THE FIERCE SCOTSMAN
Bonus Epilogue
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CHAPTER ONE
Chapter One
Mungo woke to snow drifting past the window, thick white flakes clinging to the glass. He knew this only because his wife was standing there with the curtains drawn back, rocking their son gently from side to side as she stared out at the weak morning light. Her hair was pulled into a long braid down her back, the same rich color it had been the day he’d married her. Six years on, Eliza still took a wicked delight in the fact that while his temples were steadily surrendering to gray, she remained untouched by time. Love had changed him—softened him—but only where she and their children were concerned. With the rest of the world, he was still a grumpy Scotsman, and proud of it. His family had filled every remaining space in his heart. And then some. “Come back to bed, Eliza,” he said, his voice rough with sleep, like a door hinge badly in need of oil. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” She turned, smiling at him. The smile reached her eyes, as it always did, and as ever, it tugged one from him in return. “You didn’t.” He swung his legs out of bed and promptly yelped as his bare feet hit the icy floor. Muttering under his breath, he shoved them into his slippers, pulled on his robe, and crossed the room to her. “It’s beautiful out there, Mungo,” she whispered, as if afraid the moment might break. “Aye, if you love frigid temperatures and windows frozen shut.” He slipped his arms around her—and around their son, Jonathan, who was nestled against her shoulder. “Was he fussing?” “At six months, he’s allowed,” she murmured. “But yes, he was fussing, so I fed him, and he has settled now.” Heather, their eldest, was three and already shaping up to be very much his daughter. She could cut a person in two with a single look, and he couldn’t have been prouder. Jonathan had a sweeter nature, like his mother. “Happy birthday, Eliza.” She turned slightly, peering up at him. “You remembered.” “Of course I remembered. Don’t I always?” “No.” He harrumphed. “Well, I did this time. And we’ve plans.” “Have we now?” Her smile turned curious and a little hopeful. After her parents passed away, Eliza did not celebrate birthdays. She’d said they’d been too painful, so she’d ignored them. He’d changed that after they were married. He kissed her softly, then pressed a kiss to Jonathan’s downy head. “Now you take him, and I’ll check on our heathen child,” Eliza said, handing the precious bundle over. Mungo followed her anyway, his son cradled against his chest. Watching Heather wake was one of life’s pleasures. She did so with a fierce scowl for anyone nearby and usually one of the Scottish curses his wife was forever telling him not to teach her. The old Douglas home—always the old Douglas home to locals, no matter what they did to it—had changed with them. Fresh paint brightened the walls, color everywhere, and they’d even installed one of those modern bathing rooms with running water. It still amazed him that warm water seemed to pour straight out of the wall. Their house was rarely quiet. Living on Crabbett Close, near the Nightingales and surrounded by family, people knocked once and walked straight in. Secretly, he liked it that way. “Happy birthday, Eliza!” Anna appeared in the hallway before them, wrapped in multiple layers of clothing and still wearing her bonnet. “Thank you, Anna.” “What are you doing in my house at this hour?” Mungo demanded. “And I’ll add—what are you doing wandering about alone in this weather?” “It’s Crabbett Close, possibly the safest place in all of London, and I’m not a soft Scotsman like you, Mungo.” She gave him a cheeky grin. Anna was taller now, grown into her beauty, though still small by this family’s standards. She attracted plenty of male attention, but with a fiercely protective clan behind her, none dared linger long. The man who would eventually win Anna’s heart would need to be extraordinarily brave. “Bracing, is it?” He lunged at her. She squealed, the sound piercing, and darted neatly out of reach. “It’s a special day,” Anna said, dancing back another step. “We thought we’d start early.” “We?” “The family. There’s a feast waiting for Eliza. I was sent to fetch you.” “The sun hasn’t even risen properly,” Mungo grumbled, but he winked at Anna. “Go away. We’ll come when we’re ready.” “Too much noise.” Heather stumbled out of her bedroom and glared at them. Her hair was escaping its braid, nightdress rumpled, and her expression thunderous. “Hello, Heather,” Anna said, holding