Page 62 of The Scot Who Loved Me
Mr. Erskine’s eyes narrowed on Will. “Your betrothed looks healthy enough, but appearances can be deceiving.”
Will made an assessment of his own. Mr. Erskine was an educated Scots, east coast, Stirling or Edinburgh by his smoothly trilledRs.
“Like your jars of bat’s eyes and mermaid tears?”
Mr. Erskine’s smile was brisk. “‘A wee thing amuses the bairns.’”
Hearing the old Scots proverb was a taste of home. “Simple people are amused by simple things.”
“Indeed, the people of London seem quite taken with the display behind me. Ignore it. As long as I cure their ills, I could claim to have dragon’s blood and people would still pay good coin for it.” He reached under the counter and produced a scarred wooden box. “I keep my better remedies in here.”
Anne pulled folded paper from her petticoat pocket. “We have a small list.”
“Is the problem of a marital variety?” Mr. Erskine steepled his fingers above the box. “An inability to—shall we say—rise to the occasion?”
Will choked on a shocked laugh. “My tackle rises just fine, sir.”
The apothecary looked to Anne. “Then, his is a problem of completion.”
Anne giggled like a schoolgirl, her eyes bright and her cheeks pink. “Mr. MacDonald’s needs are numerous, but I can vouch he is very capable in both rising to the occasion and completing it.” She unfolded her list, adding an impish, “At least that was the case long ago.”
Mr. Erskine hummed, deep in thought. He no doubt conversed daily on this delicate topic with the fine people of Southwark.
“A healthy specimen, you say? And there are no concerns with longevity? Or the like?”
Will was hands-on-hips indignant. “There are none.”
Mr. Erskine set his box under the counter with a righteous, “Any woman about to be leg-shackled has the right to know.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” Anne was all smiles, sliding her wrinkled list across the counter. “If you would be so kind, and fill this order for Aunt Flora’s headache powder.”
The apothecary donned his spectacles and read the list. “This is all you need?”
“It is.”
The older man disappeared to a room behind his impressive wall of mystical remedies. Glassware clanked and there was a gentlepop, a jar uncorked by the sound. Will set both hands on the counter, his voice low for Anne’s ears alone.
“You wound me, lass.” Though his mouth could barely contain his grin.
She giggled again and he shushed her.
“It was funny, Mr. MacDonald.”
“Because it was at my expense.”
Anne poked his belly, her voice matching his. “Exactly. And you’re man enough to laugh about it. That’s what I like about you.”
“Likeyou say? This is promising.”
She sobered a little. “Despite our ill-advised kiss, there is nothing beyond our mutual liking, which bodes well for the next few days. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“As you say, lass.”
She playfully stroked the spot she’d poked. “Admit it. You were about to laugh. I saw the corners of your eyes creasing while Mr. Erskine carried on.”
“He is serious about his business.”
And Anne became serious about avoiding any further conversation that hinted at emotions. She withdrew her waistcoat-stroking hand and put distance between them as if struck by the intimacy of her hand on his body. A pall clouded her visage while she wandered the store, touching herbs and glass jars crammed with unknown contents.
