by Eliza Knight
The Scot is Hers
The Scots of Honor Series
Eliza Knight
Contents
ABOUT THE BOOK
More Books by Eliza Knight
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Epilogue
About the Author
ABOUT THE BOOK
When General Alec Hay, the Earl of Errol returns from war, his mother is determined to see him wed. Once known for his dark good looks, Alec now bears a scar over half his face that makes every potential bride cringe. He wants only to escape into the darkest room in his ruined castle and relive the harrowing moments in battle when he couldn’t save his friend. Ignoring his demands to be left alone, his mother throws a rousing house party at her Edinburgh estate. Unable to take another setup for flirtation, he rides his horse out onto their property and becomes stuck in some ruins during a torrential downpour.
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Lady Giselle Hepburn, an impulsive lass, rides out from a neighboring estate in the same storm, attempting to escape her family and a forced marriage to a man with a vicious dark side. She falls off her horse and nearly tumbles over a cliff but is saved by a handsome, mysterious Highlander. With a twisted ankle, and the weather too dangerous to attempt riding, Giselle agrees to wait out the storm with the stranger.
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To Alec’s shock, Giselle is the first woman who doesn’t shy away from his scar and treats him like a man rather than a hideous barbarian. As the storm rages through the night, they each confess their meddling family’s determination to see them wed——and he learns her intended is his greatest enemy. Alec insists that she accompany him back to his house to convalesce, where he presents her with a solution to both of their problems: —what if they wed each other in secret? Could a marriage of convenience free them both from their unwanted troubles, or will love be an incredibly inconvenient development?
More Books by Eliza Knight
Scots of Honor
Return of the Scot
The Scot is Hers
Taming the Scot
* * *
Prince Charlie’s Rebels
The Highlander Who Stole Christmas
Pretty in Plaid
* * *
Prince Charlie’s Angels
The Rebel Wears Plaid
Truly Madly Plaid
You’ve Got Plaid
* * *
The Sutherland Legacy
The Highlander’s Gift
The Highlander’s Quest
The Highlander’s Stolen Bride
The Highlander’s Hellion
The Highlander’s Secret Vow
The Highlander’s Enchantment
* * *
The Stolen Bride Series
The Highlander’s Temptation
The Highlander’s Reward
The Highlander’s Conquest
The Highlander’s Lady
The Highlander’s Warrior Bride
The Highlander’s Triumph
The Highlander’s Sin
Wild Highland Mistletoe (a Stolen Bride winter novella)
The Highlander’s Charm (a Stolen Bride novella)
A Kilted Christmas Wish – a contemporary Holiday spin-off
The Highlander’s Surrender
The Highlander’s Dare
* * *
The Conquered Bride Series
Conquered by the Highlander
Seduced by the Laird
Taken by the Highlander (a Conquered bride novella)
Claimed by the Warrior
Stolen by the Laird
Protected by the Laird (a Conquered bride novella)
Guarded by the Warrior
* * *
The MacDougall Legacy Series
Laird of Shadows
Laird of Twilight
Laird of Darkness
* * *
Pirates of Britannia: Devils of the Deep
Savage of the Sea
The Sea Devil
A Pirate’s Bounty
The Thistles and Roses Series
Promise of a Knight
Eternally Bound
Breath from the Sea
* * *
The Highland Bound Series (Erotic time-travel)
Behind the Plaid
Bared to the Laird
Dark Side of the Laird
Highlander’s Touch
Highlander Undone
Highlander Unraveled
* * *
Touchstone Series
Highland Steam
Highland Brawn
Highland Tryst
Highland Heat
* * *
Wicked Women
Her Desperate Gamble
Seducing the Sheriff
Kiss Me, Cowboy
Historical Fiction
Releasing Early 2022
The Mayfair Bookshop
* * *
Releasing 2023
The Other Astaire
* * *
Tales From the Tudor Court
My Lady Viper
Prisoner of the Queen
* * *
Ancient Historical Fiction
A Day of Fire: a novel of Pompeii
A Year of Ravens: a novel of Boudica’s Rebellion
* * *
French Revolution
Ribbons of Scarlet: a novel of the French Revolution
July 2021
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COPYRIGHT © 2021 ELIZA KNIGHT
THE SCOT IS HERS © 2021 Eliza Knight. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part or the whole of this book may be reproduced, distributed, transmitted or utilized (other than for reading by the intended reader) in ANY form (now known or hereafter invented) without prior written permission by the author. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal, and punishable by law.