out her arms. Heather shuffled forward without hesitation. Other than her parents, she loved Anna most. Leo was a close second. Mungo watched as his daughter was lifted, her scowl already fading. She wrapped her arms around Anna’s neck and rested her head on her shoulder. “You need to say happy birthday to your mother, Heather.” Heather wrinkled her nose at her father’s words, clearly unimpressed by the expectation. She studied her mother as though considering whether the effort was worth it, then leaned toward her. “Happy birfday,” she declared, planting a damp kiss on Eliza’s cheek. Eliza laughed, the sound soft and pleased, and reached up to cup her daughter’s face. “Thank you, my love.” “Cake?” Heather asked immediately. Mungo snorted. “Straight to the important matters, is it?” “There will be cake,” Anna assured her. “An enormous one.” Heather brightened visibly. Satisfied, she rested her head on her aunt’s shoulder again, already done with conversation. Mungo shifted Jonathan slightly in his arms as the boy stirred, his small face scrunching before settling again. The sight made his chest feel full. He had never expected this kind of happiness—had never even known he was capable of it. Eliza moved closer, smoothing a hand over Jonathan’s back. “We should get dressed before the rest of the family storms in.” “As if that will stop them,” Mungo muttered. “Right then. I’ll dress Heather and take her with me,” Anna said. “You three hurry it along now. You know how Alex gets when he’s hungry.” “Alex is already at 11 Crabbett Close?” Mungo asked with feigned surprise. He knew exactly what was going on outside. “They all are,” Anna said, giving him a look he interpreted to mean things are in place, and we’re ready to implement today’s plans. She then took Heather back into her room. “Right then,” Mungo said quietly. “We’d best not keep them waiting.” Eliza studied him. “What’s going on, Mungo?” His wife knew him too well. “Nothing,” he said lightly, “other than there is a houseful of family awaiting their morning meal, and they likely have gifts for you.” “No,” she said firmly. “There is more to this than that. We had plans for a celebration, but it was not meant to start at sunrise.” He shrugged, then leaned down to brush his mouth against her temple. “How about you just enjoy your day and stop asking questions. Happy birthday, my beautiful wife.” She smiled up at him, warm and certain. “Very well. And I know you lot will have planned gifts and food, so I will delve no further. But you know how I am with surprises.” “You dislike them,” he said solemnly. “Exactly.” Mungo hoped the one he’d planned would change that. CHAPTER TWO
Eliza had believed her life would be spent in servitude, alone, and had reconciled herself too just that. Then she met a gruff Scotsman with a heart of gold, and everything changed.
She swung his hand as they walked down the road to 11 Crabbett Close a short while later. Mungo carried their son, and around them the residents had started to go about their day. Life was a wonderful thing, she thought. Of course they had their moments—it was not realistic to expect life to come without issues when you were wed to a grumpy Scotsman—but for the most part, Eliza could say she was very happy. “Good morning to you, Mavis and Joseph,” Eliza said to the couple approaching. Shorter than his wife, Joseph was large in every way and the exact opposite of Mavis. He had a sunny personality and a booming laugh that was often heard throughout the close. “And happy birthday to you, Eliza,” Joseph said with a wide smile. “They are an odd couple that seem well suited, if that makes any sense,” Eliza said to Mungo once they’d moved on. “Extremely odd.” Joseph Bilky had been one of the builders who worked on the extension at the Nightingale family home several years ago. From the start, Mavis had captivated him. She in turn had ignored him, but Joseph had been persistent. It had taken him two years, but he had finally won her over, and they had been married six months later, much to the shock of every Crabbett Close resident. “Why are there so many carriages lined up outside 11 Crabbett Close, Mungo?” Eliza stopped in the street to look at them. She’d had an inkling something was afoot the minute she’d seen Anna in the house. Plus, Mungo had been secretive about where he was going the few times she’d caught him slipping out over the last few months. Seeing the line of carriages confirmed it. “I have no idea,” he said blandly. “Shall we investigate?” “Mungo, what is going on?” He ignored her and towed Eliza