Wake Me With a Kiss: A Fairy Tale Retelling (Regency Fairy Twists Book 1) (6 page)

He reached out, a finger flicking away a wet curl that clung to her
face. That finger trailed down and urged up her chin. She was powerless to
break away—not that she wanted to. This braw Scotsman had some hold over her,
and she liked it too much.

He swept his lips across hers, and a groan rumbled from him. He tasted
wet mostly, then warm with a hint of brandy. He pressed his lips harder to hers
and she latched her hands around his neck, for fear he might end the kiss too
soon. His mouth moved carefully over hers, making her stomach whirl and dance.

When he finally broke away, he kept her close, the dog between them and
watching them with interest. In spite of her wet garments, heat suffused her
from head to toe. Rupert gave them both a lick for their troubles and they
laughed.

“I have been wanting to do that all evening.” Hamish’s voice was rough
and gritty.

“I have been wanting you to do that all evening,” she confessed.

His gaze searched her face. “I must away to town for a week or so
tomorrow.”

She hoped her disappointment did not reveal itself on her face but apparently
it must have, as he cupped her chin and smiled into her eyes.

“It shall pass quickly, I promise. And when I return…”

His gaze fell to her lips once more and Rose knew what was coming. He
pressed a swift kiss to her mouth.

“When I return, I shall speak to yer aunt.”

“Yes,” she said breathily.

“I shall court ye, Rose, in the manner ye deserve.” His smile was soft,
almost wistful. “I want ye for myself, lass. I want ye as mine.”

Rose eyed the overgrown bush. “You need a good trim,” she told the
plant, brandishing her shears. It seemed to tremble a little at the threat.
“I’ll be gentle,” she promised.

The previous week’s rain had vanished, leaving the past few days dry, if
a little windy. Wind, she could manage and it did not prevent her from going
out, so she didn’t mind.

If it had rained, she was not sure how she would have coped. The thought
of Hamish travelling on sodden roads made her stomach twist, not to mention she
was entirely unable to keep still while he was gone. Goodness, she hoped he
returned soon.

“Impatient girl,” she scolded herself.

“I think when you talk to plants, you’re meant to be nice to them.”

Rose twisted to view Miss Taylor, who held a basket of vegetables from
the garden.

“This plant does not deserve niceness. See how it has taken over half of
the bed.”

“Well, you had better teach it a lesson, I suppose.” Miss Taylor peered
up at the clouds that prevented the sun from escaping. “You watch you do not
get wet. You’re lucky you did not catch a cold after the ball.”

She glanced up. When they had returned from the ball, with Rose in quite
a state, the three women had fussed terribly over her. It was not that she did
not appreciate their care but, goodness, she was hardly some wilting flower.
Ever since, they had been a little more protective of her.

“It will stay dry,” Rose said, confidently.

“As long as you do not go chasing anymore dogs. We have had our fill of
them.”

“Rupert went with Hamish to Edinburgh.”

Miss Taylor smiled, and Rose suspected she caught the wistfulness in her
tone.

“They will be back before long, and I’ve no doubt he will have little
desire to leave Baleith again. Not when he enjoys it so much here.”

Heat touched her cheeks at the housekeeper’s knowing look. She had not
said a word of Hamish’s promises. How could she? He had to speak with Aunt May
first. But the women knew her so well, it was hard to hide her appreciation of
him.

Miss Taylor frowned. “Did I hear the bell? I’ll be but a moment.”

Rose turned her attention back to the plant. The wild stems wound about
many of the other plants, and she propped her hands on her hips while she
decided where exactly to start. She heard the front door shut but there were no
voices. They never had visitors so it was likely some post or a delivery.

Grasping a branch, she gave it a snip and cast it aside. Miss Taylor
stepped out into the garden, brandishing a letter. Her wide smile made Rose
pause.

“What is it?”

“A letter from Baleith Castle.”

Even if she had tried, Rose could not have prevented the wild skip in
her heart as she took the letter. “I did not think he was due back yet.”

“No one said he had returned whilst I was in town, but perhaps he has
only just come home.” Miss Taylor peered non-too-subtly over the edge of the
paper as Rose unbound it and unfolded the parchment.

