When a Rogue Falls

by Caroline Linden

  His hot breath caressed her ear. “I’ll insist on it. Now, let’s go before your parents become restless.”

  Helena groaned. “Does it matter? I now officially belong to you. They have no say in anything we do.”

  She would never be happy with how her parents had treated her. They were the type of people who should never have had children, and if society wasn’t what it was, probably wouldn’t have. She hoped that when she had her own children she’d be a better mother than the duchess.

  “Please,” he said. “Be civil for a few hours, then if you want, you never have to talk to them again.”

  “For you,” she agreed. “Because I love you.”

  “That’s all I can ask,” he replied. “And I love you too.”

  Oliver leaned down and kissed her forehead quickly, then led her out of the church and helped her into the carriage. Soon they’d be at their wedding breakfast, and not long after that they’d leave for their wedding trip—one completely secluded and where no one would find them. Not even Lady X… At least as far as the ton was concerned.

  Sometimes even the Lady of Whispers couldn’t discover everything. Her cottage would be their escape, and personal haven. The rest of the world would be a distant memory. Oliver was the love of her life, and a dream she never dared to hope for. The heart didn’t lie, and while some things in her life distracted her from it, one thing never changed—she had always loved him, and always would.

  About the Author

  USA TODAY Bestselling author, DAWN BROWER writes both historical and contemporary romance. There are always stories inside her head; she just never thought she could make them come to life. That creativity has finally found an outlet.

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  Growing up she was the only girl out of six children. She is a single mother of two teenage boys; there is never a dull moment in her life. Reading books is her favorite hobby and she loves all genres.

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  For more information about upcoming releases or to contact Dawn Brower go to her website: authordawnbrower.com

  Books by Dawn Brower

  Broken Pearl

  Deadly Benevolence

  Don’t Happen Twice

  There You’ll Be

  A Wallflower’s Christmas Kiss

  Snowflake Kisses

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  Bluestockings Defying Rogues

  Earl of Harrington

  A Lady Hoyden’s Secret

  * * *

  Marsden Romances

  A Flawed Jewel

  A Crystal Angel

  A Treasured Lily

  A Sanguine Gem

  A Hidden Ruby

  A Discarded Pearl

  * * *

  Novak Springs

  Cowgirl Fever

  Dirty Proof

  Unbridled Pursuit

  Sensual Games

  Christmas Temptation

  * * *

  Linked Across Time

  Saved by My Blackguard

  Searching for My Rogue

  Seduction of My Rake

  Surrendering to My Spy

  Spellbound by My Charmer

  Stolen by My Knave

  Separated from My Love

  Scheming with My Duke

  Secluded with My Hellion

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  Heart’s Intent

  One Heart to Give

  Unveiled Hearts

  Heart of the Moment

  Kiss My Heart Goodbye

  * * *

  Broken Curses

  The Enchanted Princess

  The Bespelled Knight

  The Magical Hunt

  * * *

  Ever Beloved

  Forever My Earl

  Always My Viscount

  Infinitely My Marquess

  Rhapsody and Rebellion

  Bestselling Author Aubrey Wynne

  Preface

  The Enduring Legacy books tell the stories of the descendants of one family that were persecuted during the height of the witch trials in Scotland. This family is not real, and is the work of fiction, but what happens to them very much occurred to individuals in the sixteenth century and beyond.

  While the original story isn’t one filled with joy, it is pivotal to understanding the rest of the books that are created. The Legacy’s Origin is available for free download on all major retailers.

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  Scotland 1590:

  Three siblings have three different gifts. Caitrìona had the gift of sight, Sorcha had the gift of empathy, and their brother Niall could see Truth.

  They are persecuted because of their gifts and desire to help others. However, their children are saved and their legacy continues to live on.

  Prologue

  “Rebellion against tyrants is obedience to God.”

  —Benjamin Franklin

  June 4, 1792

  King’s Birthday Riots

  Edinburgh, Scotland

  The noise outside grew steadily louder until Maeve’s mother, Peigi, snapped the drapes closed. Specks of dust danced in the slivers of sunlight, beckoning Maeve to investigate the muffled cries for justice, the shatter of glass, and splintering wood outside the window. The bedlam on the city streets was horrifying and riveting. It reminded her of the first time she’d witnessed a deer hunt, not wanting to watch the dying animal but unable to look away.

  A sheen of sweat covered Ma’s face in the humid, still air of the dining room. Maeve reached out and squeezed her fingers in reassurance. “He’ll be here soon.”

  They would be safe with Da. He was bigger and stronger and more astute than anyone she’d known in her fifteen years. The sound of horseshoes and carriage wheels crunched in the driveway. A moment later, the heavy oak door slammed open. Calum MacNaughton filled the doorway, wild black curls clinging to his neck and strong jaws, a whip in his hand.

  “Let’s go, my lovelies. We dinna know how long this uproar may last.” Sapphire blue eyes glittered with urgency. “I’ve rented a hack to get us out of the city limits. The carriage is too tempting for the rabble.”

