The Scot is Hers by Eliza Knight

16

Awhite curling mist crawled along the moors as Alec made his way on horseback to the abbey with Lorne, Euan and Malcolm riding beside him.

Before leaving, he’d checked to see that Giselle was still abed, lest they arrived to discover another garden party delaying the inevitable. She’d been in a sound slumber, her cheeks pink from sleep, and her blonde curls splayed out enticingly on the pillow. It had been the hardest thing he’d ever done not to lean down and kiss her. To rouse her and tell her goodbye. To not crawl into the bed beside her and send a message to Sir Joshua Keith that he’d not be coming.

Alec had laid a single rose upon the nightstand, along with a book from his library for her to read, not that him leaving her a gift would make her any less angry when she finally arose to find he’d left.

The day before, he’d promised he’d wake her. But to bring her along with him would be madness—and she wouldn’t stay behind; he knew that much. Besides, he didn’t want her to see what happened between him and Keith, even if her imagination could give her all the images she needed. He feared the event would be too traumatic, especially if it didn’t go the way he wanted.

They arrived at the abbey at nearly the same time as his lifelong enemy. Keith was glowering in his usual fashion, his clothes rumpled, which was not normal at all. Seemed the idea of coming today had ruffled his feathers, too. Good. Perhaps he’d changed his mind or would be willing to talk about it.

The doctor too had already arrived, looking a wee bit blearier-eyed than Alec appreciated in a man who was supposed to save their lives.

“Keith,” Alec said, not curbing the disgust in his voice.

“Errol.”

The men climbed from their horses, the ground soft beneath their feet. Joshua had brought along his second, the same man Alec had not recognized from before.

“Who’s your second?” he asked.

“This is Almsley. He’s my horseman.”

Ah, so the mysterious breeder he’d met with the day before. Another testament to the fact that Joshua Keith had never been able to keep any friends. The man must have been promised a hefty amount of coin to stand in as second to a bastard he barely knew. And also a clue that he’d changed the time to today on purpose, perhaps to give himself another day to live.

“If ye’re ready, let’s get this over with,” Alec said, hoping that would lead Keith into declining if he wanted. “I’ve got a breakfast to attend to.”

“Ye should have canceled it,” Keith spat with all the anger his venomous eyes guaranteed.

Alec grunted in reply. They both carried their pistol boxes to the center so their seconds could inspect them, making sure they were up to snuff and nothing awry. Alec had used his plenty of times in target practice with his friends, but also on the field of battle. The weapon had saved his life more than once, and if it came to it today, he prayed it did the same now too.

As Alec’s second, Euan looked over Alec’s pistol first, and then Joshua’s, nodding in satisfaction. There’d been a split second where he wished his friend would have found fault with one or the other, so Alec could call the whole thing off. His stomach had started to twist itself into knots, and all he could imagine was Giselle waking at that moment to realize he’d left without allowing her to say goodbye, even though he’d been able to do so silently. Keith’s second checked the pistols himself, nodding when he finished.

“Ye may proceed,” Euan said.

“Thank ye for everything,” Alec said to his friends.

He passed Lorne two sealed envelopes. One for his mother and one for Giselle, should he not make it.

“Are ye certain ye want to do this?”

“Aye.” He had no choice. He had to protect Giselle’s honor and his own. This needed to end. Today.

Alec lifted his pistol from the box and marched to the place he and his friends had established would be the most advantageous spot when they’d checked the day the first scheduled duel was thwarted.

Joshua Keith took his pistol from his box and walked toward Alec.

Alec stared hard at Joshua as he approached, seeing the cruelty buried beneath the depths of his eyes. “I’ll give ye one more chance to make this right,” Alec offered. “Admit what ye did in battle, and swear to apologize to my future wife, and we can end this now. Neither of us needs to die today.”

Keith scoffed. “Ye’re an arsehole if ye think I’ll be admitting to any such thing. Do ye honestly think a woman like that would want to marry an ugly creature like ye? I’ll be pissing on your grave before the day is through.”

Alec decided not to comment further with the small-brained maggot, as it would go nowhere. Best to get on with it and pray he was home by breakfast.

He turned his back, waiting to feel the press of Joshua’s spine to his. The moment they touched, Lorne shouted, “Ten paces.”

Alec walked—sturdy on his feet, his hand still and firm on the pistol—until he was ten paces away. He drew in a long, steadying breath. Everyone around them quiet, likely not breathing either. There was a slight breeze over the moors, and one of the horses snorted.

Alec focused on his breathing and turned.

