A Lass for Christmas (Tenacious Trents Novella) (5 page)

It had been silent for a short time but her
body still shook. If only it would stop then she would be able to
sleep. At least the bed was comfortable and the linen sheets were
soft against her skin. She just needed to get a little warmer and
then she would stop shaking.

The bed dipped and the covers moved before a
body was next her hers. “What is yer name, lass?”

Madeline licked her lips, trying to make
sense of this. Why was there a strange man in her bed? She should
object, but he was warm and she wanted to curl herself around
him.

“Yer name?” he questioned again.

“Mad. . . Madi. . .” she sighed. It took too
much effort to speak. She would tell him tomorrow, after she had
slept.

The tremors in her body were diminishing. He
rolled her onto her side and came up from behind and wrapped an arm
around her middle before he pulled her back against him. The heat
of him seeped into her frozen bones and Madeline gave up the will
to question who he was or where she was. She could ask all that
tomorrow. Right now, she just wanted to surrender to oblivion in
the warm cocoon of this bed.

Madeline opened her eyes and glanced around
the room. It was as hot as Hades in here.

Where was she? Nothing was familiar. Not the
deep red blanket over her or the large fireplace across the
room.

Her eyes opened further. Was that a man in a
kilt?

Had she died and gone to Scotland?

No. She closed her eyes. This was a dream.
That was all. Though it was a rather vivid one and she wasn’t one
usually given to fanciful thoughts. Not like some of the girls she
had attended school with.

She slowly opened her eyes again. There was a
Scotsman standing in front of the fire. Or, at least she assumed he
was a Scotsman given the plaid he had draped over his shoulder and
about his waist. The light from the flames danced across his
smooth, muscled chest. Goodness, it was getting warmer in here with
each moment that passed.

She pulled her eyes away from his muscular
stomach and back to his face though she could only view his profile
because he was looking into the fire. His blond hair was mussed as
if he had not brushed it from sleeping. His face appeared almost
chiseled with high cheek bones above shadowed skin. His cheeks and
sculpted jawline needed a shave. He blew out a breath between his
firm lips and Madeline wondered what he was thinking.

“Ye havena put any clothin’ on yet?” a man
asked as he came into the room. At least this one was fully
dressed, in proper attire.

The Scot, which Madeline decided he was,
looked down at his clothing. “I am dressed.”

“Not for England,” the other man grumbled.
“At least put a shirt on. Even in Scotland ye wore one with the
plaid.”

“I will dress as I like in my own home.”

At least she was still in England, but
where?

“What has ye out of sorts?” the other
gentleman asked as he placed a tray on a table close to the
fire.

“Have ye looked at the snow, Dougal?” the
Scot barked.

At least she now knew the name of one of
them.

“Shush, ye’ll wake the lass.”

Lass, what lass?

Oh, they must mean her.

“It is still comin’ down. I will never get
out of here.”

“You will make it to Edinburgh before
Christmas,” the other man seemed to assure him.

“I had better. Have ye forgotten I plan on
gettin' a bride for Christmas?” The Scot poured tea into a cup and
lifted it close to his mouth. “I canna stomach facin’ another
Season filled with delicate English ladies and their mamas wantin’
to marry them off to a marquess.”

So, the Scot was a lord. But which lord?

“Ye may not have a choice,” the other man
whispered. They started to turn in her direction and Madeline
quickly closed her eyes. She wasn’t ready for them to know she was
awake yet. Not until she determined how she came to be here.

“We doona even ken who she is,” the Scot
argued. “Other than her name is Maddie.”

Maddie? Nobody had ever called her by that
name. How had the Scot come to know her but she didn’t know
him?

“She is a fine lady, we do know that. And how
do ye ken her name?”

“She told me,” the Scot answered. “Last
night.”

“Ye dinna tell me she woke up.”

“Ye never asked,” the Scot reminded the other
man.

“What else did she say?”

“Nothin’. She fell right back asleep.”

There was a moment of silence but Madeline
didn’t dare open her eyes.

“The bed is rumpled, Lachlan. More so than it
would be had the lass slept alone.”

Her pulse raced. There had been a man in her
bed last night. He had warmed her, held her, and asked for her
name. Why did she tell him it was Maddie?

“Ye are the one that said the best way to
warm a body is with another one,” the Scot argued. “She wouldna
stop shiverin’. What was I to do?” the Scot grumbled.

He had been the one in the bed with her.

“What makes ye so certain she’s a lady?” the
Scot demanded.

“The fine fabric of her cloak, dress and
stockings,” the other answered.

Stockings? How did they know anything about
her stockings? What had she done?

“Well, we will know as soon as she wakes.
Then we will take her back to whomever she belongs to.” It sounded
as if the Scot wanted her gone as soon as possible by the
irritation in his voice.

“And if her family takes issue because she
was here all night?”

Oh dear! Madeline’s heart raced with panic.
Her family must be worried sick and where was she?

“Surely, her family willna make me marry the
lass given she was unconscious or slept the entire time.”

“Ye slept in her bed,” the man argued.

Goodness, this was even worse. Madeline
wasn’t sure she wanted to know more.

“My bed,” the Scot retorted.”

“That doesna make it better.”

