Chapter Seventeen
In which Scarlett gets blootered with the cousins.
Wallace…
I have a fifth thing to add to my list of poor life choices: trusting my eejit cousins Kai and Logan to look after Scarlett.
Logan, I expect to be a complete and utter walloper. I thought that throwing Kai, “the responsible one” into the mix would make it work while I did some research about who’s looking for Scarlett.
That I was also keeping away from the luscious curves of my wife was a given.
It’s almost dawn as I walk up the stone steps to the suite, and I can hear the high, clear laughter of my wife from here. Almost as if the suite’s door is open.
Ach, the door is so open that it’s off the hinges and propped drunkenly against the wall. Leaning against the splintered doorway, I watch Scarlett pull the leg of my black joggers up to her knee..
“So, if I flash my shin, just the skin between my ankle and my knee and you happen to see it, Wallace has permission to punch you in the throat?” She’s almost hiccupping, she’s laughing so hard.
“Ye dinnae get it, woman! It’s a code.” Kai sounds exhausted, as if they’ve been at this for a while.
“What about my forearm, is my forearm safe?” She waves her arm, splashing a little champagne on the floor. Her housekeeping instincts must have drowned under the amount she’s consumed because she dinnae seem to notice.
“I’ll let the forearm sighting go,” I step into the room. “Who’s getting a broken nose for kicking down the door?”
Logan’s head pops up over the back of the armchair like a ground squirrel. “Hey now, cousin, I thought your lass was in danger. I was in emergency mode. She was screaming something fierce.”
“Do ye think maybe she shrieked because you’re pounding on the door like you’re the Polis at a trap house?” Kai asks tiredly.
“Hey, Wallace!” My wife stands and makes her way to me, her gait a wee bit unsteady. For a moment, I think she’s going up on tiptoe to kiss me, instead, she leans in and whispers, “Your cousins are highly unstable but really fun, do you know that?”
“I do,” I whisper back. “How many bottles have ye been through, wife?”
“Oh…” she frowns, and it’s fecking adorable. “I’m pretty sure it’s only two.”
“Well, that’s good.” I kiss the top of her head lightly, loving the feel of the silk of her hair against my lips. “Tomorrow morning, well, later this morning will be lesson enough for ye.”
Her arm sweeps out widely toward my amused - and not at all repentant - cousins. “We had dinner!” The table is littered with the rubble of ten different meals, empty breadbaskets, half-eaten cakes… and one untouched plate of haggis.
“We were talking about your code,” she continues, “which seems like total overkill. I mean, I had to change into your pants and a sweater so they’d stop flinching away from me like I was infested with lice.”
Guiding her unsteady arse back to the couch, I shove Logan over and sit next to her. “It’s respect, Luaith Bheag. We MacTavishes are a possessive lot. We dinnae want anyone gawkin’ at our women.”
“Yeah, they showed me pictures of their wives,” she chuckles, leaning against me drunkenly. “Oh my god, Luna and Arabella? They’re both gorgeous! Hell, I’d gawk at them.”
“It wasn’t always like that,” Logan says, helping himself to another glass of scotch. “Your husband, he got all crabbit one day when he found out I’d been grafting on a lass he’d been seeing.” He raises his hands in protest. “I dinnae know, I swear!”
“So, what happened?” Scarlett’s cheeks are flushed and that smile hasn’t left her face.
“They decided the logical thing would be to have a ‘friendly’ round in the ring,” Kai says, rolling his eyes.
“How’d that go?” she asks.
Logan chuckles into his glass. “Yer husband here. He whaled the feck out of me. He beat me, with me. I think he ripped off my arm at one point and pounded me over the head with it.”
Scarlett’s laughing so hard that I’m concerned she’s going to choke.
“Aye, ye onion-eyed flapdragon and ye deserved it!” I say, trying to hold back a laugh.
“Ye leather-faced piss jar, ye overreacted!” Logan cries.
“Ach, feck. Here we go.” Kai rubs his eyes.
“Ye gerbil-headed spunktrumpet, it’s a miracle no one whaled on ye before that,” I say.
Logan bristles. “Ye knuckled-brained fart lozenge!”
Scarlett’s howling now, holding her stomach.
“Such a cock juggling thundercunt, ye were just jealous because she fancied me,” I say haughtily.
“Stop!” Scarlett wheezes, “I’m cramping! I’m cramping!”
“Can I add that this was twelve years ago?” Kai says. “This shite keeps coming back up, though the quality of the insults has improved.”
“Please,” Scarlett’s face is nearly the color of her hair. “I think my spleen just exploded. You have to stop.”
She’s spared further potential internal injury by the arrival of two of my men, one carrying a tool kit.
“Hey, boss,” he says, eyeing the sad remains of the door frame. “This is looking like Logan’s handiwork, then?”
“I was in protection mode,” Logan insists, shrugging into his jacket.
“Thank you both for keeping me safe,” Scarlett says, trying to keep a straight face.
“You’re welcome,” Kai smiles at her kindly. “Welcome to the family.”
“Goodnight, Mrs. MacTavish,” Logan calls out as he heads down the stairs. “And goodnight to your husband, the degenerate corned beef faced syrup wearing wankstain!”
Kai lets out the sigh of a man who has long suffered and my eejit cousins take their leave.
As my men start in on the door, I pick up Scarlett, carrying her into the bedroom.
“I can walk, you know.” She wraps her arms around my neck, all the same.
“I’d rather ye not pitch headfirst into the fireplace.” Setting her down, I get a water bottle from the little fridge by the window and two pain relievers from the med kit in my bag. “Take these now, it’ll save ye some suffering when ye wake up.”
She’s just drunk enough to take the pills without complaint, finishing half the bottle before trying to put it on the bedside table. “There’s two of these stupid tables,” she says crossly. “Which one am I supposed to use?”
Plucking it from her hand, I set it down within reach. “Time for bed.”
“Aren’t you gonna light the fireplace first?” Scarlett smiles at me slyly. “It’s so chilly in here, isn’t it?”
I walk over, restacking the wood properly and holding her gaze, I snap my fingers. A blaze leaps up eagerly and I warm my hands for a moment before setting the fire screen and returning to her.
“You’re dozing off, lass, right here on your feet.” Pulling back the thick comforter, I help her climb onto the mattress, fluffing her pillow.
“That’s so nice,” she smiles, already half asleep. “No one’s tucked me into bed since my mom died.”
“How old were ye?” I sit next to her, smoothing the hair back from her flushed face.
“Ten,” she murmurs drowsily. “Thank you.”
My wife takes my hand and rolls over, wrapping her arms around it like it’s a teddy bear and is deep in drunken slumber in seconds.
With a sigh, I kick off my boots and shove a pillow behind my back, feeling the warmth of her curled along my side, and my hand in a death grip, watching the sky slowly lighten to dawn.
The Polis at a trap house - Scottish slang for the cops reading a drug house.
Gawkin’ - Scottish slang for ogling or staring lustfully.
Crabbit - Scottish slang for cranky or ill-tempered.
Grafting - Scottish slang for aggressively flirting.
Blootered - Scottish slang for getting drunk.