Must Love Highlanders (19 page)

Morning came too soon. Hugh rolled over and swore, because last night he hadn’t slept well. All he wanted to do this morning was to have a lie-in. But it was Sunday. And light was pouring into his room. “What the…?”

He sat up. The window overlooking the loch is uncovered? It was never uncovered! Why had Sophie pulled back the drape? The view was more than he could handle. Especially in the dead of winter!

He stomped to the window and yanked the curtain closed. While he was there, he pulled the drape on the Munro as well.

He fell back into bed, but he still had the same problem as he’d had last night. His bed smelled like the woman who slept in the room next to his, and he still didn’t know how she’d ended up here.

The Wallace began to whine, and like clockwork, the Bruce started in, too.

“Good God!” The woman and beasts were out to get him. “Can’t a man get any rest in his own house?” Maybe he’d let the dogs out and leave them in the cold for a good long while. That would teach them to drag him out of bed early. Even better, maybe he should put them in with Sophie and she could deal with their morning routine.

Hugh rolled out of bed again, went to his dresser, and pulled open the top drawer. He stared in disbelief. Lady things stared back—lacy, sexy bits of intrigue and color. With one index finger, he scooped up a turquoise thong that was erotic to look at, and soft to the touch, and didn’t exactly match who he thought Sophie Munro was. He dropped it back into the mix and slammed the drawer shut. He opened the second drawer only to find bras and wool socks. The bras ranged from black to brightly colored, and he slammed that drawer as well.

The Bruce whined loudly this time.

“I’m trying, dammit. I can’t verra well take ye out with naked feet.” Hugh pulled open the third drawer and found women’s jeans on one side and sweaters on the other. “What the hell is going on here? Sophie has certainly made herself at home.” Had she decided to move in forever? In the closet, two dresses were hanging, while his shirts had been pushed to one side. He found his socks, skivvies, and other folded clothes thrown into a basket and deposited at the back of the closet. “Good God. Is nothing sacred?” He dug out a pair of socks for himself and quickly dressed. All the while, he groused loud enough to their adjoining wall to make sure his houseguest woke up.

Out in the hall, he was surprised she hadn’t come out to see what the ruckus was all about. Why was the lass still abed? Had she had trouble sleeping, too? He decided to leave her be and deliberately passed her doorway without another glance. Downstairs, the leashes weren’t hanging by the back door where he’d left them yesterday. He searched the kitchen first and then went to the parlor to see if Sophie had left them there.

Hugh didn’t find the leashes, but found Goldilocks on the loveseat fast asleep. He would’ve liked to have had a few seconds to gaze upon her longer, but the Bruce and the Wallace wanted her attention. Each of them nudged her and licked her face.

“Off with ye,” she laughed, coming awake. She sobered quickly when she saw Hugh, tugging the green afghan around her.

“I’m glad ye’re awake, Sleeping Beauty. Yere loyal servants would like to relieve themselves, but their leashes have gone missing.”

Sophie made an O with her delectable lips and reached around her, shoving her hand into the sofa cushions. “They’re right here.”

Hugh adjusted the pillows in the wing chair. In this house things were always put back in their place. What he’d seen of Sophie so far screamed disorder. Her tussled hair, her skewed nightdress, and the chaotic emotions she brewed up in him.

He took the leashes from her. “The room abovestairs wasn’t to yere liking?” He should’ve been more polite—say good morning first, before starting the interrogation—but the woman had disrupted his sleep.

The hounds jumped up on either side of her, acting as if they were Yorkie pups, trying to crawl into her lap. She hugged them to her.

“Down, you two,” he said.

The dogs didn’t budge.

Hugh gave the command again, pointing to the floor this time, and they both hopped off and sat in front of him, obediently. Now, if he could only get the woman to obey him, too.

“I suggest while I walk the lads that you toddle upstairs and ready yereself for church.”

“Church?”

“Aye. The place with the pews and the preacher.” He snapped a leash on each dog. “I don’t know what ye heathens do along the northeast coast, but us God-fearing Scots in the Grampians go to church on Sundays.”