  Maeve picked up her heavy skirts with one hand, grasped her reticule with the other, and hurried for the door. The footman tossed baggage on top of the hansom then returned to assist Maeve. Her heart beat rapidly as she settled on the worn padded bench. A far cry from the soft velvet of their own carriage. Maeve had been delighted to accompany her parents to Edinburgh. Now she prayed for the safety of her Highland home.

  “What if they stop the carriage? I’m frightened, Calum.” Panic added a shrill pitch to her mother’s voice.

  “They’re just hungry and tired of not being heard. I willna let any harm come to ye.” Her father’s calm tone soothed both the women. “Now up ye go, Peigi, my love. We’ll be out of here in the blink of an eye.”

  He sat across from them, rapped his knuckles against the roof, and the vehicle lurched forward. The horses whinnied in protest and sidestepped men running through the streets and debris flying in their path. Someone tried to hitch a ride on the side of the vehicle. Calum swore under his breath, leaned out the window, and punched the man in the face. The trespasser fell on his arse in the mud, waving an angry fist and holding his nose.

  The driver headed toward a narrow alley to avoid the throng of rioters. Maeve peeked out the window to view the square, packed with hundreds of people streaming in from all sides. On a shoddily erected platform hung a noose, with a group of workers balancing what looked like a man on their shoulders. They tied the noose around his neck. One of his arms swayed unnaturally by his side, and she sighed with relief when bits of straw fell from the coat sleeve.

  The coachman cracked his whip, careened into the alley, and broke free of the crowd. As the noise subsided, Maeve listened to her parents argue about the political situation that had led to the insurrection. She leaned her head against the hard bench, each rut jerking her neck back and forth. It had been such a long day, with little sleep the previous night. Her lids grew heavy, and she gave
in to a fitful sleep.

  The horde of men jeered and poked flaming torches at the driver and team of horses. Their clothes were filthy, and they had an air of men used to taking what they needed. A man of wealth poked his head out of the gleaming carriage, his tall hat hitting the window frame and toppling to the dusty ground.

  “What are you hooligans about?” he demanded. “I order you to step aside and let us cross the bridge.”

  One of the men laughed, his yellow teeth protruding from his cold smile. He appeared to be the leader. “Sorry, milord, but we canna do that. In fact, we think it’s time you traveled the same as the rest of us.”

  “Look here, I insist—”

  Two of the rabble pulled the nobleman from his upholstered seat and sent him sprawling across the dirt road. The stiff breeze picked up the clouds of dirt that swirled into little grayish brown whirlpools. Another man touched his torch to the wooden bridge in several places. Embers glowed then spread, crackling as the flames began to lick at the dry planks.

  “Looks like ye won’t be crossing the stream today, unless ye don’t mind getting those Hessians mucked up.” The group laughed as the leader picked up the hat and placed it on his own head.

  “You will all pay for this. Do not think this attack will go unpunished.”

  “I beg yer pardon, my lord, but this topper here could feed my family for a month or more. Can’t imagine yer family ever goin’ hungry.”

  “And to be honest, the riots in Edinburgh are keepin’ the constables a bit busy.”

  The earl rose and brushed himself off, only to be cuffed in the jaw and sent back to the dirt. Just as he managed to rise onto all fours, a kick in the gut sent him down again, clutching at his belly and moaning with pain.

  A shot rang out. One of the rogues crumpled to the ground. The driver stood, a shaky hand still pointing a smoking pistol.

  “Well now, that wasna verra polite.” The leader removed his newly acquired hat, set it carefully on the dead man, and rolled up his sleeves. “I’m afraid I’ll have to teach ye a lesson in manners before ye have time to reload that thing.”

  A blade flashed and landed in the driver’s chest with a thump. The earl cried out as his cravat was yanked from his throat then wrapped around his neck once again. His well-manicured fingers dug at the makeshift noose. His face turned purple, a gurgling, hacking noise escaped his gaping mouth, and his body slowly slumped to the ground.

  * * *

  “NO!” Maeve sucked in a breath and sat up.

  “What is it, daughter?” Her mother brushed back an auburn lock that stuck to her cheek. “Ye’ve slept like a restless spirit on Samhain.”

  “We canna take this road. There are highwaymen ahead who have set upon travelers and torched the bridge.”

  “Hush, now,” Ma soothed. “It was just a dream. I’m not surprised with the day we’ve had.”

  “No, ye must listen. They’ve murdered a nobleman and his driver.” She squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed her temples, trying to bring back the image and push away the throbbing pain in her head. “It’s too late to help them, but we shall be the next victims if we continue on this route.”

  Calum pounded on the roof and stuck his head out the window. The coach came to a halt, and he left the women inside while he spoke with the driver. “Now tell me exactly what happened in this dream,” he said, once again settled across from them.

  An hour later, they stopped outside a small copse of trees. Behind them, smoke rose into the air. The driver yelled from above, “A sound idea to take a lesser traveled road, sir. It looks like the bridge is on fire. Must be thieves making trouble. The rabble like to take advantage in times of unrest. I don’t think we’d enjoy making their acquaintance.” With a crack of the whip, the carriage lurched forward.

