by Alexa Aston
“Where is your home, Lucy?” Luke asked quietly.
The little girl’s face tightened. “I don’t have one anymore. The street is my home.”
He strained to keep the shock of her words from registering on his face. It was one thing to suspect it and another to hear his suspicions confirmed. “Do your parents live on the streets with you?” he asked carefully.
“No. Mama died after the baby was born. He died, too.” Her bottom lip quivered. She hugged the book tightly to her.
“And your papa?”
Lucy shrugged.
“You can tell us,” Caroline said, slipping her hand around the girl’s tiny one.
“Papa sold me. He didn’t want me anymore. I saw him in an alley later. He was dead.”
Luke’s gut tightened in anger, knowing what that meant. Anger surged within him, thinking of grown men taking a piece of this child’s innocence from her over and over.
“My new papa, Driskell, taught me to work the streets.” She glanced up at him. “Do you know what a pickpocket is?”
“I do,” he assured her, comprehending that this child had been utilized as a thief and not one used by vile men for other purposes.
She smiled at him sadly, placing the book on the table. “I know stealing’s wrong but my new papa said I had to help Jem do the work. So I would cry and act lost and people would stop to help me. That’s when Jem would pick the mark’s pocket.”
“How long have you and Jem worked for your new papa?” Caroline asked.
“I came last Christmas. Jem . . . Jem’s dead now. He got run over yesterday.” Tears began streaming down Lucy’s face. “I couldn’t do it anymore. With Jem gone, I didn’t want to go work upstairs. Jem said bad things happen to the girls upstairs. I think that’s where Driskell wanted to take me. I didn’t want to go there.”
Lucy began sobbing violently. Luke scooped her up and placed her on his lap, his arms enfolding her. He wanted to protect her from all she’d witnessed. Caroline stood and stroked the girl’s hair, murmuring soothing words. He slipped his hand around Lucy’s and she eventually cried herself out.
“Do you have anywhere left to go, Lucy? Any family at all?” he asked.
When she looked up at him, she shook her head. “No.” The whispered word hung in the air.
Caroline’s hand squeezed his shoulder encouragingly.
“Then you’ll come home with us,” he told the orphan.
An array of emotions crossed the young’s girl’s face. Fear. Excitement. Frustration.
And hope.
“I can help in the kitchen,” she said eagerly. “I’m strong. I can carry things. I learn fast. Driskell said so. Maybe I could learn to be a maid when I’m bigger. Or help—”
Luke cradled the girl’s face. “We don’t want you to come as our servant, Lucy.”
Her face fell. She wriggled away, sliding from his lap. Once again, a mask slipped over her features, making her appear far older than her years. She picked up the book and handed it back to him.
“I can’t take this.”
Lucy turned and began walking away on shaky legs.
“Wait,” Caroline called out.
Luke held his breath as the girl turned, eyeing them with suspicion.
“We don’t want you as a servant, Lucy,” Luke gently explained. “We want you as our daughter.”
Shock rippled through the child, visibly jarring her. She began quivering from head to toe. Caroline closed the gap between them, dropping to her knees and wrapping Lucy in her arms.
“I know it’s hard to trust, Lucy, but I’m asking you to trust us,” his wife said.
“But I saw you,” the girl said. “You have other children. You don’t need me. I’m . . . nobody.”
Her declaration angered Luke and yet touched him deeply at the same time. He joined the two, kneeling beside them.
“You are somebody to us, Lucy. We have enough love in our hearts for another child. We may even have more someday. Right now, though, we hope you’ll want to come home with us and be our little girl. Be a sister to the other children we already have and to those that may follow. What do you say, Lucy? Would you like to be a St. Clair?”
The young girl hesitated a moment and then whispered, “Yes.” She threw her arms around Caroline and then Luke, saying yes over and over.
Luke rose and then helped Caroline to her feet. Laughing, he picked up Lucy and twirled about with her in his arms. Joy filled the child’s face and she joined in his laughter. Her laugh sounded rusty, as if she hadn’t used it in a long time. He promised himself he would make Lucy laugh every day from this one until the last he spent with her. That he would make her believe in life and love.
