“Why would you even ask that?” Aunt Judith sniffed. She straightened her already smooth skirt.
But Clarissa held back a grin. Agnes’s enthusiasm and zest had carried her through the past month and she loved her cousin for it. It wasn’t the ideal temperament for a lady of London, but as a friend, it was divine.
“We’ll ask Fiona, Emilia, and Ainsley.” Clarissa smiled. “I bet they’ll help us hunt.”
“Clarissa, don’t encourage her.” Aunt Judith crossed her arms.
“How fun.” Agnes gave her a winning grin that lit her face in the most beautiful way. Already an attractive girl, she radiated happiness.
Clarissa was looking forward to visiting her mother’s family too. But not for ghost hunts. This place had always been her safe haven, her cousins were people with whom she could be herself. She needed that now.
Leaning her head against the frame of the carriage, she glanced through the shutters. The carriage lurched forward, finally moving again. She could see the brawny Scot, Ewan McDougal, riding alongside the other man, who had stayed on horseback. He looked devilishly good. Another reason to despise rakes. Their handsome charm masked a devious heart.
Chapter 2
“Those were some bonnie lasses.” Keiran grinned over at him.
He grimaced. They had been indeed, which was not a fact to which he should have been paying attention. He disliked all things English, even pretty ladies. “I’m sure you made a right fair impression by staying on your horse. We’re Scot and we come to the aid of those in need, unlike our southerly neighbors.” He gave Keiran a scathing look. “And they’re not even lasses. They’re English.”
“All young women are lasses, in my opinion. And therefore fair game when we’re admiring pretty faces.” Keiran winked at him. “You noticed too. Don’t deny it. I saw ye brushin’ off the one’s skirts. Right bonnie lass that one.”
“I was not admiring her pretty face.” He absolutely had been. Try as he might not to notice what a bonnie lass she was, he had done just that. “I did like her pluck though. Trying to help fix the wheel in the rain. Could almost mistake her for a Scottish lass, doin’ something like that.”
“You’re lyin’. I saw ye lookin’ at her.” Keiran gave him a broad grin.
“Ye were behind me. How could ye have seen me lookin’?”
“Yer head never moved. Trained right at her.” Keiran gave a loud chuckle.
“What do ye know anyway?” Ewan huffed. “I’m going to meet my bride.”
“Ye’re goin’ to meet a prospective bride. There is a big difference. Don’t be confusin’ the two.” Keiran wagged his finger. “This is why you brought me. Help you keep your head. If Fiona McDougal isn’t right for you, you keep lookin’.”
Ewan sighed. Keiran was right. But if Keiran was tired in body after the war, wanting to be tucked in an ale house, Ewan was tired in spirit. He wanted to be settled with some pretty lass and make wee bairns and farm his land.
Not that he’d ever had a problem with female attention. But he didn’t want just a pretty face or a woman looking for a title because his land required real work. He needed a woman with pluck.
The thought stopped him dead because he’d just thought that about that English lass, Lady Clarissa. And she wasn’t at all what he was looking for. Well, if she were Scottish, she’d be exactly what he was looking for. But she wasn’t and so he wasn’t interested at all. Not even though she was beautiful, and spoke her mind, and stood up for herself.
He didn’t answer as they came up to a roadside inn. He’d likely have ridden on past but Keiran seemed determined to make this journey as long as possible. So they tied their horses to the hitching post and stepped inside.
They were ushered to a private salon. It was warm with a crackling fire and a window overlooking the street.
When Keiran ordered a scotch, Ewan gave him a sharp look. “If we pushed we could make it to Castle Ravenscraig by tonight.”
Keiran scrunched up his face. “We’ve only a few hours left on the journey, I asked the innkeeper.” Keiran scratched the three days’ worth of growth on the chin. “We can make the last part of the trip tomorrow.”
“If it’s only a few hours we can set out as soon as the rain slows—”
“Don’t get your knickers twisted.” Keiran chuckled.
“I don’t wear knickers, in case ye hadn’t noticed.” Ewan scowled.
“I just like the sayin’.” Keiran leaned toward him. “You look like shite, and you should clean yerself up if ye want to make a good impression.”
