Bound to a Scot (Preview)
Chapter One
Thunder roared and flashes of lightning lit up the heavens above. The fury of the storm had the ship bucking and rolling beneath her, making Emmeline groan. She wrapped her arms around her midsection and held herself tight, fighting off the waves of nausea that broke over her as powerfully as the waves she’d seen breaking over the bow of the ship. Her stomach lurched and she reached for the bucket that had been set beside her bed, but as she held it beneath her face, the moment of nausea passed.
Emmeline hated being on the water. Hated being on a ship. And she hated storms whilst being on board a ship most of all. Everything about her voyage terrified her. The only reason she was even in that position was because she’d gone to visit her sister and there was no overland route. If there had been, she would have happily taken it, no matter how long it took. Even a month on land in a stuffy, hard, uncomfortable wagon was far preferrable to traveling on water.
“Bleedin’ hell, I need tae get off this ship,” she groaned.
As she set the bucket down, a knock sounded on her cabin door. She quickly smoothed out her dress and patted down her hair, doing her best to compose herself. Emmeline cleared her throat and sat up straighter on the bunk.
“Come,” she called, her voice weaker than she’d intended.
The door opened and Titus, one of the men her husband had sent to watch over her on her trip stepped into her cabin. He was tall, with dark hair, darker eyes, and a smooth, pale complexion. Broad through the shoulders and chest, she knew Titus was skilled with a blade. But Emmeline didn’t make the mistake of thinking he was there to actually protect her. He was there to keep her from running off. Titus was loyal to Laird Macfie above all else.
It was wasted effort. She wouldn’t have run off anyway. Not without Cecilia, her fifteen-year-old stepdaughter, who was the only good thing to come out of her forced marriage to the cold, cruel man who called himself her husband. Laird Burchard Macfie made no attempt to hide his disdain for her. He took Emmeline’s inability to produce a male heir as her personal failing. More than that, he took it as a personal affront and used it to make her feel like she was less than nothing.
“Me lady,” he said with a curt bow. “We have arrived in Colonsay—”
“Tis wonderful news,” she interrupted. “I’m about ready tae get home.”
She wasn’t ready to go home. Not really. But going to the well-appointed dungeon she lived in was better than staying on board the ship a moment longer.
“Unfortunately, me lady, we willnae be travelin’ tae Castle Macfie tonight—”
“What?” Emmeline snapped. “And why nae?”
“The weather is too bad. Ye may have been hearin’ the thunder outside?” he replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
Emmeline glared at him through eyes that had been narrowed to slits. “I am the Lady Macfie and I willnae be spoken tae that way by the likes of ye.”
Titus’ face darkened and the smarmy smile on his lips faded. He looked down at the deck and cleared his throat then raised his head again.
“Me apologies, me lady. I meant nay offense,” he said.
Emmeline said nothing but continued to glower at him. She had never liked the man. Not from the start. She’d never liked the way he looked at her, nor the way he spoke to her. But it was the way his eyes roamed her body with such familiarity that offended her the most. It made her skin crawl, for she knew the sort of impure, disgusting thoughts that rattled through his mind. She could see it in his eyes.
She had asked Burchard to stop having him shadow her. She’d told him she didn’t feel comfortable in the man’s presence, but nothing changed. It didn’t take Emmeline long to realize he kept Titus on her detail simply because he enjoyed her discomfort, making her miserable. And part of her thought her husband wouldn’t have cared if Titus forced himself upon her.
“The storm is makin’ the roads impassable, me lady. ‘Tis too dangerous.”
“Aye, and I’m sure me husband would be heartbroken if somethin’ were tae happen tae me.”
Titus didn’t say anything to that. Not that there was much he could say, but Emmeline figured it was because he knew and shared her husband’s low opinion of her.
“I willnae stay aboard this bleedin’ ship a minute longer than I have tae,” she said. “I’d rather take me chances on the road.”
“We’ve secured rooms at an inn in town, me lady.”
“Fine. Then have me things brought there. Oversee it yerself.”
“Apologies, me lady, the laird told me tae never let ye out of me sight,” he said “But I’ll make sure the lads ken tae bring yer things along.”
Emmeline let out a heavy sigh. She wanted nothing more than a hot bath and a night out from under from Titus’ watchful eye.
“Thae rain has let up a bit, so we’re ready tae escort ye tae the inn. That is if ye’re ready tae go, me lady,” he said.
