Stranded With The Scottish Earl

“When?” She was sure she’d remember if he had. She intended to remember every detail of the last two days until her dying breath.

The faint glint in his eyes, visible even through the gloom, hinted at teasing. “I’m devastated that you’ve forgotten so fast, lassie.”

“Tell me,” she said, fighting the urge to fling herself against him and beg him not to go, scandal be hanged.

“Why, it means ‘my heart,’ and you already know that’s true.”

“Oh.” Tears misted her vision. She’d become disgustingly weepy since she’d met Lord Lyle.

“I’ll have to teach you the Gaelic, if you’re going to be a proper Scotswoman.”

She strove to match his lightness. “I’m not sure how useful it will be. I can’t run around calling your crofters my heart.”

“It will be devilish useful when you talk to the laird, my darling.”

She tried to smile, but her face crumpled. “I wish you didn’t have to leave.”

Compassion softened his features, and he released the reins to tug her against his chest. “I wish I didn’t, too. But for the sake of your good name, I must.”

“How can it be so hard to let you go when we only just met?” Charlotte choked out against the steady thump of his heart, twining her arms around his waist and pressing close as if nearness might make him stay. Saraband’s bit clinked as the horse began to nose at the muddy grass.

“Och, it’s a glorious mystery,” he murmured. “Now, kiss me goodbye, before I forget all sense and rush you down this hill and back to bed.”

Their kiss was long and poignant, but vivid with the joy of love found and returned. It held echoes of the splendors of the night just passed.

Charlotte felt Ewan’s regret as he raised his head. “Until tomorrow, bonny lassie.”

“I love you.”

“And I love you.”

He bent for another kiss, then swung himself onto Saraband’s back. The horse, restless after two days in the stable, danced under his weight, but settled after Ewan’s Gaelic command.

He caught up the reins. “Prepare yourself for a quick wedding, my sweet Charlotte.”

“I will.” She came up to the horse and he leaned down to kiss her again. Deeply, and with all the longing that vibrated between them.

He caught her face in one hand and angled it toward him. “Go, or I won’t be responsible for the consequences.”

“Travel safely,” she whispered, placing her hand over his. Even through the fine leather of his gloves, she felt the warmth of the contact.

“When I come back, we’ll never be parted again.”

He straightened in the saddle and set his jaw. She knew he had to go. Better by far if the gossiping world didn’t know they’d been together during the flood.

But dear heaven, how she hated to see him ride away when she’d only just found him. She’d been right to say love made you cry. Tears trickled down her cheeks as she stood in the woods long after Saraband’s hoof beats faded to nothing.

Bill emerged from the trees to sit beside her. He gave a sad whine.

“I know.” Charlotte bent to scratch behind his ears. “We don’t want him to go, do we? But he’ll be back soon. I promise.”

She straightened. There was no time to dilly-dally, yearning after Ewan. She and Bill set off down the path at a run.

If the crossing over the brook was clear, the way from the village would soon be open. She needed to hide all trace of Ewan’s presence, which meant changing the sheets in both bedrooms and tidying away the remains of their very late supper from the kitchen.

It was strange, but despite a night of the wildest debauchery, she felt completely pure this morning. Love had blessed what she and Ewan had done. But she knew the world would be avid to discover Charlotte Warren’s fall—and talk about it.

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