Ewan’s frown deepened. Is that what she’d meant about his face and his shirt? He looked down and realized he might look rather like a highwayman instead of a lord. Keiran had a point, much as he hated to admit it. If he were meeting a bride, he should look the part. He’d stay.
A movement out the window caught his eye. Lady Clarissa’s carriage rumbled past.
He’d stay the night, clean himself up before he went on. But as he watched the carriage roll out of sight, a vision of chocolate brown hair cascading around him ravaged his thoughts. He had to put that English lass out his mind and focus on his plan to marry a proper Scottish bride.
Her breath caught when Clarissa saw his horse tied out at the inn, and then she frowned.
Agnes noticed too. “Oh, there is our rescuer.” She patted her hair with her hands putting invisible strands back into place. “So dashing and handsome. Wasn’t he handsome, Clarissa?”
She kept her eyes trained out the window. “I hadn’t noticed.” She’d more than noticed. Just the thought of him made her pulse race. But a man who was so obviously devilish must be avoided at all costs.
“Now the other one…Mama, you wouldn’t believe it. He just stayed on his horse. Didn’t do a thing to help.” Agnes sniffed. “Ne’er do well, if you ask me.”
Clarissa turned then. “And you thought Mr. McDougal wasn’t?”
“He rescued us.” Agnes tipped her head to the side, assessing Clarissa.
She turned her eyes back to the road. “He changed a spoke on a wheel. He didn’t pluck one of us from a runaway horse.” She gave an exasperated sigh. “Everything from his scruffy beard to his too-proud stance to the way he brushed off my skirt spoke of a man who is anything but a gentleman.”
Agnes was quiet for a moment and then said, “Well, he was looking at you rather intently.”
“Oh dear.” Aunt Judith finally spoke, looking slightly distraught. “Let’s discuss something else. We’re likely never to see either man again.”’ With that she tilted her head back for another rest.
Silence was fine with Clarissa. She leaned back on her seat as well. By tonight she’d be safely tucked in at her uncle’s castle, all four of her cousins clustered around her. She didn’t know how long she’d stay but she had no plans to return to London anytime in the near future. Agnes would not come out to society for almost a year and even then, Clarissa could stay in Scotland if she chose.
The carriage rumbled on for several more hours, and Clarissa drifted into a restless sleep until the carriage came to a stop.
Peeking out the window, her Uncle Haggis’s castle loomed before her. A smile split her face at the sight. To her, this was coming home.
Sweeping into the large entry, Clarissa grinned as she took in the ancient tapestries and the stonework. This was home. Agnes and Aunt Judith were just behind her and she could hear them gasp at the sights.
Uncle Haggis was the first to make an appearance. “Ye made it.” His voice boomed, echoing off the stone walls.
“I made it,” she breathed, rushing forward to give him a hug.
Soon her Aunt Rhona and cousins, Fiona, Emilia, and Ainsley, were hustling in from varied activities to greet them.
“You’re finally here,” Fiona beamed grabbing her hands and pulling her arms out to her sides to assess how she looked. “You don’t look too damaged by those Sassenach.” Funny, early this morning she’d been accused of being a Sassenach,
though Ewan McDougal had had the decency to just call her English.
“Are you going to tell us what happened?” Ainsley, the youngest sister asked. She was always stirring up trouble in a way Clarissa loved. Except for when Ainsley was asking pointed questions about the most humiliating moment of Clarissa’s life.
“Of course she isn’t,” Emilia gave her a wink. “Not until she’s ready.” She was the quietest of the three and often the most sensible. In this moment, Clarissa loved her for it.
Happiness washed through her as all four of her cousins hugged her at once. Then she reached back and took Agnes’s hand. “This is my other cousin, Agnes. You’re going to adore her.” And she pulled Agnes into the embrace.
“How darling,” Aunt Judith gushed behind them. “Haggis, lovely to see you again.”
