by Lisa Torquay
The Lass
Beguiled
the Laird
EXPLOSIVE HIGHLANDERS 3
Lisa Torquay
Copyright
The Lass Beguiled the Laird
Copyright 2018 Lisa Torquay
Published by Lisa Torquay
Edition License Notes
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Cover: Jon Paul Art
Editor: Katherine Gale-Han
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Copyright
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Dedication
From the Back Cover
EXCERPT
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
EPILOGUE
PREVIEW OF THE LASS INITIATED THE LAIRD - EROTIC NOVELLA
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Connect with Lisa Torquay
Other Books by Lisa Torquay
Dedication
To my nearest and dearest
From the Back Cover
HE IS THE MAN SHE COULD NEVER HAVE LOOKED AT WITH MORE THAN A POLITE GLANCE…
Catriona McTavish longs for the Highlands where she lived until she was fourteen, before her English mother took her and her sister to London for the best education money could buy. After years away from her beloved country, she can take it no more. As an advertisement for a horse expert jumps onto her sight, she regards it as the ideal opportunity to visit her birthplace again and see the best horseflesh in the Highlands—all under a false name. She never imagined her future brother-in-law would take siege of her body and her mind, endangering her very soul, but her father has signed a marriage agreement between her sister and the commanding laird.
SHE IS THE WOMAN HE COULD ONLY KEEP IN HIS BED, NEVER IN HIS LIFE…
Fingal McKendrick has a problematic horse he needs to put on the mend. When he realises the horse expert he'd agreed to come and help his Arab stallion is a woman called Emily Paddington, he has an urge to send her packing; not only because she's a woman, but also because she's the most maddeningly confounding lass he has ever met. Beautiful, feisty, and utterly skilful with horses, she draws him in perilously. Despite the blistering craving she arouses in him, he must keep his distance, for he has agreed to marry another for a clan alliance.
WOULD THEY RISK A CLAN STRIFE TO GIVE LOVE A CHANCE?
Heat Level: Hot, Sizzling
EXCERPT
He measured her from her hatless, bun-coiled hair, down her coat-less riding habit to her boots. The bright cinnamon attention scalded every inch of her.
“Are you following the doctor’s recommendations?” His sudden change of subject had her eyes snapping on his.
Her mind reeled to get back on track with that onslaught of male energy tumbling down on her like a bucket of boiling tea. “Certainly.”
“How do you go about it?” he asked an octave lower.
Dark eyes widened on his, a furious tide of blush rising to her cheeks. “You mean for me to say—” She wished her high colour was due to embarrassment or even indignation, but it was something far baser, hotter. Unconfessed.
“Everything,” he clarified, looking down at her with a focus so intense it kept her enthralled.
Her lungs gulped rarefied air while her tongue darted out to moisten lips that had not been parched before he arrived.
Her lips moved, but no sound came from them. She breathed once more and tried anew. “I-I turn my back to the mirror.” she started hesitantly, her insides morphing into molten sensation.
His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Oh, yes, the mirror,” he rumbled, as if the piece of furniture held an inscrutable secret she could not fathom.
“I lift my-my—” If only this stammering was shame. She could not even use it as an excuse.
His stare became so fixed on hers that it felt almost hypnotic. “Your what?” he demanded.
“Chemise!” she was able to blurt out despite all the air clogged in her throat.
“You undress down to your chemise?” Silky and rough.
“And, well…and the unmentionables.”
At this, his stubble-lined jaw ticked frantically, his breath coming ragged. “So?”
“I take a portion of the salve, twist to the mirror.” She paused again because the effort to suppress her arousal took every inch of her rational process.
“After you have lowered your…unmentionables, I gather,” he added.
“Yes.” It came out as a breath and she had to moisten her lips again. “Next, I spread it over the…bruise.”
A strong, square hand raised to scatter the pins from her hair. It fell in glossy ebony waves down to her waist. His fiery inspection took in the length of it, absorbing the view as if he stood before a work of art.
CHAPTER ONE
London, late spring, 1811
There were two things that never failed to happen in Miss Catriona Emily McTavish’s life. The first was her early morning rides in Rotten Row. She loved riding—and horses for that matter—and those were the high moments in her day. She committed to her rides as a monk committed to his prayers, never letting up. Sun, rain, snow or wind, her beloved mare, Debranua, the Celtic goddess of speed, made a graceful appearance with her skilled amazon in the empty lanes of the park.
