Lucy and Her Scottish Laird

by Margo Maguire

  LUCY AND HER SCOTTISH LAIRD ~ By Margo Maguire

  This is a work of fiction. References to historical events, real people, or real locales are entirely fictional. Names, characters, places and incidents in this novel are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or a portion thereof, in any form. This book may not be resold or uploaded for distribution to others.

  LUCY AND HER SCOTTISH LAIRD: © 2016 by Margo Maguire

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Prologue

  * * *

  Berkshire, England. Early August, 1817

  “Mama, you could convince Father, I know you could,” Lucy Stillwater pleaded. One last try to get her father to change his mind about sending her to Edinburgh with her aunt, Countess Kildrum.

  Lucy’s mother had not been well that spring, and she had not yet regained her usual vigor. Lucy was the level-headed one, the bookish one, the one her mother relied upon to manage the household when she was not up to it. And if she should relapse while Lucy was away—

  “It was decided, Lucy. And just so you know, I did try to change your father’s mind. He is convinced the trip to Edinburgh is best.”

  “But Calvin will be home soon, and then Samuel—”

  “We do not know when your brothers will arrive.”

  “But I will be long gone when they do. And Caroline’s child. I will miss the birth of my first niece.”

  “Or nephew,” her mother corrected her, although Lucy was certain it would be a girl.

  It was horrible. Leaving her family was going to be bad enough, but having to travel with Aunt Arden was beyond the pale. Her father’s sister was rude and outspoken, but that was the least of Lucy’s worries.

  Joshua Parris was here in Berkshire.

  Lucy had been in love with Joshua since she was twelve years old. But he had been in love with Eleanor Easton, Lucy’s best friend.

  They’d all grown up together. Joshua and his two sisters had been regular fixtures in the Stillwater household, as had Eleanor, whose mother had been ill and died young. After Lady Derington’s death, Eleanor had gone to London to live with her father, and Joshua had gone away to school.

  And Lucy had waited. She knew he would realize one day that they were meant for each other. But he would never realize it if she were hundreds of miles away!

  “You can tolerate it for a few months,” Lucy’s mother said. “But I will insist you return home for Christmas.”

  Lucy tried not to grimace. Traveling from the far north during wintertime was hardly something to look forward to. But she would take it, even though it was grasping at straws.

  “You must promise to rest while I am gone, Mother. Do not overtax yourself. Let Meg and Emily take over the household duties until you are well again.”

  “Lucy—”

  “Please promise me.” The idea that her mother could die while she was away caused a burning in the pit of her stomach.

  “All right, my love. I promise.”

  Chapter One

  * * *

  “You will enjoy Glencory Castle, Lucy,” Aunt Arden said with her usual authority.

  Lucy very much doubted it. They’d traveled so far out of their way to make stops at the homes of various friends and relations that Lucy feared they would never reach Edinburgh. “I will?”

  Her aunt laughed. “’Tis a thirteenth century stone monstrosity situated upon a hilltop where the winds blow incessantly.”

  “Why are we going there, then?”

  “Because it is the home of our dear friends, Viscountess Glencory and her husband. Glencory Castle is an experience you oughtn’t to miss.”

  Lucy had to admit her curiosity was piqued. She loved old buildings, and there were a few ancient ruins on her father’s lands in Berkshire. As children, she and her siblings had played in them often, climbing up the broken stone stairs, looking out over the crumbling parapets. When she grew up, Lucy studied the old castles and read everything she could find about the people who’d lived in them.

  “Will we stay only one night?”

  Lady Kildrum shrugged. “Perhaps.”

  Lucy heart sank. She heartily disliked her aunt’s willy-nilly method of travel – of prolonging the days they spent bumping along the road in the stuffy carriage. She knew chances were good that if they happened to pass through a town, they would stop long enough for Lady Kildrum to shop. Or perhaps visit someone she knew. Or had once known. The woman had a veritable archive of old friends from her years in Berkshire as a Stillwater daughter, and from her London Season.

  If only they had stayed on course, and on schedule, they would have reached their destination by now. Not that Lucy actually cared about arriving in Edinburgh. She missed her family already. She’d never been away before, other than her London Seasons, and her mother and sisters had accompanied her there.

  This was entirely different. She did not know what she was going to do once she was in Edinburgh, but there was no question she was tired of traveling. In all likelihood there were letters from her family waiting for her at her uncle’s house, for they ought to have arrived days ago.

  A pang of homesickness struck her so hard it felt like an actual blow to her chest. What if her mother became ill again? She would surely overdo now that Lucy was away. And Caroline – Lucy had been counting on being with her sister when she delivered her first child. How would Caroline manage when the baby came?

