Christmas in the Scot's Arms (Highlander Vows: Entangled Hearts Book 3)

by Julie Johnstone

  I beg you, keep our association secret. Do not reveal this letter or the source of the copper ore that Thomas Davis discovered at your estate. If that information was to fall into the wrong hands, I believe Underwood would do anything to claim it, including commit murder.

  Allow me, my faithful friend, to close my eyes one last time knowing that you will administer justice and ensure that my son, Algernon, does not suffer my fate. I go to my grave knowing he is in your capable hands.

  I remain obedient,

  Eggleston

  SMUGGLING! If ever there was a need to TERMINATE this ill-timed enterprise, Trewman’s Exeter Flying Post insists the BLACK REGENT and his intolerable crew occasion the greatest enthusiasm and the hopes of mortals! Let it be known, ANYONE caught AIDING the cunning villain will be held LIABLE for damages and sent to ROUGEMONT.

  ~ Trewman’s Exeter Flying Post, 1 February 1807

  Chapter One

  Exeter, Devon

  April 1809

  “Do you have everything you need, Your Grace?”

  Prudence, the Duchess of Blackmoor nodded to Reverend Polidor Leyes, the vicar assigned to her soon-to-be father-in-law’s estate, then clasped her dearest friend’s hands as the chapel bells chimed ten times.

  “Well,” she said, smiling when the door closed, leaving the two of them alone again. “Today begins a new chapter of my life.”

  Lady Chloe Walsingham squeezed Prudence’s hands and swung her arms wide to inspect her apple-green wedding gown. “You’re a beautiful bride, Pru. And you deserve a happy ending.”

  Closing her eyes, Prudence glanced down at the intricate detail of her fruitful-colored gown, the yards of matching gossamer and lace, savoring the moment, and allowing herself to be transported back to the morning she’d married the man who owned her heart and soul—Tobias, the Duke of Blackmoor. Her breast had been full of boundless joy and love that momentous day. Strangely now, the bittersweet contrast between the virginal white she’d worn then and the gown she wore now, Tobias and her intended—Basil, Earl of Markwick—flashed in her mind’s eye, teasing her with images of what could have been, of how deeply she could have loved, had a brutal fire not stolen her former husband’s life.

  Heat rose to her face as, once more, the stable’s deadly flames hissed and crackled untamed before her like a hungry, writhing, poisonous viper sinking its fangs deep into her heart. Horses neighed. Men shouted.

  Prudence grabbed her constricting throat.

  “What is it?” Chloe asked, touching Prudence’s cheek. “Are you overcome with emotion?”

  The memories immediately silenced.

  “You feel overly warm,” her friend went on. “Perhaps you should sit down until the reverend returns.”

  Prudence inhaled a fortifying breath. “No,” she said, forcing a smile. “On the contrary, I am quite well.” She removed Chloe’s hand and straightened her spine, determined more than ever to move on with her life.

  It had been two years since fate had seared her heart to embers and labeled her a widow. She’d survived the devastating loss and the tempering that followed, allowing herself to be forged for a moment such as this. Why, then, when she had to speak her vows, did that fateful night play over and over again in her mind?

  She walked past a table and a pair of chairs to the pitcher and bowl that were situated on a sideboard. She reached in, then dabbed cool water on her heated skin.

  “Why are you so nervous? We’ve known the earl for years.”

  Prudence turned to find Chloe running her fingers along Mr. Leyes’s excellent collection of literature assembled on the floor-to-ceiling shelves. She tried to push her concerns aside. “I shall endeavor to make him happy with all my heart.”

  Truth be told, she loved Basil. Did it matter that she wasn’t in love with him?

  For her, marriage had lost its romantic appeal the day she’d buried Tobias. These days, she didn’t desire to be swept off her feet. What she needed now was companionship, a comfortable life, children.

  Resigned to give Basil everything she had and more, she walked toward Chloe and led her away from the books. “Wish me luck?”

  “Luck?” Chloe giggled the way she always did when she was about to make comparisons between them. “You are set to marry one of the most handsome, eligible men in all of Exeter. If anyone is in need of good fortune, it is I, Pru.”

