Page 58 of Waiting for a Scot Like You
A quarter of an hour later, he rode toward the inn, sitting beside Thompson on the seat of the lumbering dray. It was an awkward and much-mended vehicle that had seen its prime during the last century, and the horse pulling it was nearly as aged. Yet the wagon had four wheels, and the horse plodded steadily. It would have to. Several large baskets of apples were heaped in the bed.
Duncan cast a glance toward Thompson next tohim. The man had a pair of shaggy white eyebrows with a long beard to match. At the sight of Thompson’s whiskers, Duncan ran a hand across his own jaw and realized, belatedly, that he’d forgotten to buy shaving supplies, and his own beard had already begun to come in. He was not enamored of his facial hair, as it grew in quite red, which had earned him a fair share of teasing from his fellow officers. But there was nothing to be done for it. He’d just have to ride through the English countryside looking like one of William Wallace’s broadsword-wielding chieftains.
Beatrice stood in the coachyard, their baggage at her feet. She eyed Thompson and his somewhat ungainly wagon but made no word of complaint. Duncan leapt down from the seat and loaded their satchels into the wagon’s bed. He handed her up to the driver’s seat before jumping into the bed, as there was no room for three people on the bench.
Making a place for himself amidst the apples, he leaned against the back of the driver’s seat, his legs stretched in front of him, watching the village buildings thin, until they were finally out in the countryside. Between the rocking of the wagon, the tumultuous morning, and the many hours Duncan had spent last night making love to Beatrice, he found his head lolling forward as he fell into a doze.
He snapped awake as the wagon quaked to a stop. Looking around, he noted that they were in the middle of the countryside, a wood on one side of the road androlling hills on the other. A lone farmhouse nestled a distance away in a hollow.
“Is this Wilbrick?” Beatrice asked.
“No, ma’am,” Thompson replied. “Can’t take you as far as Wilbrick on account of me needing to deliver those bushels of apples to Joe Liddle by day’s end. But it’s an easy journey to get there.”
“We agreed you’d take us to Wilbrick.” Duncan couldn’t keep the irritation from his voice.
But Thompson didn’t seem to notice or care that his passengers were irate. He smiled peaceably and said, “Joe Liddle needs his apples.”
“Tell us how to get to Wilbrick,” Duncan grumbled.
“Well, sir, you just head through that wood.” Thompson gestured toward the thickly growing trees. “Go on that way for about a mile and a half, turn at the yew that was split by lightning, and follow the creek until you reach a farm with a blue shed. At the farm you head due east and then you’ll join up with the road again. Take that for three miles and at the fork, stay to the right. In no time, you’ll be in Wilbrick and can catch the mail coach there.”
Duncan tried to commit Thompson’s instructions to memory. He’d gotten by with even more uncertain directions and was still alive, so he surely could get himself and Beatrice to their destination.
After grabbing their bags, he climbed down from the wagon’s bed. He helped Beatrice descend from the seat. She’d barely risen before Thompson snapped thereins and the wagon rolled into motion. She stumbled, and Duncan held her snugly to keep them both from tumbling into the dust.
Though he cursed Thompson’s haste, Duncan didn’t mind having his arms around Beatrice.
As she waved goodbye to Thompson, Beatrice asked, “Did you get all of that? Something about an oak tree and a creek and a yellow barn?”
“It was a yew and a blue shed,” Duncan answered. “A short detour and then we’ll be precisely where we should.”
“We’re lost, aren’t we?” Beatrice asked two hours later.
He turned in a circle as he surveyed a field that was entirely devoid of blue sheds and yews and anything resembling the directions Thompson had given them. “A small misdirection, but we’ll get onto the right path in no time.”
“I think we’re lost.” She’d removed her bonnet and fanned herself with it.
“Was a goddamned officer in His Majesty’s goddamned Army,” he growled. “I don’t get lost.”
But... they were hopelessly lost.
“It’s not your fault.” She walked to him. Thankfully, she seemed to understand that he was in no mood for gentle touches, so she didn’t try to give him a consoling pat on his shoulder. “There wasn’t a single yew tree in that whole forest, and the first creek lookedmore like a stream, so it made sense that we didn’t follow it.”
He dragged his hands through his hair. “I’m a fucking embarrassment to the 79th.” It was intolerable.
“Listen to me.” She planted her hands on her hips. “George Thompson gave us rubbish directions. You need to absolve yourself of feeling responsible for where we are now. I don’t care if you were an officer. You’re human, and humans are not always perfect.”
He drew in a ragged breath, and ridiculously, his eyes grew hot. “I take my responsibilities seriously.”
“So you do. And we arebothadults capable of overcoming obstacles.” Her expression was kind, far kinder than he believed he deserved. “Right now, Major McCameron, you are going to use all your years of campaigning experience to read the landscape and find us a village where we can get proper directions, perhaps rest a bit. Perhaps a little less rest,” she added with a wicked smile that, even in his emotionally fraught state, stirred his desire.
“And then,” she went on, “when we know precisely where we are, we’ll be able to get ourselves on the right path. We’ll be at Lord Gibb’s in a few days. Of that I’m certain.”
It always kept coming back to that damned house party. As time went on, he couldn’t stop wishing she wasn’t so fixated on the thing.
The whole purpose of this trip was for her to explore precisely what she desired for herself. And if LordGibb’s gathering and the freedom it represented to her was what she wanted, then he’d sure as hell make certain she got it.
He was a soldier and also a son of the Earl of Glenkirk, and he did his duty, no matter the cost.