  Her mother exchanged a troubled glance with Da. Then he leaned forward and cupped her chin in his fingers. His soft voice belied the concern in his deep blue eyes. “Have ye had these visions in the past?”

  Maeve nodded, her bottom lip trembling. “When the barn burned, I dreamt of it the night before.”

  “Ye’ve inherited the family legacy, lass. One of the abilities passed down for centuries in times of trouble.”

  “One of the abilities?” She shuddered, wondering what other secrets were hidden in their past.

  “Your grandmother had the gift of empathy, which made her a natural healer. It came in handy with wee ones or unconscious patients who couldna tell what ailed them. She also spoke of a third ability to see the truth in a man’s soul. We never ken when a child will be born with such powers.”

  Maeve shook her head. “But I don’t want this legacy. Why me?”

  “The visions only come when there is a chance to change an outcome, to protect the future of our clan. As you have just done.” He rested his elbows on his knees and clasped her hands in his. “It’s an honor and a heavy burden. And I wish to all the saints that I could save ye from both.”

  * * *

  “Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night.”

  Edgar Allen Poe

  Chapter 1

  August 16, 1819

  Stanfeld Estate,

  County of Norfolk, England

  Gideon touched the horse’s flank with his boot, moving into a smooth, rocking canter as he focused on the distant stone wall. His muscular body moved with the gelding, his thighs gripping the saddle, and his hands resting lightly on the reins. Still in training, Verity had been worth every pound. He had heart and courage and would gallop over a cliff if asked.

  Marked as a rogue and a bone-setter at Tattersall’s auction, the horse had apparently refused to bend under training or listen to the whip. But the gelding’s eyes had held intelligence when Gideon stroked his wavy dark forelock and blew gently on his nose. The “beast” turned out to have more common sense than most of those roughriders, who thought to break an animal’s spirit with fear and domination. The three-year-old wanted to please but had rebelled against unwarranted pain. The fading scars that marked the ebony hide from sharp spurs and countless lashes proved it had not been the proper incentive. Verity enjoyed a challenge and learned quickly when asked with kindness. Animals weren’t much different from people really, except perhaps more trustworthy.

  The pair approached the hedgerow. Gideon leaned forward and grabbed a fistful of mane with his spur hand. A subtle cue and the horse sailed over the shrub, landing gracefully on the other side. The wind pulled at the opening in his shirt, and it billowed around him with a flapping noise. He gave Verity a pat on the neck and eased him into a trot. “Good boy!”

  The cool morning breeze lifted the hair off Gideon’s neck and cooled the sweat running down his back. The sweet smell of fresh-cut hay filled the air and he breathed deeply. His eyes swept over the green pastures and dotted hills that had claimed his imagination as a child. Playing with the village children and fighting dragons on ancient ponies, looking for buried treasure, or going to war against the Danes or the French—depending on the most recent history lesson. Where had that adventurous youth gone?

  Verity’s ears pricked forward. Gideon chuckled at the scruffy little brown mutt bounding up the hill. “Good morn to you, Little Bit.”

  The dog barked in reply, his tail wagging so rapidly that it seemed a blur. “A race, you say?” Little Bit barked his agreement. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll keep him in a trot to make it fair.”

  The threesome ambled west, their backs to the sun. They crested a hill and the sight of his childhood home in the distance, standing sentry over the countryside, filled Gideon with pride. The numerous windows of the imposing three-story medieval manor glinted and flashed like jewels in a crown of gray sandstone. On each corner, gable, and the entrance sat miniature turrets like arrows pointing to the heavens. Surrounded by the original moat, it reminded visitors of long-gone knights, fair maidens, and chivalry. A wide, arched bridge spanned the ditch, bricks matching the color of th
e mansion and providing ample entrance to the estate grounds. Rolling hills and grazing pastures surrounded the mansion on three sides with acres of forest along the back. From atop this hill, it was an impressive sight, and Gideon always enjoyed watching people’s reaction the first time they saw it.

  Little Bit barked, tail wagging and feet pawing at his stirrup. “My father passed on quite a legacy, didn’t he? Now it’s up to me to maintain and improve it.”

  He leaned down to give the dog a final scratch then headed down the hill at an easy canter, mentally ticking off the correspondence he would respond to after breakfast. The estate’s steward also wanted to update him on some newly acquired livestock. There was the appointment with the solicitor next week in London concerning the textile mill in Glasgow. The business had been his father’s personal project so Gideon was eager to learn more about the details of that particular investment. It was the only corner of the Stanfeld holdings the late earl had seen to himself.

  London. The visit would be a two-edged sword. On one hand, he looked forward to a few nights of gaming and camaraderie with good friends. Perhaps a stop at Tattersall’s to see what was on the auction block. On the other hand, those voracious, title-seeking mothers with their simpering single daughters… At least the families were sparser this time of year. At twenty-five, he still enjoyed his bachelor status and tried to avoid the town in the spring and early summer as carefully as horse piles on a busy street.