  Prudence tsked. “That isn’t true and you know it. You have much to offer any gentleman. Perhaps one sits in the rectory now, a handsome cavalier destined to whisk you away before the Season comes to an end.”

  “Not if my brother continues to scare them off.” Chloe’s brow furrowed like a petulant child’s. “Oh, why did Pierce have to become a revenue officer?”

  “Captain Walsingham is only doing his part.”

  “Yes. To ruin my life.”

  “Nay. To stand up to the Black Regent. Smugglers cannot be allowed to raid ships and sail the English Channel as if they are above the law. Think of the investors and merchants being put out of business.” Basil’s father, William, the Marquess of Underwood included. If Basil was correct, the marquess was on the brink of insolvency, which made his insistence on her marrying Basil understandable. Not only did Basil and Prudence care for each other dearly, but the unentailed lands Tobias had left her were worth at least ten thousand pounds a year.

  “No,” she said, determined to overcome any adversity. The Blackmoor estate would become her groom’s, after all. “I heartily approve of the captain’s pursuits. Your brother has done more for Exeter than anyone I know, and I’m glad of it.”

  Chloe crossed her arms over her elegant ecru gown. “No one can get past the drawbridge Pierce has levered at our door. No one.”

  “Drawbridge?” Prudence giggled. “Your brother isn’t a villain from one of your Gothic novels, Chloe. He strives to protect you as diligently as he does our shipping lanes. The right man will come along. I urge you to be patient.”

  “Regretfully,” Chloe said on a sigh, “patience isn’t one of my strongest qualities.”

  It was true. Chloe was extremely impatient, and her impetuous actions kept the captain on his toes. “You have a caring nature, a highly prized quality in any woman and one not easily found these days. And I cherish you all the more for it.”

  “Oh, I do care, Pru. I really do. I want you to be happy.” Chloe stepped back, clapped her hands over her mouth and then spread her arms. “I’ve always envied you. In my eyes, you are the luckiest woman in the world.”

  “I am”—she’d once considered herself lucky—“as light as a feather.”

  A feather disturbed by a sudden breeze.

  “Who wouldn’t be? You’re about to marry the man you love. Is there anything more divine than that?”

  Prudence gazed out the window of the stone chapel at the meadow that disappeared across the plateau leading to Blackmoor’s property line. The acreage abutted Lord Underwood’s estate and heralded prized orchards, hedgerows, fenced meadows, quarries, shapely knolls, and watercourses that fed the river below. But the manor house with its multiple stories of granite ashlar and wood withheld secrets she had yet to ascertain, information that had gone with Tobias to the grave, leaving her with no explanation why a map detailing another source of income on the estate had been locked away in his study.

  “You aren’t having second thoughts, are you?” Chloe crossed the distance and fingered Prudence’s curls into place. “You have nothing to fear. Your father is in the chapel. And I saw your groom and Lord Underwood arrive nearly an hour ago.”

  Prudence sighed wistfully. “I know.” She turned her thoughts to the aged marquess, imagining him standing in the church, hunched over his cane, measuring each person’s worth and finding them lacking. A pincher who hoarded every farthing, Basil’s father was a renowned curmudgeon.

  “What then? Are you worried Lord Underwood and your father will come to blows?”

  “No,” she lied. Lord Underwood’s gruff exterior
and business tactics were legendary, and though her father approved of Basil, he was decidedly unapologetic in his opinions about Lord Underwood. He wasn’t alone in those opinions, either.

  She touched her lips, calmed by the memory of her intended’s kiss. She’d endure Lord Underwood’s intrusive opinions if it meant she gained the love and companionship of his son.

  Prudence released a sigh and finally spoke to the heart of her worry. “Do you think I deserve a second chance at happiness, Chloe?”

  Chloe’s laughter caught her completely off guard. “Do frogs have warts?”

  Prudence withheld her mirth. “Don’t you mean toads?”

  Chloe made a face. “Don’t quibble. How many frogs did we kiss hoping one of them would turn into a prince?”

