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 naïve 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.
Chapter Ten
Christmas morning Fergus woke to a hammer striking against the inside of his skull. The sunlight forging through his bedchamber window only made the pounding worse. And his mouth was unnaturally dry. That was the last time he touched Prince Charlie’s Liqueur. The concoction was poison.
He rolled toward the bedside table to reach for a glass of water, and his stomach pitched. “Dear Lord,” he moaned and sank back into the mattress with his eyes closed.
As he lay in his bed, slowly breathing in and out to quell the tempest in his stomach, his encounter with Eddi on the stairwell trickled into his memory. He groaned a second time and threw an arm over his eyes to block his embarrassment as much as the blinding light.
Had he truly sang to her? What a drunken fool he’d been. It was no wonder the lass refused his offer of marriage. He expected nothing less of his Eddi. She was fearless in speaking her mind and confident she deserved more than a slurred proposal and lousy serenade. And she would receive a proper offer as soon as the room stopped spinning, and he could crawl from bed without tossing up his accounts.
As it turned out, it was early afternoon before Fergus recovered and was able to make it to the castle in his Sunday best. He entered through the servants’ door and made his way to the kitchen as he always did. His mother’s salt and pepper eyebrows shot up on her forehead in censorship.
“Look at you all dressed up. Do you realize Christmas service was several hours ago? I noticed you missing from the church pew this morning, Fergus McTaggart.” She slapped an onion on the cutting board, grabbed her knife, and glowered. “Dinnae tell me it was a lassie that kept you away all morning.”
The whack of her knife was a little more violent than usual as she cut the onion in half.
“Not exactly.” He rubbed the back of his neck as heat stole into his face. “It was that damned bonnie Prince Charlie and his private poison.”
His mother stopped chopping to point the knife in his direction. “I told you no’ to imbibe.”