* * *

Giselle wokewith a start when the morning sun filtered through her bedroom window, indicating it was well past dawn. At first, she stretched, the warmth of the sunlight on her skin and the silken sheets beneath her welcome. She was still at Slains.

Oh, my goodness. She was still at Slains—and it was past dawn.

She threw back the covers with such force they hit the unlit candle on her nightstand, sending it flying, along with a red rose and a book.

She picked up the rose, pressing her nose to the soft petals and inhaling. Only one person could have been there to give her the rose and a book.

Alec.He’d come into her room to say goodbye, but then decided not to wake her.

She picked up the novel from the floor. Romeo and Juliet by Shakespeare. A tragic love story.

“Bloody hell,” she cursed under her breath, glad her mother was not there to hear her language.

Fear and panic raced through her veins as she leapt from the bed, only to feel her ankle protest at the quick, harsh movement of hitting the hard floor. But there was no time to worry about the pain.

She yanked off her nightgown, her arms getting stuck in the sleeves, and she groaned, deciding she would have to rip the fabric to be freed when it finally untangled itself. She wrenched open her wardrobe and grabbed the first gown she could find, tugging on the dress she’d worn the day before and not caring that someone might notice.

After knotting her hair up quickly with a ribbon, she then pulled on her riding boots, which did not in the least match her day dress, but she didn’t care. She didn’t bother to lace them all the way. There was no time. She had to find Alec, wherever he was. Her ensemble was absurd and would cause ridicule, she was certain, but there was no time to worry. Her heart was thudding in her chest, and she felt close to fainting, having to remind herself to breathe. She needed to get to the moors. To the abbey to find out what happened. And she prayed she wasn’t too late, even though she was certain to be. Pistols at dawn was not pistols after sunrise.

Panicked voices came from the parlor, and when Giselle rounded the corner, she found Lady Errol and Jaime standing together. They both looked at Giselle with stricken eyes, faces pale.

“What’s happened?” Giselle felt dizzy, pressing her hand to her stomach. Her vision started to blur, and she swayed on her feet. She grabbed onto the back of the closest chair to keep herself from falling over.

No one spoke, only staring at her as if they’d seen a ghost. Or maybe they needed to tell her about one.

“Tell me what’s happened!”

* * *

Everything transpired in slow motion.

Alec caught Keith in his sights. Raised his arm, which felt heavy, sluggish. He pointed his pistol, taking aim for Joshua’s shoulder. A shot that would be punishing but not lethal. After all, he wasn’t a murderer.

There was a loud crack that cut through the fog of his brain, then smoke from Joshua’s gun. A spray of blood at Joshua’s face. Cursing from the men and the doctor. And then, Sir Joshua Keith was falling backward.

But Alec had not pulled the trigger. He looked down at his gun to see if he’d been mistaken, but there was no smoke from the barrel; he’d barely even touched the trigger. There was no pain in his body. No bullet had pierced his skin. Nothing made any sense.

Joshua had fired early.

“What the bloody hell?” Alec lowered his pistol and ran forward as the rest of the men knelt by Joshua’s fallen side, save for the doctor who was rummaging in his medical bag.

Joshua’s face had a gaping hole in the center where his nose used to be. Blood covered his face, making it hard to tell what was left of it.

Alec let out a curse and dropped his pistol at his feet. “I never fired my gun. What the hell happened?”

“His gun must have backfired,” Malcolm said.

Almsley knelt on the other side, staring in horror at what used to be Sir Joshua Keith’s face, now horribly disfigured by some terrible accident.

“How could it have backfired?” Alec asked incredulously, feeling quite in shock. He dropped to his knees. Not because he wanted to get closer, but because his legs couldn’t hold him up anymore.

Everyone shook their heads, just as puzzled as he was.

“Make way, make way,” the doctor huffed, shoving them aside so he could get a view.

He pressed his fingers to Joshua’s neck, feeling for a pulse. Seeming to find none, he bent his head over the mangled mess to feel for breath. Again, nothing.

“He’s dead.” The doctor pinned an accusatory stare at Alec, who raised his hands into the air.

“I never fired my gun. Look at it.”

Joshua Keith’s second took Alec’s pistol, opening the cylinder to see that it still contained all of the bullets within. “He’s telling the truth. Every bullet is accounted for. He did no’ fire. As Malcolm said, it must have backfired.”

“Neither of ye saw anything wrong when ye checked his pistol?”

Both Euan and Almsley shook their heads, and Euan said, “Everything was satisfactory. A terrible misfortune.”

“Terrible, indeed.” The doctor placed a handkerchief over what was left of Sir Joshua Keith’s face.