forward. Unable to match his strength, she complied, but only because she wanted answers. “Happy birthday!” The cries were loud from their family, all standing about in the icy weather, waiting for them. “Thank God you are finally here. I am nearly an ice sculpture,” Alex moaned. He wore a scarf to his nose and his hat pulled low. “Most of the children are already in the carriages. So get yourselves into that first one and make haste. We have a distance to cover today.” “To where?” Eliza asked, looking from Alex back to the carriages. “You said she’d be awkward about it,” Ellen said, stepping forward. Still the most beautiful woman Eliza knew, Ellen appeared not to age like the rest of them, which would have been extremely vexing if Eliza hadn’t liked her as much as she did. “It’s not awkward to want to know where I’m being taken on my birthday,” Eliza protested. “Pick her up and throw her in that carriage so we can get moving, Mungo,” Ellen added, ignoring her. “No need for violence,” Bram said, arriving next. His hair was now predominantly gray, and the lines on his face had deepened, but he was still the head of this family in every way—strong and fair as he’d always been. Eliza loved the man very much, as she did all of this wonderful family. A family she’d never thought she’d be blessed with. “Hello, Eliza. Happy birthday, my dear,” Bram said, kissing her cheek before pulling her into a gentle hug. “We’ve a surprise for you, one that takes us away from London. I promise you’ll like it. Now please get inside the carriage as we’ve quite the journey ahead. Your daughter and mine are already inside eating whatever is in that hamper.” “Oh, very well,” Eliza said ungraciously. She climbed inside, happy to get out of the cold now. “But there had better be cake. And I’m only doing this because you asked so nicely, Bram!” she yelled out the still open door. “I’m not sure how you managed that,” she heard Mungo mutter, “but perhaps you could give me some tips.” Nearly two hours later, they had eaten their way through the delicious hamper of food—clearly supplied by Bud—and were now watching the snow fall steadily outside the window. They were tucked beneath blankets, and Jonathan was slumbering once more in Mungo’s arms. “How much farther do we have to go?” Heather demanded. Her face was pressed to the window, having grown bored of reading with Anna. “Not long now,” Mungo soothed. “It is surely no hardship to be in a carriage with the people you love. Besides there is plenty of food and entertainment, Heather.” He big, burly Scotsman was a wonderful husband. Kind, and sometimes inclined to let Heather get away with more than he should. Eliza knew she would never have reason to doubt his love for them. “We’re not going to Scotland, are we?” her daughter demanded, not placated in the least by his words. “No, we’re not going to Scotland, mo leanbh.” She sighed as if the weight of the world rested on her shoulders, as though she had trudged for hours through the snow rather than traveled in comfort. They journeyed to Scotland every year, sometimes twice. Though Mungo’s mother had passed, he and his brother remained close, and they loved visiting family there. Family was important to Eliza. She had lost hers long ago, and so made certain Mungo remained close to all of his. “You are as much in the dark as I am, Heather,” Eliza said to her daughter, shooting her husband a mock glare. “A few more minutes is all,” Mungo said calmly. “Do you know where we’re going, Anna?” Eliza asked. The girl merely smiled and turned to gaze out the window alongside Heather. Another ten minutes passed before the carriage slowed, and in that time Eliza had come up with, then dismissed, several more possibilities as to where they were headed. She peered out the window, but the landscape was blanketed in snow, making it difficult to tell their location. “Everyone put on your gloves and scarves. And those who were foolish enough to remove their coats, put those back on too,” Mungo added. He then handed the still-slumbering Jonathan to Anna. The door opened, and Leo stood there, smiling. “Well now, we made excellent time,” he said. Mungo grunted and stepped down, then helped Heather from the carriage. She instantly took her uncle’s hand, followed by Anna, and finally Eliza. Eliza moved away from the carriage and looked around. Her gaze settled on a house nearby. Shocked, she turned back to face Mungo. “Wh–why have you brought me here?” CHAPTER THREE
Mungo felt nerves knot in his belly at his wife’s words, the quiet uncertainty in them cutting through him.