She got to her feet and walked around him then out of the cabin. The ship still rolled beneath her feet, making her way up the stairs a bit of an adventure. But she managed to make it to the deck without falling on her backside. Though thunder still rumbled, and lightning lit up the clouds above, Titus was right, there was a break in the rain. How long that lasted, she had no idea, but Emmeline thought it best to get to the inn before it started again.
She allowed her escorts to precede her down the gangway to the dock. From there, the party divided with half a dozen of her husband’s men in front of her, half a dozen behind, all dressed in tunics with her husband’s sigil and dark cloaks, as they made their way from the dock to the cobblestone streets of the small town that sat on the bay where their ship had docked. Emmeline felt ridiculous traveling in the middle of such a large party.
It was less about protecting her than it was about her husband showing his strength. He wanted anybody who saw the group who they were and more importantly, who their laird was. Burchard wanted people who saw his sigil to associate it with strength, force, power. Even more, he wanted people who saw his sigil to be afraid—too afraid to ever oppose him.
It was all theater with Burchard though, for he himself was a weak man. A bully. A coward. If not for the armed men who surrounded him, nobody would fear Burchard Macfie. But that was the point. He had wealth and he had men around him who were fierce, loyal, and as cruel as he was.
Emmeline’s entourage marched her into the Three Crowns Inn. The half-filled common room was large and dimly lit. The heavy odor of pipe smoke filled the air and a thick cloud of it hugged the rafters in the ceiling over her head. The flames in the oversized fireplace cast flickering shadows across the walls and it put out enough heat to beat back the bitter cold outside.
Her entourage spread out, shaking off their cloaks and took seats near the fire. A couple of barmaids bustled around, dropping off cups of warm, mulled wine. Even through the stench of the pipe smoke, Emmeline could smell the mélange of spices drifting from the mugs.
“Ye’ll be in a room on the second floor, me lady,” Titus said. “Third room down on the right. There’s a bathtub and I’ll make sure they have hot water brought up—”
“I’ll be havin’ a drink before I go tae bed.”
“Me lady, I think ye should get some sleep. Assumin’ this bleedin’ storm breaks, we’ve got a long road tomorrow—”
“Ye’ll nae tell me what tae dae, Titus,” she growled. “If I’ve a mind tae have a cup of wine, I’ll be havin’ it. Ye’re free tae go tae bed since I’ve got nay need fer ye any more this evenin’.”
Titus frowned, an expression of irritation crossing his face. She knew he was tired. She could see it in his face. He did not look like a man who fancied staying up any later than he had to. But he also looked afraid of shirking the responsibility his laird had given him and then finding out. Emmeline leaned closer to him and pitched her voice low.
“Feel free tae go tae bed, Titus,” she said. “I’ll nae tell Burchard ye took yer eyes off me long enough fer me tae have a bleedin’ cup of wine. Besides, there are a dozen of yer men in the common room. ‘Tis nae like I could go anywhere, even if I wanted tae.”
He hesitated and seemed like he might take her up on the offer, but then shook his head, and Emmeline felt her heart sink.
“I’ve got me orders,” he said.
Part of her wanted to inconvenience him and deny him sleep just to annoy him. It only seemed fitting since he annoyed her. She’d been cooped up in her cabin aboard the ship for so long, the last thing she wanted to do was go coop herself up in a room again. She gave serious thought to having a mug of wine just to stretch her legs a bit. But her distaste at the thought of having Titus hovering over her for the rest of the night outweighed her desire for a little bit of freedom, if only in the common room, and she muttered under her breath.
She finally snorted. “Fine. I’ll go tae me bleedin’ room if it gets me away from ye, if only fer a little while.”
“’Tis wise,” Titus said.
Emmeline turned to go but paused when her gaze fell upon a man sitting in a corner near the fire by himself. Although he was seated, she could tell he was tall. He had wide shoulders and a body that looked taut with thick, corded muscle. His hair and beard were so blonde, they were almost white, and his jade green eyes sparkled in the firelight. The sleeves of his tunic were rolled up, revealing dark tattoos that covered a thick web of scars, and he had an air of mystery and danger about him that made her heart skip a beat.
As if sensing her eyes on him, the man turned and when their eyes met, she gasped. Her heart felt like it stopped dead in her chest and her stomach lurched harder than when she’d been aboard the rocking, bucking ship. The man raised his mug and took a drink, still staring at her over the rim of his cup, making Emmeline’s heart flutter wildly.
