Table of Contents
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
Epilogue
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His Tarnished Ruby
The Scottish Stone Series, Book Three
Kelsey McKnight
His Tarnished Ruby
Copyright © 2017 by Kelsey McKnight.
All rights reserved.
First Print Edition: September 2017
Limitless Publishing, LLC
Kailua, HI 96734
www.limitlesspublishing.com
Formatting: Limitless Publishing
ISBN-13: 978-1-64034-213-2
ISBN-10: 1-64034-213-3
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
Dedication
This is for all the lovely readers who have followed me through London, into the Highlands, and back in time. I’m pleased to have you on another adventure. And to my fellow author, Sarah Fisher, who always helps me keep the bosoms heaving.
Table of Contents
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
Epilogue
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If for the heart’s own sake we break the heart, we may
When the last ruby drop dissolves in diamond light
Meet in a deeper vesture in another day.
Until that dawn, dear heart, good-night, good-night.
–A Farewell by George William Russell
Chapter One
Flora MacLeod smiled over the rim of her goblet at Jasper MacNee, who answered with a brazen grin, flashing his straight teeth and deep dimples. She sat up straighter and pretended to be interested in someone at the far end of the MacLeod’s feasting hall. As much as she’d like to march over to his table and have him take her into his arms, her friend Penelope Elmsly—now MacGregor—had told her time and time again that a man would never fancy a loose woman, but one worth a bit of a fight, and this was exactly what Flora intended to give Jasper.
She trained her eyes on the newlyweds, Penelope and Drummond, who looked ridiculously in love. Flora could remember how awkwardly the pair had interacted when they first met. Drum was a silent giant, frozen when in Penelope’s queenly presence. Penelope had been positively bitter toward him in return, almost rudely uninterested in his constant company.
But out of hundreds men in London, not a single one was prime husband material for Flora. Of course she had always held a flame for handsome Jasper, but Conner never allowed her to pursue him. He thought Jasper was too old and too poor to sustain the life Flora led. She had tried to forget him by seeking out every eligible bachelor Penelope knew, but none could compare to the fiery man back in Scotland with the loud laugh and broad shoulders. The British men were too reserved and soft of hand. How could she respect a husband who had paler skin than her, and a softer voice?
She flipped her hair over her shoulder and glanced back at Jasper, trying her hardest to look as appealing as the scullery maid beside him. While Jasper tipped his cup at her and shot her another jovial glance, she thought she had turned his head. But his gaze quickly slid back to the busty beauty who offered him more meat. He could hardly spare Flora a second look, which burned her pride.
That cad. That braggart. That handsome devil.
She sighed and dropped her goblet back to the table, feeling embarrassed at being so obviously slighted. Her pressed blue silks had been altered for a more daring neckline and she even donned a string of pearls to draw the eye down toward her modest bust, hoping to temp Jasper to sample her goods, and not the common maid’s. Nonetheless, he hadn’t noticed the way she batted her lashes in his direction, nor the way she sent each servant to his table with the finest foods. It had been Flora who’d sent the maid with her dish to him in the first place, not thinking that Jasper’s wandering eyes would be glued to the woman in the plain brown dress.
However, she counted her blessings that no one saw how easily a serving wench, who forwent her stays to sway freely beneath her gown, turned her beloved’s head. With her rather humble bust, Flora felt as if she paled in comparison to the curvy woman who currently held Jasper’s rapt attention.
Although she tried to look away, she found her stare drawn to them and she bit her lip as the maid tilted her head back to laugh at something Jasper said, showing off her long neck. Flora felt her fingers itch as she longed to put her hands around that maid’s throat. But, as Penelope often reminded her, a man wasn’t attracted to a slovenly wench with rough edges, but by a smooth gem who shone in their presence.
“Yes,” Flora muttered, “but some men seem to like a rocky shore upon which to dock their ships.”
“Where have you gone?” Gwen asked, waving her hand before her older sister’s face.
Flora jumped and turned to her. “Nowhere.”
Gwen already knew. She reached under the tablecloth and grabbed her hand. “Jasper’s a fool.”
She felt her face heat. “Pardon me?”
“I said he’s a fool and a flirt. You think no one notices the way you stare, but I do.”
Flora felt a sharp sting in her chest. “He’s just talking with her to be polite. It means nothing. It’s what men do…they flirt.”
Her little sister hummed and released her grip. “If you say so.”
“What are my wee sisters whisperin’ about?” Conner questioned from behind them.
“Nothing of consequence,” Flora replied, draining her goblet of wine and waving a servant over for more.
“Aye?” Conner asked, not sounding entirely convinced.
“Aye,” Flora said sternly.
“Is there a secret?” Little Ian, the MacLeod’s ward, popped his head between the two sisters, his mouth full of stolen wedding cake. “Please tell me!”
