Page 46 of A Dash of Scot
Biscuits? What biscuits?
Poppy bolted up to her feet, shaking the cobwebs of sleep from her brain, and gathered her blanket and book. “What do you mean?”
“They went looking for ye during tea, and when they couldn’t find ye, sent out a party to search. All your servants, Colonel Austen, me. I’m glad I found ye.”
“I wasn’t lost. Just napping.”
“Well, I think that’s what they make beds for,” he teased, but it only made her bristle.
Because they made beds for other things. Things she thought they might do together until Dougal had dashed those thoughts, and all she could think of now was him and Lucia doing those same things.
“Though I canna blame ye,” Dougal said. “The weather is enchanting, and I have had more than a few naps against a tree.”
Oh, now he would ruin her afternoon napping sessions too? She’d never be able to lean against a tree without thinking of him again. Poppy rushed back toward the cottage, irritated that it had been Dougal who found her, woke her, and now kept stride with her.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” she asked, hoping her tone would be more than a hint he should shoo like a fly.
“I’m right where I want to be.”
Oh! The nerve! How dare he say such a thing. With her usual wit and a bit of snark, she said, “Rushing over the grass?”
“With Miss Featherstone, ye forgot to add that.” He seemed unbothered by her obvious irritation with him, which only made her more irritated.
“Is that a choice that most people would make? Like biscuits with milk or toast and jam? A walk with a woman they’ve…” She couldn’t finish the sentence; even uttering it made her feel shame.
Dougal stopped walking. She spied him reaching for her elbow and hurried forward. Felt him staring at her retreating back as he said, “Doesna matter, Poppy. Ye’re no’ most people, and neither am I. However, it is the choice that I’m making.”
That made her feet stop working, her legs halting in place. He was making the choice to be there with her. Not with Lucia. It was too much. All of it. Too much and not enough. And so much she couldn’t even understand or put words to. As if she’d lost the ability to form thoughts and reason.
Poppy did the best thing she knew how to—she ran. Hurrying away from him, hurrying from the feelings he brought out. But the clouds of confusion followed, and the ache in her chest seized her.
Her heart begged her to turn around, to acknowledge what he’d said, and then demand to know everything.
In the distance, she could hear people calling her name. Understood then that their worry for her outweighed her sentiments where Dougal was concerned. She could give him a piece of her mind and demand answers later, after she let her mother know that she’d not been eaten by wolves, though to be honest, when she was beside Dougal, that was a little how she felt.
Devoured, torn.
Back at the cottage, her mother broke out into singsong pleasure upon seeing her arrival, and Anise let out a long breath.
And behind her, she could hear the very distinct sounds of Dougal approaching.
16
Dougal bristled with frustration.
The entire point of his coming today had been to speak the truth, and he’d done a slapdash job at that. When he’d finally blurted out that being with Poppy was the only place he wanted to be, he could see he’d struck a chord in her, but then she’d run off. He couldn’t decide whether she’d run off in disgust or she’d run off to put distance between them for her to think.
Part of his mind, the more reasonable part, instructed him to give her time to mull over what he’d said. After all, prior to his arrival, she’d likely cursed him to the darkest depths of the Hell. The other part told him to bolt after her and demand she listen because he was afraid of losing her. Afraid that he’d already wasted too much time not telling her how he felt.
Dougal reached the charming cottage, which was clear the women had been working hard to bring back to life, to hear the sounds through an open window of Lady Cullen cooing over Poppy and Anise fussing too.
Colonel Austen was standing in the center of the yard, looking as confused as a puppy in the rain. His friend eyed him as though he had something to say but couldn’t remember how to make his mouth work.
“Out with it,” Dougal demanded under his breath when he reached his side.
“Did ye tell her?”
Dougal grimaced. “I tried, but I hardly had the chance.” He gestured toward the women, seen now through the drawing room window. They were hugging as though Poppy had disappeared well and truly for days and not merely hours. “Couldna get in the way of that reunion.” Mentally, he nailed his feet in place, else he would march inside.
