Wake Me With a Kiss: A Fairy Tale Retelling (Regency Fairy Twists Book 1) (8 page)

Hamish had managed to
keep away for one day. One long, long day. He eyed the attractive house, its
slightly sandy color creating a stark contrast to the greenery around it. The
gardener gave him a quick nod of greeting before turning his attention back to
the bush he was pruning.

Striding up the front porch, he drew up his shoulders and straightened
his jacket. Before he could pull the bell, Miss Taylor bustled out with an
armful of sheets. She glanced up at him, eyes wide.

“Oh, my laird.”

“Good afternoon. Is Rose in?”

“Yes, she’s abed at present.”

He frowned. “She is still unwell?”

“Not exactly.” She glanced from side to side. “She is tired.”

“But she is well?”

“Yes, she is almost recovered.”

He let himself relax. “Good, for a moment I thought—”

“I think you had better return another day, my laird.”

He peered down at the rounded woman. “Can I not speak with Mrs. Merriweather
at least? I should like to pay my respects.”

“I—” She paused when Mrs. Shaw came up behind her.

“Oh, my laird, you came already? I would have thought you were mightily
fed up with us,” the cook declared.

“How could I ever be?” he said with a smile. He turned his attention
back to Miss Taylor. “I willnae take up much of yer mistress’s time.”

“He wants to see Mrs. Merriweather?” the cook asked.

“Aye,” he confirmed. “I wouldnae object to seeing Rose either.”

The cook glanced at Miss Taylor and retreated. “I shall speak to Mrs.
Merriweather.”

Miss Taylor bundled the sheet close. Hamish narrowed his gaze at her. “What
is wrong? Is Miss Merriweather ill?”

“No, not at all. It has just been…a hard day for her. If she agrees to
see you, perhaps she will explain.”

Hamish could not fathom what he had done so wrong to warrant this
strange greeting. Did she now blame him for what had happened? God knew he
blamed himself. Had Rose died he would never have forgiven himself. As it was,
he could still find no trace of Marianne. Most of him hoped she was in a ditch
somewhere.

Mrs. Shaw shuffled back out into the hallway and gave a dip. “Mrs. Merriweather
will see you. She’s in the parlor.” She motioned to the door to the side where
he had once shared tea with Rose and her aunt. He recalled feeling too damned
large for such a small room and wondering if Rose thought he looked an utter
fool in the tiny chairs.

He ducked into the room to find Mrs. Merriweather tucked up in a
blanket, looking remarkably aged by the past few days. She motioned to the seat
opposite and he took it.

“Are ye unwell, Mrs. Merriweather?”

She shook her head. “A little tired, that is all. What can I do for you,
my laird?”

He noted he was back to being laird. Maybe she really did blame him.

“I had hoped to see Rose.”

“Of course. I am afraid that cannot happen.”

“I also hoped to speak with ye,” he persisted. If he could just persuade
her he loved Rose more than life itself, perhaps she would forgive him.

“You may speak to me.”

He swallowed the knot that had wedged in his throat. “I think ye know
that I have feelings for yer niece.”

She nodded.

“I believe she has feelings for me too.”

She nodded again.

“I would like very much yer permission to court her,” he said quickly.

Mrs. Merriweather gave a soft smile. “Yer a fine man, my laird, but I am
afraid I cannot give you that permission.”

“If ye are worried about whether I will look after her…”

A hand held aloft, she shook her head. “I have seen what you would do
for her. But I am afraid, my laird, she will not see you.”

He scowled. “Why not? Does she blame me for what happened?”

“Not at all. As for why, I cannot really explain myself. It is not up to
me. But she specifically said that if you called, she would not see you.”

“Ye must let me speak with her.”

Aunt May sighed. “I will let her know you called, and I will try to persuade
her to at least write to you. There’s not much more I can do. My niece is a
stubborn girl.”

“Aye, that she is.”

“I am sorry I cannot be of more help, my laird, but at this point I must
respect her wishes. Goodness knows I have wronged her in many ways. I will not
deny her wishes on this, no matter how I feel about it.”

He puzzled over her choice of words. What could Rose’s aunt have
possibly done to wrong her? As far as he knew, the woman had raised an orphan
and had been a loving and wonderful aunt.

He debated trying to argue with her, but the sudden fragility washing
over her face and making her hands tremble prevented him. Instead he rose and
dipped his head. “I shall write to her, if ye dinnae mind. Perhaps I can persuade
her to see me.”

“Yes, I am sure that will be fine. Excuse me if I do not…” She made the
motion of standing with her hand.

“Of course. Good day to ye, Mrs. Merriweather.”

He ducked out of the parlor only to find Mrs. Shaw waiting for him. She
twined her fingers together, the petite woman looking as though she might burst
out of her skin. “You came to see Rose?”