The second thing bored her to distraction. At least three times a week, her sister, Anna, insisted on dragging Catriona to Bond Street on dreadful shopping trips. Like now, for example. She sat at the milliner’s while her English rose sister chose between two unnecessary bonnets to add to her countless collection. Catriona’s dark eyes darted through the window to where their carriage stood with its two horses, one of them digging on the cobblestones in a sign of impatience. She did not blame the poor equine his need for dashing from the crowded, noisy, smoggy city. Catriona yearned for it, too. Had yearned for it for quite a long time, in reality. Something like the second day after arriving in London ten years ago. But her mother, Lady Marie McTavish, née Paddington, had deemed it a sensible decision to educate her daughters in a ‘civilised’ place with the best tutors the Laird McTavish could afford.
At twenty-four, Catriona’s initial impression of London, and England in general, had not changed. Trips to her father’s manor in the Highlands had been few and far between, which did nothing to quench her longing to live there for good. It was a longing so acute it brought tears to her eyes in the darkest hour of the night.
“Should I take the blue or the lavender one?” Anna turned her wheat-haired head and blue-eyed inquiry to her sister, interrupting the elder’s musings.
The sisters were like night and day, literally. While three years younger Anna had taken after their mother with her blonde looks, Catriona had followed in her father’s line with midnight hair and a lean, tall figure.
Catriona turned her attention from the window to petite, delicate Anna. “You already have both colours, I believe.”
&
nbsp; “But in a different model, silly,” the blonde girl taunted.
Despite their obvious dissimilarity in temperament, the McTavish sisters were best friends, strange as it might seem. Catriona loved her younger sibling with a devoted care, and this devotion was fully reciprocated by the other girl. Anna took ballrooms by storm with her beauty and gregarious nature, which Catriona admired but did not share. She preferred quiet nights, the smell of grass after rain and a placid lake that mirrors the sky, and preferably in the Highlands. She stifled a sigh at the intrusive thought.
“The lavender one, then, to go with your new dress,” the elder sister ventured.
Anna gifted her with a dazzling smile. “You’re right!” she exclaimed and turned to the milliner to have it delivered to their townhouse in Mayfair.
A long time later, they finally sat in the carriage and were on their way home.
“Mama received a letter from father,” Anna started, her eyes shading a little.
“Any news?” Catriona asked, already worried for her usually cheerful sister.
Angus McTavish divided his time between Scotland and London. Spring and autumn required his presence in the Scottish manor with its busy activities, but summer and winter offered a calmer period he used for staying with his family in London or in his wife’s family’s country seat.
“He signed a marriage agreement with the McKendrick. I am to marry the second brother, Fingal.” Her voice held none of the enthusiasm of a girl about to marry.
Catriona felt for her sister. Nothing could be further from her city-life loving sister than a match with a Highlander. But clan alliances must be considered, and they had no say in the matter.
“But this lies years in the future, I hope.” The elder sister tried to soothe the younger.
“I expect as much,” Anna said. “I don’t really want to marry a savage Highlander and live in a primitive manor at some forgotten corner of the country,” she vented.
Catriona could not agree with any of it, but she understood that her sister was not cut for country life. However, Angus McTavish had set his eyes on an English lord for his eldest daughter. Not that English lords were that keen on Scottish ladies, but her mother’s pedigree, a Duke for an uncle, and a fat dowry on the bride’s head made up for rather convincing arguments. Watery Lord Tremaine, Catriona’s supposed destiny, did not seem to mind giving her a try.
Catriona hated the ton, by the way.
Their bored stances, their superficial conversation, the cruel gossips, the meaningless etiquette. Every single thing had been annoying her since her debut at seventeen. Her contempt would not be suppressed, which did not do much for her marriage prospects, naturally.
She could not care less.
“Talk to mama,” Catriona suggested. “She may intercede on your behalf.”
Anna sighed, disgruntled. “You know papa will not change his mind on this.” Her brows pleated in a delicate frown. “An alliance with the powerful McKendricks is too valuable for that.”
Much as Catriona would like to dispute the point, there was no doing such a thing. Her sister had the right of it. The McKendrick sister, Aileen, had married the great McDougal; the McKendrick laird, Drostan, had a McPherson wife, and now his son had been declared the heir to both clans. These alliances alone would be enough to cover almost the entirety of the network in the Highlands, not to mention the secondary agreements of produce and transport of goods. The McKendricks were quite simply invincible in this scenario. An alliance with them had no chance of being ignored.
And now it got down on black and white. Any possibility of going around it had disappeared.
The only thing Catriona could do was give her sister support. She took the other girl’s hands in hers and tried to convey encouragement. Anna gave her a sad smile and squeezed her sister’s hands in return.
“You’re home at last,” Marie McTavish greeted her daughters as they walked into the entrance hall. “Luncheon is served.”
Catriona and Anna took off their bonnets and cloaks and followed their mother into the family dining room.
At the table, Marie spoke again. “We are invited to dinner at the Tremaine’s tonight.”