“Aye, ye too, Judith. It’s been a long time.” He walked over to embrace her. Aunt Judith’s face pinched in disapproval but Uncle Haggis paid it no mind. Clarissa tried to hide her own smile. She adored her Scottish family’s more casual use of affection. Always had. She’d often wondered how her mother had survived a marriage with a stiff English lord. But her mother was affectionate enough for both of them, she supposed.
“How is my sister?” Uncle Haggis boomed, pulling Clarissa away from her cousins into his own embrace.
Their affection was like a balm, soothing away her heart’s aches. His barrel chest a safe haven as she hugged him back. It was as though some of the pieces of her heart fit back together. “She is well, sorry she couldn’t join us.”
“Taking care of your father, I suppose.” Uncle Haggis’s voice held a note of disapproval. It mirrored Clarissa’s own feeling, but that was absurd. He was her father, after all.
Aunt Rhona clucked her tongue. “Let me hug the child.” She pushed past Uncle Haggis. “And don’t you start in on her father already.
“It’s a fine mess he’s landed her in, don’t think I don’t know it.”
“Uncle Haggis, could we not speak of it, please? I’m…” She paused, taking a breath, “I’m not ready.”
“Fine,” he bellowed again. “Get yourself settled and fed and then we’ll celebrate tonight before the arrival of the rest of our guests.”
“Guests? What guests?” she asked, a sort of tingling starting in the pit of her stomach. She didn’t want to see anyone other than her family. That she was sure of.
“Fiona has a suitor.” Ainsley gave an impish grin. “An Earl from Dumfries. He was in the English army and got a title because of his bravery.” The younger girl danced a jig. “Doesn’t it sound romantic?”
Clarissa’s stomach nearly dropped. She was going to watch her cousin be courted? Of course, Fiona was at the age, just like herself, but she’d hoped to see no men, other than Uncle Haggis, on this trip. Perhaps forever.
Fiona scrunched up her face. “What is romantic about war? Don’t be ridiculous.”
Ainsley only danced faster. “She’s met him before and they didn’t get on very well—”
“We were children.” Fiona’s hands shot to her hips, bright red patches forming on her cheeks.
“When...when does he arrive?” She hid her hands in the folds of her skirt to hide the fists that had formed.
“Tomorrow, if the weather held on the journey,” Emilia responded quietly. Always demure her tone was soothing. But her eyes studied Clarissa intently. Clarissa tried to relax the lines of her face.
Giving them a weak smile, she said, “My trunks must have been brought up. My dress got atrociously muddy, I’ll just see to it.”
She hurried up the stairs but not before she heard Ainsley say, “Poor thing.”
Agnes agreed. “It really is terrible.”
They weren’t wrong. Being humiliated in front of all of society by a known rake truly was awful.
Chapter 3
The next morning Clarissa stood in a sitting room, just off the main entry, dressed in her finest wool gown, awaiting the arrival of the Earl from Dumfries. It wasn’t that she cared to impress, it was required of the occasion. She hadn’t asked anything else about him and her cousins hadn’t offered any more detail. Thankfully. So she sat silently waiting for the exact type of event she had been hoping to avoid coming to Scotland—socializing with eligible men.
She wasn’t the only one who stoically waited. Normally, Fiona was the fearless leader of the group. Not only did she love adventure but her favorite pastime was pranks of any kind. She drove Clarissa mad at times, but she loved her like a sister. Her eldest cousin was unusually quiet today, so Ainsley took advantage of the silence to regale them with tales of runaway sheep and handsome boys from the village who saved them. At fifteen, Ainsley had discovered the virtues of the male species.
Clarissa remained silent, though a piece of her desperately wanted to warn the girl about the heartache men almost always brought. Especially the handsome ones.
Two figures appeared down the long drive and Fiona shot to her feet, her skin growing paler under her freckles. “I don’t want to do this,” she mumbled.
Clarissa reached out her hand and Fiona took it. Uncle Haggis’s voice boomed from the hall. “The gaggle of women currently in the sitting room needs to join me on the front steps.”
Fiona and Clarissa were last to leave the sanctuary of the sitting room. Her aunts had followed Uncle Haggis out onto the drive. Still holding hands, she and Fiona stepped onto the wide stone steps. Uncle Haggis gestured for them to move so that they all stood in a line of greeting.