  “One slimy creature was enough.” At least neither of them had grown warts during their childhood experiment.

  An enviable dimple appeared on Chloe’s left cheek. Her unusual, but extraordinary violet eyes rounded, glistening with myriad emotions as she reached into her reticule and produced her copy of The Castle of Otranto.

  “On page twenty-seven—”

  “Please tell me you didn’t bring that book to my wedding.”

  “I did,” Chloe confirmed with a grin. “You know I never go anywhere without it. And I shall continue to read about blackguards and rogues while Markwick pampers you anon. I’ve never seen a man so smitten.” She closed the book and hugged the volume close to her chest. She sighed distractedly. “How I long for a gentleman like the Earl of Markwick to do the same for me.”

  “That day will come,” Prudence promised. “And when it does, your wallflower days will be all but forgotten.”

  Chloe released a hopeful sigh. “Do you think I shall find a man as worthy as Isabella’s Theodore?”

  “I know so.” It was only fair. Chloe deserved a man who’d move heaven and earth to convey his love—a heroic man like Tobias.

  I am such a fool hanging on to my ghosts. Tobias is gone. Basil is my future now.

  “What I wouldn’t give to meet a man as dashing as the Black Regent, though,” Chloe said, drawing in another idealistic sigh.

  Prudence released a horrified gasp. “The Black Regent? Why on earth would you glorify that rogue, especially when your brother is trying to catch him?”

  “Bookkeepers under my brother’s employ verified that local men are receiving stipends in their accounts when none were to be had. Does that not remind you of Robin Hood?” She stepped toward the mirror as if conveying mere gossip, rearranged an errant curl, then turned back to Prudence to put on her gloves. “I’ve overheard Pierce say the Regent’s demeanor is darker than the clothes he wears. His ship, the Fury, is the wraith of the Cornish coast, painted blacker than night, and nigh uncatchable. You do know what this means, don’t you?”

  “No.”

  “He’s even more complex than characters in our favorite tomes! How romantic!”

  “A pirate? Preposterous!” How many times did she have to remind Chloe that the novels she read were works of fiction? “There is nothing romantic about pirates.” Prudence eyed the door, counting down the moments until she was summoned, unsure she wanted to hear more shocking details. But for some inexplicable reason, she went on. “Tell me. What has he done now?”

  Chloe’s expression turned sheepish. “He targeted another one of Lord Underwood’s ships.”

  “Another one?” she asked, lowering her voice to a whisper. If she knew one thing about Lord Underwood, it was this: he valued monetary worth over blood. And right now, with the dire straits he was already in financially, worry sunk deep in Prudence’s belly.

  “Yes, the cunning devil,” Chloe continued. “He divided up the cargo and gave it to anyone who could carry it off the beach.”

  Prudence chewed the inside of her lower lip. “Why wasn’t I informed about this earlier?”

  “I assume Markwick didn’t want to worry you about it before the wedding.”

  Prudence toyed with the Honiton lace at her wrists as her friend went on. “I’m sure the earl waits to divulge this unhappy state of affairs after your wedding night. Men do not feel obliged to burden women with their concerns.”

  Pru looked up at Chloe sharply. “I am not most women.”

  “Oh yes. I am well aware of that, dear friend. I feel positive Markwick simply wants to preserve your happiness, rather than encumber you with his father’s difficulties.”

  Prudence tapped her bottom lip, then sighed. “I suppose you are right. Go on. Tell me what else you’ve heard.”

  Chloe’s eyes brightened. “After the pirate’s last attack,” she said, thankfully leaving out her usual litany of the devil’s misdeeds, “The Captain was forced to escort debt collectors from Lord Underwood’s offices.”

  “You can use your brother’s name when we’re alone, Chloe.”

  Her brows furrowed. She gulped. “Forgive me. Old habits. You know how demanding he is.”

  “I do.” Prudence had also known Underwood was struggling, but was the marquess destitute?

  “I assure you, these are not yarns. Not in the least. Pierce has it on good authority—”

  “Your brother has been feeding your imagination again.”