“Aye.”

“She is in her room.”

“I had assumed as much.”

“The gardener is working just under her window. I believe he is cutting
back some of the vines. It means he must use a ladder.”

He peered at the woman. Why the devil was he getting a lesson in
gardening?

Mrs. Shaw gave a huff and shook her head. “Och, I didn’t think you daft,
lad. Use the ladder and sneak into her room. Speak to her.”

A chuckle escaped him. “Aye, if ye wish. But if I end up thrown off the
top of a ladder, it will be on yer head.”

“I would offer to hold the ladder, but I do not think I should be doing
as much when you’re wearing a kilt.”

“I can manage, I think. I wouldnae wish to give ye a scare, Mrs. Shaw.”

“Hurry then. I shall distract the gardener.”

Hamish trekked around the outside of the house. He found the ladder on
the east side, tucked under a slightly ajar window. Mrs. Shaw must have had
some hand in ensuring it was open, the canny woman. Without hesitation, he
clambered up the ladder, aware the brittle wood was likely not designed for
someone of his weight or stature.

Oh well, Rose was worth a broken leg or two.

With great effort, he hauled himself through the window. He released an
oof
when he landed on the floor and Rose
squealed. He cursed silently. He’d be lucky if Aunt May or the housekeeper did
not come in brandishing a broom, ready to see off the invader.

Coming to his feet, he pushed a hand through his hair and straightened
his jacket. He lifted his gaze to Rose, who had huddled herself in a corner, a
glass vase in hand.

“I hope ye dinnae intend to use that.”

She glanced at the vase and hastily put it down. “What are ye doing
here?”

Some color was back in her cheeks, but there were still rings around her
eyes and they looked red, as though she had been crying. He swore to God, if he
had been responsible for those tears, he’d throw his damned self out of the
window. He took one step forward, and she pressed herself back against the
wall.

He took in the feminine decor of the room, all powder blues with flowers
on just about everything from the bedding to the curtains to the seat padding.
It was certainly fitting for Rose.

With her golden hair a little mussed and in a simple dress scattered
with a sprig print, she reminded him of the first day they had met. All she
needed was a few more dirt streaks. Hamish could not help but smile at the
thought.

“Yer aunt said ye would not see me.”

“I-I was going to write to explain.”

“I would rather ye tell me in person.”

She sighed and pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “I know it was
cowardly of me, but I knew if I saw you I would…”

“Would what?”

“Want you.” The last word cracked and he scowled. He took a swift step
forward. All he wanted to do was sweep her up in his arms and take away
whatever her troubles were.

“Why is that a problem? Is this about Marianne?”

She shook her head.

“What were ye going to write to me about?”

Rose slumped onto the bed and eyed him. “I found out something that
makes it impossible for me to marry you.”

“Well unless yer married or my sister, I cannae think what it could be,
and I am fairly certain ye are neither.”

“No.” She gave a weak smile. “I am illegitimate.”

Air escaped his lungs. He laughed.

Her eyes widened. “It is not funny!”

“Forgive me, but I thought ye were dying or something. It’s funny
indeed.”

“Do you not see? I cannot marry a laird. I would bring shame upon you.”

Gingerly, he inched over and placed himself on the bed. The ropes
creaked as he lowered his weight fully onto it. Rose’s thigh brushed his and he
gritted his teeth. All he wanted was to hold her close and kiss her until she
forgot every foolish thought in her head of not seeing him.

Instead, he lifted her hand off her lap and threaded his fingers through
hers. He eyed the creamy paleness of her slender fingers against the darker
roughness of his.

“Rose.” He squeezed her hand to urge her to look at him. “I couldnae
care if ye were the daughter of a damned donkey. I love ye and I cannae imagine
living my life without ye.”

Tears blossomed in her eyes. “I love you too.”

“Good. Then that’s all that matters.”

“But…”

“No buts. I dinnae give a damn what yer past is. I know ye, lass, and
yer a fine woman and more than fit to be married to a laird, especially a rough
highlander laird like myself. Do ye no’ think people have more objections to me
than my choice of bride? In truth, it’s likely that ye shall ingratiate me
toward people, because who could not adore you?”

“But, Hamish…”

“Enough now, lass. I’ll hear no more on it.” He brought his mouth down
upon hers and kissed her firmly until any sounds of protest vanished. Drawing
back, he saw the doubt had vanished from her eyes. “This highlander wants ye
for his bride and he’ll no’ take no for an answer.”

“I suppose I had better say yes then,” she said, laughing.

“Aye, ye should.”

He kissed her again for good measure.

Rose kissed her
mother farewell, and Hamish handed her up into the carriage. She gave her
mother a last wave before her husband tapped the roof and the carriage started
off. He wrapped an arm about her and stared intently at her.