Taking a deep breath, Clarissa closed her eyes. She needn’t be nervous, it wasn’t her fate that was in question now, but her heart ached for her cousin. Meeting a man whom she might spend the rest of her life with. It was almost absurd, really.
When her eyes fluttered open, she looked first at Fiona, whose skin had turned a putrid shade of white, then to the riders.
Green eyes penetrated into her from atop his horse. Ewan McDougal. His hair was still devilishly long, but his face was now clean-shaven. Her stomach flipped in the most curious sensation, which she told herself was dread.
Her eyes flicked to his companion. He must be the earl. No wonder he hadn’t gotten down from his horse to help. Now she would be stuck in this castle with those broad shoulders and rakish hips and… She forced herself to stop. She disliked everything about this man.
She’d have to warn Fiona about the type of rake her earl kept company with.
Stopping just short of the steps, they handed off their reins to a groom. “It’s a pleasure to see you again,” Uncle Haggis called.
“And you as well.” Ewan gave a warm grin. The kind that made her insides twist again. “This is Captain Keiran McKenna, Laird of McKenna.”
Clarissa scrunched her face in confusion; he hadn’t said that Laird McKenna was an earl? How curious because…
“Lord Dumfries, you remember my daughter, Miss Fiona McDougal, Maid of Ravenscraig.”
Her confusion vanished in a haze of anger. He was the earl, though he hadn’t introduced himself as Lord Dumfries. Instead, he’d given his common name. Probably misleading her for nefarious reasons. The same ones that had caused him to stare at her so intently and touch her in such a familiar way. All the while he was travelling to court her cousin. Ewan McDougal was a first-rate lout.
Ewan watched her face turn several shades of pink as her uncertainty disappeared and open hostility took its place.
It had also taken him by surprise to find the little English pixie he’d spent the night dreaming about here at Ravenscraig Castle. Haggis’ sister had married some English lord. She was likely the product of that union.
But try as he might, he could not ascertain what he might have done or said to offend her so because she looked near livid.
He knew why he disliked her. English and haughty, with her nose currently in the air, she was nothing like the Scottish lass he hoped to marry.
“My Lord,” Fiona dipped into a bow and his eyes flitted over to the woman to whom he
should be paying attention. She was exactly what he’d been telling himself he wanted and the lass looked just as he remembered her. Flying red hair blowing in the ocean breeze, despite obvious attempts to tame it, topped her freckled face. She was lovely and there was a kindness about her features that was pleasing to a man’s soul. Ewan should welcome her into his home and his life, but as he bowed, his gaze was drawn to Clarissa, sparkling in the morning sun next to her. His insides tightened dangerously.
In a beautiful pale pink wool gown, he could see her perfect hourglass shape, petite yet curvy in all the right places. Her glossy hair even brighter and her face somehow more vulnerable in her indignation at his identity.
Haggis McDougal continued the introductions. When he reached Lady Clarissa, she held up her hand. “We’ve met.” Her reply was short, dripping with open disdain.
“Did ye now?” Haggis’s bushy eyebrows rose to his hairline. “Where would that be?”
Ewan cleared his throat. “Their carriage was in need of repair on the road to Kirkcaldy. I stopped to aid them.”
Ewan would have thought that Haggis’s eyebrows couldn’t rise any higher but then one of them did. It scanned Clarissa’s rigid face and then swung back to Ewan. “Ye fixed their carriage?”
“Yes,” Ewan shrugged as he spoke, his hands coming up. She clearly didn’t like him, although he could not understand why. He found her damn interesting, that is to say, he would have found her to be interesting if she weren’t English.
Ushering everyone inside, Haggis led them to another drawing room. Ewan looked back to see Clarissa and Fiona clasping hands as they walked. He closed his eyes for a second. Somehow that seemed to be an omen of bad luck to come. While he hadn’t done a thing to either of them, he had the suspicion they were conspiring against him. He’d likely made this trip for nothing.
Once again he could blame the blasted English.
My Enemy, My Earl: Scottish Historical Romance (A Laird to Love Book 1) Page 2