* * *
THE SCOT IS HERS is a work of fiction. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional and or are used fictitiously and solely the product of the author’s imagination. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, places, businesses, events or locales is purely coincidental.
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Cover Design by Dar Albert
Edited by Erica Monroe
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1
May 1814
Edinburgh
There was nothing worse than attending a ball thrown in one’s own honor when it was against one’s will. This was the situation that Alec Hay, Earl of Errol, General in the Royal Regiment of Scotland, found himself in.
This whole mess was so torturous he would have rather discovered himself back on the battlefield in France, facing off with Napoleon himself. Instead, he was trussed up as some marionette in a jacket that was a little too tight, given the growth of his shoulder muscles while overseas and the lack of warning from his mother, the Dowager Countess of Errol, that she was going to be throwing this wretched event.
Alec had literally taken the last bite of his morning eggs when his mother informed him their Edinburgh manse would be packed to the brim with bubbling debutantes tonight. Not enough time to have his evening wear fitted properly or to get out of what promised to be imminent torture.
He tugged on his collar as another mother swept her daughters in front of him. Alec made polite conversation but refrained from writing his name on th
eir dance cards, even though he knew that was their ultimate objective. There was a measure of guilt he felt at ignoring that obligation, but they didn’t know if he was already full for each number, and he decided to pretend he was. Besides, the pained expressions on their faces mirrored his own. They were only going along with their mother’s intentions because they knew he came with a sizable annual income, and they wanted to be a countess. For a price, they were willing to accept him despite his once-good looks having been obliterated in a single moment of treachery on the battlefield.
“If ye’ll excuse me.” He bowed low, winking at their mother for good measure, so his own mother didn’t take him to task later for not at least trying to flirt, and then he disappeared through the crowd. The older women didn’t seem to mind his brutally scarred face. They had that motherly instinct to coddle him. So strange. He wasn’t in the market for a mistress, but if he were, he was certain to find one amongst the meddling mothers.
Alec scanned the crowd of pastel gowns and fitted evening coats, which shimmered in the thousand candles lit up in the ballroom and dripping from the chandeliers.
None of his friends were here. He had a feeling his mother had purposefully left their names off the invitations because she didn’t want Alec to spend all of his time chatting with his comrades instead of finding a wife.
The woman who’d birthed him was mad as a hatter with the idea of his needing to wed. Alec did not want to bind himself to another human, especially one of these silly chits. Any woman he’d be interested in wouldn’t be the same type of female as these flighty bits of lace. If he were ever to marry, it would most assuredly not be to a debutante. Of that, he was certain.
Alec was not in love, nor even in like with any of the nitwits in attendance at this farce. Did his mother really think she could simply snap her fingers, pass out biscuits and champagne and expect him to get down on one knee? He glanced at his pocket watch, willing the time to be much later than it was.
“My lord, would ye please allow me to introduce ye to my daughter, Lady Mary.”
Alec glanced up from where he’d been glowering at the ground and bowed unseeing over yet another young lassie’s gloved hand, feigning interest when he couldn’t care less. The evidence of her desire to escape was as plain on her face as it had been with every other eligible maiden in attendance. They took one look at the left side of his face and were ready to run for their lives.
He wanted to shout, “I was handsome once!” But knew they’d either not believe him or at best think him as mad as he would sound for doing so. Only their mothers remembered him as he’d been before the war. Those last moments of the battle had been unending. As he’d tried to save his second-in-command, the edge of a bayonet had hacked over his face, leaving him with a scar that would scare the daylights out of any young lass decent enough to garner his interest. Cut down to the bone, it was a wonder he had survived—let alone had a left cheek at all. Nearly half his face was torn away from that slice and had healed into an angry, red, rolling pucker that went from the corner of his eye to his chin.
Nay. He, Alec Hay, Earl of Errol, would forever be the damaged and beastly general.
“If ye’ll excuse me,” he murmured, putting the poor chit out of her misery.
He supposed it didn’t help that he was extremely moody and could not summon a smile if the devil himself demanded it. What he really wanted to do was mount his horse and ride north, all the way to his castle, Slains, on the cliff in Aberdeenshire. To stand on the edge and look out at the waves crashing against the rocky craig, close his eyes, and maybe fall off the edge. Let the cold, salty water of the sea bash his body into a million pieces as he’d imagined doing to himself every night since his return. He’d not been able to save his friend, his subordinate, and didn’t it stand to reason that he too should die.