“Come along, and I’ll show you,” he said gently, placing a steadying hand on her back. “Mungo—” Eliza began, her voice catching, but he shook his head slightly. “Trust me, Eliza. You’ve been doing that for years now. Know that I would never willingly upset or hurt you.” She fell silent, though he could feel the tension in her through the wool of her coat. Behind them came the crunch of boots on gravel and frost-hardened earth as the others followed. Friends. Support. People who loved the woman at his side almost as fiercely as he did. The land was blanketed with snow, a narrow road sweeping toward the handful of houses ahead. The air smelled of winter and smoke, of damp earth and cold stone. It was quiet here in a way that pressed in on his chest, though that might have been worry over what he’d done, and how Eliza would take it. “When was the house rebuilt?” she asked. He heard the tremor in her voice. She had not been back to the place she had once called home since leaving with her uncle all those years ago. Too many memories were tied to this land, too much loss, she’d told him. “Last year,” he said. She nodded, but her gaze stayed fixed ahead now, her steps slowing as she took in the house. When Mungo had first approached Bram with the idea, his friend had listened in silence, then warned him softly, It will be a shock for her. Mungo had known that, but he believed Eliza needed this. “I had it rebuilt,” Mungo said at last, turning his face to hers. “And today it has opened to its first inhabitants.” Eliza stopped walking and looked at him, searching for answers. Shock was there—wide eyes, parted lips. For one terrible moment, he feared he had misjudged everything. Her family’s deaths were a dark stain on Eliza’s soul, the wound raw and unhealed. She had never truly come to terms with it—not the fire, nor the sudden unfairness of having her family ripped away so ruthlessly. “Why?” she whispered. “Because they deserve this,” he said simply. “As you do. They deserve a place that remembers who they were. A place built on love, not loss.” A broken sound escaped her—something between a sob and a breath. She swallowed it down quickly, pride stiffening her spine even as her hand reached for his and tightened around his fingers. He could feel the tremors she was fighting to hide. “Come,” he said softly. “Let me show you, Eliza.” He guided her forward again, toward the house she had once lived in, which had existed only in memory for so long. It stood solid now, stone and timber strong against the pale winter sky. Smoke curled from the chimney, and light glowed warmly behind the windows. Outside stood about a dozen people, most of them men, their coats dark, faces solemn. “They worked with your father,” Mungo said quietly. “They wanted to be here today to honor him, my love.” As they approached, the low murmurs of conversation ceased. The men straightened and formed a line. One stepped forward, silver at his temples, his expression grave but kind. He bowed his head respectfully. “Mrs. Fraser,” he said, “I am Commissioner Edward Branston. I had the privilege of knowing and working alongside your father.” Eliza drew herself up at that, shoulders back, chin lifted again. The shaking had stopped, though her eyes were bright with unshed tears. “When I learned he was to be honored today,” Branston continued, “alongside your mother and brother, it was important to me that I attend—as it was for many of your father’s colleagues. He was a good man who did many great things in his time at Scotland Yard that are still talked about to this day.” “Thank you,” Eliza said quietly. Her voice was steady now, though the emotion behind it was unmistakable. One by one, the others bowed or nodded, murmuring words of remembrance as they greeted her. Stories followed, small snippets of their interactions with the late Johnathan Downing, each offering a memory she didn’t know, but would now hold close. When the last had stepped back, they moved to the now open door of her childhood home, and she saw the sign he’d had made above it. Downing House, dedicated to the memory of Jonathan, Mary, and Henry Downing. Gone too soon, but never forgotten. Fear is only a shadow—you need not bow to it. “My father’s words,” she whispered, touching the brass plaque. “Aye,” he murmured. “I remembered you saying them once.” She ran her fingers over each letter again, then stepped over the threshold. Inside, the house smelled of baking and wood smoke. Children’s voices drifted from somewhere deeper within—soft laughter, the shuffle of small feet. Eliza stopped just inside. Mungo squeezed her hand. “This place will be a home,” he said. “For families who have lost theirs. For children who need safety. It will carry your family’s name, Eliza. Their legacy. Some are already here, and as you can hear, happy.” She turned to him then, tears finally breaking free. “You did all this… for me?” “For you,” he said. “And for them. And for our future happiness, which I know your family would want.” She pressed her forehead to his chest, grief and gratitude tangling together, and he felt the tightness in his chest finally ease. He held her as she cried. It wasn’t loud or dramatic, but as though something long locked away had finally been set free. “There are a group of people out here on the doorstep freezing our asses—” “Alex!” Bram roared. “Losing the feeling in our extremities,” Alex continued, “and we’d like to come inside, if you please, Eliza.” Mungo huffed a laugh and brushed his thumb over Eliza’s knuckles. “Step aside, love. We will honor your family with the help of our second family.” She smiled up at him through her tears. “I love you.” “I love you.” He kissed her softly. “Daddy is kissing Mommy again,” Heather announced. “Is there food in here, Uncle Leo?” Eliza giggled. Mungo barked out a laugh. Then the family surrounded them, warm and boisterous, and there was no place he would rather be. |
