Lucy and Her Scottish Laird (2 page)

BOOK: Lucy and Her Scottish Laird
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“My lord?” Ferguson asked.

Ian uttered a mild curse of frustration. The Earl of Glencory was an old friend of his father’s, so Glencory Castle was a likely place to beg a
couple of beds for the night. But not during a party when Ian felt more wretched than he ever had in his life.

He could avoid the guests. Glencory was a sprawling fortress, with rooms that had not been entered in decades. It was an interesting place, nearly as old
as his own family seat, further east. Surely there were rooms away from the festivities that he and Ferguson could occupy for one night.

“My lord?” Ferguson said again.

Ian gave a resigned nod. “Aye. Let’s go.”

He and Ferguson spurred their horses, arriving on the esplanade behind the racing horsemen, just as the men were dismounting and congratulating the winner.
It was Freddie, Lord Erskine, of course – always aggressive and unfailingly bombastic.

His good friend, Kindale, jumped down and clasped Ian’s hand. “Brox, I did not know you would be here.”

As a servant carried their bags inside, the others greeted Ian, welcoming him to their gathering.

“Nor did I,” Ian replied. “I’m on an errand to Selkirk.”

“Anything wrong?” Kindale asked, frowning.

Ian shook his head. He could not tell Malcolm or anyone else of his odd predicament. “No, just some business for my father.”

“Well, you’ll want to stay a few days at least, I’m sure,” Erskine said with a grin. “The ladies are winsome and the
entertainments are quite…entertaining.”

“I don’t think so.” He was in no mood for socializing, and the guests gathered here were unlikely to be in the mood for him, either. Even
Ferguson was keeping his distance, as much as he could.

Several grooms came around from the stable to take charge of the horses. The carriage Ian had seen on the road drove up then, and stopped near the main
entrance of the castle. The Earl of Kildrum stepped out, followed by his wife. Kildrum was yet another old friend of Ian’s father, and he could not
help but wonder whether the man knew what Ian had just been told.

The thought disappeared quickly when the third occupant alighted – a dark-haired lass, whose face and form rivaled any he’d ever seen.

Ian did not recognize her, but he decided she must be English. He could tell by the stiff manner in which she walked, and the disdain that was plain on her
face. Though why she was with Lord and Lady Kildrum, he could not fathom.

“Put off your visit to Selkirk for a few days, Brox,” Markham said. “I’m sure you will enjoy the company here.”

He tore his eyes from the beautiful newcomer and focused them on Markham. “Perhaps, but I haven’t the time to spare.” He would stay one
night and leave in the morning.

All was not well at Craigmuir Castle. The Duchess of Craigmuir – for Ian had stopped thinking of her as “mother” as of yesterday –
had spent the last several weeks lying silent and partially immovable in her bed. Ian learned that his parents had argued fiercely one night a few weeks
ago in her sitting room, but in hushed tones. None of the servants had known what the row had been about, but the duchess had taken to her bed and had not
spoken again. Dr. Henderson said she’d suffered a stroke.

Ian supposed he ought to be grateful that the duchess could not communicate, although his father was likely to say whatever came to mind when he was
drinking, which was all the time. In recent years, the duke had enjoyed a good deal more than the occasional dram of whiskey. Of late he’d fully
succumbed to a drunken melancholy – guilt, Ian supposed, heaped on by the wife he had wronged.

“Who is the dark-haired beauty walking with Lord Kildrum and his wife?” Erskine asked, tipping his head toward the carriage.

“That is Lucy Stillwater,” Kindale replied. “Daughter of a Berkshire baron. I met her at a house party a while back.”

“You don’t say.” Erskine rubbed his hands together and headed for the door.

“She is Lady Kildrum’s niece.”

Erskine grinned, and the mercenary glint in his eye made Ian’s skin crawl. “And Kildrum is as rich as Croesus, isn’t he?”

There was no reason Erskine’s interest in the lass should irritate Ian. He had lost any inclination for courting after the news he’d just
received from his father. He went along inside with the rest of them, seeing no trace of Miss Stillwater in the great hall or beyond, where several other
young ladies were gathered in small groups with their chaperones. They appeared to be waiting for their next planned diversion.