“What is it, Hamish?”

“Are ye well?”

She smiled and took his hand. “I am. It was good to see her, even if she
could not publicly acknowledge who I am.” She leaned back against the carriage
seat. “I confess, London is exciting but I am looking forward to returning to
Scotland.”

“If there is anything I have learned from marriage, it is dinnae argue
with yer wife,” he declared. “And I woudlnae argue with you on that.”

Rose smiled. They had both missed home. She had explored much of London
and though they had not spent time with the finer elements of society, she had
seen more than enough of the town that never seemed to stop moving. Her mother
had been overjoyed to meet her. Although Rose could not claim to feel much like
her daughter, they got on beautifully and she was pleased to have met her. Her
husband was a kind and doting man who had long since known the truth.

“I cannot help feel it was all for the best,” she said. “Aunt May taking
me in,” she explained.

“Aye, if she had not, ye both would have been shunned from society.”

“Precisely. And neither of us would have met such fine men,” she said
with a smile.

“Oh? Where is this fine man ye met? Do I have to fight him for ye?”

Tapping his arm, she laughed. “Give me a braw highlander over a London gentleman
any day.” She peered out of the window at slow-moving traffic. It would take
them quite some time to navigate the busy roads of London and make their way to
the traveler’s inn in which they would be staying. “Rupert will have missed us
too. We should have brought him with us.”

“He’ll be perfectly happy running yer aunt and Mrs. Shaw and Miss Taylor
ragged. London is far too long a trip for him.”

“Aunt May has quite the soft spot for him, I think.”

“I noticed. That mutt has more friends than I do, I think. I dinnae know
how he gets away with it. He causes mischief and yet everyone adores him.”

“Well, I adore you.” Rose leaned into her husband. “Oh.” She
straightened and peered out of the window. They were stuck behind several
curricles that were holding them up as the drivers argued over something. But that
was not what had drawn her attention. “Look.” She pointed in the direction of a
generous town coach parked on the side of the road.

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

An older gentleman hustled along a group of several children—nine, Rose
realized—but that was not the exceptional thing. Miss Marianne Andrews was
herding them along with him. Dressed in an extremely fine gown, her appearance
should have been quite elegant except that her hat was askew, the children were
tugging at her dress, and the infant in her arms was smearing its face across
her chest. Marianne grimaced and said something to the gentleman. He shook his
head, and Rose saw her huff and roll her eyes.

“That is Viscount Winterbourne. I had heard he had remarried to a Miss
Marianne but it didnae occur it could be her.”

“I guess she found her rich husband,” Rose mused.

“She did, though by the looks of it, she is regretting as much.”

They giggled as the infant yanked the hat from her head and issued a
wild scream that was then echoed by Marianne.

“The viscount’s wife died during childbirth,” Hamish confided. “He was
looking for a mother for the children.”

“It looks as though he found one, though I am not sure she is relishing
the opportunity.”

Hamish chuckled. “It doesnae indeed.”

The argument ahead had passed and the carriage moved again. They rolled
past the town coach and Marianne glanced her way. She froze, her eyes wide.
Hamish sat forward and gave her a little wave. Her eyes narrowed, but her
attention was soon dragged away by a child trying to clamber up her dress.

“For goodness’ sake,” they heard her say, “can you not control them?”

“That is your duty now, my dear,” the viscount snapped back.

Leaning back against the seat, they laughed and Hamish pulled her close.
“It seems Marianne has more than paid for her misdeeds.”

“I would say that I would not wish that fate on the worst of my enemies,
but it seems fitting for her.”

Hamish slipped a hand under her chin and peered into her eyes. Any
thoughts of Marianne or squalling children were gone. His other hand slid down
to her barely rounded stomach. They had yet to tell her aunt and Mrs. Shaw and Miss
Taylor the good news, but she could hardly wait. Her braw highlander would make
a wonderful father.

“Let us think no more on her.”

“I have barely spared her a thought,” Rose said, looping her arms around
his neck. “How can I when I am so content?”

“And I intend to keep ye that way forever, my beautiful lass.”

“I know.” She smiled before he kissed her.

THE END

If you enjoyed this title, please consider leaving a
review.

Sign up to Samantha’s newsletter
for new releases, freebies and giveaways.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Samantha lives in a small village in England with her
twin girls and a dachshund called Duke. She enjoys writing historical romance
involving chivalrous knights, hot highlanders and cravatted men. Writing is her
(more than) full time job but on the rare occasion, she's not writing, she
loves to visit the many stately homes and castles nearby. She also helps run
www.lovebooksdaily.com
, bringing free
and bargain romance of all kinds to thousands of readers every day.