Page 117 of All Scot and Bothered

Cecelia.Who’d shown him to the gates of heaven, and then, with a few words, plunged him back into the cold depths of his own desolate hell.

After he bathed, Ramsay climbed to his hunting perch. From his vantage in the old oak, he watched as Cecelia took Phoebe inside. He followed their candlelight through the windows as the stars came out, knowing their routine by now. They ate their collected berries with clotted cream for dessert, then washed, cleaned teeth, braided hair, told stories.

And he sat outside as he always did. Apart.

Alone.

This time by choice, because life had taught him many things about conquering and survival but blessed little about connection.

Longing stole his breath as it banded around his chest. It fought with another emotion welling from within. He wished he wasn’t possessed of the acumen to identify it for what it was.

Fear.

What he feared most he could not say. Love? Loss? Humiliation and abandonment?

How sentiment might weaken him. Might render him vulnerable.

Eventually the night drove him from his watchtower,and he strode toward the woodshed. It was too late to reveal anything to Phoebe now, and he was too weary in every possible way.

She’d seemed ready enough to accept him as a father figure when he’d spoken to her earlier, but only inasmuch as he would make Cecelia happy.

And now that he couldn’t, would she be disappointed to call him Papa?

As he passed the house, Ramsay smelled the sweet pipe tobacco Jean-Yves was fond of smoking on the porch. He quickened his pace, hoping the old man would let him pass in peace.

No such luck.

“Fancy a smoke, my lord?” Jean-Yves held up a long pipe in greeting and offering.

“I doona smoke,” he answered shortly, nodding his head in respect for the elder.

“If anyone should ask, neither do I,” the Frenchman said with a shrug. “Cecelia doesn’t like it. She worries for my lungs. But she is putting young Phoebe to bed, and what she does not know, she cannot worry about.” Bushy brows waggled in the flaring light of a match as he lit a coal in his pipe.

Ramsay couldn’t say why he drifted to the dilapidated porch when all he wanted to do was retreat.

“Here.” Jean-Yves handed him a bottle of caramel liquid. “The whiskey is shit, but it does the trick.”

“The whiskey was meant to be used medicinally, not recreationally,” Ramsay muttered, taking the glass. “I didna buy it for the label.”

“If ever there was a medicinal use, this would be it,” Jean-Yves chuffed. “When I found out I was going to be a father, I drank an entire bottle of wine in one hour. But my liver was younger then.”

Ramsay couldn’t say the idea didn’t appeal to him, but he didn’t want to dull his senses, not when he had two precious women to protect. To be respectful, he brought the bottle to his lips and took a judicious sip, wincing as the liquid hit the back of his throat like fire and acid.

The Frenchman was right. It was shit.

Still, he took a second drink.

He and Jean-Yves watched the nearly full moon crawl across the night sky for a long, silent moment before the elder man spoke in soft tones. “I remember when my daughter was your Phoebe’s age. It is a time of questions and patience and many, many different colors of ribbons.”

“My Phoebe,” Ramsay murmured, his heart doing an extra thump. He loved her already. He’d fallen for her brilliant crooked smile and dimpled charm before he’d even known of their relation. He wanted to teach her more than how to swim; he wanted to teach her how to fight, how to learn, how to be Scottish.

He would protect her. Raise her. Spoil and scold her. He would love her more than a child had ever been loved. She wouldbelong, and live every day knowing she was wanted. She would not only be a doctor, but thebestdoctor. He would fight any school that wouldn’t take her. He would buck any system that wouldn’t allow her to achieve the dreams of keeping mothers alive. He’d help her break down the walls erected by men around institutions and businesses and women, themselves.

He’d make it so she’d never have to yield.

Christ, he’d been such an ass. So incredibly blind.

After all of the grief he’d heaped upon Cecelia’s head since they’d met,hewas the one with a hidden scandal.