Titus’ voice cut into her thoughts annoyingly. “Me lady, yer room—”
She rounded on him. “I ken where me room is. I’m nae bleedin’ deaf.”
Emmeline turned back to the blond-haired stranger, but he’d already turned his gaze back to the fire. She watched, for just a moment, the way the bright, orange light from the fire flickered across his strong jawline and striking profile. Her heart thundering in her ears, she turned and pounded up the stairs, desperate to be away from Titus.
She burst into her room and slammed the door behind her, shutting Titus out, then walked across the room and flopped onto her bed. With images of the blond-haired stranger still dancing through her mind, she stared up at the ceiling, a small smile curling the corners of her mouth. She knew she should get some rest. The journey back to Castle Macfie would be long. But as she thought about the man’s sparkling green eyes, Emmeline knew sleep would not be coming anytime soon.
Chapter Two
Maddox turned back to where the woman had been standing, disappointed to find that she was already gone. She was beautiful, the most beautiful woman Maddox had ever seen. When their eyes had met, he had felt his heart leap into his throat. Even now, just thinking about her, he felt his stomach turn over on itself.
“Another cup of wine?”
He turned to the barmaid and nodded. She gave him a flirtatious smile as she set another cup down on the table in front of him before taking the empty one and setting it on her tray.
“’Tis some weather out there, eh?” she asked.
Maddox nodded but said nothing as he tossed a couple of coppers onto her tray. He wasn’t interested in having a conversation with her. She was pretty enough and maybe there had been a time in his life when he would have bedded her for sport. But that time in his life was long over. He was no longer that sort of man. The barmaid, perhaps sensing his distinct lack of desire, turned and walked away.
As he stared into the flames, sipping his mulled wine, he pictured the woman in his mind’s eye. Half a foot shorter than him at least, she had a petite but curvy figure. Her long hair was the color of warm chocolate, and her eyes were as vibrantly green as a meadow of grass in springtime. He imagined brushing his fingers across her soft, alabaster-colored skin and shuddered. The woman had stirred something deep inside of him. Something he hadn’t felt in a long time.
He had no idea who she was, but Maddox knew that she was somebody. The fact that she’d come in with a dozen armed men wearing tunics with a sigil from a house he didn’t recognize was a testament to that. He thought she must have been some highborn lady who ordinarily wouldn’t stay in a place like the Three Crowns, but like most everybody else under that roof, she had been driven indoors to seek shelter from the storm raging outside.
Maddox himself would not be sitting in the Three Crowns, nor Colonsay at all, if it was not out of necessity. His clan was failing. Life in his lands was growing more difficult by the season. And though he cared for very little these days, he did not want his people to suffer for his indifference and neglect. The only reason he was in Colonsay was because he had a chance to fix things and thus make life better for his people.
Out of the blue, he had received an offer from Laird Burchard Macfie. In exchange for the coin he needed to replenish his coffers and put back into his clan, Macfie wanted an alliance. He had somehow learned Maddox possessed a large, well-trained army of some of the fiercest warriors in all of Scotland and he wanted to have them at his back. Macfie sought an alliance. One he hoped to seal by wedding Maddox to his daughter Cecilia.
Maddox had been married once. He’d loved her, of course. It hadn’t been the sort of soul-shaking love the poets wrote about but he’d thought Ailsa a good woman and he’d been more than excited when she became with child. Maddox never thought he could be as happy as he was knowing they were bringing an heir into the world. Life had been good, and the blessings had been many. Or so he’d thought.
But then there had been complications with the pregnancy and things had changed. The midwives had done everything in their power to help his wife bring their child into the world, but nothing they had tried worked. He had stood by and watched his wife’s lifeblood—his child’s lifeblood—spilling from her body. And just before she’d passed, Ailsa had told him she needed to confess, that she didn’t want to leave the world with the weight of her sin upon her soul. His wife had been unfaithful to him and the child in her womb was not his.
Ailsa died shortly after she’d confessed to him. Maddox’s heart had been torn from his chest and his entire world had been turned on its head. Nothing he knew to be true had been. His entire life had been a farce, a lie.
“At least she got tae leave the bleedin’ world with a clean conscience,” he muttered bitterly.
“What did ye say, mate?”
Maddox turned to the man who’d spoken. He was older, with wispy white hair, a prominent nosed, and dark eyes that were red and rheumy. The man sat by himself a table away and appeared deep in his cups. Maddox shook his head.
