Taming the Scot: The Scot of Honor Series

by Eliza Knight

  “Why would ye let that arsehole win?” Skye, always the rebel, asked. She crossed her arms over her chest. The first wrinkles she was likely to gain would be between her brows, which seemed forever furrowed above her blue glower.

  “Language,” Maggie drawled out at the same time Lillie tugged on Skye’s long blonde braid.

  Euan bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. Skye was the sister who would join in him his boxing ring for rounds of frustration-alleviating exercise. He always went easy on her, but she never held back any of her punches, and he currently had a bruise the size of her fist on his ribs to prove it.

  “But she’s right,” Esme interjected, the voice of reason even at sixteen. “Ye canna let Hector win. That’s all he’s wanted his whole life—to see ye knocked down.”

  They had a point. It was the same between Will and their father. Their uncle had been more gleeful at the funeral as the siblings said their goodbyes to their father. Had even tried to take them in hand.

  “Ye’re better than Hector,” his sister Amabel added. “Everyone who knows ye would agree.”

  Amabel, who was born the year after Maggie, was the quietest of them all. She was an observer and offered her opinion only when it was dragged out of her, but that didn’t make her any less fierce than the loudest of them. Euan would argue she was likely the fiercest of his sisters and God save the man who deigned to get into a knife fight with her.

  But they had a point. As much as he didn’t want to marry, how could he let their care fall into the hands of their vile cousin, who was an even worse schemer than his father? They were notorious for being involved in shady deals. Last year, Hector had tried to scam Euan out of a small fortune by claiming he had a connection to a wool supplier and would negotiate the trade—if only Euan would give him the wool to bring to Edinburgh. More unsuspecting victims might have fallen for his scam, but Euan always knew better. Hector couldn’t be trusted. In fact, Euan often suspected his cousin of being involved in far more nefarious activities than anyone knew about.

  “Ye’re right. I can no’ allow him to win. But how am I supposed to find a bride, let alone have her birth an heir? And before Hector?”

  Maggie cocked her head to the side. “I do no’ see any woman falling in love with Hector.” She gave an exaggerated shudder.

  “Aye,” Amabel said seriously. “No lass in her right mind could love Hector.”

  “And I think ye’ll have an easy enough time with the heir part,” Maggie continued.

  Skye and Lillie snorted at that, and he pinned them with a “ye should have no idea what she’s talking about” look, which only made them laugh harder behind their hands.

  “Who is going to judge if they are in love?” Lillie asked, posing a question Euan had yet to consider.

  “The solicitors, I’m assuming,” Euan said with a frown. He leaned against the windowsill, his back to the outside, arms crossed and Owen pressing against his side.

  “That is unwise,” Raine piped in. “Anyone can imitate love.” To show this, she turned to Esme and said in a singsong voice, “Oh, Esme. Your hair shines as the bottom of a churning loch, and your eyes… Does the light deceive me, or are they the verra image of a blue sky?”

  “The bottom of a churning loch?” Esme frowned, tugging a tendril of her hair toward her face. “My hair does no’ look like muddy water.”

  “The entire thing is ludicrous,” Euan interjected, heading off an argument before it could come to blows. “And I suppose this means the lot of ye are going to have to come to Edinburgh with me as I bumble through the upcoming season in search of the perfect bride to fall in love with.”

  “Ye are no’ prepared for a season,” Esme said with a worried grimace.

  “No’ in the least,” Skye agreed.

  Euan nodded slowly, in complete agreement. It wasn’t that he was unused to going to balls and fetes and house parties. He did so often, but only as a chaperone or to be with his friends, not to woo a lass. His best talents at a ball were finding the gentleman’s smoking room and pouring himself a dram. Dancing was left to those who knew how to step and twirl. And engaging in polite conversation? Never.

  He’d rather charm the venom from a snake.

  Owen let out a long sigh as if the hound could read his thoughts and then sank to the floor at Euan’s feet, as tuckered out from the conversation as Euan was.