“You’ll be a part of our family forever and ever,” he told her, reaching for the book and returning it to her. “Christmas isn’t the only time to be kind, just as Catherine’s book says. We must be kind to each other every day.”
Lucy hugged the book to her chest and grew thoughtful. “Do I call you Luke?”
“No,” he said firmly. “I am Papa and Caroline is Mama. And you are our darling Lucy.”
With that, he slipped an arm about his wife’s waist and they left Evie’s Bookstore. He gave Caroline the keys to lock up, not wanting to set his precious Lucy down for even a moment. His children would be surprised with a new addition to their family but Luke knew they would grow to love Lucy as he and Caroline already did.
Luke glanced up into the night. A myriad of stars were scattered across the sky, shining brightly down on London. Caroline slipped her arm through his and they walked down the street, his arms secure about his newest daughter. Lucy relaxed and fell asleep, her soft breath coming evenly.
“Christmas will be upon us soon and a new year will follow,” he told Caroline. “A new life for Lucy St. Clair—and us.”
He paused and gazed down at his wife and kissed her tenderly. “Thank you,” he said. “For having enough love in your heart.”
“Thank you for finding Lucy,” she said. “We are so fortunate, Luke. So blessed. I can’t wait to share her with all of the St. Clairs and show her just how powerful love can be.”
Luke kissed Caroline again. “Once we get Lucy settled tonight, do you think we might find time to read another chapter in our special book?”
Caroline’s smile shone as bright as the stars that looked down upon them.
“We can do more than read, Luke,” she said, mischief in her eyes.
“I was hoping you would say that,” he replied.
The End
The St. Clairs Series
Devoted to the Duke
Midnight with the Marquess
Embracing the Earl
Defending the Duke
Suddenly a St. Clair
Starlight Night
About the Author
Award-winning and international bestselling author Alexa Aston’s historical romances use history as a backdrop to place her characters in extraordinary circumstances, where their intense desire for one another grows into the treasured gift of love.
She is the author of Medieval and Regency romance, including The Knights of Honor, The King’s Cousins, The St Clairs, and The de Wolfes of Esterley Castle.
A native Texan, Alexa lives with her husband in a Dallas suburb, where she eats her fair share of dark chocolate and plots out stories while she walks every morning. She enjoys reading, Netflix binge-watching, and can’t get enough of Survivor, The Crown, or Game of Thrones.
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A Merry MacNaughton Mishap
A MacNaughton Castle Romance
Novella
Aubrey Wynne
A MacNaughton Castle Romance
Deception and Desire (Book 1)
An Allusive Love (Book 2)
A Bo
nny Pretender (Book 3)
A Merry MacNaughton Mishap (Novella)
Chapter One
A Reluctant Rescue
Mid-March 1777
The Highlands
“Saints and sinners!” Calum MacNaughton blinked against fat, wet flakes blowing across his vision.
Black Angus gave a low growl, and Calum checked his horse. The young Scottish deerhound was Calum’s devoted shadow, always protective and waiting for his master’s command. Hackles rose on the dog’s snow-covered back. A riderless horse galloped over the next ridge, its wild eyes rolled back in fear, reins dangling dangerously along the ground as it galloped toward them.
“Easy, there,” he called to the frightened beastie. “Easy, there.” The horse slowed to a stop and pawed the ground, nostrils flared, sending small white puffs into the air. Its hide glistened and quivered from the water dripping down its mane and saddle blanket.
“And where have ye been, my friend? Taking a wee dip in Dubh Loch?” He dismounted and slowly approached the animal, taking its reins and signaling Angus to stay. There must be a rider nearby, but friend or foe? The Craiggs’ land bordered the MacNaughtons’ not far from here, and neither clan held any love for the other.