“Naethin’ old timer,” Maddox said. “Just talkin’ tae meself.”
“Dae that enough and people will say ye’ve gone mad and lock ye away.”
He chuckled darkly and turned back to his cup. “Maybe they should.”
Ever since Ailsa had confessed her sin to him, Maddox had ceased to care about much of anything. His cousin and advisor, Adair, had finally had to knock some sense into him—literally. He’d slapped Maddox around until he’d pulled himself out of his cups long enough to listen to what he’d had to say. It had taken several days, but Adair had finally managed to sober him up enough to see the sorry state the clan was falling into because of him.
It had been Adair who’d suggested he meet with Laird Macfie, and it had been Adair who’d convinced him to hear the man out. Maddox had no interest in an alliance sealed by marriage, but it had been Adair who’d told him that as the laird, he sometimes had to make sacrifices for the good of his people. And marrying Macfie’s daughter, Cecilia, was one of those necessary sacrifices. It would provide the clan with the coin it needed and would hopefully, in Adair’s words, help Maddox pull his head out of his backside. Maddox was skeptical of that.
Having been burned once already, Maddox had no desire to marry again. He’d argued there was no law forbidding a laird from not marrying. But deep down, Maddox remembered that his father had urged him to marry, telling him it would provide the clan with stability. And more than anything, a good marriage would provide him with an heir. Even still, given his experience, marrying again was not something he wanted. But he knew his clan needed the coin Macfie would provide, so he’d gone to Colonsay with the idea of persuading the laird to make an arrangement that did not require sealing it with a marriage.
“Where are ye from, lad?”
Maddox turned to see the old timer looking at him again, his eyes filled with curiosity. “How dae ye ken I’m nae from Colonsay?”
“Because I’ve lived here all me life and I ken everybody in Colonsay. And I can say fer sure I’ve never seen ye before in me life.”
Maddox chuckled. “I’m from Grayburgh.”
The man pursed his thin lips. “Grayburgh, eh? Where the bleedin’ hell is that?”
“A few days ride tae the north. Up along the coast.”
The man nodded. “Ahh. I see. And what brings ye down tae our fair isle?”
Maddox opened his mouth then closed it again, trying to figure out what to say. He’d traveled incognito, not giving any hint that he was the laird of a clan. It probably wasn’t necessary and revealing who he was would have probably earned him more deferential behavior from some of the people he’d come across, but truthfully, Maddox didn’t care about any of that. He never had. Maybe he was paranoid, but he just didn’t want people to know who he was.
“Ye ask a lot of questions, old timer. Ye the bleedin’ mayor?”
He chuckled. “Maybe I am.”
Maddox ground his teeth together, growing irritated by the interrogation. He was not a very open man on the best of days and this definitely wasn’t one of them. While he didn’t wish to be outright rude, he wanted to end the line of questioning.
“So? What brings ye down here, stranger?”
“Just business, old timer,” he finally said.
“Aye? What kind of business?”
“Me own business.”
Maddox’s voice was as cold as his gaze and the old man finally seemed to take the hint. He gave Maddox a nod, then stood up and carried his cup to the other side of the common room and took a seat with some other white hairs. Their small group cast dubious looks back at Maddox, but he ignored them and turned back to the fire and his own cup of mulled wine, quickly losing himself in his thoughts and memories once more.
But his mind was filled with images of the woman he’d seen before. And the more he tried to push them away, the more persistent they became. The thoughts unbidden, he recalled the swell of her breasts, the curve of her hips, and her full, heart-shaped lips. Just the image of her in his mind stirred something deep in his loins, making him swell uncomfortably beneath the table.
He cleared his throat and drained his cup, then signaled for another, desperately trying to banish the thoughts of the woman that were invading his mind. Maddox was certain he’d never met her before but there was something familiar about her all the same. He leaned back in his chair and tried to figure out what that was. Understanding eluded him, but he found himself wondering if he was ever going to see her again. Hoping to see her again.
He shook his head, knowing that train of thinking wouldn’t lead him anywhere good.
Chapter Three
Emmeline tossed and turned on the hard, uncomfortable bed. The cheap, straw-stuffed mattress was a far cry from the feather-stuffed one she slept on at home. But in truth, she knew it wasn’t the bed keeping her away. She was dreading returning to Castle Macfie. There was part of her that had wanted to remain with her sister and live out her days there rather than under her husband’s roof with a man as repugnant and detestable as she’d ever encountered.
