wrist.
“I should leave,” he said quietly. “You fascinate me… Morag.”
Morag thought of the days to come, the blank, long empty, loveless days stretching out to the grave.
“Don’t go,” she said in a whisper.
He rose to his feet and pulled her to hers. He drew her slowly to him and folded his arms about her and she laid her head against the rough sleeve of his jacket. Her body seemed to be on fire. She was trembling. They were both trembling.
He raised her chin and bent his mouth to hers, moving his lips against her own, pressing closer and deeper while Murr Castle whirled around and around and disappeared, leaving them stranded and alone on an empty plain of passion.
It was fortunate for both their reputations that the servant carrying in the pudding was clumsy. He fumbled and rattled at the door before he succeeded in getting it open. By the time he entered, both were at their places at the table, breathing heavily.
“Och, yis havnae touched a bite,” said the servant, Hamish, with true Scottish democracy. “Well, naithin’s lost what a pig’ll eat. That’ll go right fine in the servants’ hall. Was yis wantin’ puddin’?”
Both shook their heads. “We will retire to the drawing room,” said Lord Toby, finding his voice. He rose and held out his arm. Hamish looked quickly at them both and clattered the dishes energetically. He was a large hairy Highlander who had been in the earl’s service for the past ten years.
Lord Toby’s one thought was to slam and lock the door of the drawing room and take Morag in his arms. Morag’s one thought was to let him do just that. Hamish’s new-sprung thought was to stop the couple doing anything at all.
To Lord Toby’s amazement, Hamish shouldered his way after them into the drawing room. “Whit a puir wee bit of a fire,” he said cheerfully. “I’ll hae that fixed in a trice.”
But he took a painfully long time about it, raking out the ash, placing logs on one by one.
Lord Toby drew Morag aside. “I shall come to your room later. I must see you. We cannot talk with this fellow here. Please wait for me,” he whispered, and dizzy with love and wine, Morag nodded.
Lord Toby then loudly and clearly said he was going to make an early night of it and tried not to be irritated at the relief on the servant’s face.
He held the door open for Morag, whispering very quietly as she passed him, “Later. Much later. When all are abed.”
Morag paced her room for the next hour. What on earth was she doing? Was it so wrong to snatch just one little bit of happiness?
And then she heard the earl cry out, “Morag!” in a great wail of anguish. She hurried to his room.
He was propped up against the pillows, his face swollen and feverish.
“Oh, Morag, Morag!” he cried. “I cannae thole the pain o’ this tooth any longer. I’ve been trying tae howk it out masell but I cannae.”
“Perhaps one of the servants…” began Morag, moving close to the bed.
“Not them. I’m a coward when it come tae my teeth and it disnae do tae let the servants see it. Ye’ll need tae do it for me, Morag.”
He waved a small silver pair of pincers at her.
“I can’t,” said Morag, backing away.
“Come along, lassie. I’ll die o’ the pain.” Morag thought of Lord Toby. Even now he might be approaching her room. She owed the earl something—even if it was only pulling a tooth.
She approached the bed again and leaned over him. “Very well,” she said, taking up the pincers. “Which one?”
“Is un,” said the earl, opening his mouth wide and pointing feverishly. Morag stared into the pit of decay in dismay. Which one of all these rotting teeth did he mean?
“Is un,” gabbled the earl again, laying his finger on a crumbling tombstone at the front.
Morag knelt on the bed beside him and cautiously put the pincers round the aching tooth. The earl braced himself against the pillows. Morag shut her eyes and pulled and pulled and pulled. Finally she
“I should leave,” he said quietly. “You fascinate me… Morag.”
Morag thought of the days to come, the blank, long empty, loveless days stretching out to the grave.
“Don’t go,” she said in a whisper.
He rose to his feet and pulled her to hers. He drew her slowly to him and folded his arms about her and she laid her head against the rough sleeve of his jacket. Her body seemed to be on fire. She was trembling. They were both trembling.
He raised her chin and bent his mouth to hers, moving his lips against her own, pressing closer and deeper while Murr Castle whirled around and around and disappeared, leaving them stranded and alone on an empty plain of passion.
It was fortunate for both their reputations that the servant carrying in the pudding was clumsy. He fumbled and rattled at the door before he succeeded in getting it open. By the time he entered, both were at their places at the table, breathing heavily.
“Och, yis havnae touched a bite,” said the servant, Hamish, with true Scottish democracy. “Well, naithin’s lost what a pig’ll eat. That’ll go right fine in the servants’ hall. Was yis wantin’ puddin’?”
Both shook their heads. “We will retire to the drawing room,” said Lord Toby, finding his voice. He rose and held out his arm. Hamish looked quickly at them both and clattered the dishes energetically. He was a large hairy Highlander who had been in the earl’s service for the past ten years.
Lord Toby’s one thought was to slam and lock the door of the drawing room and take Morag in his arms. Morag’s one thought was to let him do just that. Hamish’s new-sprung thought was to stop the couple doing anything at all.
To Lord Toby’s amazement, Hamish shouldered his way after them into the drawing room. “Whit a puir wee bit of a fire,” he said cheerfully. “I’ll hae that fixed in a trice.”
But he took a painfully long time about it, raking out the ash, placing logs on one by one.
Lord Toby drew Morag aside. “I shall come to your room later. I must see you. We cannot talk with this fellow here. Please wait for me,” he whispered, and dizzy with love and wine, Morag nodded.
Lord Toby then loudly and clearly said he was going to make an early night of it and tried not to be irritated at the relief on the servant’s face.
He held the door open for Morag, whispering very quietly as she passed him, “Later. Much later. When all are abed.”
Morag paced her room for the next hour. What on earth was she doing? Was it so wrong to snatch just one little bit of happiness?
And then she heard the earl cry out, “Morag!” in a great wail of anguish. She hurried to his room.
He was propped up against the pillows, his face swollen and feverish.
“Oh, Morag, Morag!” he cried. “I cannae thole the pain o’ this tooth any longer. I’ve been trying tae howk it out masell but I cannae.”
“Perhaps one of the servants…” began Morag, moving close to the bed.
“Not them. I’m a coward when it come tae my teeth and it disnae do tae let the servants see it. Ye’ll need tae do it for me, Morag.”
He waved a small silver pair of pincers at her.
“I can’t,” said Morag, backing away.
“Come along, lassie. I’ll die o’ the pain.” Morag thought of Lord Toby. Even now he might be approaching her room. She owed the earl something—even if it was only pulling a tooth.
She approached the bed again and leaned over him. “Very well,” she said, taking up the pincers. “Which one?”
“Is un,” said the earl, opening his mouth wide and pointing feverishly. Morag stared into the pit of decay in dismay. Which one of all these rotting teeth did he mean?
“Is un,” gabbled the earl again, laying his finger on a crumbling tombstone at the front.
Morag knelt on the bed beside him and cautiously put the pincers round the aching tooth. The earl braced himself against the pillows. Morag shut her eyes and pulled and pulled and pulled. Finally she
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