“There’s nothing to tell,” Flora hissed through gritted teeth, holding her cup aloft for a fresh topper of drink. “Go on and get some more cake.”
“Leave them alone!” Charlotte called from the other end of the long table.
Conner looked over his shoulder at his wife and nodded before turning back to Flora. “Do us all a favor and try no’ to stare at that buffoon all evenin’, aye?”
Flora felt her cheeks burn up, but she lifted her chin and tried to look unaffected. “I don’t know what you’re spea
king of.”
Charlotte shot up from her seat and snaked through the guests to reach them. She slapped her husband firmly on the arm with her closed fan. “Shoo, Conner. You’re the only buffoon I see.”
“Ach, wife, I’m the man o’ the house and the laird o’ the castle,” Conner stated rather dramatically. “Ye should—”
“I said shoo, now shoo!” Charlotte held up her fan again and Conner slipped away, laughing. She turned back to Flora. “He always loves to rile me up, no matter the situation.”
“He always did to us, before you,” Gwen told her, smiling fondly.
Charlotte leaned into Flora, placing a thin hand upon her shoulder. “I’ve been watching you this whole evening and I think it’s time you take a stroll about the hall, yes?”
Flora huffed through her nose. “I’m quite well here, thank you.”
“You’re going to be quite drunk in a moment,” Charlotte replied, snatching Flora’s goblet and handing it to a passing servant. “If you’re too far with drink to properly dance later, you’ll regret it.”
She knew Charlotte was right. If there was anything her sister-in-law was an expert in, it was the joys and pains of alcohol. Flora stood, a bit shakily, and hooked her hand through the crook of Charlotte’s arm.
“Let’s go greet some of the guests, yes?” Charlotte said. But her inquiry was only a formality, as she was already leading them toward Penelope’s mother, Cecily Elmsly.
“Darling hic Charlotte! Dearest hic Flora!” Cecily squealed, sloshing her wine over the rim on her glass and into a dish of butter. “What a hic glorious occasion. I never thought I’d see the hic day.”
Flora grinned, holding in a bout of giggles. If Charlotte thought she was a bit tipsy, then Cecily was positively ready to fall down drunk. She knew Cecily would be fit to burst with excitement over her daughter’s wedding, but she thought that the old woman would at least be able to consciously participate in the merrymaking that followed.
“Oh, posh.” Charlotte waved a hand in the air. “We all knew Penelope would find a good match in the end.”
“And what a hic fine match she made!” declared Cecily, gripping Flora suddenly by the wrist. She was surprisingly strong for such a drunken old thing. “Now it’s your turn! Time to catch hic the hic bouquet!”
“Not yet, Cecily.” Charlotte gently plucked the woman’s bony fingers from Flora’s arm. “I’m sure Flora will tell us when the time has come for her to marry.”
“Yes hic yes,” Cecily muttered before Ian scampered under the table, followed by a pack of castle mutts. “Goodness, me!” She gripped the edge of her chair as a particularly large dog bumped against the bottom, making her topple to and fro. “What on earth was that?”
Flora laughed openly, a bit too giddy with drink to keep it in any longer. “That was merely wee Ian and his dogs.”
“And he just cured your hiccups, it seems,” Charlotte pointed out. “Well, we must be off. Lots of introductions to make.”
As soon as they had left Cecily, Flora leaned in toward Charlotte. “My, I’ve never seen her so gone. All of society poise went away with the wine.”
“She’s been waiting for this moment since Penelope’s birth,” she explained, her gaze flitting from one face to another. “Finding her a suitable husband has been her life’s work. Now she’s quite retired.”
Charlotte steered her deeper into the crowd, which parted in their wake. No one wanted to accidentally bump the Macleod’s wife, nor his younger sister. Although personally, she could do with a certain someone bumping against her as often as he pleased. Flora knew Jasper wasn’t too afraid to graze against her in the hall or whisper to her in the hidden corners of the castle walls. But those were secret murmuring of adoration, not public declarations. If only he would only make his intentions clearer and…
“Oh, poppet!” Charles Brandley, Duke of Fenton, flew from his seat and took Flora’s free hand, crushing it in his. “So darling to see you.”
“Charlie, you made it,” Flora cried. She was so pleased that one of her dearest friends from London had come to celebrate Penelope’s wedding. She had missed his constant cheer.
“He came in quite early this morning,” Charlotte told her. “I had him placed in one of the second floor guest rooms.”
“Would I miss a bash in a castle for dear Penelope?” Charlie chuckled. “Hardly! Besides, I couldn’t pass up the sight of some good ol’ Scottish thigh.”
Charlotte’s head tipped back in laughter but Flora followed Charlie’s gaze to the bared knees of one of the men, who sat wide-legged on a bench. Charlie was always a fan of the Scottish ways of dress, especially if he saw some muscles between the swatches of plaid.
