, dragging Da behind her.

“So what did ye say?” Her mother stopped short at the sight of Sophie and Hugh kneeling on her living room floor, arms around each other. “Oh. Then ye’ve told the lad yes?”

Sophie got to her feet, pulling Hugh to his as well. Da, blushing and looking uncomfortable, was tugging Mama’s hand, trying to get her to go back to the bedroom with him. But Mama wasn’t budging.

Da shot Sophie a look. “Answer the lad, daughter, so yere mother and me can be off to bed.”

Sophie turned to Hugh and gazed into his lovely brown eyes.