Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Two days later, Edith chose a plush chair closest to the fire to escape the chaos of the McTaggart Christmas Eve festivities.
The mug of chocolate Mr. McTaggart had handed her after she’d declined a glass of the more popular Prince Charlie’s Liqueur had grown lukewarm as she chatted with various members of the clan.
Given her stormy relationship with Mr. McTaggart at the beginning of her stay in Scotland, she wouldn’t have blamed his family for staging an ambush and sending her back to London—all while trussed up like a pig.
Yet they were a forgiving lot, making her feel nothing but welcome at their gathering. Mr. McTaggart’s mother had been especially thoughtful, preparing a mince pie to honor Edith’s English origins.
In truth, everyone at Aldmist Fell was kind, including her employer. The baron and baroness had not hesitated when Mr. McTaggart requested the use of the great hall to accommodate his clan for the celebration.
Edith found herself searching for the burly Scot and discovered him at the center of a group of clansmen, awaiting a refill from the bottle in his hand. He towered over several of the men and caught her staring. With a wink, he said, “I havenae forgotten about you, lass.”
Startled, she looked away, heat flooding her face.
Mr. McTaggart’s laughter echoed in the air.
She sighed. Already, his confidence bordered on arrogance without any encouragement from her. If she were wise, she would pretend she didn’t know him.
Wise she was not, however, and her gaze strayed back to him. He was still watching her, his crooked grin widening as he turned to speak with an older man who had approached him. His waistcoat stretched across his broad back as he leaned down to listen.
Lud! She had no restraint when it came to Fergus McTaggart, which was ironic since she had been harping on him to be less impulsive and reckless almost from the moment they met.
She inhaled slowly to calm her racing pulse, savoring the blend of quintessential holiday scents: spicy pine boughs, freshly baked bread, cinnamon, and ginger.
Edith couldn’t imagine a more perfect setting for a celebration or a more jovial crowd.
Laughter and unfamiliar Gaelic echoed off the arched ceiling, swirling around her.
She didn’t need to speak the language to understand how much Mr. McTaggart’s family loved him, and one another.
His sister dragged a ladder-back chair over and plopped down beside her. Her green eyes sparkled just like Mr. McTaggart’s when she was in high spirits. “We havenae frightened you away, I see. Verra good.”
Edith returned Ismay’s smile. “Not one bit. I come from a large family; I was the youngest of ten, but they are all gone now.”
“Losh! I’m sorry about your kin.” Ismay put her arm around Edith’s shoulders and leaned her head against her. “You may no’ want us, but you’re saddled with us now.”
“I would be a fool to turn down such a generous offer,” Edith said, hugging her in return.
“Fergus said he will be along in a moment.” Ismay ran an assessing gaze over Edith’s hair and dress before flashing a self-satisfied smile. “You look verra bonnie tonight. I believe it is my best work yet.”
As Lady Thorne’s maid, she had generously offered to assist Edith with her toilette for the party.
“Thank you.” Edith held her head high, feeling pretty in Lavinia’s gown.
Ismay grasped her hand and squeezed. “It was my pleasure, Mistress Gallagher. I enjoyed spending time with you, and I’m pleased you are here tonight.”
Her new friend’s words were very kind. Edith had experienced many lonely Christmases in her life, and she would carry this memory with her forever.
Ismay’s mother held up a plain box tied with a red silk ribbon and waved to her daughter. “This one’s for you, lass. C’mon. We’ll be here all night if we dinnae get started.”
Edith pasted on a smile as the family members huddled around the pile of gifts on the table. The happy spark inside her dimmed a little, despite her determination not to be bothered that she couldn’t participate in the gift exchange.
“Here’s one for Ian.” A girl no older than fifteen grabbed a package and thrust it toward a redheaded man across the table. Everyone else was doing the same, calling out names, grabbing gifts, and ripping into them. There were hearty slaps on backs, squeals of joy, and lots of good-natured teasing.
Tiny prickles at the backs of Edith’s eyes caused them to water. The McTaggarts’ warm acceptance of her was beyond anything she had ever experienced, but it was time to go.
Setting her mug on a side table, Edith stood and slipped from the room without alerting anyone. She was halfway up the stairwell when heavy footsteps sounded in the foyer. She turned in time to find Mr. McTaggart reaching the bottom of the stairs, his hands clasped casually behind his back.
“Where are you going, lass? It is time to open gifts.” His eyes glimmered in the scant candlelight cast by the wall sconces.
Edith shrugged, a wave of warmth flooding through her as she thought of the shirt she’d sewn for him.
This afternoon, she realized it was too intimate a gift for an unmarried woman to bestow on a bachelor.
She didn’t know what she had been thinking when she chose the pristine white linen, but wisely, she had left the shirt in her chambers.
“I have no gifts to give, Mr. McTaggart. Besides, this is your family’s time to celebrate. I have a book in my chambers to keep me company.”
She smiled gamely, hoping he wouldn’t detect the slight tremor of her chin. Now she knew… being part of a large family again was her heart’s secret wish, but the McTaggarts were not her people and never would be.
“Dinnae move. I’m coming up.” He staggered over the first step, then stopped to aim a lopsided grin at her. “A sly one, that. Always trying to trip a man.”
He took more care with the next step, his footing steadier. Locking his smoldering green gaze on her, he climbed another. Her stomach quivered as he slowly closed the distance between them and stopped a step below her.
They were face to face. His blazing eyes seemed to shout for her to run, even as his tousled brown hair lent him an air of harmlessness. Fergus McTaggart was far from safe. When he was close, she was in danger of wanting something she couldn’t have. His heart.
