Page 42 of Scandal with a Sinful Scot

Garrett had the distinct feeling that Abbie had put their daughter up to this, but found he didn’t mind. In fact, he was touched by her suggestion. She may have even meant it, which helped alleviate the gloom overtaking his mood. “Thank you. I will be visiting, you may count on it. If I’m not able to return with you, it will be shortly thereafter. I will stay at the George Inn.”

“I thought you would stay with us,” Megan said.

Abbie laid a hand on her arm. “My dear, for propriety’s sake, it is best Garrett stay at the inn.”

“Yes, I suppose—”

“Mr. Wollstonecraft?”

The three of them turned toward a young messenger carrying a satchel across his shoulder. “Your butler said I could find you here in town, sir.” He passed Garrett an envelope. “From Scotland, sir. Important. The butler said for me to bring it to you with all haste.”

Garrett reached in his pocket and gave the lad a shilling. Hell. A feeling of foreboding took root. He broke the seal and pulled out the officious-looking paper. From his grandfather’s solicitor.

I regret to inform you that Alec Roderick Mackinnon died January the tenth. Allow me to offer my sincerest condolences. As per his request, your grandfather will not be buried until the snows melt, as travel would be impossible for you at this time. Please inform me at your earliest possible convenience of when you will travel to Edinburgh, and we will make arrangements for his interment and the settling of his estate.

Garrett didn’t bother with the rest. Damn it all. He swallowed hard as tears formed on his lashes; he refused to show any emotion in a public place. His grief was private. With shaking hands, he placed the letter in the envelope and sat it on the table.

“My dear, what is it?” Abbie asked, worry in her tone. Try as he might to hide his emotions, she read him easily. She always could.

He cleared his throat. “My grandfather passed away. January tenth. Alec Roderick Mackinnon, age eighty-two.”

Megan touched his hand. “I am sorry, Garrett.”

A wayward tear slipped from the corner of his eye and trailed down his cheek at his daughter using his first name. He laid his large hand on top of hers. “Thank you, my sweet. I do regret that you will never meet him. He is…was…as red haired as we.”

Megan smiled, though it had a touch of sadness in it.

“Perhaps we should take our leave,” Abbie suggested.

Garrett removed his hand, but not before giving Megan’s an affectionate pat. Then he wiped the tear from his cheek. “Not at all. It was not completely unexpected, as he was eighty-two. The last letter that I received mentioned that he was not well. And when he hadn’t answered mine the past five months… Well, as I said, not unexpected.”

“But hurts nonetheless,” Abbie replied kindly.

“Yes. It bloody hurts. Sorry for the language, ladies.”

“When did you last journey to Scotland?” Megan asked.

“Five years past, when my grandmother died. Once I grew up the trips grew less frequent, but we kept up a vigorous correspondence.” Garrett sighed wistfully. “He was a large man, braw, as they say in Scotland, with a quick temper and a generous heart. A genuine twinkle in his eye. My mother was his only child. His older brother, who never married, died about ten years past. I am the only living relative in the direct line.” He nodded toward his daughter. “And Megan.”

“Goodness, you will be the sole heir,” Abbie marveled.

“Well, I won’t be inheriting a Scottish castle or pots of gold. My grandfather lived modestly; he owned a small share in Mackinnon Spirits and Liquors, based in Edinburgh. The company belongs to another branch of his family—his cousin’s, I believe.” Garrett drank some tea, savoring the warmth. A cuppa always helped in times of stress, so his grandfather claimed. “He never traveled beyond Hadrian’s Wall, not even when my mother passed, even though my father invited him more than once. He despised travel.” He raised his teacup. “I will miss him. To Alec Mackinnon.”

Megan and Abbie raised their teacups and they all took a drink. Regardless of hearing of his grandfather’s death, he would not sink into despair. It was a sunny day. He sat with the woman he loved more than his life and his lovely daughter. His grandfather used to say: “Be happy while you’re living, for you’re a long time dead.” The Scottish saying held a good deal of common sense and truth.

Time to get on with the living—and loving.

Chapter 14

When they arrived at the hunter’s hut shortly past midnight, Garrett wasted no time and gave her a passionate kiss. “I need you. I want to forget…”

“Your grief? I understand.” Abbie caressed his cheeks, trailing the tip of her finger across his prominent cheekbones. “When someone we care about dies, we need affirmation of life, in whatever form.” As she had when Elwyn passed. Instead of seeking physical contact with another man, Abbie had decided to volunteer at the sanatorium. She was eager to contribute, to play a role in her husband’s legacy. But obviously Garrett needed a more direct confirmation of life. His erection pressed insistently against her.

He spun her about until she faced the stone wall. “Forgive me, I will withdraw, I swear it.”

“Yes, all right.” Garrett pushed up the skirt of her gown, moaning when he discovered she was not wearing undergarments once again. His hand slid between her legs. Already she was wet, thrilled at this wild, carnal side of him. Most of their past encounters were like this, rushed, frantic, feral. He kicked her legs apart and entered her with a swift, deep thrust, causing her to cry out at the sheer delight of him filling her.

Slipping an arm about her waist, he pounded into her, careful that her exposed skin did not scrape against the rough stone wall. Her feet lifted from the floor and she gasped in surprise. Garrett held her aloft, yet firmly pinned against his hard, unyielding body. As he slid in and out of her, he nuzzled her neck, whispering fiercely in her ear. “You are all I want, all I need. I love you, Abbie. Never stopped. Never will.” He uttered a rough oath as she cried out with her swift release.