* * *

Alec’s limbsfelt heavy as he entered the grand foyer of his castle. The rivalry that only seemed to worsen with time was at an end, but the cost had been substantial. Though he’d not pulled the trigger, he still felt at fault. He should have tried harder. His friends, even Keith’s associate, had all told him there was nothing he could have done. He’d given Joshua plenty of chances to change his mind, and he’d not done it. He’d insulted him, threatened to murder him in his own house.

The doctor had murmured about it being justice served and then marched off with his bag of coin.

Alec hesitated outside the parlor, knowing that the rest of their guests would be inside, worrying over what happened on the moors—especially Giselle.

“I can no’ and will no’ marry him! He’s a beast!” Giselle’s voice cut through his sluggish brain and stabbed him right in the chest.

My God, the timing of him overhearing such an outburst. Alec pressed his hand to his chest, feeling as if he’d been shot, the ache was so potent. Her words had been filled with anger, vitriol. Incredibly bitter.

She didn’t want to marry him. This had all been a ruse. And now he wished Keith’s gun had not backfired but instead hit its mark. He stumbled back a step, trying to find the balance that seemed to elude him more and more where Giselle was concerned.

The door to the parlor burst open then, and he came face to face with her. She looked as crestfallen as he felt. Alec started to turn away, but she grabbed him by the hand.

“Ye’re alive.” Her voice sounded completely different. The Giselle he knew, but brighter. Was this yet another act?

Alec shook his arm from her grasp. “I release ye,” he said, his words sounded bitter and hurt, the opposite of what he wanted to show her. He wanted to be strong, to pretend her words hadn’t wounded him. To pretend that nothing that had happened between them mattered. But it did. All of it fucking mattered.

“What? Release me?” Giselle shook her head, having the audacity to sound flummoxed. “What are ye talking about?”

Alec held up his hands as if to ward off whatever spell she’d been able to cast over him and he took a step back. “I heard what ye said in there, and I’ll no’ make ye wed a beast. I’m no’ a monster, even if I look like one.”

Giselle looked thoroughly confused, hurt even. Her hand fluttered toward her neck, where her skin flushed. “Alec, ye misunderstood.”

“I misunderstood nothing. My ears work fine.” He marched toward his library, intent on drowning his sorrows in the decanter of whisky he had there. Probably would ask for a refill as well.

She trailed him. The clomp of her riding boots clipped against the wood floor behind him.

Again she tried to touch him, but he kept out of her reach, pushing through the doors of his library, and trying to close them behind him.

“Do no’ follow me,” he said, without bothering to look behind him.

She ignored him, coming inside and shutting the door behind her, with anyone who’d witnessed their exchange seeing that too.

“Stop right there, Lord Errol.”

Alec did stop at the tone of her voice. He’d never heard it before, and it made him feel oddly young. Turning slowly around, he took in her rigid stance, her hands at her hips.

“Ye’re incredibly stubborn and hardheaded,” she said.

“And ye’re verra observant.”

“Aye, and ye’re clearly no’.”

Alec narrowed his eyes but said nothing. He crossed his arms over his chest and glowered down at her in a way that would have had one of his subordinates melting into the carpet.

“As I said before: ye misunderstood me. Could ye no’ see my relief at finding ye alive? Ye left without saying goodbye. I feared never to see ye again. My mother told me my engagement to Sir Joshua Keith would stand if he returned, and ye did no’. That is what ye heard me talking about. No’ ye, ye lackwit.”

Alec raised a brow at the insult but acknowledged that she did appear to be telling the truth. And he felt immediately contrite for his behavior. His arms fell from where he’d crossed them, and the tension in his body eased, but not all the way. He was fairly certain after the events on the moors, he’d be stiff for weeks, months even.

Her hands lowered from her hips, and her features softened. “What happened?”

Alec blew out a harsh breath and approached the sideboard, pouring himself a dram of whisky and expecting her to ask if it were necessary so early in the morning as his mother would, but Giselle remained silent, unjudging.

“His weapon backfired. He shot himself in the face.” He slugged back the whisky and set the cup down on the sideboard.

Giselle was quiet long enough that he was able to pour and drink another glass.

“Is he…” She didn’t finish the question.

Alec nodded. “Dead.”

“Oh.” Giselle closed the distance between them, wrapping her arms around his waist and laying her head against his chest. “I’m so sorry. That must have been awful.”

Alec let out a shuddering breath, the emotions within him fighting for power. But having her there, the comfort she provided, seemed to anchor him in reality. To give him strength. He enfolded her against him, tightening his hold as he realized how much he’d almost lost by going to that field. Joshua had fired early, and the move had failed. Cost him his life. But Alec also was aware that if the gun had not fired, his enemy meant to kill him.