  “Ye need a governess to teach ye better manners and the ways of behaving in society in order to gain the attention of a worthy lass who will fall deeply in love with ye,” Maggie said through a smile that was more of a half-laugh.

  But she wasn’t wrong. In fact, Euan thought she was brilliant. His arms uncrossed, and he straightened to his full height of six and a half feet.

  “Ye’re right. I do need a governess.”

  “I was jesting.” The smile fell from Maggie’s face, and she gave him her “this is a bad idea” look.

  “A governess worked for the lot of ye wild things,” he prodded back. “Why can it no’ work for me too?”

  His sisters all burst out laughing at the same time. But when they noticed he’d not joined in their laughter, suddenly, they stopped.

  “Ye’re no’ joking,” Maggie stated.

  “No’ at all. I will hire a governess to help me prepare for procuring a bride.”

  “And what about Hector? What if the governess can no’ take ye in hand quick enough and he finds a wife first?” Maggie still gaped at him as if he’d told them all he planned to marry the Queen of England.

  “As ye said, he’ll have a hard time finding someone to fall in love with him, which provides me a slight leg up. In the meantime, I’ll give the governess, what? A week? Two weeks?”

  “I think two at the least,” Maggie said, that grimace back. “And recall what Skye said—

  anyone can lie and pretend they are in love.”

  “I’m certain the solicitors will be on the lookout for such a scheme,” Euan said. “Ye have to stop making that face.”

  “This one?” She did it again, only this time much more exaggerated.

  “Precisely. The look that says, ‘Euan is going to fail spectacularly.’”

  “Among other things,” she said with a smirk.

  He rolled his eyes. Whatever man was lucky enough to win his sister over had better have a large pair of ballocks.

  “All right.” Euan walked toward his desk, his faithful hound leaping up to follow him and settling in the dark alcove underneath. “The lot of ye put your minds together and figure out exactly what it is that a governess will need to teach me. And how do we find out when the society events start in Edinburgh?”

  “Well, the papers for one,” Lillie remarked. “The season shall be starting on the twelfth of August, as it does every year. That’s when all of society comes up from London. Some are already here. I read this morning in Lady Edinburgh that there were enough carriages outside Holyrood Palace to create a snarl-up that delayed the opening of the market square. All of the milliner’s shops are backed up until the opening of the season from the ladies putting in hundreds of orders.”

  “So I will no’ be able to get a new hat?” Raine pouted.

  “Where did ye get a copy of Lady Edinburgh?” Euan frowned.

  That society gossip rag had caused more issues than not in his castle. Lillie enjoyed gossip more than lessons, enough that their governess had banished her from reading it. And when said governess had departed after Lillie had reached a certain age, and Maggie had taken over the duties for her sisters, Euan had enforced the rule, albeit half-heartedly. He secretly enjoyed listening to her retelling of the gossip, if only because it made her whole face light up.

  Lillie’s eyes widened as if she’d forgotten she wasn’t supposed to have it. Then she gave a delicate shrug. “It was no’ mine. A friend’s.”

  “Uh-huh.” Euan crossed his arms over his chest and gave her a stern, but not too serious, look.

  “Now, about the timing,
” Lillie said, attempting to change the subject. “Ye’ve only got a month before the season starts. And…if I may be so bold, an advert in Lady Edinburgh would likely get ye a governess quickly.”

  Euan let out an exaggerated sigh. “Fine, help me write it up then, and I’m guessing ye know how to get the advert in the paper?”

  Lillie again shrugged. “I can find out.” Which meant, “Aye, brother, I know exactly how.”

  Euan sat at his desk with his six sisters surrounding him, as they wrote up one advert after another until the perfect one had been created. As he passed the written note to Lillie, he felt as if he was placing his life in her hands, when all this time he’d been the one to care for her. The truth was, he was going to need all the help he could get to win this ridiculous decree.

