Tall, Dark and Wolfish (39 page)

"Now, El's favorites are in there, and Rhiannon has guaranteed nice weather for ye tonight. But the rest fal s ta ye. Doona say anythin' stupid."

"Yes, you said that already."

Ben helped Elspeth out of his coach, and her eyes swept over the land—a beautiful heather-covered meadow that edged the forest. The warmth of his

hand holding hers sent tingles racing to Elspeth's soul.

She sucked in a steadying breath as her eyes darted back to her husband. Ever since she'd agreed to this outing, she'd worried it was a mistake.

Spending time with him would only make things more painful when he left.

Ben scooped up a picnic basket and plaid in one hand, then offered his free arm to her.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"Home," he answered, with a smile in his voice. "Do you like it?"

"Home?"

"This is the land I bought, El ie," he said, gesturing to the open space. "We'l have the grandest home in Edinburgh, save the castle. Society wil be lining

up to attend your parties. And out back by the woods you can have your own wing to tend to as many sick Scots as you want. Just say you'l come back to

me." He brushed his fingers across her cheek.

She closed her eyes at his touch, momentarily lost in a happier time when she thought they were in love. "Ye doona have ta do this, Ben. I doona blame

ye for anythin', ye ken."

Ben looked away from her and spread the Campbel plaid on the ground.

"We just weren't meant ta be," Elspeth continued softly, though her heart protested.

She remembered when Wil had uttered the same words about his Prisca and the sadness that emanated from him. The sentiment hadn't made much

sense to her back then. Now she understood it too wel .

"We
were
meant to be. We're connected, lass, in more ways than one."

Distance and time would solve those problems. Elspeth stepped away from him and took a spot on the corner of the plaid. She smiled, hoping he

wouldn't see the tears in her eyes. "What have ye got in yer basket?"

He sat beside her; his warm hazel eyes raking across her seemed so sad. "I'm told that roasted pheasant with currants is your favorite."

Elspeth grinned at him. Who had he been talking to? "No blueberries?" She couldn't help but ask.

Ben groaned and squished up his nose. "I don't think I can ever look another blueberry in the face."

Elspeth laughed. "They're real y very good for ye."

"I'l survive," he replied, leaning back on his elbows.

She glanced at him, relaxed on the plaid and staring out at his land, his hair hanging rakishly across his brow. Elspeth didn't think it was possible for her

to ever stop loving him. Why was he intent on making this harder for her? "Ben, sel the land. Go back ta London. Yer life is waitin' for ye. The right girl is

out there somewhere waitin' for ye."

In the blink of an eye he pul ed her onto his lap and wrapped his arms around her waist. "The right girl is here, El ie. I'm not going anywhere without you."

"Ben," she sighed, staring at his neckcloth to avoid his eyes. "I ken ye care about me. But—"

"I do care about you. I love you, Elspeth Westfield. And I was a fool not to realize it sooner. I'l spend the rest of my life trying to make that up to you."

Elspeth's eyes slowly rose to meet his, and her heart leapt at his words. She wanted to believe him. She wanted it more than anything.

"Tel me the right thing to say, El ie. Everyone seems to think I'l say something stupid and you'l bolt."

She couldn't help but laugh at that. "Everyone thinks that, do they?"

"Caitrin pounded it into my head." He nodded, his eyes searching hers.

"Cait?" she asked in amazement. Her friend was the very last person she would expect to aid Ben in this quest. She wasn't quite sure what that meant.

He smiled at her. "She said she was going to be our children's godmother."

Elspeth's hand flew to her bel y. This was about the bairn. He didn't want her to raise their child alone. Her heart plummeted again, and she scrambled

from his lap.

"I doona need yer help, ye ken. I'l manage just fine on my own."

Ben's eyes widened and he shook his head. "What did I say?"

"She never should have told ye," Elspeth snapped as she crossed her arms beneath her breasts.
How could she?
Elspeth had planned to tel him in her

own time, in her own way.

"Told me what?" he asked, his eyebrows drawing together as he reached for her.

Forty-eight

Elspeth avoided his touch and his gaze. They'd immediately gone from having a casual, comfortable conversation to her pul ing away from him.

"What did I say? Please tel me so I can avoid saying it in the future." He recognized the bite of sarcasm in his own voice and chastised himself. This

wasn't the time to show her his bruised ego. Caitrin told him not to say anything stupid, and he'd somehow done so anyway.

Elspeth sighed and raised her knees to wrap her arms around them. Then she dipped her head to rest on her knees. Her voice was muffled when she

final y spoke. "Nothin'."

"I seem to have a way of putting my foot in my mouth, El ie. I'm stil learning, though. And I'm a quick study."

"I ken ye are," she said, her voice stil muffled as she refused to raise her head.

What could he do to bring her back to him? He reached into the picnic basket and started to unload it. "Can you tolerate my presence long enough to

eat with me?" He tried not to sound defeated, but it was difficult.

"Aye, I can tolerate ye." She final y raised her head and looked at him. "Her cook makes the best pheasant."

If he couldn't win her with his personality, at least he could win her with food. But when he unwrapped the roasted bird, Elspeth's hand immediately flew

to her mouth. Her eyes grew round. And she turned a most horrid shade of green.

"Are you al right?" he asked.

She stood up quickly and ran to the bushes. He closed his eyes and pounded his forehead with his fist when he heard her cast up her accounts. Now his

very presence made her sick. The situation was beginning to look hopeless. Instead of Caitrin tel ing him not to say anything stupid, she should have told

him specifical y what
not
to say.

A few minutes later she returned. Thankful y, the greenish tint to her skin had receded. "I'm sorry," she started.

