Free What Happens in Scotland by Jennifer McQuiston

“Let your friend Channing take a look at you.”
    James snorted, and immediately regretted the expression. He lifted a hand to his head. Its pounding was dwarfed only by the sharp, immediate pain in his shin. “Oh, aye, that’s rich. Let’s have Patrick, the town veterinarian, take a look at me. I’ll be the pride of the MacKenzie clan for that.”
    “At least he won’t spread the tale far and yonder,” William argued. He spread his hands in supplication. “You need help, Jamie. And if you won’t take it from me, at least ask it of your friend.”
    A fresh wave of dizziness pressed in from all sides, and James closed his eyes against the weakness. He felt William’s hands slide across his back and reluctantly turned over some of his weight against his big brother’s ready shoulder. He had to fight against the urge to push himself away. He didn’t want to ask Patrick for help, any more than he wanted to accept William’s. But neither did he want to pitch over face-first in the sawdust-strewn entryway to Morrison’s Livery, the smell of urine-soaked shavings in his nostrils and the ringing laughter of the townsfolk in his ears.
    Though he knew it was shameful, pride had everything to do with it. His pride had been the only thing he had taken with him on his journey to manhood, the one thing he could not shake off when he had fled his father’s house eleven years ago and abandoned everything in his life that carried the stamp of the Earl of Kilmartie about it. Once upon a time, his ego had been the instrument of his downfall and very nearly his family’s. But that inborn arrogance had also pointed his feet down the road to self-sufficiency. That same pride now screamed at him to move on, to handle this himself.
    But luckily, good sense trumped pride, at least in this moment.
    “Fine,” James muttered, opening his eyes to take in his brother’s pinched concern. “To Patrick, then.” At the very least, he supposed if he went home he could change his clothes and wash from his skin the smell of the woman he could neither fully remember nor forget. “But remember, I’ve seen the man work,” he warned as they began to take their first tentative steps, dragging the mare behind them. “He’s as likely to put a bullet between my eyes as a bandage around my head.”
    “I’m proud of you for seeing reason,” William said, no small degree of amusement edging his voice. “Although, to be honest, I am beginning to think putting you out of your misery might be just the thing.”

 
    Chapter 6
    “I F YOU’RE GOING to stand there with your mouth hanging open, the least you could do is fetch me a towel.” The woman in Georgette’s bath spoke as easily as if she had asked for the salt over dinner.
    Only that conversation would have surely involved clothing.
    Georgette could voice no objection beyond a strangled, whistling sound lodged deep in her throat. Embarrassed heat stained her thoughts, but she could not look away. It was as if her eyes were operated by marionette strings.
    She forced her hands to stay relaxed, though her fingertips ached from the strain. Had she been half so brazen last night? If she had, it was no wonder she had ended up in a handsome stranger’s bed. “Who are you?” she finally choked out.
    The woman’s head lolled toward her. Two auburn brows drew up in confusion. “Why, I’m Elsie, miss. Have you taken a bloody great blow to your bean?”
    Georgette swallowed a surprised gasp. The chit was naked and profane. “Your full name, if you please,” she said crisply.
    A sigh of annoyance escaped the girl, as hot and damp as the steam rising from the tub. “Elsie Dalrymple. As if you dinna already know.”
    Georgette blinked at that. The girl implied no small degree of familiarity, yet Georgette did not recall having ever seen her before. “Why are you here, Miss Dalrymple?”
    The girl’s lip puckered in amusement. “Well, my, my. Aren’t we formal this morning. Just plain