“She bleedin’ fell into my lake!”

The events were slowly coming back to
Madeline and that terrible sound of the ice breaking beneath her
right before she plunged into the frigid water. She didn’t remember
anything after that moment.

“Given the circumstances, they may just be
happy to have her back and alive.”

“They better be because I am not marryin’ an
English lady. I will have me a Scottish bride and that is it.”

The Scot must have left the room because the
door slammed, causing her to jerk. She opened her eyes to find the
other man looking at her. “I apologize, he woke ye, lass.” He
walked to the side of the bed. “How are ye feelin’?”

“Warm.” Madeline moved to push the covers
away. “Where am I?”

“Brachton Manor.” The man smiled then moved
to the table where he poured her a cup of tea. He had warm brown
eyes and a kind smile.

She wasn’t exactly sure where that was but
she knew Brachton lived close to Matt so she couldn’t have wandered
too far.

“Where did ye come from?” He was kind and had
the same Scottish accent as the other man.

“That is what I would like to ken as
well.”

Madeline looked up to find the Scot standing
in the door. He had donned a shirt but still wore his tartan. Hands
were fisted on his hips and his deep brown eyes looked as if they
could shoot daggers through her.

“I only wanted to take a short walk.”

“In the middle of a snow storm?” the man
demanded. “Are ye daft?”

“I most certainly am not daft,” Madeline
argued and began to sit up.

The blanket shifted, uncovering her shoulder.
The nightshirt she was wearing was awfully large and if she wasn’t
careful it would fall from her body.

The Scot’s eyebrow shot up and the corner of
his mouth quirked. With a huff she lay back down and pulled the
covers up to her chin.

“Ye arena from around here. Where did you
come from?”

Madeline had half a mind not to tell him
because he was being so disagreeable. “I am from Kent.”

“How did ye get here?” He barked.

“In a carriage,” she bit out.

The other man walked past the Scot and
mumbled. “This is a fragile English lady?”

The Scot narrowed his eyes at his friend but
said nothing.

The man turned to her. “I’ll send Mrs.
MacGinnis up to help ye dress.”

“Thank you.”

“Was anyone in this carriage with you, or
were you traveling alone?”

She wanted to remind him that ladies didn’t
travel by themselves but bit back the retort. Let him think of her
as he would. “I wasn’t alone.”

The Scot breathed in as if losing his
patience with her. Good! That was her intention. Why she was
rankled, she didn’t know. Perhaps it was because he was so
unpleasant and what was wrong with marrying an English lady? Not
that she wanted to marry him of course, but why was a Scottish
woman better?

“Does your companion have a name, and should
I be out searching in the snow for them?”

Madeline snorted. “I am sure Jordan is warm
by the fire, wondering what has become of me, if he even noticed I
was gone.”

The man straightened. “Jordan?”

Could he know her brother? Jordan had been in
society a number of years and the two looked to be around the same
age. “Yes, Jordan Trent. Do you know him?”

The man smiled broadly. “I’ve kent Jordan
since school. Well, his loss is my good fortune.”

His loss? Surely the man didn’t think . . .
Oh dear, she was well aware of Jordan’s reputation. Perhaps she
should mention she was his sister.

No, the Scot worried about being forced into
a marriage. Though Jordan would not do something so ludicrous, Matt
however may. And, if Clayton got wind of this situation there would
be no help for it. It was better to let the man think what he
would, because soon she would be back at Matt’s and the Scot would
be on his way north to find a bride.

Lachlan took his place at the head of the
breakfast table, and Dougal settled into a chair to his right. Mrs.
MacGinnis had prepared porridge, black pudding, potato scones, eggs
and oatcakes and left it on the table before she went upstairs to
help Maddie dress.

He was starving and piled enough food on his
plate to almost overflowing before filling a cup with hot coffee.
Just moments ago he had no appetite, wondering if that lass in his
bed was his future wife. He shouldn’t have gotten into bed with
her, but she continued to shiver. It couldn’t be healthy to be cold
for so long and why did she take longer to warm than he?

It had been one of the longest nights of his
life. He’d never slept with a woman before. He had been in bed with
plenty of them, but sleeping was never involved. He’d never even
spent the whole night with his mistress, when he had one. Maddie
certainly was pretty enough with those light green eyes and golden
blond hair, even though it was a ratted mess about her head right
now. Perhaps he should have seen that it was combed out before she
slept. No, they were both too cold from their dip in the lake. Mrs.
MacGinnis would help reduce the tangles. She was a marvel at
everything else.

Though it was rather nice to sleep curled
around a soft form, his body wanted to do more than sleep and his
mind was wondering if the person in his arms would be his wife,
making it near impossible to rest. The lack of sleep, unfulfilled
desire and worry that he would now have an English wife had left
him ill-tempered this morning. But she dispelled all concern for
marriage.

“Yer spirits seem to have improved,” Dougal
said before he shoveled a spoon full of porridge into his
mouth.

“I doona have to worry about being married to
an English miss. Of course I am in better humor.”

“Why do think you are free?”

“She is Trent’s piece of fluff. Once the
weather clears I will hand her back over.”

Dougal set his fork aside. “You are certain
she is nothing more than Trent’s mistress?”