Page 76 of Waiting for a Scot Like You
She came with a sound that shot right to his cock. He had enough presence of mind to pull from her, his own release tearing from him.
As she collapsed softly against him, he held her close as their breathing slowed and bodies cooled. He petted her hair, though his hand stilled when she exhaled a laugh.
“Trying to feel if the gray hair is coarser than the brown?” she murmured.
“I like to touch you. And your hair is fucking gorgeous.”
She pressed her face close to his neck. “This has never bothered you, the difference in our ages?”
“Don’t know why it should.”
“Not a common opinion,” she said softly.
“The hell with everyone else’s opinion.” He pulled back enough so he could see her face. “Yours is the one that signifies.”
She scratched at his beard, and while the sensation sent pleasure skittering through him, he was more intent on listening to her.
“It’s not an easy thing, to be an aging woman. They want me to be invisible. I mattered for a few years, and then I didn’t, and I was just supposed to disappear and... and I hated that. I hate it still, but I refuse to let it determine who I let myself be.”
He moved them so that they lay down, facing each other atop the coverlet.
“Can’t blame you for being angry,” he said lowly, then added, “and the person you are is a miracle.”
One corner of her mouth curved. “Miracleimplies some sort of divine hand, and I doubt the celestialentity they preach in church would approve of me. I surely hope He doesn’t.”
Duncan kissed her, tender and fierce at the same time. It conveyed far more of what he felt than his words could ever hope to express. He was going to have to let her go, and he didn’t want to. Yet if he was to respect all that she was and all she meant, he would have to walk away.
Duty always had a cost. He’d faced that cost many times, taking each loss to himself as he was supposed to—head down, soldiering on, never truly examining the wounds he amassed. Eventually, those wounds turned to scars, which meant that they stopped bleeding, but he wouldn’t be the same person. He was marked forever.
As he drew the blankets around them, and she settled warm and pliant against him with a lovely little sigh, he realized that after he said goodbye to her, the scar tissue around his heart would be thicker.
If someone ever tried to touch his heart again, he would feel nothing.
Chapter 18
A loud noise startled both Beatrice and Duncan awake. He was out of bed immediately.
“What is it?” she asked as he hastily threw on his clothing.
“That was gunfire,” he answered, terse and grim, his posture utterly changed. He was alert, ready for battle, turning from her tender lover into a soldier, as sharp and dangerous as any blade. The impenetrability of his expression alarmed her. He checked his timepiece that rested atop the bedside table. “Quarter to six. Atherton said nothing about hunting in the morning. Get dressed.”
Heart hammering, she did as he commanded, tossing on her clothing as fast as she was able. She jammed her feet into her shoes as he slipped his knife into his pocket.
He seemed to debate for a moment. “You’re safest with me, so stay close, and for God’s sake, don’t do anything without my express command.”
She nodded, fear climbing higher up her throat. “Perhaps we should remove our shoes so that they can’t hear us coming.”
“Thought of that.” He looked down at his boots. “I don’t want to be barefoot when confronting an unknown threat. Let’s go.”
They slipped from the room, and she followed him down the stairs as quietly as possible. She could barely breathe and kept her hand on his shoulder both to let him know that she was close, as well for the reassurance of his solid body.
As they reached the first floor, Duncan froze, holding up his hand in a silent order for her to halt. Following her gaze, she saw a man emerge from a room, but he wasn’t one of the men who had been at dinner last night. One of his fists clenched around what appeared to be several pieces of jewelry, as well as small personal items studded with gems. His other hand held a long, terrifying blade. The man seemed preoccupied and didn’t see them as he started toward the next room off the corridor.
Duncan motioned for her to stay put. She squeezed his shoulder in agreement.
Feeling shaky with terror, she could only watch as he slipped along the hallway, moving noiselessly closer to the stranger.
Duncan pounced. He wrapped an arm around the man’s neck and, with his other hand, gripped the stranger’s wrist to prevent him from striking out withthe knife. The would-be assailant thrashed, trying to open his mouth to call for help, yet the hold Duncan had on his throat seemed to prevent him from making any sound other than a choking rasp.