At the very least, he felt compelled to relive the harrowing moments of war over and over until he was either too drunk to move or too immobilized by guilt. Whichever was the quickest means to the end.
Oh, he’d tried to be happy. Tried to blend in. Had even found some momentary contentment with his friends, who’d also returned to Edinburgh. But at night, when darkness closed in, all he could think about was how Sir Douglas Campbell wasn’t ever going to come home. How his best mate Lorne, the Duke of Sutherland, too, had been lost to them. And how it was all his fault for not fighting harder to save him when the enemy had caged them in. For not having put Sir Joshua Keith in his place for insubordination when the issue first arose.
Alec stormed toward the doors of the ballroom. Enough was enough; he wasn’t going to subject himself to any more of this farce. Even if he knew he was going to hear an earful the following morning from his mother. He’d take that most assured chance rather than be in this ballroom one moment longer. The music played loud and chipper, enticing merriment and dancing, and it went against everything he was currently feeling.
Out of the ballroom and down the hall, he excused himself, nodding with a grimace at anyone who dared try to gain his attention until he was pushing through the rear doors of the house and out into the garden.
Couples hid in quiet, darkened corners, trying not to be seen, not to be heard as they stole a private embrace. His bootheels clicked over the flagstone and then were finally muted by the grass of the garden.
Alec remembered those days before the Peninsular War when he’d hid in the shadows of the trees, trying to entice a young lass into a kiss. Now he’d be lucky if any lass could stand his company for more than thirty-eight seconds.
Alec pushed his way through the night until he reached the rear of the garden, only the wall stopping him from walking onward. He yanked open the gate and glared down at the house below. Edinburgh was built on hills and valleys, not a flat surface in sight. And every inch was covered in a structure. There weren’t miles of land stretching out before him, but instead, another house. Another walled garden.
He slammed the gate closed. Banged his fist against the rock, ignoring the pain from splitting his knuckles. He let out a little growl, hands fisted at his sides, head thrown back. He stared up at the stars in the sky and contemplated howling to the moon as the animal he was starting to feel very much like. What he needed was a good boxing match to work out his frustration.
Why didn’t his mother listen to him? Why did she make him the subject of so much scrutiny? The woman was either blind or a fool to believe that this type of event would sway anyone into being his lifelong companion. Besides, he’d already decided he was never getting married.
Never.
Even if he had to live out the rest of his life in seclusion, showing his face only when it was necessary in the House of Lords—then so be it.
What in the world?
Lady Giselle Hepburn sank deeper into the shadows of the garden, staring at the giant Highlander who’d assaulted the rear wall, destroying the tranquility of her reflections.
She’d come back here to be alone. To escape the ball that she’d not wanted to attend.
This was only her first season, and it had been exhausting. One event after another. Endless “cheer,” or at least that was what it was supposed to be. Musicales, theater performances, tea, luncheon, volunteer service, attending to callers, calling on people herself, balls and more balls. It was a wonder she was even standing upright given her exhaustion.
Her feet ached from barely getting any rest. Her face hurt from pretending to smile, and she’d run out completely of witty things to say. If she had to open her mouth now to speak to the man imposing on her silence, she’d likely only be able to mutter gibberish of sorts. She had no interest in being here and would much rather be at home curled up with a good book. What she wouldn’t give to hop into a traveling coach and escape to the country away from all this ridiculousness.
Her toes were probably bleeding in her slippers from the last dance she’d been subjected to, and if she had to hear one more time what a great hunter or horseman one of these blokes was
, she’d scream. Because the truth was, she didn’t care at all.
But this man, he was interesting, at least for the moment. What tormented him so that he felt the need to take it out on the stone wall? And how was his hand faring after such an idiotic move?
He turned in the moonlight, leaning his back against the wall, and then she saw his face. Instantly, she knew who he was. Moonlight filtered down, alighting on the jagged pink scar that ran from his temple, over his cheek and down to his chin. Och, how it must have hurt. Giselle touched her cheek, imagining what it must have been like to have such an injury. The light from above caught on his ginger hair, giving the illusion of glowing like fire, making him look even wilder.
Alec Hay. The Earl of Errol. The man of the hour.
What had gotten him so riled up? Giselle imagined one of the idiot debutantes inside probably said something to insult him. All these ninnies were so superficial. It was why she’d not been able to make any friends. She didn’t see the word the same way they did. The only friend she had was Jaime, but she could only see her when she snuck about as her mother didn’t approve of their friendship.