“I was just taking Penelope on a turn about the hall, care to join?” Charlotte asked.
“Oh, no. I’m quite…occupied at present.” He raised his orange brows and slid his eyes downward to where one of Penelope’s cousins, Matthew, sat twiddling his waxed mustache.
“Matthew?” Charlotte hissed, her hazel eyes wide.
“Yes, we met on the train. Charming fellow. We have much in common,” Charlie replied with a cheeky grin.
“Well, you get back to that.” Flora giggled, pulling Charlotte away.
“You know what they say about weddings—full of romance,” Charlotte muttered.
“I’m not certain that I would call it romance.”
“Look, there’s Andrew Philips.” Charlotte nodded toward a group of young men crowded in a corner.
Flora wracked her brain, feeling as if she might know the name, but not terribly certain. “Who?”
“You’ve met him before, at Penelope’s…” she paused, then lowered her voice, “her engagement party to Theodore Harrison.”
Flora shrugged. The name still meant nothing. “I suppose I should remember Andrew Philips, but I don’t.”
“Then let’s make our reintroductions.” Charlotte stopped before the group, who all turned and bowed their heads slightly.
“Good evening, Lady MacLeod,” one short and stout man said.
“Good evening, Lord Grey. Gentlemen, this is my husband’s sister, Flora MacLeod.” She gestured to Flora, who bobbed her head and smiled sweetly, making note of each man.
“Flora, do you remember Andrew Philips?” Charlotte held her hand out to a tall and lean man with dark red hair and wide brown eyes.
“H-how do you do?” Andrew said quietly, taking Flora’s fingers and pressing them to his lips with shaking hands.
Flora had a sudden shot of remembrance. She had met a stuttering man at the Elmsly home in London. Penelope had sworn to her that Andrew didn’t have a speech impediment, yet there he was, stumbling over his words. Although, he wasn’t terrible to look at; his skin was clear, his lips full, and his eyes seemed to hold flecks of gold around the irises. Flora thought he might be capable of some merriment, if he weren’t so much like a jittering bunny in the hunt.
“Lovely to see you again.” Flora allowed him to press her hand once more before slipping it from his grasp. “How do you find Scotland?”
“M-most agreeable,” Andrew told her, his gaze darting about the room. “I find the entire c-country fascinating.”
Flora glanced to her right, seeing that Charlotte had quite abandoned her. But as she looked for her sister, she caught sight of Jasper, who was staring at her under furrowed brow. If she knew any better, she would think the fiery Scot was jealous. Well, if he was happy enough to cling to some tart in a low-necked gown, then Flora was well within her rights to walk with a suitably dressed gentleman like the proper lady she was.
“Mister Philips, might you take me on a turn about the room?” she inquired with the breathy, well-practiced voice all men in London seemed to love. “It seems Charlotte has disappeared.”
Andrew swallowed audibly and cleared his throat. “C-certainly.” He held out his arm for Flora to take and she was surprised to find she felt sinewy muscle beneath the fabric of his jacket and not the bone
y limb she expected.
They strolled along the edge of the hall, arm in arm, in complete and utter silence. Flora was always one to talk, but she couldn’t stomach the thought of prying conversation from the man. It would feel positively cruel to subject him to such things. But as she cast furtive glances in Jasper’s way, her heart beat a little faster in her chest. Jasper looked positively livid. His cheeks were almost as red as his hair and his head was turned completely away from the busty maid.
“Serves him right,” Flora whispered to herself.
“W-what was that?” Andrew asked.
She hummed daintily, slightly embarrassed at being heard. “Lovely night,” she replied amiably.
“Yes.”
Flora paused again, growing tired of the awkward stroll. “Are you staying on in Scotland long?”
“Only a, um, until t-tomorrow.”
“How terribly lucky.”
“Lucky?”
“Why, yes. I long to return to London, but with both Penelope and Charlotte here, I hardly have a reason to return.”
“W-well, with winter approaching, the c-country’s a finer p-place to be.”
She stifled a yawn. She despised chatting about the weather and wished she had finished that last glass of wine. “All the same, I much prefer the bustle of London. Do you keep a full-time residence there?”
“Yes, a small one while I’m, um, s-studying.”
“Your parents don’t reside in the city?”
“No-no, they l-live in Brighton.”
“The seaside town?” Flora had recalled Charlotte telling her how she and Conner had stopped there during their honeymoon.
“Yes, they have a hotel.”
“That’s rather grand.” She glanced up at him, his face looking forward, steady and still. If he sounded like a flighty bird, he certainly didn’t look it. His jaw was strong and angular and Flora spied a small shaving nick along the sharp bone. It slightly marred his pure complexion. He was not pale in the womanly sense, but Flora suspected he spent more time at his studies than other men his age might have. She felt it a pity that such a face spent time stuttering indoors, as she thought him more than handsome enough for the soft likes of the British girls.
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