“I tried to negotiate with him. Offered him a way out several times, in fact,” Alec said with a shake of his head. “He wanted no part.”

“Ye did what ye could, and Fate took care of the rest.”

Was it Fate that a man should die by his own hand? Alec couldn’t decide on an answer, only that he was glad he wasn’t dead.

“It was ye or him, and he wanted to make sure it was ye. Where did ye aim your weapon, Alec?” She leaned back a little, gazing into his eyes.

“His shoulder.”

“Ye see? Ye did no’ aim to kill him. Can ye say the same for where Sir Joshua aimed?”

Alec shook his head, picturing turning around, raising his weapon, taking sight. He was fairly certain Keith’s weapon was pointed at him. Knew for certain he fired before Alec had even thought to put his finger on the trigger. “I can no’ say, but he made it clear his aim would be lethal.”

“And still, ye aimed for his shoulder.”

Alec nodded, “Mhmm.”

“His death is tragic, aye,” she soothed, “but ye offered mercy in the end to a man who would never have given ye the same courtesy. Do no’ allow him to have power over ye even in death.”

Her words struck him with their honesty and the sense they made. He was giving Keith too much power over him. A guilt that would slowly eat away at him when he’d not even been the man to shoot him.

Alec nodded, pressing his forehead to hers. “Thank ye, lass.” He closed his eyes, breathing in her scent. “I’m sorry I did no’ wake ye.”

“There’s no need to apologize. ’Tis over, and we’ll never be in this situation again, aye? No more dueling?”

He smiled softly, sadly almost, except being here in her arms gave him the warmth and comfort he needed. “No more dueling.”

“Also, we need to talk about the book choice ye left on the nightstand. Romeo and Juliet, really? A tragedy about star-crossed lovers who kill themselves?” Giselle chuckled.

“I admit that was a poor choice. But asking ye to be my wife, that was no’. I love ye, Giselle. With all my heart.” He thought admitting the truth to her would be terrifying. But it wasn’t. If anything, it made him feel lighter, happier.

“I love ye, too, my Beast of Errol.”

Alec grinned. “I used to think ye meant to be offensive with that.”

“I never did.” She smiled up at him and touched the scar on his face. “Ye’re my beastie.”

He kissed her then, showing her how much of a wild, feral beast he could be.

* * *

Alec’s kiss was ardent,demanding, and everything Giselle needed and wanted at that moment. The fear she’d felt before he’d walked through the doors of Slains—right before she herself had been ready to rush out—flooded into relief that now allowed itself out of her body in trembling waves.

She clung to him, unable to let go, unable to stand on her own if she tried.

He’d not been killed. Their future together was assured.

And he’d said he loved her. The moment the words had left him, she’d been powerless to hold back her own. She loved him so much. More than even mere words could express. When she thought she’d have to live her life without him, it had been a torment to draw breath.

Alec lifted her in the air, walking back until her spine hit the books on the shelves. His lips abandoned hers to kiss her neck, her collarbone, feathering down her chest to the swells of her breasts.

He was frantic almost in his touches, his kisses. Needing and wanting to be everywhere at once, and she felt the same way. He was alive, and this life, their future, needed to be celebrated. She ran her hands in his hair, over the muscles bunching in his back, lower to his arse—which she’d not been bold enough to grip before, and now she did—needing him closer, and closer still, until she felt he might be a part of her body.

“I do no’ know how I got so lucky to have ye as mine,” he said, gently capturing a nipple he’d freed between his teeth and teasing it with his tongue. “But I am a damned happy man.”

“We were both searching,” she said. “For something. Someone to complete us.”

“God, I love ye.” His mouth crashed against hers at the same time a fist crashed against the library door.

“’Tis no’ locked,” she whispered. “Should we escape?”

Alec grinned down at her, the mischief in his eyes mirroring her own heart. What irony that she’d escaped and found him once, and now they would escape again—together.

“Aye. This way.” He gripped her hand, and she shoved her breasts back into her bodice.

They went up the tight circular stair to the library's second level as the pounding on the door continued. She was fairly certain she heard her father’s voice on the other side, followed by her mother’s, demanding to be given entry.

Just as they went through the secret entrance behind the hearth, she heard the door to the library burst open and the sputtering surprise of her father at finding the space empty.

“I could have sworn they went in here,” he said.

“Ye must have seen wrong,” her mother answered, sounding a wee bit condescending.

“Aye, they must have gone somewhere else,” replied the dowager countess, a hint of something mischievous in her tone.

Alec’s mother knew precisely where they’d gone. But she didn’t give them up, and Giselle didn’t wait to hear what happened next.