She frowned. Hamish had never written her any letters during their acquaintance,
but somehow she would not have expected such a feminine hand. She skimmed down
to the name at the bottom of the letter.

“Miss Marianne Andrews?”

The housekeeper’s expression darkened. “What in the devil does she want?”

“That was the laird’s mistress, was it not?”

“Yes. I thought she had left after his death.”

Rose opened her mouth then closed it. She had never met Miss Andrews
formally, only seen her occasionally in town, but her reputation was well
known. Many thought her a seductress, while others muttered such horrible
things as a witch. As far as Rose was concerned, she had never met the woman so
could say nothing. The laird had kept her as his mistress for nearly a year
before his death and no one thought he intended to marry her.

“At the castle…” she muttered to herself.

“Pardon?”

Rose smiled. “Nothing, Miss Taylor.” She peered over the writing. “She
wishes for me to visit with her. She said the laird is intending to return a
day early and it would be a nice surprise.” Rose frowned. “I suppose…”

“I suppose he might have told her of his feelings for you.”

That blasted blush travelled up her face again. “Perhaps.”

“I’m surprised Miss Marianne Andrews is still in Scotland. The woman
should have been long gone by now.”

“Maybe Laird Malcolm willed her something here. Hamish did say he had
business to attend with regards to Malcolm. Perhaps it was that.”

“That would certainly make sense. If I were him, I would want rid of her
with haste. I never trusted her.”

“You’ve met her?”

“Once or twice in town. Your aunt rightly shielded you from her. A woman
of such repute could not be allowed near you.”

The tiniest pang of sympathy struck Rose. In stories she had read, there
had been women who had made choices—choices they did not wish to make but needed
to. For all they knew, Marianne did what she did to survive, and yet she was
never allowed to make friends with anyone and everyone avoided her.

“I think I shall accept the invitation.”

“I shall come with you,” Miss Taylor declared.

“There is no need. You are far too busy, and if Miss Andrews is there,
it will not be improper.”

The housekeeper huffed. “Miss Marianne Andrews is entirely improper.
Your aunt will not want you near her.”

“Well, you need not say anything. I shall go out for a little stroll and
be back before supper.”

“Rose…” Miss Taylor warned.

“All shall be well,” she promised. “You would not wish to deny me a
chance to see Hamish, would you, Miss Taylor?”

The housekeeper laughed. “No, I would not.”

***

Rose eyed the skies and secretly begged them to withhold the threatening
rain. She flicked a long strand of grass aside. So much for the weather drying
up. She really did not wish to look as though she had just emerged from a muddy
pond yet again.

Not that Hamish had seemed to mind. She pressed a fingertip to her lips.
It might have been just over a week but she could recall the feel of his warm,
tender mouth upon hers.

Kicking aside the long grass as she went, she made her way up to the
castle. She sucked in a breath and held it. Rose knew little of Miss Andrews,
only what the gossips said. Though she could well understand why her Aunt May
kept her away from a woman with such loose morals, she could not help think how
similar their situations were. She was kept away from society by the
overprotectiveness of her aunt, and Miss Andrews was forced out of it because
of her situation.

The butler opened the door of the castle before she could pull the bell.
Ever stern-faced, he glowered at her.

“I-I am here to see Miss Andrews.”

Before the butler could move his tightly pressed lips, the woman she had
seen the other night approached. Her elegant green silk gown made Rose feel
dowdy in her white muslin. A thin sheath covered the bodice of Miss Andrew’s
dress, delicately painted with golden flowers. Her hair was artfully curled and
several feathers in matching green were tucked into it. She was either
extremely talented at doing her own hair or she kept a maid.

Rose did not return Marianne’s smile. Not yet. She could not fathom why
the woman had been hiding during the ball, or why she had let the dog out, for
she was sure she had been the one behind the chaos.

“Miss Merriweather, I am glad ye accepted my invitation.” She dropped
into a curtsey.

Rose followed suit, taking in the woman’s elegance. Though her clothes
were no doubt expensive, they could not hide the slightly strained appearance
to her expression. Miss Andrews was a good twelve or fifteen years her senior
she had been told, and a few lines creased her eyes and her forehead. The
youthful luster was leaving her but, sadly, it had not been replaced with aged
elegance as it often did in great beauties. Or at least that was what she had
been told.