The only thing that kept Emmeline from running away—or dying in the effort—was Cecilia. When she’d first come to Colonsay as a fifteen-year-old, she’d been made to care for the girl, who’d been but five at the time. Now, ten years later, Emmeline loved her like she was her own family. And now that Cecilia was the same age she’d been when she’d been wed to Burchard, Emmeline could see herself in the girl. They were much the same and they were as close as a natural born mother and daughter ever were.
Much to the consternation of her father, Cecilia had taken on many of Emmeline’s own traits. Beautiful and artistic, she was fiercely independent, fiery, intelligent, and precocious. She was a girl who had her own mind and was not afraid to share her opinions. At least in private. The face she presented to the world was one of a demure, quiet, and introverted girl. She was thoughtful and considerate of other people and their feelings. She was becoming a lady in her own right.
But it wasn’t just the mattress or thoughts of Cecilia and her own dread of returning to Castle Macfie that were keeping Emmeline from sleeping. It was him. Whenever she closed her eyes, she could see his hard, angular face, the way the fire had glinted off his jade green eyes and white-blond hair. She could see the way his taut, corded biceps had strained against the sleeves of his tunic and across his broad, board-like shoulders. He was as beautiful a man as she’d ever seen, and Emmeline couldn’t stop thinking about him.
It was inappropriate, she knew. Despite how much she despised her husband, she was a married woman. She shouldn’t be letting herself think about another man. And yet, try as she might, she couldn’t stop herself. Thoughts of the blond-haired stranger kept popping into her mind and the more she fought them, the more she tried to push them away, the more she was unable to. He was like a splinter stuck just beneath her skin.
With a growl of frustration, Emmeline threw the blankets off and climbed out of the hard, lumpy bed. By the flickering candlelight, she walked over to the table in the corner, splashing some water in the basin onto her face. Emmeline scrubbed it, then grabbed the towel and dried herself off. Raking her fingers through her hair, she pulled it back and used a silk ribbon to tie it back. That done, she stood in front of the looking glass and smoothed out her dress.
Deciding it was about as good as she was going to get, Emmeline walked quietly to the door and pressed her ear to it, listening for movement beyond. She didn’t hear anything, so she opened it slightly and pressed her eye to the crack. Seeing nobody in the hallway, Emmeline slipped out and quickly made her way to the stairs. A smile on her lips and a feeling of triumph surging through her veins, she swiftly made her way down to the common room and pulled up short when she saw two of Titus’ men at the bottom of the stairs.
“Me lady, ye shouldnae be down here,” said the older of the two.
“And ye shouldnae be tellin’ me what tae dae,” she fired back.
“Me lady, we’ve got orders.”
“And ye ken where ye can stick yer orders,” she said. “I cannae sleep and need a bleedin’ drink. I’m the Lady of Castle Macfie, so if ye try tae stop me, I’m goin’ tae show ye me other side. And if that happens, ye ain’t goin’ tae be able tae eat solid food fer a bleedin’ month. Dae ye understand me, boy?”
He was twice her age at least, so calling him boy seemed a bit silly and over the top, but Emmeline didn’t care. She was on a roll. And her ferocity seemed to have the desire effect as the man recoiled, his face blanching. But he stepped aside.
“Why dinnae ye two go on up tae bed?” she went on. “I dinnae want tae drink me wine with ye both starin’ over me shoulder like a buzzard over a corpse.”
“Me lady—”
“I said, go tae bed. Now.”
The two men exchanged a look but did as she said, quickly going upstairs. Emmeline waited until she heard a door close, then smiled to herself and walked to a table in the corner and leaned back against the wall. This table was set off by itself in a shadowy corner of the room with no other table near it. The seclusion was odd, given how full the rest of the room was, but welcome. She would see Titus coming long before he saw her. One of the barmaids dropped off a mug of mulled wine as soon as she sat down. Emmeline fished a couple of coppers out of her purse and dropped them onto her tray.
“Thank ye,” she said and gave Emmeline a brief curtsy before turning and walking off.
Emmeline took a sip of her wine, savoring the multitude of flavors as it hit her tongue with a smile. It was more than just the wine though. It was the brief sense of freedom she had being able to sit there alone, enjoying a bit of solitude, without somebody hovering over her for a change.