“Gentlemen! Gentlemen!” One of the matronly ladies approached Ian and the other men. “We were just about to tour Lady Glencory’s
unique statue garden. Come with us!”

Ian got caught up in the group in spite of himself and went along outside, even though the last thing he was interested in doing was socializing with this
season’s crop of husband-hunting females. He’d always been considered prime husband material, being the heir to his father’s dukedom. But
he felt like a fraud.

Hell’s bells, he
was
a fraud. And not just because of the state of affairs at Craigmuir.

“Lord Broxburn, how wonderful that you’ve arrived! You simply
must
see Lady Glencory’s sculptures,” one of the chaperones
said.

Ian gave a short bow. “Thank you, madam, but I have seen them.” And they were truly atrocious. He heard Kindale’s quiet snort behind him.

“Oh, do come along, old chap,” Erskine said, pulling Ian along with the others. “’Twill be an amusing afternoon.”

“I am overdue for a change of clothes,” he said, though he did not mind passing a few moments with Kindale.

“Daresay we all are,” Erskine countered, drawing Ian deep into the garden.

“Nevertheless,” Ian said, glancing around at all the well-dressed young ladies who were tittering behind fans while gazing at the bizarre
Glencory statuary.

Ian doubted any of them would be interested in tying herself to a duke’s bastard son whose estate was about to go bankrupt.

Not that anyone knew the truth of his heritage. Ian wondered what these young women would say if they discovered what he had learned just yesterday. That
he was not his mother’s son. That his father had impregnated an Irish serving maid while his long-suffering, childless parents were on an extended
trip in that country.

According to his father’s drunken confession, he and the duchess had taken the Irish maid and gone into seclusion somewhere on the desolate coast of
County Louth for the duration of the young woman’s confinement. The duke had intended to pay her for her infant if she bore a son, and pass Ian off
as his own legitimate child. But the Irish lass had died during childbirth, so there was no payment to be made, and no one of import to gainsay the fiction
of their family. The duke had taken care that neither the midwife nor their two hired servants had known their true identities.

The duke and duchess had returned to their estate in County Armagh and they’d had Ian baptized and registered in the local church, making him the
official, legitimate son of the Duke and Duchess of Craigmuir.

Ian wondered how anything could be so simple. Surely someone had known, or at least suspected, what had happened.

He found it amazing, too, that the duchess had held her tongue all these years, though she’d refused to show her “son” even an iota of
motherly affection. Quite the opposite. With Craigmuir’s confession yesterday, Ian had finally come to understand why his mother abhorred him. He was
the son she could not give her husband, and the proof of his infidelity to her – the woman he’d supposedly married for love.

So much for the proverbial “love match.”

At least Ian looked just like his father, down to the hazel color of his eyes, the slight cleft in his chin, and the deep creases in his cheeks. No one had
ever questioned his parentage.

But Ian could not help but wonder if his father had left had a scattering of by-blows all over the isles. His stomach turned at the thought of the duke as
some indolent lothario, taking advantage wherever it suited him. Had the Irish maid – Ian’s
mother
– consented to their carnal
congress, or had the duke forced himself upon her? Ian’s cousin, Duncan Munro was notorious for such behavior. Ian hated the thought that it might
run in the family.

“What do you know of Miss Stillwater?” Erskine asked. “What of her dowry? Will Kildrum settle—”

“Hardly necessary,” Kindale said. “Baron Stillwater is one of the wealthiest men in Berkshire.”

Erskine rubbed his hands together, reminding Ian of an illustration he’d seen somewhere of a miser and his ill-gotten goods. The man’s
mercenary attitude was fiercely irritating. God, he wanted to get away from these people, away from his own thoughts. He gave up on having a chance to
speak to Kindale alone, and walked back toward the castle.

They did not catch the hint, but followed him, reaching him when he stopped at a particularly grotesque, full-body gargoyle next to a tall, thick hedge.

“Come along and have a drink with us, old friend,” Markham said.

“Forgive me, but no. I have no desire to spend the rest of the afternoon with all of you and these ridiculous simpering females. Especially simpering
English
females.”

