Page 18 of A Scottish Lord for Christmas
Quinn pounded down the inn’s stairs and found the innkeeper checking on the man he’d beaten.
“Is he alive?” he growled.
The old woman shrugged. “Seems to be. Got a thick skull this one. Wot happened?”
Quinn kicked the unconscious man’s foot.
“He attacked my wife. He’s lucky I’m not in a killing mood because it’s my wedding night. I want you to send for the magistrate. I intend to file a report against him and have this man taken into custody for assault. I’ll prepare a statement and bring it down for you later.” He walked over to the bar and reached for the most expensive bottle of Scotch he could find and held it up. “I’m taking this upstairs. Have a lad bring up our luggage and meals.”
“Of course. It will be on the house, my lord.” The woman nodded before glaring at the fallen man by the stairs.
Quinn stepped over the man and went back up to his room. He rapped his knuckles against the stout wood.
“Rowena, ’tis me.” He heard sounds on the other side and then the lock clicked and Rowena’s sweet face was peering up at him, fear still in her eyes. The sight of it made his blood boil. He should have been watching out for her the way he did Blair.
She stepped back as he entered and closed the door. “They’re bringing up our travel cases and supper.” He set the Scotch bottle down and reached for a pair of glasses from a table by the fireplace. Her teeth sank into her bottom lip as she watched him, and that youthful uncertainty tugged at his heart. This was not how she’d hoped her first night as a married woman would go.Poor lamb.
Quinn offered her a glass of Scotch and she took it, eyes wide. “Drink up. The Scotch will warm you while we wait for supper.”
“Thank you,” she murmured around the lip of the glass before she drank. She coughed and he patted her back.
“Second sip goes down smoother, I promise.” He smiled and she returned it, although hers was a little shy.
“I’m so sorry I’ve ruined our night.” She ducked her head, but Quinn curled a finger under her chin and lifted it. They were standing close and her sweet scent teased him.
“It is my duty to look after you. I’ve failed tonight and for that I’m so very sorry.” He leaned down, intending to kiss her forehead, but she reached up and caught the back of his neck with one hand, pulling his head down a few inches as she kissed him.
Petal-soft lips and a warm, exploring little tongue stroked at his mouth. He hadmissedthis, the intimacy between a man and a woman. Rowena’s sweet, sensual exploration lit his body on fire and old hungers he’d repressed for the last year surged back to the surface. Quinn’s body tensed as he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off the floor, intending to carry her back to the bed.
A quick knock on the door had them both stumbling apart. Rowena was smiling again, a little less shy. She covered her lips with her fingertips and wrapped her blanket around her body while he opened the door. A stout young man carried their two travel cases, and a little maid followed him, carrying a tray of soup, bread, and a bit of beef.
“Set them on the bed.” He nodded at the lad and then took the tray from the maid and set it aside. He gave both servants a few coins and then locked the door behind them. When he turned back around, he saw Rowena was already nibbling delicately at the food.
“I hope you don’t mind, I’m simply famished.” Her cheeks pinkened as she realized he was watching her.
“No, please eat. I’ll unpack us and then join you.” He strode to the bed and opened his valise. He’d just lifted out his shirts when she spoke, her voice still tentative.
“Could we ring for someone to come light a fire?” she asked.
Quinn paused in the act of setting his clothes on the bed. A fire? Good God, he’d forgotten. He was so used to the cold that he rarely bothered with a fire until he was freezing, but his little English bride was from a southern part of the country.
“Of course. I’m sorry I didn’t think of it.” He abandoned the clothes and walked over to the fireplace and knelt down beside the stack of dry logs and the box with the tinder and matches.
“We really ought to stop apologizing to one another,” Rowena laughed.
He chuckled as he arranged the logs and tinder and lit the fire. Once he was satisfied with the heating glow of the flames, he returned to unpacking. When he finally settled down in a chair beside Rowena, she was nestled in the blankets, her feet tucked up beneath her, the voluminous folds of her skirt flowing down over the chair to the floor.
“Did you get enough to eat?” he asked between bites of his brown soda bread.
“Hmm…,” she replied in a sleepy murmur. Her head rested against the tall chair back as she gazed at him.
There was a gentleness to her, a sweet hopefulness for all the wonders life could give that made his heart hurt. He’d been like that once, a lad with only love in his heart. And then he’d lost Maura and the light that lit his world had been snuffed out. Blair had been his last bit of hope, until he’d met Rowena. When she’d agreed to marry him, an invisible burden that had weighed him down seemed to vanish. But he couldn’t get close to her, not like he had Maura. There could be no more love; he could not survive losing another woman he loved.
Rowena stood up. “I’ll change for bed,” she murmured, and walked over to the bed to her travel case.
He had every intention of behaving like a gentleman, but, well…he couldn’t help it once he heard the rustle of cloth and the whisper of skin as his wife undressed. Flinging his head around, he snuck a glance. He started at the tempting sight of her corseted body and the flare of her hips as she dropped her skirt in a pool of dark cloth at her feet.
I would not be bad for assisting her…I have the right as husband, after all.
