For The Love Of My Scotsman (Complete!)

Lessons In Murder

Thomas gawked at Lottie. "Are ye drunk?"

Her fierce expression faltered, and she lowered the knife. "N-no, I am of a sound mind."

"Oh, I doubt that," Thomas rested his pitchfork on his shoulder and closed the stall door behind him. "Unless it's a common thing for respectable young ladies to come to a man alone at night and request lessons in murder. Who knows? I have not been in society before, perhaps it's a new trend?"

Lottie's eyes, bright with unshed tears, crinkled at the corners and she finally laughed. She sniffed and pressed the back of her hand, which still held the knife, to her nose to stop it from running. "You never cease to amaze me, Mr. Hawthorne. This is a very serious matter; I shouldn't be laughing!"

Thomas grinned and paused in front of her. He ducked his head to be on her level, soaking in the glowing light of her smile. It was such a comforting sight. "Come, wee lassie. Something must be very wrong for you to come to me like this."

Lottie nodded, her gaze dropping. "I can't tell you who he is or what happened. It will only put you in danger. Just teach me how to kill him."

Thomas straightened. That same fear he'd seen in her eyes the other night had returned, only this time, she looked wild. Dangerous. Thomas knew she meant every word.

Lottie pushed past a confused Thomas and began riffling through the tack closet. She reemerged lugging a saddle far too big for her.

"What are you doing?" Thomas watched, bemused.

Lottie paused and blew the feathery bangs out of her eyes. "Saddle a horse, will you?"

"It's nigh midnight, wee lassie," Thomas folded his hands and leaned on his pitchfork. "Where are you intending to go?"

"Not me. We." she grunted. "Oh, fine!" She dropped the saddle on the floor and stood, pressing her hands against her lower back with a wince. "You're coming with me."

Thomas's eyes widened. "Oh, that'll be grand for your reputation."

Lottie glared at him, her pretty mouth pursed with determination. She hauled the saddle up onto her shoulder and attempted to position it on the back of Esquire, the large black gelding in the stall behind Thomas.

With a roll of his eyes, Thomas took the saddle from her before she could hurt the horse, or herself, and finished the job properly while Lottie retrieved two long winter coats for them. He led Esquire from the stall and presented it to the determined young woman. "There. Happy?"

"Get on," she pushed against his back with her shoulder, trying to force him up on the horse's back.

Thomas squawked. "Watch those hands, lassie! At least make a proposal before you touch me down there."

Lottie gasped indignantly. "I assure you my intentions are—you're teasing me again, aren't you?"

Thomas just winked. Lottie squealed in annoyance and shoved him in the backside again, straining to make him mount the horse. With a laugh, Thomas finally gave in and pulled himself into the saddle.

"Now lift me up, too," Lottie said, reaching her hand up expectantly.

"I beg your pardon? You want to ride with me?" Thomas drew the horse back a step, feigning alarm. "You have already taken advantage of me enough for one night, thank you very much."

She planted her hands on her hips and cocked her head in exasperation. "I can't ride. I haven't been able to since... since the mill."

"Oh," Thomas dropped his teasing smile and looked down at his hands uncomfortably. Le Coquin had thrown Lottie over the back of his horse and carted her off to the mill like a sack of potatoes. The memories of the experience must still haunt her. Silently, Thomas clasped her little hand in his and pulled her up onto the saddle in front of him.