  She pushed open the curtain of the carriage to distract herself and watched the land roll past. But the bouncing of the carriage made her feel queasy. She knew from experience that reading and sewing inside would do the same. Riding long distances by coach was incredibly boring and slightly nauseating.

  “How much further, Aunt?”

  “Oh, another hour or so,” Arden replied. “Lucy, you are looking positively green.”

  “I feel rather green.”

  “You are not the heartiest of Stillwaters, are you?” Arden said. “When I was your age, Archie and I rode horseback all the way to Aberdeen. It was a braw adventure.”

  Lucy groaned. She could not imagine anything worse than riding horseback for more than half an hour. Her preferred mode of travel was walking, which was perfectly suited to life in the Berkshire countryside. And when she walked, there was always the chance of meeting with Joshua Parris.

  She could not help but sigh. While Joshua was free to court anyone he chose – Miss Jane Parker, for example – Lucy’s trip to Edinburgh made it impossible for anything to develop between them. He still saw her as a friend of his youth, although Lucy felt he might have begun to develop an interest in her. As more than a friend.

  If Lucy had known her father would force th
is trip to Edinburgh upon her, she would have come up with some methods to encounter Joshua more frequently. Because surely that was all that was needed – time together for him to realize they were perfectly matched.

  She did not care that her youngest sister, Emily, had seen Joshua in town escorting Jane Parker to Philburt’s for an ice. Joshua was a gentleman in every way. He might have seen Jane when he happened to be in Reading, and had done the polite thing. The kind thing.

  Because that was how Joshua was. He was the man of Lucy’s dreams.

  Things would change when she returned home at Christmas. She intended to show Joshua that she was not just a former childhood friend but the perfect wife for him. She just wasn’t quite sure how to accomplish it.

  They arrived at the castle just behind a group of horsemen racing to the gate, and two more men traveling at a slower pace behind them. Lucy had no idea that such an out-of-the-way place would have so much traffic.

  “It looks as though Lady Glencory is hosting is house party. ’Twill be a good opportunity for you to meet some young people, Lucy.”

  “I already know quite a few young people, Aunt.”

  “You know exactly what I am talking about,” Arden snapped. “You need a husband, and the perfect candidate could very well be waiting for you here.”

  “A horseman? No thank you.”

  “I realize you are not fond of riding, but that does not mean others must forsake the pleasure of riding and racing.”

  Of course Arden was right, but Lucy felt out of sorts after yet another long day of being cooped up in this bouncing carriage. She missed her parents and her sisters. She wanted to be home when her brothers arrived. But no – she was stuck inside this stuffy carriage for four hundred miles. She hoped their journey would end soon.

  They stepped out of the carriage and Lucy turned to glare at the horsemen as they dismounted, laughing, shaking hands, and patting each other’s backs. As though they were some kind of heroes. For riding horses, for heaven’s sake.

  She recognized a few of them. Lord Kindale, for one. He’d been at a house party Lucy had attended a couple of years ago, and had been a very pleasant companion until he’d been called away to deal with a family situation. And there was Lord Markham, whose red-gold hair reminded her of Joshua’s, but he was a good bit larger, with a booming voice. A veritable Henry VIII.

  One of the two riders at the back – a tall, well-dressed man – caught Lucy’s eye as she followed her aunt and uncle into the castle. Though he was incredibly handsome, he had a dark, forbidding look about him, like some Viking raider of old. Even so, an absurd shiver of feminine awareness skittered up her spine. At least, that’s what Lucy thought it must be, though she’d never really felt anything quite so intense before.

  His gaze slid down from her neck to the rest of her, assessing, appraising, until his eyes rested upon her face once again. And appeared to find her lacking, if his dismissive expression was any indication.

  Any allure she might have felt dissipated instantly. She stiffened with indignation and walked into the castle with her aunt and uncle. How dare he judge her?

  * * *

  Ian Munro, Marquess Broxburn, the only son and heir of the Duke of Craigmuir, was still in a wretched mood when he and his companion, Alec Ferguson, rode up to Glencory Castle. Any man would feel the same if he’d just received the kind of news Ian had.

  He’d been perfectly content at Pentland Manor – his estate south of Edinburgh – when he’d been summoned to Craigmuir Castle by Alastair MacAdams, his father’s steward. And in a drunken haze, his father had told him—

  Hell’s bells, he could hardly even think of it.

  As they approached the road leading up to Glencory, a troop of horsemen raced up to the castle. Ian recognized all of them. They were the social set – young men with titles who went down to London for the season and made the rounds of all the summer country house parties both in England and in Scotland.

  “Good Christ,” he muttered. “The last thing I want is to be drawn into some asinine house party.”

  “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 hea
ded 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.