He weaved toward her; his body heat called to her, but she gripped the railing behind her to hold her ground. “Have you no’ heard it is better to receive than to give, lass?” The sweet smell of whisky on his breath teased her senses.
“For the love of St. Peter,” she grumbled. “You’ve been tossing back that royal liqueur all evening, and now you don’t even know what you’re saying. Off to bed with you before you take a tumble down the stairs.”
His large palm spanned her waist, his touch searing. “Any tumbling in my future willna be down the stairs, Eddi.”
She rested her hands on his chest, pretending his nearness didn’t send her heart into a rampage. “N-no one has ever called me Eddi. I’ll thank you to address me properly.”
“Aye, Mistress Gallagher.” He leaned toward her, his lips almost brushing hers.
Her breath caught, and her fingers curled into the fabric of his white shirt.
Closing her eyes, she licked her lips in anticipation of his kiss, but his mouth only hovered above hers. “You didnae have to go,” he murmured.
She blinked, confused that he was capable of speaking when all she could focus on was the fullness of his mouth. “That—” She cleared her throat. “That is very kind, but Christmas is a family affair, and I’m not family.”
He drew back with a slight frown.
She suppressed an unladylike growl. If he didn’t kiss her soon, she might scream.
“I mean you dinnae have to go back to London, lass. You could stay here.”
“And do what?”
“Become my wife. We’ll have a few wee bairns and grow old together.”
She scoffed, an ache throbbing in her chest. At thirty, she was well beyond her prime, and the blasted Scot knew it. He wanted sons and daughters she couldn’t promise him. This time, she listened to her good sense and pushed against his solid chest to hold him at arm’s length.
“Have children, indeed. Keep dreaming, Mr. McTaggart.”
His thick brows lowered over his eyes. “You seem to like children well enough, so it must be me you cannot tolerate.”
“It’s your teasing I cannot tolerate. Now go back to your family. It’s Christmas, for pity’s sake.”
The muscles in his jaw shifted, and his eyes narrowed.
“Not until you receive your Christmas present.” He covered her hand, trapping it against his chest when she tried to walk away.
Before she could ask what he was doing, he broke into song.
“Ae fon’ keess, and then we seva! Ae fareweell, and then foreva! ”
“You are foxed, aren’t you? I knew it. All this—” She jerked her hand free and waved it in the air for emphasis. “The song, the ridiculous offer of marriage. You are three sheets to the wind.”
“I am not! What makes you think I’m foxed?”
“Because I couldn’t understand a word you just sang.”
He tossed his head back and let out a hearty laugh. “Dinnae blame me, lass. ’Tis Robbie Burns who deserves your ire. I didnae compose ‘Ae Fond Kiss.’”
“Ae? What is ae? Is that even a word?”
“It means one. One fond kiss, Eddi.” He retrieved a twig of mistletoe from behind his back and waved it overhead. “But I dinnae want to say farewell after one kiss. I’ll want another and another and another. Every day for the rest of our lives.”
Before Edith could tell him what to do with his drunken proposal and Christmas serenade, he tugged her into his arms, looking down at her, waiting.
She stared back, her lips parted and breath quickening.
When he didn’t move, she draped her arms around his neck, rising onto her toes.
His lips came down on hers, hot and slightly sweet from the spirits he’d imbibed.
A tingling haze invaded her mind, as if she were drunk too.
His mouth gently nipped at hers. She moaned softly and collapsed against him, his fingers splayed on her back, holding her secure.
With the tip of his tongue, he teased her lips.
She sighed, allowing him access. His tongue made a slow sweep of her mouth, a loving caress that ignited an ache within her.
She’d never been kissed like this, deliberately, skillfully. His kiss was meant to seduce, to stoke her desire. There was no clumsy groping or rush to get her between the sheets, which only intensified her longing for him.
He broke the kiss but didn’t release her. His mouth nibbled a trail across her cheek to her ear.
“Eddi, mo chridhe,” he whispered.
Though she couldn’t understand his native language, the sound of it was lovely, whatever it meant. She slid her hands to his chest, fingers following the gentle slope of his muscles.
If she’d been allowed to touch him like this several days earlier, she wouldn’t have needed to guess at his measurements. She was uncertain the shirt she’d sewn for him would fit.
“Come with me.”
She eased from his embrace and captured his hand, entwining their fingers. He allowed her to draw him up the stairs, following her down the corridor. As they reached her bedchamber door, he stopped.
“No, lass. I cannae enter your chambers.”
She frowned. “I am not inviting you into my bed. I have something to give you.”
He pulled his hand free and crossed his arms. “I willnae come inside your room. Whatever you have to give me can wait until you become a McTaggart.”
She crossed her arms, mirroring his stance.
Did he truly expect her to believe he wanted to marry her?
A woman of thirty, and worse, English? Jimmy Gibb might have convinced her that his intentions were honorable, but she was no longer that na?ve young woman.
And Fergus McTaggart was drunk. He would regret his words come morning.
His jaw firmed. “Dinnae look at me with contempt. I’ll take you as my wife or no’ at all.”
She squared her shoulders, standing toe to toe with him. Despite his towering presence, he didn’t intimidate her. She’d seen how gentle he was with Gracie, how tender he could be with her.
Her eyes misted, and her heart swelled with a longing she could barely contain. She could accept his proposal and hold him to his promise come morning.
He would marry her because he was an honorable man. Yet the thought of forcing him to keep a promise made in his impaired state left a bitter taste in her mouth. Tomorrow, he would realize he’d acted rashly—if he even remembered anything about the night.
“If you want to marry me, Fergus McTaggart, ask me when you have your senses about you.”
She opened her chamber door and darted inside before she could change her mind.
She would have a willing groom or none at all.