He held up a hand. "That's quite al right. You can't help it if being with me makes you il ."

"It's no' that," she said as he passed her a cup of water to rinse her mouth out. "It was the smel of pheasant. I havena been feelin' my best lately." She

looked toward the dish and shuddered. "I appreciate ye havin' it prepared for me, though."

Her hand lifted as though to caress his face, and he was so happy he nearly bumped his nose to her hand like a pup who wanted to be petted. But then

she pul ed back.

"So how do ye feel about what Caitrin told ye?"

"I was quite put out by it at first." Wouldn't anyone who'd been cal ed an idiot be a little upset by it?

Elspeth gasped and pursed her lips.

"What did I do now?" he groaned.

Tears fil ed her green eyes and wel ed up behind her lashes but threatened to spil over at any moment. "I'd like ta go home, now."

Ben took Elspeth back to her cottage, his heart breaking the entire journey as she sniffed back tears. Her breathing was labored, and he felt like the

biggest cad. If only he knew what stupid thing he'd said.

Once at her cottage, Ben walked her to the door, where he kissed her forehead softly and watched her as she brushed past him into the house. Her

stance, which was usual y so proud and erect, seemed almost defeated.

He stayed outside until she blew out the candles. Then he went to the Thistle and Thorn to get properly foxed. He could have gone back to MacQuarrie's,

but the man would only try to talk to him, and Ben wasn't in the mood to converse with anyone.

He entered the taproom and found Major Forster at a corner table with a glass of whisky, talking amicably with the townspeople. He should have

realized the major would stil be there. After years of traveling with his regiment, the man natural y made friends wherever he went.

Ben sighed. The major
was
his father-in-law; perhaps he had some insight into Elspeth. As Ben approached him, the major kicked a chair from beneath

the table by bumping it with his boot. Ben sank heavily into it.

"Aren't you supposed to be enjoying dinner with my daughter?" the major asked, pul ing out his pocket watch to glance at the time.

"I was. She asked me to take her home. It appears as though my presence makes her physical y il ."

The major chuckled and motioned for another whisky for Ben. "You turn her stomach, now, do you?"

"Obviously. She was sick in the bushes as soon as I brought the food out." Ben threw back his whisky and motioned for another.

"You mean she's
truly
sick?" The major's eyebrows shot upward. "I should go check on her."

Ben shook his head. "I stayed until she turned out the light. She's fine."

"I wonder what's wrong. Maybe she ate something bad?"

"She didn't eat a thing. She got sick as soon as I uncovered the food!" he cried out, then rested his chin on the heel of his hand in disgust. "And she

cries at the smal est things."

"You made her cry?" the major asked, frowning.

"I didn't mean to," Ben defended himself. "But it didn't seem to matter what I said. I've never seen her so emotional, not even when her grandfather died,

and she was plenty upset then."

Recognition dawned in the major's eyes. "I'm a fool not to have seen it earlier."

"Seen what?"

With a toothy grin, the major slid his whisky toward Ben. "Congratulations, pup."

"For turning my wife's stomach?" Ben grumbled and looked down at the amber liquid in front of him.

"I believe you may have made me a grandfather!" The major rose from his seat and cackled al the way out the door.

Ben's mouth fel open. Then he picked up the whisky in front of him and downed it in one gulp.

A child? Dear God! He replayed his last conversation with Elspeth over in his mind, under that context, and winced. If she was with child, it was no

wonder she was furious with him.

He was going to be a father! Ben signaled the bar maid that he didn't need the next glass of whisky. If he was going to work this out, he needed a clear

head. He
would
find a way to make it work.

Elspeth enchanted a spoon to stir some porridge and then col apsed into a seat at her table and laid her head across her folded arms. She'd slept

restlessly al night and this morning wasn't feeling her best.

Her father emerged from his room, whistling an old Scottish lul aby. When he spotted her, he grinned widely. "Morning, lass."

"Ye seem awful y cheerful today," she grumbled.

"Many things to be cheerful about," he replied and dropped into a seat across from her. "How was your dinner with Benjamin?"

Elspeth shook her head, then realized her eyes were watering again. She brushed her tears away with the back of her hand. "It could have gone better."

"I gathered that when I saw him last night. Poor fel ow looked as if he'd lost his best friend."

"Ye saw him?" Her gaze shot to her father's.

"Hmm. The taproom at the inn. He seemed intent on getting deep in his cups."

Elspeth snorted and rose from her seat to check on her porridge. Of course he was intent on getting drunk. He didn't love her and felt stuck because of

the bairn. She peered down into the pot, but it was too soupy.

She didn't feel like eating anyway. She leaned heavily against the far wal and rubbed her face with both hands. How had she gotten herself into this

situation?

"Elspeth," her father's voice caused her to jump and drop her hands.

"Yes?"

"You need to sit down and have a conversation with the lad."

"I wouldna even ken what ta say." She stepped forward and slumped back down in her seat at the table.

His warm brown eyes seemed to twinkle. "I'm sure something wil come to mind, dear. You can't go on like this. Both of you are completely miserable."

"Aye," she admitted, but for different reasons. There was no solution that would make them both happy.

A knock sounded at the door, and the major crossed the room to open it. "Benjamin," he said in greeting.

Elspeth couldn't keep her gaze from shooting across the cottage to her husband. His hair seemed to sparkle where the morning sunlight hit him. And he

was more handsome than ever, though at the moment his hazel eyes looked angry, as did the stubborn tilt of his jaw.

"Major," he replied tightly. "I'd like a word with my wife."

"Ben," her father began with a placating tone.

But he paid no attention to the major and pushed past him into the cottage. "El ie, this has gone on quite long enough. At first I let you have space,