To Tempt a Scotsman (Somerhart 1)

Her hair whipped into her face when she spun to stomp away, the strands sticking to her lips, then to her tongue when she tried to push them out. A shadow darted behind the closest shed. Another eavesdropper. Lovely. "Alex. Wait."

She managed a few more steps, but where was she going? To her new room in this strange house? What com­fort would that be?

"Alex." His hands settled over her shoulders, light on her bones, tentative. So he should be.

"I'm sorry, wife."

Alex swiped a hand over her face to clear away the strands of hair and possibly a few tears as well. "I'm sorry."

"This is the memory I will have now of my first day in your home."

Weight settled into his hands. She could almost feel him slump. His lips brushed her ear and she wanted to rest her back against him.

"Please. Will you walk with me?"

She hesitated, stupidly grateful that he felt sorry. He took her silence as assent and tugged her to his side, wrap­ping his fingers into her stiff hand.

"Come with me. I'll show you the new house."

Alex wasn't even sure she wanted to see his blasted house now, but she thought it might sound petulant if she said no. Nearly as petulant as she felt.

So, unsure how to react, she followed him, first staring hard at the ground, then glancing furtively about.

He led her to the road and along it where it followed the natural line of the shallow valley, curving 'round the base of Westmore's hill in a slow, wide arc. The hills were rocky and wooded, but a wide swath of green eased out in front of them as the road snuck between two low rises.

The closer they came to the green, the farther the meadow seemed to stretch. A small group of horses came into view, chomping steadily at the dew-wet grass as they wandered.

A minute passed, then five. Leaves crunched beneath their feet. Then she finally saw it. Collin's new home.

His hand fell away when she stopped to take it in. The river-rounded stones of the foundation fit tight together like a puzzle. The gray stone rose up plaster walls to frame the doorway and to form the many chimneys. Oak timbers edged the rest of the long structure, and though it was only two stories, the gray, tiled roof rose so steeply that it seemed as tall as the hill that protected its north side.

It was lovely, large and yet so like a cottage it seemed as cozy as their trysting place in the woods. If she'd stumbled across it, she'd have thought it the longtime residence of a squire and his family if not for the flat black of the glass-less windows and the absence of wood-smoke tripping from the chimneys. In short, it looked like a home.

Tears burned her eyes. "It's so beautiful, Collin. How could you have kept it from me?"

"Do you like it then?"

"Of course I like it. What kind of person would I be not to?"

"I. . ."

Alex waited for something, an explanation or a denial, but he only exhaled—a sigh fraught with regret and frus­tration. His hesitance prompted a wave of tears and, in her weakness, she turned to him, the only one she wanted.

Pressing into his warmth, she dug her fists into his chest even as she leaned her face against his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, folding her tightly to him. "It's nothing to do with what I think of you. It's just. . . This cannot be the kind of home you had imagined for yourself. It would fit into just one wing of Somerhart."

"Why are you so stubborn in this?" Alex huffed, then breathed him in, resisting the urge to put her teeth to his flesh. Anger and need warred within her and both wanted her to bite him. "I never spent a moment of my life imagin­ing a husband or a home. I told you that. I had no dreams of a palace or riches. You are the only man I've ever thought to marry, Collin. Can you not understand that? And whatever you come with, that is what I want."

He smelled of work—horses and hay and man. Her temper helped to rouse other passions, so that her belly jumped when he swept his hands over her back.

"Shall we go inside? It's not close to done, but I'd like to—"

"No."

"Oh. All right. The stables then. You asked to see—" "No. Take me home, Collin."

"Home?" The stark lines of his face grew starker still. "To Somerhart?"