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Smiling, Giles stood and offered a hand. “I’m delighted ye’ve joined me. I can think of other things a newly-wedded couple might spend their time doing instead of celebrating Christmas Eve with me. Congratulations to you both.”
Amused by Eala’s deep blush, Ambrose accepted the gesture. “Thank ye. I’d lost track of the days and hadna realized ’tis Christmas Eve.”
Giles pulled out a chair for Eala. “You’ve married a fine man, young lady.”
“I’m very aware of it, Dr. Raincourt,” she replied as she sat.
“Please, call me Giles,” he insisted as he regained his seat. “We’re related now, after all.”
Not surprised his wife looked puzzled, Ambrose explained the complicated history of the Pendray family as he sat. “So, Giles and I aren’t actually blood kin, but he was adopted into our family before I was born.”
The public rooms of the inn were full of boisterous men and the muted sounds of merriment drifted into the privacy of the snug.
“It seems Neville can’t do enough for me,” Giles explained. “It was a simple thing to dislodge the gristle from Ollie’s windpipe, but you’d think I’d rescued the lad from a burning building.”
Ambrose shrugged. “Ye may as well take advantage. Ye must show me how ye managed the feat.”
As Giles described how he’d performed the maneuver that had saved Ollie, Ambrose feared Eala might grow bored. However, she seemed genuinely interested. “’Tis a useful thing to ken,” she said softly, turning wide brown eyes on him. “Especially when bairns choke on something.”
The prospect of becoming a father caused Ambrose’s heart to race. It was possible he’d already planted the seed of his firstborn. “Aye,” he rasped, reaching for her hand. “Bairns.”
Her seductive smile resurrected an urge to drag her back upstairs, but he coughed, aware his face had reddened. The twirl of her thumb in his palm added to his growing discomfort in the groin area. “Minx,” he whispered, beyond grateful he’d married a passionate woman.
Ollie arrived with bowls of soup. “Cock-a-leekie,” he announced as he placed the bowls on the table.
Eala giggled, then quickly composed herself, picked up her spoon and stared into the aromatic liquid in her bowl. Ambrose wondered if perhaps he shouldn’t have told her of the crude name men often gave to their male parts.
He and Giles shared jovial conversation while they ate the first course, but Eala remained silent—until Ollie appeared with the next dish and declared, “Coq au vin.”
Giles gaped when Eala dissolved into uncontrollable laughter.
* * *
Eala fanned her face before gulping down half a tumbler of ale. “I’m…so…sorry,” she hiccupped. “I dinna ken what came over me.”
Ambrose’s reassuring grip and the lecherous grin on his face indicated he knew exactly what had come over her.
Having partaken of sexual delights with her husband, she feared she’d never be able to get her thoughts back onto anything else. The confirmed bachelor sitting across the table must deem her an empty-headed ninny.
“Will you be taking Eala home for Hogmanay?” Giles suddenly asked Ambrose.
She knew her husband hailed from Ayrshire, and that his family lived there, but hadn’t thought what might happen after his skills as a surgeon were no longer required in Perth. In fact, beyond wanting to spend her life with him, she hadn’t considered the future. She’d lived her whole life in Perth but, if being married to Ambrose meant moving to Ayrshire, then so…
“Eala, lass,” a deep voice boomed. “What thefykeare ye doing here?”
* * *
Ambrose had only met Eala’s father briefly, but he recognized the belligerent voice even before he looked up at the speaker who’d burst in through the door. He might have known Rory Calhoun would be a patron of The Black Swan. He stood, determined not to allow him to bully Eala whose face had drained of color. “Mr. Calhoun,” he said, “’tis a surprise to see ye here.”
“Nay doot,” Rory blustered, sneering at his daughter. “Consorting with other men. Ye should be…”
Ambrose moved to within a inch of the man’s nose, protecting Eala. “I’ll thank ye to speak to my wife with respect,” he growled, nigh on bowled over by the stink of liquor.
Rory guffawed. “Yer wife? Nay, laddie, ye seem to have forgotten she’s to wed Evan Bruce. Or have the pair of ye done away with the poor lad?”
Fists balled, ready to punch his father-by-marriage’s bulbous nose, Ambrose held on to his temper when Giles spoke up. “You’re making a fool of yourself, Calhoun, not to mention interrupting our Christmas festivities. If I’d known you were in the vicinity, I’d have invited you to Ambrose and Eala’s wedding banquet.”
Calhoun gaped, but Ambrose discerned the moment the man’s anger left him and he recognized the advantages to him of such a marriage. He took off his cap and scratched his head. “My wee lass wed to a doctor! ’Tis a good living. Lots of call for a surgeon hereabouts.”