“Pretty cheeky for this early in the morn, Hugh,” she countered, rising.

“On our way to the kirk, we’re going to discuss how you came to be in my bed.”

She momentarily anchored her hands on her hips…until she apparently realized her nightgown wasn’t nearly covering her perfect little breasts and that Hugh was an opportunistic bastard, feasting his eyes on her.

She snatched up his flannel shirt from the loveseat and huffed from the room. “Ye would think that a man who owned a castle would be more of a gentleman.”

“Hurry up now,” he called after her. “Dress warmly. We’ll leave in the next thirty minutes.” He laughed openly as her grumbles continued up two flights of stairs.

The Wallace had wiggled his way under Hugh’s hand, and Hugh hadn’t even realized the mutt was there. The dog looked up at him with consternation.

“I know, lad. I shouldn’t be throwing petrol on the fire.” The Bruce head-butted his other hand, wanting attention, too. “But I can’t help myself. There’s something about that lass when she’s throwing flames.”

Sophie didn’t take the full thirty minutes to dress. After Hugh’s brisk walk with the dogs down the lane and back, he found Sophie in the kitchen making tea. She was wearing a vintage wool dress with a million buttons up the front. On her feet she had an old-fashioned pair of lace-up boots. She was a woman out of time and en vogue—classic, a woman from the past, but one who could walk the runway of a London wool-revival fashion show. Hell, he could hire her to be one of the lasses to model his woolens. Her long blond hair cascaded down one shoulder, making Hugh want to run his hands through the golden strands. He had many impure thoughts—that he shouldn’t have, especially right before church—so he stepped into the kitchen, making himself known.

“Did ye make enough for two, since you’ve made yereself at home?”

She went right on rattling the porcelain and rifling his drawers, the epitome of cheek and sass.

“Aye.” Finally, she shrugged. “I thought ye might be cold after walking the dogs. Sit yereself down, and I’ll pour.”

Hugh opened the bread box and pulled out the oatcakes that Mrs. McNabb had left for him. Because things were becoming a little too domesticated and because he needed to remind Sophie that this was his house—his domain—he started up the interrogation once again. “Tell me, Sophie Munro, how is that ye’ve come to take up residence here?”

She ran her thumb over the edge of the silver butter knife. “Amy.”

“Amy?” He was getting a small idea of what was going on.

“Aye. She told me ye were needing a house sitter for the next week. She said that ye wanted me to do it.”

Sophie set his steaming mug in front of him.

“And ye believed her? I barely know you.” Which wasn’t really true. He knew a lot about Sophie Munro. Amy had tried to set them up last summer, and she’d told Hugh everything there was to know about the lively lass in front of him now. But Hugh hadn’t been in any shape to court anyone. Especially one so lovely as she was.

“Nay. I didn’t believe her. But I received several emails from you. I showed you only one last night. I have the rest in my bag. Upstairs.” She set the sugar and milk at his elbow, but didn’t pour herself a cup. “I’ll get my things from yere room when we get back from church.”

Damned straight, ye will! It was his house.

She gathered the dog dishes and filled them with water—as if it were her house, too.

He ignored the good care she gave his hounds. “Aye. I’d like to read those emails that I wrote.”

“Oh, ye were kind and charming. Very helpful, ye were. Ye told me where to find the key. Told me to help myself to yere food. Even told me I was to take yere bed. For the view.”

“Helpful, kind, and charming,” he repeated. “That Amy needs to be turned over my knee for a good spanking.”

Sophie sat the bowls before the dogs and slung a dishtowel over her shoulder exactly like his mum used to do. “Don’t be angry with Amy. She’s a mama now. A good one.”

“She certainly thought she had the right to meddle.” Both Amy and his aunt.

Sophie glanced at her watch. “You said we had thirty minutes before church. We best be going.”

“Aye.”