The foursome climbed the ridge, the runaway horse calm now with its new companions. Below, the sound of splashing echoed among the frosted pines surrounding the half-frozen loch below. Calum saw a man floundering in the icy water. He must have broken through the thin ice. Why would any sane person attempt crossing at this time of year?
“Mac na galla,” he cursed as he climbed back in the saddle. Leading the stray horse, they made their way down the hill. “I suppose I’ll have to go after the eejit.”
By the time he reached the bottom, the man was clinging to the frozen edge, his strength sapped, and barely afloat. His sodden plaid pulled heavily at the man’s shoulders and Calum could see the strength ebbing from his grip.
Calum gave Angus a command to guard the mounts and moved onto the thickest part of the ice. The closer to the center, the thinner the surface and soon he would be on his belly crawling toward the barely conscious man.
“What’s yer name, mon?” Calum needed the man alert. Pulling dead weight over thin ice would be nearly impossible.
“Malachi,” came a hoarse response.
“Weel, didna yer mother teach ye to swim in the summer?”
“Aye, b-but I was never a g-g-ood listener.”
“Ye need to do better today, Malachi. I’m going to get as close as I can to ye, then on the count of the three, ye need to grab my wrist. Can ye do that?”
“Aye,” said the man through faintly blue lips.
“I’m almost there, mon. Dinna close yer eyes,” he called in a low, soothing tone as he continued his slow, careful steps toward the opening. If the man spooked, he might lose his grip and sink below the ice. The body wouldn’t be found until late spring. “Think of that fine whisky I’ll feed ye as soon as we’re out of here.”
Dull green eyes struggled to focus, but a faint nod acknowledged that he’d heard. Icicles clung to the ends of his dark hair and moved against his cheeks as his teeth chattered, creating an eerie echo across the ice. Cr-r-r-a-a-c-k! A chill went through Calum that had nothing to do with the temperature. “God’s bones, it’s giving way.”
His gaze locked with the man’s, the look of fear fading as his lids began to droop. He was giving up. “G-go back. S-s-save yerself.”
“Och, I’m one of those stubborn fools who finishes what he begins. We’ll both laugh when we tell our adventure to our grandchildren.” Calum eased onto his knees then spread out across the slick surface. Another rumble under his wet, chilled belly sent a shot of desperation through his body and strengthened his own resolve. Wet snow and ice seeped through openings of his plaid as he wormed his way across the loch. They’d both be frozen memories soon.
With a whistle, he called for help. “Angus, trobhad!” The deerhound whined then gingerly stepped onto the loch, moving toward his master little by little.
“We have one chance to get this right, friend, so listen well.” He stretched out his arm. “Grab on to me and hold on with all the strength ye’ve got left. One, two, three!”
The man gritted his chattering teeth, dug his nails into the ice, and thrust one arm out. Calum latched on to his wrist, surprised at the strength the exhausted man still possessed. His clammy slick skin was already puckered with a grayish cast.
As he began to pull, he saw the colors of the Craigg tartan on the underside of the man’s plaid. Christ’s bones. But there wasn’t time to worry about whose skin he was saving. With his free hand, he leaned around, pulled his dirk from his hose, and jabbed the blade into the ice for leverage.
He looked over his shoulder at Black Angus. “Tarraing!”
Angus sniffed at his master’s backside, and Calum rewarded him with an “aye” when the black nose touched the end of his plaid. The hound latched on to the wool with powerful jaws and began to pull his master backwards. Calum pushed against his blade at the same time, then pulled it from the ice, and jammed it back down.
“Tarraing!” The dog pulled, he pushed. Water sloshed over the edge of ice as Malachi’s chest emerged from the water, soaking Calum’s front and sending needles of pain across his thighs.
Malachi’s legs emerged from the water, and he fumbled for his own dirk, digging it into the ice. With a shaking hand and clenched teeth, he pulled at his blade along with the deerhound as Calum continued to push until all three were lying on the bank of the frozen loch.
