For The Love Of My Scotsman (Complete!)

A Scotsman's Heart

Thomas reached a hand out to Lottie's shoulder but stopped himself just in time.

Mr. de Lacy's gaze flicked between them and his lips twitched knowingly. Thomas's chest grew hot with annoyance at the insinuating grin.

Lottie rose to her feet, determination pinching her brows.

"Lottie," Thomas whispered. She glanced back at him and he shook his head slightly.

Mr. de Lacy stood as well and leaned close to Lottie. "Care to share your revelation?" His arm brushed her shoulder. Thomas strangled a growl, his eyes widening in outrage.

Lottie glared at Mr. de Lacy and pointedly stepped away, but Thomas still found himself breathing heavily. How dare Mr. de Lacy pretend such intimacy with his Lottie?

My Lottie... Thomas's shoulders sagged slightly as he realized that he had no right to call the beautiful young woman his. He was a lowly stableboy-turned-valet, not someone with wealth or good social standing worthy of Miss Lottie Atwell, the sought-after charge of Lord Greyville.

Before Mr. de Lacy could try to interrogate Lottie again, Mrs. Ashdown excused herself from the card table and looped her arm through his, dragging him toward the side chairs.

"Oh, dear Mr. de Lacy, I have some juicy gossip that I think you will find most intriguing," her eyes glittered meaningfully in Lottie's direction, but Thomas found his attention drawn to the remaining players at the table.

Lord Campbell and Lady Hillington both watched the older woman with shadowed faces.

With the round ended, the Countess and Earl bid their guests goodnight and the players retired for the evening.

Lottie followed, her attention solely on Miss Wilde. Thomas groaned inwardly. Was she about to confront another suspected murderer? Had his warning only an hour before meant nothing to her?

Discretely, he followed after her as she stalked Miss Wilde through the dark castle halls. Their prey happily tucked her winnings into her bodice, looking more at ease than Thomas had seen her thus far.

Miss Wilde slipped into her room, and, with an annoyed grumble, Thomas watched as Lottie followed so closely behind that she entered before the door could close. Her footsteps must have been silent enough that Miss Wilde hadn't heard.

***
Lottie closed the door with a soft click behind her, watching Miss Wilde's every move.

"Is Mrs. Ashdown aware that you are not her beloved niece?" she asked quietly.

Miss Wilde screamed, whirling around so fast that some of her carefully pinned curls flew loose.

The door behind Lottie burst open, throwing her forward.

She landed hard on the wood floor, her elbow taking most of the fall. Thomas exploded into the room, the spiked ball of a Morning Star swinging from his raised hand as he yelled fearsomely.

Miss Wilde and Lottie screamed simultaneously. Thomas stumbled back in surprise at their shrill voices, the Morning Star wavering. He must have stolen it from one of the many suits of armor that lined the hallway, Lottie thought even as her heart pounded from the shock of seeing him rush through like some Scottish warrior from the Highlands.

Miss Wilde dropped to the floor in a dead faint and Thomas grimaced guiltily.

"Lottie?" he whispered, looking rather sheepish as he held the medieval weapon to his chest to keep the wickedly spiked ball from swinging.