  Chloe’s smile faltered. “Balderdash.”

  Prudence fanned herself more rapidly. “I’m surprised that you, of all people, believe your brother’s stories. Even if he does work with the Royal Navy and the Revenue Office, don’t you remember how he deceived both of us into believing we could swim?”

  “But now we can swim,” Chloe said, leaving out the horrific way they’d learned to do so. “I’ve been telling you for nigh a year now that Pierce has chased the Fury out of the quay, down the Exe River, and into the Lyme Sea and never once caught it. He calls it a ghost ship manned by demons.”

  Prudence shivered. She wasn’t comfortable talking about ghosts.

  “The Black Regent,” Chloe said breathlessly, eyes wide, “is as real as you and me, and thankfully so.”

  “How naive you are. The brigand is an elaborate sham conjured by free traders to cover up their own tracks. Or worse, he’s been invented by your brother to veil his inability to catch the marauder preying upon my future father-in-law’s assets.”

  “Do you really think my brother would be so cruel?”

  Prudence arched her brow and cast Chloe a meaningful glare.

  Chloe picked up her reticule with a soft huff, shoved her book inside it, and hugged the bag tightly to her just as the door to the room creaked on its hinges. She stepped forward expectantly as the gray-haired clergyman reappeared.

  “Apologies for the delay, Your Grace,” he said. “We are ready for you.”

  The old wooden door creaked more as it moved farther outward on its hinges, casting shadows on the wall beside it. Her father, Cyril, Marquess of Heathcote appeared. “The time has come, daughter. Are you ready?”

  “Yes.” She nodded, determined to put the Black Regent and Lord Underwood’s financial difficulties out of her mind.

  She and Chloe exchanged an emotional embrace, despite their quarrel. “Do not worry. It will be wonderful, Pru.”

  “Indeed,” her father added. He took hold of Prudence’s hand and placed it in the crook of his arm, glancing down at her with genuine affection. “We mustn’t keep your young gentleman waiting any longer.”

  “No.” The thrumming wings in her stomach dissipated at the thought of Basil. She’d been through hell and looked forward to spending the rest of her life with a loving friend.

  He patted her hand. She leaned her head against his shoulder and squeezed his arm.

  They followed Chloe toward the rectory, and as the chapel doors opened, Chloe flashed them one more smile before she disappeared through them.

  Prudence stood at the threshold with her father, looking out into the chapel. The pews were radiantly lined with flowers in shades of white and green, all leading up to where Basil patiently waited. His handsome face was eclips
ed, his thick dark hair illuminated by fragments of light shining through the stained glass.

  Father patted her hand again and gazed down at her fondly. “Shall we do this, my dear?”

  She nodded. “Yes. I am ready.”

  Her father wasted no time guiding her to the altar, past faces she’d known long and well, servants devoted to her as a child and, since her husband’s death, Blackmoor’s tenants, as well as notable gentry.

  “It’s been two years since the duke’s passing,” someone whispered to her left.

  Prudence pressed forward, past rightful members of the ton seated near the front.

  “Imagine being a widow at three and twenty,” another voice said softly.

  Tobias’s face momentarily replaced Basil’s, and her slipper caught on the hem of her gown. Father’s quick reflexes kept her from falling flat on her face before Basil, God, and their guests.

  He squeezed her arm reassuringly. “Do not listen to foolish hen prattle, my dear. The earl is waiting for you.”

  Straightening her shoulders, she focused on Basil’s handsome face and light-blue eyes that glinted like Blackmoor silver, twinkling, promising years of fidelity and conveying assurances that all would be well. Tall, lean, and clothed in simple black and white, Basil gave her a pleasant smile that lured her to him, and warmth swept through her. He was her future now. No more sleepless nights lying awake, feeling helpless and alone. No more nightmares or thoughts of what could have been.

  Her father stopped just before the altar and placed a kiss on her brow. “Your mother would be so proud of you if she were here. You are strong, my girl.”

  “Thank you, Papa,” she whispered, her heart filled with gratitude.