Two sets of chattering teeth now filled the silence. Calum rolled onto his back, breathing heavy. “I’m no’ afraid to tell ye, I was a wee bit worried neither of us would make it home this day.” He grinned as Angus licked his face and whined. Burying his fingers in the dog’s wiry black and gray coat, he pulled himself to a sitting position. “I dinna think my dog is verra happy either.”
Tiny icicles pelted his face as he sat up and realized he was talking to his dog and an unconscious man. A stream of curses sounded from Calum as he rose and hoisted the still form over his shoulder. Frigid water slid down his back and side as Malachi’s sopping clothes pressed against his body. After a bit of maneuvering, the body sagged over the saddle, feet dangling on one side, arms on the other. He pulled the second blanket from his own horse with an apologetic pat.
“Sorry, old boy, but he needs it more,” he told the horse.
“It’s no’ the most comfortable, my new friend, but it will get ye home.” Friend. His da will have a fit not only for saving a Craigg but for bringing one home. “And for the love of Mary, ye better no’ die after all the trouble ye’ve put us through.” Angus howled his agreement, the hound’s golden eyes still watching the stranger warily.
Calum took up the reins from the spare horse, climbed back on his gelding, and clicked to both horses and dog. He secured the heavy wool tightly around his neck, pulled his cap down against the blustery wind, and cursed the early spring storm. With a nudge to his mount’s flank, they carefully picked their way back up the hill.
“It’s colder than a Sassenach’s heart on eviction day at the orphanage.” Black Angus barked in response as he padded behind in the horse’s tracks.
The snow was accumulating quickly, but they had less than an hour before the round tower of MacNaughton Castle greeted their eyes. Visions of a large hearth, warm spiced wine, and a willing lass filled his head. He should have stopped at the last inn and waited out the brewing storm. The stew was good, and the barmaid always ready for a romp.
When he’d left the village that morning, the sun had glinted off the snow-covered rooftops with the promise of a bright day. But the weather was her own mistress and as fickle as a honey bee in a field of wildflowers. He grinned. A bit of water never stopped a Highlander, whether it be frozen or falling from the sky.
*
By the time the bedraggled group reached MacNaughton Castle, Calum’s stomach rumbled and hi
s fingers ached from the cold. He’d tucked his face inside the wet plaid, creating a warm but moist protection for most of his body. The steam beneath kept him warm as the outer wool turned into a crackling, icy shell.
The rescued Highlander hadn’t stirred, but a groan had occasionally slipped past his blue lips. Considering Da’s hatred of the Craigg Clan, and the feud that had simmered for generations, he decided not to announce his guest to the family. Entering the stable yard, he called for the head groom.
“Rory, help me get this man to the kitchen. He fell through the ice and isna doing so well.” Dismounting, he handed his reins off to one of the lads who came running. “Rub them both down good, boy. It’s been a long journey.”
“He’s a Craigg,” Rory whispered loudly, his face turning the same dull red as his hair. He scooped up one arm under his shoulder, and they half-carried, half-dragged the man up the hill, kicking up a cloud of white in their wake.
“I ken that, but he’ll be dead if we dinna get him before a fire.” Calum pushed the door handle down with an elbow and kicked the thick oak with his leather boot. “Keep this between us for now. If we say anything, the poor man stands a better chance in the frozen loch. If he dies, there’s no need to tell Da.”
“I wouldna want to be the one to tell him,” Rory agreed, his brown eyes bright with mischief. “My memory isna what it used to be.”
“Thank ye for yer help. And remember, no’ a word.” They dropped the limp form onto a bench next to the hearth and Rory returned to the stable. Calum’s mouth watered when he took in the aroma of fresh bread. Several skewered birds roasted over a low fire, their juices sizzling as they dripped onto the flames. A young boy sat next to the hearth and turned the spit.
“Go find Enid, lad, and be quick about it.”
The boy jumped up, glanced at the handle of the spit and back at his master uncertainly.
“It’ll be fine, I willna let it burn. Now go!” He smiled as the child scampered off, making a wide berth around the deerhound.