This piece of news made Anna’s face light up. “Fantastic. I am sure Miss Ellie will be there. She’s sure to tell me about her engagement.”
In the same proportion the younger miss cheered up, Catriona’s outlook wilted. “Can I stay home for once, mama?”
“Of course not, Emily dear.” Her mother called her by her English name more often than not, especially when the older woman wanted to remind her eldest of some obligation or other. “I need not remind you that Lord Tremaine will be in attendance. It’s his house, after all.”
Catriona would not dare confess her low opinion of Lord Tremaine nor any other Lord she had ever met. “I see, but I could run into him in the park on another day,” she suggested, hopeful for a deliverance.
“Catriona Emily,” her mother said in a warning voice, “you’ve been fooling the poor man around for years. It’s time you let the match go through!”
Not if she had a say in the matter, no. The prospect of marrying a man that appeared in feeble watercolours disgusted her. Images of what being his wife would look like came to her head, and these images would be comic if they were not so tragic. He would politely knock on her chambers, ask if he might come in, lift her nightgown, and politely…well…you know. He was a polite bore, to be sure.
But to avoid any unnecessary conflict, she answered meekly, “Yes, mama.”
The Earl of Arleigh, Lord Stanley Tremaine, lived in a sumptuous townhouse a few blocks from the McTavish’s.
Catriona had followed her maid’s directions and dressed in a proper, demure peach gown, no more and no less than the occasion required. She felt as if she were going to a fancy-dress ball. These English rags mean nothing to me, she thought without a benevolent streak in it. The Scottish attire worn in her clan was so much more beautiful. The black and white plaid of the skirts and shawl held comfort, prettiness and practicability in their favour. Together with the men in their woollen tartan, her father’s lands gained a view all of its own. The longing for her corner of the world assailed her yet again. To keep her composure, she shoved it aside and plastered a smile on her face. The evening would drag on forever, she feared.
The Arleigh house lay not far from the McTavish’s, which meant that the carriage ride took mere minutes. The house was built in the latest fashion, shining with marble, crystal chandeliers and plush furniture. They alighted from the carriage and joined the line to greet their hosts.
The three McTavish ladies wove their way to the host. Catriona, the second to curtsy after her mother, gained a dutiful compliment from Lord Tremaine. “Miss McTavish, it’s an honour to have you here,” he said in a bland tone after bowing slightly.
The Earl of Arleigh did not display a tall frame, but his dark blonde hair and nondescript blue eyes made him personable in a somewhat watery way. His expression lit on whomever came behind her.
“Miss Anna,” he said, his voice deepening an octave lower. He extended an eager hand to catch her sister’s. “Your presence will light my humble house in the brightest gold.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw her sister give him a blinding smile. “You’re too kind, my lord,” she responded, giving her gloved hand for him to kiss and which he did so in such a gallant manner that even Catriona was impressed.
Hmm, interesting, she observed in passing.
But soon the function engulfed her and the episode slipped from her mind.
Catriona felt the dinner did drag on and on as uninteresting conversations ran over her head. Her attention completely oblivious to her surroundings, she just waited for the moment she could take refuge in her chambers and breathe freely.
“My Catriona would like that very much.” Her mother’s utterance of her name tore Catriona from her reveries.
About to get their carriage and finally go home, the
older woman spoke the last to Lord Tremaine.
“A stroll in the park tomorrow it is, then,” he answered.
“Anna can accompany you,” Marie said. Her sister and the earl exchanged a secret glance.
No chance of escaping it, Catriona lamented. “It will be lovely,” she said, for lack of a more enthusiastic response.
The sight of her home made Catriona expel a sigh of relief that the night drew finally to a close. Mumbling a good-night, she flew upstairs to get rid of these constraining clothes. Tucked in bed, she fell asleep with memories of green woods and fresh lakes going through her mind.
Next morning, she entered her house flushed from her ride with Debranua to peep at a newspaper lying not yet pressed on the mantel. Her father not being home, The Times used to sit around unread. Well, not that unread, to tell the truth. Most days, Catriona managed to pilfer it and carry it to her chambers. Predictably, the publications aimed at ladies irritated her with their irrelevant articles. Books or The Times piqued her interest much more. She skimmed the day’s pages while she waited for breakfast to be served.
As she did, her eyes fell on a classified advertisement: “Horse Experts required. Unruly stallion needs extra attention. Applications to Fingal McKendrick.” And an address came next.
Her dark gaze lit on the page. Any highlander worth their salt knew the McKendrick’s horseflesh was magnificent. The second McKendrick brother treasured his horses and cared for them as if they were family. Not to mention that the clan had enough money to afford the best. Catriona had never seen their horses but not for lack of keenness. Over the years, she had spent too little time in her home country to be able to do so.