“Will ye no’ come through to the drawing room?” She indicated to the
right.

Rose nodded and forced a smile. As much as she wanted to extend a hand of
friendship, there was something about the woman that set her on edge.

They moved into the drawing room, not far from where Hamish had tucked
her into the alcove and told her how much he had been dying to be with her all
evening. In the light of day, the tall ceilings appeared grander and she felt
that much smaller. Several worn chairs occupied the space, and a large Persian
rug covered the creaky wooden floorboards. A gilded table sat in front of the
huge fireplace that had been carved out of stone, likely in the medieval era.
Upon the table was tea, coffee, and delicate cakes. Miss Andrews must have been
quite certain she would visit.

“Will Hamish return soon?” she asked as the woman indicated to one of
the seats.

Miss Andrews waited until Rose sat before sitting opposite and pouring
the tea. “Any moment now,” she assured.

“I had thought he would be a little longer in town.”

“I received a letter yesterday, declaring his intention to be returned
by today. I thought it would be an excellent surprise if ye were here.”

Rose took a cup and held it close for a moment. She eyed the woman but
could not fathom anything in her expression.

“Of course, some female company is always pleasant.”

Rose nodded. Perhaps she had been right. Miss Andrews was lonely. Was
this her extension of the hand of friendship?

“I did not see you at the ball.”

The words came out abruptly, and a dash of silence swept through the
room. Rose turned her gaze to the shield carved into the fireplace and silently
cursed her loose tongue.

Miss Marianne took a sip of tea before clearing her throat. “Hamish
thought it inappropriate. Unfortunately, there would have been those who would
not have appreciated my company.”

“I see.”

“It has been a hard year, losing my Malcolm. Had he remained alive, we
would have been wed by now and hosting endless balls but, alas, fate had
different ideas.”

“I am sorry.”

A strained smile stretched across the woman’s red lips. “I have long
been a resourceful woman. I will make the best of this situation as I can.”

“I admire your fortitude,” Rose replied with genuine admiration. How
hard it must have been to lose the man she loved. She could hardly imagine how
she would feel if she lost Hamish.

“Aye, well, enough about me. Let us talk about ye.”

“I am not sure what there is to say.”

“I am right, am I not?”

“Right about what?”

Miss Andrews gave a tinkling laugh. “That Hamish is sweet on ye.”

Rose lowered her gaze.

“I am. I could tell at the ball. And, of course, he has spoken of little
else but ye for the past few weeks.”

A smile worked its way across Rose’s lips. “He has?”

“Of course.” Miss Andrews leaned forward. “Tell me, is he courting ye?”

Fingering the fragile handle of the cup, she traced the delicate curl.
Should she really be admitting these things to Marianne before her aunt even knew?

“Well?”

Rose looked up and nodded. “Well he will be, once he has permission from
my aunt.”

Miss Andrews laughed. “Goodness, I wouldnae have imagined that highlander
doing things so properly.”

“He is more than a highlander. He is a gentleman.”

Miss Marianne tilted her head, sending dark curls brushing against the
pale skin of her shoulder. “Is he indeed?” The way her dark eyes fired made
Rose’s gut twist. “Well, let us distract ourselves with cakes before he
returns. No doubt yer eager to see him and every minute must seem like an
eternity.”

“I—” Rose was saved from a response as Marianne offered forward the
cakes. Rose took a small sponge cake, filled with cream and strawberries. Under
Miss Andrew’s watchful gaze, she took a bite. For want of anything to say, she
finished it quickly, aware of the woman studying her every move.

“There. Cake solves everything, does it not?”

Rose frowned at her gleeful tone. She noted Marianne had not yet taken a
bite. “Do you…” Her stomach gave a little lurch and she took up her cup of tea
again to take a sip. “You must care for Hamish very much to be so interested in…”
She took another gulp of tea. A strange bitter tang lingered in her mouth that
made bile rise in the back of her throat.

“Interested in who he is courting?”

“Yes.”

“Aye,” Miss Marianne said, her lips pressed into a tight smile. “I care
for him very much. I only want the best for him.” She lifted the plate. “Another
cake?”

Rose shook her head. The burning in her throat had travelled down to her
stomach and a severe pain spread through her. The cup dropped from her hand and
spilled across the carpet.