She twisted her watch. “I’ll call my mother afterwards to come get me.” She looked like more was bugging her than being sent on a fool’s errand. She seemed to be conflicted about going home.

“What’s wrong, lass?”

“Ye wouldn’t understand.”

No. A man like Hugh McGillivray wouldn’t understand what it was like for Sophie to finally be on her own. Her freedom had lasted less than twenty-four hours. Deydie’s veiled prediction that she would turn tail had come true. Sophie couldn’t tell the man beside her either. Hugh had been to the far reaches of the world. And Sophie…well, she’d been nowhere.

She grabbed her coat from the hook at the back door, where she’d stowed it yesterday—when she’d pretended this was her house…her castle for the next week. Now, today, she was going home.

She laid her hand on the doorknob and looked back as Hugh downed the rest of his tea. He unfolded himself from the chair and followed her out.

The drive was empty. “Where’s yere car? The barn?”

“We’ll walk,” he said. “It’s a mile or so. The weather is only a wee bit chilly.”

She marched out, glad she’d put on warm tights with her dress. Hugh walked in silence beside her. Sophie waited for him to question her more about why she was there, but she had to know one thing before returning home.

“This may be too personal, but since we’ve already been in bed together, and I’ve added to the sights I’ve seen,” she braved, referring to his naked backside, “why didn’t you turn the light on when you came to bed last night? It might’ve clued me in sooner that you were there and vice versa.”

He gazed off in the distance as if the answer lay beyond the Munro. “It’s my habit.” He seemed closed on the subject. But a moment later, he was asking a question of her. “Is there some reason why you don’t want to go home?”

Sophie couldn’t tell him the complete truth, but she could share a sliver of it. “Ye’ve made arrangements for me to apprentice with yere head kiltmaker for the next week. Or whoever sent those emails did.” Then the reality hit. “Or maybe the phantom emailer was pulling the sheep’s wool over my eyes on that, too.”

“We’ll find out soon enough. Willoughby will be at the kirk. He’s been at McGillivray’s House of Woolens since the day he was born, and he’s at least eighty years old, if he’s a day.”

One thing would be cleared up soon.

“Why else don’t you want to go home?”

She kicked a loose rock. She wasn’t willing to confess how being here was an adventure for her. He would laugh at her inexperience. But she could tell him about the task she’d been given. “You remember Deydie from when ye came to Gandiegow? The old woman who runs everything?”

“Aye. The crotchety ol’ bat.”

“She’s not that bad. Deydie comes off as crusty as a barnacle and as tough as an old sailor, but she has a good heart.”

“I only remember she gave me an earful about Amy. That I should do better about staying in touch. That family was more important than any business I had to run.”

“Sounds like Deydie.” Sophie envied the geese flying overhead. They were free to see the world with no one telling them what to do. “Well, Deydie’s the one who wants me to take up kiltmaking. I can’t stress to ye enough how much I don’t want to disappoint her.”

Hugh glanced over, as if to see if she was telling the truth. “And the rest of it?”

Not all of it, but some. “Deydie is also counting on me to come home with some woolen remnants, whatever quality wool piece you can spare. Gandiegow’s Kilts and Quilts is running its first-ever wool quilt retreat in six weeks.”

“We have plenty of oddments that should work.” Hugh took her arm and guided her around a frozen puddle.

His grip was comforting, and she had the urge to lean into him. For a moment, she forgot what they were talking about.

“I can pick you out some nice pieces before you go.” His words snapped her back to the conversation.

“Oh, no. I’m supposed to do the picking!” She had to be the one to do it. With kiltmaking off the table, the haul of remnants was the only way to contribute to Gandiegow now. And by God, she would do it.

At the Y in the road, Hugh changed the subject.

“There.” He pointed down the lane to a group of five or so quaint stone buildings. One of them had a waterwheel. A little bridge was positioned over a stream with two cottages on the other side. “That’s the wool mill. Of course, those two cottages over there belong to Willoughby and Magnus.”

Hugh turned in the opposite direction. “The kirk is this way.”