  That was not a feeling he was accustomed to. He was the man of the castle, the older brother, the protector. The only other time he’d had to rely on his sisters was when he went away to war and had left them to care for each other. Every day he’d woken in his makeshift tent feeling guilt-ridden.

  “I promise ye this, my sisters, I will protect ye and care for ye, for all the days I have left to live. No scheme of Grandda’s or Will’s or Hector’s will change that. Come what may, ye need no’ worry for your future.”

  “Ye are the best of brothers,” Maggie said. “No one else could compare.”

  There was a singsong of agreement, and then his younger sisters all piled around him, hugging him and teasing him about needing a governess.

  As they left his study, they were still laughing about the lessons the governess would have to teach him.

  He laughed with them but as soon as the door click closed, his jovial attitude vanished, and he was left only with acrimonious angriness regarding the situation and the betrayal of his grandfather, whom he’d been nothing but loyal to for the entirety of his life.

  Euan was nearing thirty and he’d spent more than half of his life taking care of his sisters, the Drum lands and the people. And with the stroke of the signature of a dying man, all of his hard work could be swiped away and given to someone else.

  There had to be some sort of legal loophole. Why had his grandfather changed his mind about not only bequeathing the title to Euan—but what was rightfully his already? What madness had come over him? All Euan could think of was that his Uncle Will had whispered something into the old man’s ear that left him desiring to issue the order.

  Euan’s grandfather and grandmother had never been able to figure out which of the twin lads had been born first. During the birth, there was so much happening and moving around of the bairns that they lost track of who was who, and so Will and Daniel had their inheritances split down the middle. That had seemed right and fair. Why now would their grandfather have wanted to piece the legacy back together? Why force Euan or Hector to marry?

  Unless someone told him it was better for the clan to be ruled by one person, even though they spanned holdings from east to west, it didn’t make sense.

  Euan leaned back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head, and stared at the ceiling of his study. Marrying and producing put his sisters at risk, but not marrying and letting Hector win was by far a worse fate for them all. If something were to happen to Euan, they’d be at Hector’s mercy.

  Another good reason why he should start his search for a husband for Maggie.

  She was twenty-six this past May, and he knew she hoped to be thought of as put on the shelf. At twelve, she’d become the mother figure of their younger sisters, and it had been that way these past fourteen years.

  Maggie felt as much responsibility to their younger siblings as he did. A fact she’d made very clear in their last argument when he’d told her it was time that she find a husband. But it was true; she must.

  For if he were to lose this race to the first marriage and heir, then her fate would be in Hector’s hands. But if he found her a good husband, then she would be well cared for no matter what happened with the decree—and hopefully, their sisters too.

  Bloody hell, he hoped this plan worked. Euan had plenty of lovers. He was, after all, what Maggie had said—a charmer. He could charm the peel off an orange, as well as the skirts off a willing lady. But sensuality and pleasure were a far cry from love and commitment.

  Those were two words he’d not had in his vocabulary. But after a little brushing up with the governess, he was fairly certain he would be one of the most eligible bachelors of the season. Though he’d said he wasn’t sure he could make a woman fall in love with him, the worry he harbored the most was that he’d be the one not falling in love. Love was a sentiment foreign to him when it came to the women he’d been involved with. He’d not felt even an inkling.

  And he wasn’t ignorant as to what love looked like. His closest friends Lorne, the Duke of Sutherland, and Alec, the Earl of Errol, were madly in love with their wives. But Euan doubted there was a woman such as Jaime or Giselle out in the world for him. He’d seen plenty of society misses, slept with plenty society matrons and widows, to know that those two were diamonds in the rough—rare gems to be cherished. When they were forced to make a public appearance, he and his friend Malcolm Gordon often commiserated on Lorne and Alec’s being leg-shackled.

  Quite frankly, Euan didn’t have the time to make a long expedition and dig. He needed a wife now—yesterday. This absurd race to see who could win the right to his lands and title was not going to be resolved anytime soon. Finding a wife and making sure she birthed an heir was a year out.

