Page 77 of The Duke's Wicked Widow
“Youlightatreeonfire?” she repeated. “Onpurpose?”
“Aye.” Fawkes’s attention was on the dagger he’d pulled from its sheath and he now sharpened as he spoke, the actions seeming more habit than anything else. “The village does a whole dead tree, but the one I used to drag in for Mother was just a regular log.”
“This isn’t the same tree you hang ornaments from?” Merida asked suspiciously, and Fawkes’s grin—dimple!—flashed.
“Nay, that is a new tradition, remember. Scots are set in our ways.”
“Iloveto see the Christmas trees,” the girl sighed, sitting back. “They’re so beautiful. I hope we can have a Christmas tree this year, Ellie. A big one—bigger than Fawkes.”
Ellie’s smile was tight, and she suspected not at all reassuring.
The knock at the door was sudden and, judging from the way Fawkes shot to his feet and Tramp began barking, unexpected.
He flipped the dagger in his hand so the blade rested along his forearm, and tossed the whetstone aside. “Who kens ye’re here?” he demanded of Ellie.
But she just shook her head. “The driver, perhaps,” she whispered. “My uncle?”
“Fook,” he muttered, then shook his head. “Stay here,” he commanded Merida with a sharp glance. “Dono’move, aye?”
He waited for the girl—who’d thrown herself into Ellie’s arms as she sensed the tension in the air—to nod with wide eyes, before he took a deep breath and turned back to the door.
“Who is it?” he barked, just as he’d done that first night Ellie had arrived.
The answer came back immediately, in a pitch too high to be a grown man. “Telegram, sir, first class.”
Fawkes shot Ellie a startled glance, then reached for the knob. “Aye, how much, lad?”
When the transaction was complete, and the boy tipped, Fawkes locked the door once more then slid his dagger away.
He turned, rested his shoulder against the door, and slit open the envelope.
Ellie, still holding Merida, watched him read.
Watched his expression slacken in shock, then harden in anger.
Watched him slowly straighten and roll his shoulders.
When he looked up and met her eyes, his jaw was clenched.
“What is it?” she whispered.
“My father.” The words weren’t spoken with affection. “He’s finally gone and died. I must return to my mother.”
“Yay!” screeched Merida, punching the air. “We’re going to Scotland!”
Chapter 13
“You did not haveto do this, really,” Ellie repeated for what felt like the ninth time. “It was bad enough to force our company on you in your own home, but at a time of mourning—”
“I’m no’ mourning,” Fawkes snapped out, knowing well and good his bad mood likelysoundedlike he was mourning. “I didnae ken the bastard.”
They were seated across from one another as the train swayed gently past what looked like Oxford. Merida was seated beside Ellie, her nose pressed to the cold window, her exclamations garnering fond smiles from their fellow passengers.
“So you say,” Ellie repeated, “but you have been in a foul mood since—”
“Ye want to ken why that is?” he snapped, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees and pierce her with a glare.Dinnae say it, man.“Because ye deserve a first-class carriage, and I cannae waste money on such frivolities. Because I booked us as a family, and hearing that porter call yeMrs. MacMillanmade me want to punch someone.”
Her lips formed a little “oh”, and he knew he shouldn’t have admitted so much.
