Page 72 of Waiting for a Scot Like You
“Almost dark,” he gasped. “Have to keep moving.”
“Yes, Major. But I’m taking the luggage.”
He would have dissented, but damn if his arms didn’t shake and his legs wobble. So, grudgingly, he allowed her to carry the bags—for a while. When he was reasonably certain that he could hold something heavier than a dandelion, he took them back from her.
The woods were thick and full of brambles that tore at their faces and snared their clothing. Uneven ground covered in scrub made the going slow. For all her willingness to take on a challenging situation, Beatrice did not have the same facility with walkingthrough rough terrain as he did. She trudged along slowly. When she stumbled, she cursed under her breath but forged ahead. Their progress was hindered as full night fell. At least a waxing moon hung in the sky to give them some illumination, turning the landscape into shades of indigo and black.
“No signs of human traffic,” he said, peering into the dense forest. “Only game trails.”
“Well, if we want to spend the night with a deer, we’re in luck.”
He shot her a glance, and though it was dark, he could hear her laugh.
“No need to disturb the poor, slumbering wildlife,” he said as they continued on. “Hopefully, we’ll reach a road soon. The prospect of whisky, a bath, and a bed big enough to accommodate us both seems like the closest I can ever come to Heaven.”
“If that’s what the afterlife consists of,” she said, exhaling with each step, “then I hope my sins won’t be judged against me so I can join you there. Though I can guarantee that what happens in that bed will not be at all angelic.”
“Amen to that,” he said fervently, then stilled.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Lights ahead.” What he wouldn’t give for his spyglass, but that had been lost days ago. Peering at the lights and the dark shape that contained them, he said, “Looks like a large house.”
“Thank God,” she breathed. “I’m doing my levelbest to be a good sport, but maybe we can drink that whisky beside the world’s biggest fireplace.”
He led the way toward the house, and they broke from the woods to find themselves at the edge of a sloping lawn. The house that sat beside the lawn was indeed a substantial home consisting of two stories and an attic, and it was a measure of the occupants’ wealth that most of the windows blazed with candlelight.
Duncan edged around the structure, grateful that he didn’t have to tell Beatrice to try to muffle her footsteps. One never could be too cautious when approaching strangers’ homes.
They kept to the shadows, but one large window revealed what had to be the dining room. There was a long table covered in fine white cloth, and silver dishes heaped with food and flowers arrayed atop it. Surrounding the table were a number of people in elegant, expensive clothing. Judging by the way everyone placidly ate their soup and the restrained murmurs of their voices, it was precisely the sort of staid and quiet dinner party that Duncan and the other members of the Union tried to avoid.
“Perhaps we ought to call a physician to see if any of those people are actually alive,” Beatrice muttered. “Afraid I’m fresh out of black crepe. How about you?”
“Recognize any of them?” he asked lowly, careful to keep from being heard by anyone inside.
She peered into the room. “Not a one.”
That was good. He could work with this. “At parties, Rotherby always gets to be the charming rogue, and I’ve never had the chance. You’ve been showing me that we all need to try something different now and again to keep from growing moss. So what say you and I liven up that funereal gathering?”
Her smile flashed in the darkness. “Excellent plan, Major.”
“We’ll charm the master and mistress so much, they’ll beg us to stay the night in their most comfortable accommodations.” He adored, too, that she was entirely eager to be mischievous at a moment’s notice. This would be for her, too. A way to give her more mischief, more joy. “Let’s have some fun.”
Torches burned beside the main door, but the servants all seemed to be inside. Duncan stepped forward, and after casting a glance at Beatrice to ensure she was beside him, he rapped smartly on the door.
A moment later, it opened, revealing a liveried footman. His eyes widened at their bedraggled appearance, and his mouth hung open.
“Good God, it’s as dark as my gangrenous soul out here,” Duncan boomed heartily. “My wife and I have been wandering for hours. Take us to your master and mistress.”
“Sir?” the footman said bewilderedly.
Duncan smiled widely. “Major Frye, and Mrs. Frye. Of Dundee.”
“I’m weary enough to sleep in your privet, and noone wants me scaring off the grouse with my snores,” Beatrice chirped. “Please, do not leave us on your doorstep.”
“Yes, my lady.” The footman opened the door wider and gestured for them to enter. “If you’ll wait in the drawing room...”
Duncan dropped their bags on the marble flagstones the moment he and Beatrice crossed the threshold. “Why wait when we can delight the company even sooner with our presence?”