  Euan marched over to his sideboard and poured himself a double of whisky. He was going to need all the fortifications he could get.

  2

  Right now, Miss Bronwen Holmes felt as if she was in the race for her life.

  Maybe she was.

  Strike that—she certainly was.

  The only thing saving her from being snatched off the Edinburgh streets already was the slightly overcast sky and the busy hour of that day that kept the crowds packed in around her. This, of course, also delayed her much-needed escape from the men who wanted to do the seizing.

  Bronwen lifted the hem of her skirt away from her scuffed boots to maneuver faster through the masses of the wind outside Tanner’s Close, her tenement neighborhood. She dodged a woman pushing a cart full of onions, nearly upending the woman behind her with a basket of half-rotted apples and earning a curse from yet another wielding a barrow of oysters.

  “So sorry!” she called after them as they shook their fists.

  She whirled to face forward, her attackers only a few dozen paces behind her. Two hounds fighting over a bone tugged their way in front of her, and she hurtled herself over them, the way she’d jumped puddles as a lass. Unfortunately, she wasn’t as agile and smacked right into a lad hawking newspapers.

  Papers scattered, floating into the air like the dust from a beaten rug. People shouted, and Bronwen landed with an “Oof” on her arse, right between the two growling hounds. She glanced left and right, smacking and slobbering jaws ready to clamp onto her flesh.

  The lad yanked her to her feet, away from the danger, with a sweaty palm to her own. With a hasty, “Thank ye,” Bronwen scuttled on her way.

  Not the exact way she wanted to start her morning, to be sure. She rounded the corner and into the second alleyway she came across. Hiding behind a pile of rubbish, she bent over, hands on her knees and taking in several deep breaths, praying the men searching for her hadn’t seen her duck into the alley.

  How was she going to go home now?

  Five minutes before the fiasco on the street, she’d been coming back from the market with bread and a well-past-ripe apple for her breakfast when she’d recognized the two burly, mean-looking men pounding on the door that had once belonged to her parents. Both her mother and father were gone now, leaving her heavily in debt.

  Bronwen was certain they were the henchmen to the gambling hell come to collect. There was no other reason that men the likes of those should be poundin
g down her door—and not for the first time.

  She’d been caught late at night by the same brutes before—they were easy to recognize with their tightly shaved beards sporting a letter T shaved into the side, a wicked scar across the throat of one, and a scrollwork tattoo around the right eye of the other. She didn’t doubt they’d been sent by Prince—owner of The Trojan gambling hell—who’d dispatched the others. When caught unawares before, they’d threatened to return if she didn’t pay back what her parents owed. And when she couldn’t, they’d threatened a lot more than a heavy fist the next time they saw her.

  A fate worse than death was what they’d promised.

  After her first encounter with them had given her a bloodied lip and a chipped tooth, she didn’t know what they had in mind for the future, but her imagination had run wild, keeping her up most nights. Before bed, she’d pile furniture in front of the door so they couldn’t break in while she was sleeping, and she’d taken to keeping a paring knife in her boot, which had also subsequently scratched up her ankle.

  Bronwen had never been in a position before that she had to protect herself from such threats. And now, the amount she owed on her parents’ behalf might as well have been a ransom for her own life. For indeed, that was what Prince wanted—her soul.

  Since her parents had died, she’d been working odd jobs, but it had been hard to find steady employment and nothing that was going to pay down what was owed. Nothing that was going to keep her from that devil’s clutches.

  When she’d been a lass, her parents had been almost respectable. Or least that was always the impression she’d had of them. They had owned a small shop that sold things people didn’t want anymore to those who did. But what Bronwen had slowly discovered as she’d aged was that the shop wasn’t their only business. Nay, the Holmes had a not-so-lucrative gambling hell addiction, which is how they ended up so heavily in debt. Borrowing and borrowing until she suspected they had met their end, leaving her with the fall out of their mistakes.