“Dae ye play?”
Her heart fell into her stomach when she looked up and saw the blond-haired man standing beside her table. His eyes sparkled in the firelight and seemed to bore down into her soul. For a moment, Emmeline felt like she couldn’t breathe, frozen. Paralyzed. And it was only then that she realized he’d spoken to her.
“I’m sorry?” she asked, giving herself a small shake.
The man pointed to the table. “I asked if ye played.”
Emmeline looked down and realized she’d sat down at a table with a chess set on it that she hadn’t noticed before. But it was a game she was familiar with. One she was relatively good at, actually. She offered him a small smile.
“Aye,” she said. “I play.”
“Dae ye now.”
“I said aye, dinnae I?”
“I suppose ye did,” he replied as he sat down across from her. “Care fer a game then?”
“Sure. Let’s play.”
He eyed her for a moment. “What say we make this interestin’?”
“What dae ye have in mind?”
“How about, if ye take one of me pieces, I give ye a kiss,” he said. “And if I take one of yers, ye give me a kiss?”
She laughed. If it had been any other man, she would have smacked him hard enough to knock his teeth loose. She didn’t tolerate that sort of thing. But there was something about the man across from her that intrigued and excited, rather than annoyed her.
“’Tis bold of ye tae ask such a thing,” she said.
“What can I say? I’m a bold man.”
“Too bold by half.”
“Is that so?”
“Aye.”
“Are ye scared of losin’, lass?”
“I could beat the likes of ye with me eyes closed.”
“Aye?”
“Aye.”
“Let’s see ye dae it then.”
“All right,” she said. “Ye’re on. I’ll even let ye go first.”
The air between them crackled with an energy she’d never felt before. The hair on her arms stood on end, her skin tingled wildly, and her belly churned like she was still on the ship that had brought her back to Colonsay. Emmeline knew she was being reckless, that it was crazy and that she should have stood up and walked away. But she’d never properly flirted with a man before, nor had she been flirted with. Never in her life, although she was certain that was what was happening. And she couldn’t say she hated it.
The man made his opening move, and Emmeline gave herself a shake. She needed to get her head into the game. Emmeline countered his move. They went through several more and without speaking a word. He was good, she had to admit that, but she saw several weaknesses in his game and openings she would exploit. She moved her bishop and as she pulled her hand away and watched the smile stretch across his full lips, she realized that she’d just walked into his trap. He moved his knight and took her piece off the board.
“Looks like ye owe me a kiss,” he said, waving her piece at her.
“Ye werenae serious about that—”
“Are ye tryin’ tae welch on yer bet? Come on now, ye owe me a kiss.”
“I’m nae a welch.”
“Then get over here and give me a kiss, lass.”
Emmeline laughed but felt her heart beat so hard inside of her, she feared it was going to leave bruises. She got up on legs that were quaking enough that she was afraid they were going to give out beneath her. But she walked to the other side of the table and bent down to give him a kiss on the cheek. At the last minute though, the man turned his head and pulled her to him. Their mouths crashed together, and his tongue slipped past her teeth, swirling languidly around hers.
The kiss set fire to her from the inside and her legs shook even harder. The man put a hand on her hip to keep her from falling. The kiss seemed to stop time all around her. It seemed to go on forever and she never wanted it to end. The man slid his hand from her hip, up her side, and cupped her breast, giving it a gentle but firm squeeze that sent tendrils of lightning arcing across her body.
Slowly, the man pulled back, his eyes locked onto hers, giving her a smile. Emmeline put her hand to her mouth, tracing her lips with her fingertips. They felt like they were still aflame, as did her body where he’d touched her. She desperately wanted more. But the surrealness of the moment faded as she stood up and reality crashed down on Emmeline.
“Me God. What have I done?” she whispered.
“Nae much. Nae yet,” the man purred. “We can change that though.”
Emmeline had never done something so reckless before. Something so irresponsible. And her stomach lurched once more, though not with excitement this time.
“I’m a married woman,” she gasped.
“’Tis all right. I was married once too,” he replied.
Horror dawned on her and Emmeline shook her head. “I’m sorry. I have tae go.”
“Dinnae go. Nae yet. We’re only gettin’ started.”
Her eyes welling with tears, Emmeline turned and fled the common room, pounding up the stairs and dashing into her own room. She closed the door and flopped down on her bed.
“What have I done?” she cried into the mattress. “What in God’s name have I done?”
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