Page 58 of The Scot is Hers
In a little less than twenty-four hours, her fate would be decided for her. She nibbled on the toast on her plate—the only thing she’d put there, unable to stand much more, not even butter or jam. The constant urge to wretch was never far away, and the idea of eating anything more than a few crumbs was out of the question. Even the tea seemed to leave her unsettled.
And her mother...oh, the woman wouldn’t leave her side. It had been an effort the night before to have her mother sleep in a different room, when she’d wanted to stay and share the bed to keep an eye on her. In essence, Giselle felt as if she were suffocating at present.
She and Alec had shared so much in those few short minutes they’d been alone in the abbey. Both of them opening up their hearts, and then he’d disappeared. It seemed like every time they had a few moments to talk, to share and get to know one another—and to kiss—they were interrupted. If she didn’t see him soon, she was going to start running through the castle and grounds shouting his name.
As if the heavens heard her fervent prayer, Alec sauntered into the breakfast room, his cheeks flushed from early morning exercise. Dressed in a kilt and shirt, he was casual and dashing all at once.
His eyes met hers, sparkling with mischief. “Good morning.”
A murmuring of good mornings went up from the other guests who’d already sat at the table, but Giselle found it hard to make her mouth work. He looked so incredibly handsome. Her body sparked to life. It took quite a lot of willpower not to swipe away her toast and crawl over the table to the other side, where he stood watching her.
If only the room would melt away, leaving just the two of them. Her chest swelled with unacknowledged emotion. Lately, it felt as if every interaction between them was left unfinished. She wanted more of everything. More time. More words. More touch. More kisses.
“A game of croquet has been set up for anyone who wishes to play after breakfast,” Lady Errol said from the head of the table. “It looks as if it will be a splendid day for it.”
Giselle tried to ignore the flash of disappointment at the announcement. Organized games meant she’d not have a chance to sneak off with Alec. Besides, the last time she’d played croquet, she’d gotten a wee bit too enthusiastic and knocked her ball through a window.
Alec gathered toast, eggs and bacon and took the empty seat beside her, his knee touching hers and sending a jolt of awareness through her. As he reached for his napkin, his fingers brushed the side of her hand while she reached for her tea.
Across the table, her mother watched their every move. A shame she hadn’t been so vigilant when Joshua was near. Not that it would have mattered, as her mother didn’t seem overly concerned with the truth of that man’s manners.
“I trust ye slept well,” Alec said as he buttered his toast and then slathered on a thick layer of raspberry jam.
“Aye, my lord.” She wanted to tell him the truth, that she’d barely slept at all, that every few minutes, she had to convince herself not to rise and traipse through the house to find him.
When her mother was distracted by a conversation with one of the other guests, he whispered, “Do ye like to play croquet?”
“No’ especially. There was an unfortunate incident the last time I tried to play.” She told him about the window, and he laughed.
“Well, I’ve no’ broken any windows, but I am still no’ fond of the game because of the sheer lack of entertainment. I find it boring.”
“How should we attempt to make the game more fun for ourselves? I fear any more enthusiasm and I might take down the castle.”
“We shall have to find a way to distract ourselves—and the others. I think ye might have a sore ankle and need a rescue,” he suggested.
Giselle grinned, trying to subdue her excitement under the overly watchful gaze of her mother. She lowered her voice. “I think ye are quite right. Perhaps ten minutes into the game?”
“Or less.” He chuckled, the sound drawing her mother’s dragon gaze toward him.
“What is so funny?” she inquired. “Do tell the rest of the table.”
“Oh, I’m sure it is nothing we want to hear,” the dowager countess said, and Giselle had never liked the woman more, as no one would go against the hostess at her own table.
Giselle sipped her tea to hide her pleased smile when her mother did not push the issue.
The day was glorious, with the sun shining down on them and a gentle breeze blowing to take away the heat. The game of croquet was exuberant, and given the ladies were rushing toward their balls and whacking them with a lot of force, it was easy for Giselle to fake a tumble—without breaking a window.
Alec rushed toward her as her mother gasped. But Giselle only stifled a laugh as he grinned down at her and whispered, “Well played.”
“I think I need a lie-down,” Giselle called, forcing her face to look rather serious so her mother wouldn’t see through her lies.
Lady Bothwell narrowed her eyes, opened her mouth to retort, but couldn’t get in a word as Alec spoke.
“I’ll carry ye, my lady,” Alec volunteered.
“Nay,” Giselle’s mother protested, but there again was Lady Errol at her mother’s side, drawing her away by some means Giselle couldn’t hear.
Alec lifted her into his arms, and she resisted the urge to cuddle close.