 

Chapter Two

 

Lucy’s blood boiled when she heard the man’s disdainful voice.
Simpering females
?
Ridiculous
? What about overbearing,
obnoxious males?
How about barbaric Scot
s? If only he knew her derogatory thoughts on Scotsman – with the exception of her kind and gentle
uncle, of course – he might not sound quite so high and mighty.

She happened to be on the other side of the hedge when she heard the insult, but she recognized the speaker as the man whose gaze had followed her from her
uncle’s carriage all the way into the castle. She’d seen him enter the garden with Kindale and a few others, and walk in that direction. She
wondered if he had any idea how obnoxious he was.

She looked down at her traveling gown, wishing Lady Glencory had not insisted they join the others outside before giving her a chance to change. A bath
would have been welcome, too.

“I am so glad you’ve come, Arden! Your timing could not have been better,” Lady Glencory said to Lucy’s aunt. “And with your
niece, too! You will enjoy meeting my other guests, I am sure.”

The viscountess was pleasant enough, but that did not alter the way Lucy felt about her traveling clothes. Her queasiness had left her when they’d
alighted from the carriage, but now she was flirting with a headache. She wanted to wash her face and hands at least, before she was compelled to put on a
pleasant face and join in the festivities. Guests were treated better than this at Stillwater House, and Lucy vowed that when she was mistress of
Joshua’s home, she would follow her mother’s example and make travelers comfortable when they came to stay.

The conversation dragged on, and her patience wore even thinner than before.

When there was finally a moment’s lull in the banter between the viscountess and her aunt, Lucy bowed to her hostess. “Thank you for the warm
welcome, my lady. But if you will excuse me. I need a few moments…”

“Lucy—”

“I will see you at supper, Aunt.”

She quickly made her way toward the castle, avoiding the small groups of ladies who stood gawking at the outlandish stone figures in the garden. The burly
red-haired lord caught sight of her and called to her, but Lucy pretended not to hear, and slipped into a door behind some tall, flowering bushes. It was
far from the one Lady Glencory had taken her through to get to the garden, and led into a fascinating narrow stone passageway that Lucy hoped would take
her to the interior of the castle.

It was dark and showed no signs of ending, and Lucy debated whether to proceed through it or return to the garden and find another door. But she did not
want to run into any more of Lady Glencory’s guests.

She proceeded forward through the dark and narrow passage. As she went along, a little bit of light penetrated, and Lucy could see drawings of some sort on
the walls that looked like runes. Viking runes. She remembered her aunt saying that Glencory Castle had been built in the thirteenth century. Obviously,
there were far older portions of the building.

She moved on toward the end, hoping to come out in a recognizable area where she could find a servant who would lead her to her room. But the passageway
eventually widened into a windowless stone room that was illuminated by candlelight. She nearly clapped her hands with delight when she saw several more
runes and other primitive drawings on the walls. Joshua would be astonished and enthralled by this place.

At one side of the room was a cabinet with glass doors, revealing several bottles of spirits. In front of the fireplace were two large chairs, one of which
was occupied.

Lucy took a step back.

“What happened, little Sassenach? Did you lose your way?” the man said with too much of a slur to his words to be merely his Scottish burr. It
was the darkly handsome stranger with the penetrating eyes and ridiculously alluring dimples in his cheeks. He might have appeared charming if he had not
dismissed her on sight.

“I didn’t realize there would be a drunken Scotsman here, else I never would have come through.” She glanced around again and saw no
obvious exit.

He put his feet up on a leather ottoman and raised his glass in her direction. “I am hardly drunk.”

“You are hardly sober, either.”

He made a low sound of derision. “What brings you here, Sassenach? Looking for a noble husband among my barbarous Scottish brethren?”

She glared at him. “Someone like you? Not a chance.”

“I am relieved beyond saying. Not that any Scotsman worth his salt would marry a simpering Sassenach.”

“I did not come here to
simper
,” she retorted angrily. Even so, she could not help but peruse the walls. She’d never seen
anything like this place, and she would have liked to explore further.

BOOK: Lucy and Her Scottish Laird
4.9Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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