Wake Me With a Kiss: A Fairy Tale Retelling (Regency Fairy Twists Book 1)

by Samantha Holt

  “I am more confined than some,” she muttered.

  Aunt Rose took a few more bold steps ahead of her, her head lifted high. “You are a lucky young woman and I think you forget that. Now I will not talk of this man any longer. The chances are the new laird will have much to occupy him and you shall not see him again.”

  Rose hurried to catch up. “Would it not be prudent to pay him a visit? He is our neighbor, after all.”

  As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wished she could call them back. Why should she wish to see such a man again? Their meeting had been nothing but disagreements. However, what she said was true. Why would Aunt May not wish to pay her respects to the new laird?

  Her aunt turned her gaze on her, eyes narrow. “If he were a gentleman, he would call on us.”

  “I am not sure he’s a gentleman,” she murmured.

  “Well, then we have no reason to call on him.”

  “I didn’t mean it quite like that, Aunt. Merely that he is new to his lairdship and it was unexpected. I am sure he was not at all prepared for such a position. He said he was a soldier.”

  Aunt May paused in front of the gate leading to their garden. “You had quite the conversation with this man, did you not?”

  “Only a little one.”

  “You must stay away from him, Rose. For your own good.” Aunt May flicked open the gate and barged through.

  Rose stomped after her, slamming the gate shut. “For my own good? Why must it be for my own good? Why must I always remain away from people? You will not even let me spend time with the village ladies.”

  Aunt May’s expression softened. “You will never be one of them, Rose. I would hate to see you hurt. As for the laird…a man in his position has many expectations upon him. He will have much to think on and many duties to fulfill. He will hardly have time for you.”

  “I do not want his time.”

  Her eyebrows arched. “Really, my dear?”

  “I do not,” Rose insisted. “In fact, he was quite disagreeable.”

  “So you wish us to visit with a disagreeable man?”

  “I merely thought we should fulfill our duties, as kind neighbors. Once that is done, I would happily never see the man again.”

  Her aunt gave another sigh, though Rose could not quite figure out why the idea of visiting him vexed her so. She had been quite excited when the previous laird had generously given them his time.

  “We shall see,” Aunt May said so quietly Rose nearly missed it.

  Rose scowled and tried to crush the wild butterflies that seemed to have landed in her stomach at the thought of seeing the laird again. What foolishness was this?

  Chapter Four

  Today has been a bit more of a success, Hamish concluded. He’d done little running around after Rupert—though he had escaped his newly fashioned lead once—and he had not run into any wild fair-haired lasses who clearly did not like him one bit.

  Branson shut the door behind him and held out a hand for his jacket. Hamish scowled. It would take a good deal of time to get used to being waited on. Even as an officer in the army, he’d lived basically, sleeping on the ground many a night and eating what little rations they had.

  Unbuttoning his jacket, he handed it over to the butler.

  “What time’s dinner?” he asked the rigid-looking man who clearly did not approve of him one bit.

  The butler would be in good company if he met that lass, Hamish supposed. He’d yet to meet anyone who was thrilled to have a highlander as their new laird.

  “Whatever time you would like it, my laird.”

  That was something else to get used to. Him giving the orders. Aye, he’d been in charge of a small regiment, but he’d had other officers higher up than him commanding him. He made the decisions with the men, not for them.

  “Would Mrs. Finch be able to have it ready for seven?”

  “Of course, my laird.” The butler dipped and moved in a silent, stealthy manner that had Hamish wondering if it was a requirement of butlers to be able to slip into a room without anyone noticing. The amount of times he’d found Branson in a room as Hamish cursed to himself about something was beyond ridiculous.

  No wonder the man thought him barbaric.

  He couldn’t blame any of them really. The Highland regiments had garnered a fearsome reputation for themselves after Waterloo, and rightly so. But while that meant they were admired by many, no one really wanted one as their laird. Highland warriors were a novelty and nothing more as far as he could tell. From his brief journey up the country, he had encountered varying receptions and most swung from welcoming to affronted. A highlander was good for a quick tale of the war but for nothing more.

  He untethered Rupert, who ran off eagerly into the main hall. Baleith Castle was perfect for the damned dog. Plenty of space for him to run off and cause mischief. As for Hamish, he found it too large and too empty. The entrance was indicative of the whole castle with high beamed ceilings, huge portraits, and claymores and swords on the walls. A few hunting trophies scattered throughout finished the vision that had likely been his Great, Great Uncle’s and had not been updated since.

  “Must ye let that dog run wild?”

  He glanced up at the woman on the balcony above. His insides shriveled a little.

  “It’s his home as much as mine.” And not yers.

  Marianne had somehow come with the house. His cousin’s long-suffering mistress, she was refusing to leave, insisting that Cousin Malcolm wanted her to remain at the castle and, goodness, would he really disobey his cousin’s wishes?

  However, there had been nothing in the will for her save a small sum of money. Hamish understood well enough that Marianne had expected far more out of this relationship than money. She had been after a ring. But, alas, Malcolm had never taken the time to marry her and if the man had any sense, he never would have done. An ageing beauty, Marianne had all the personality of a doorstop.

  Marianne vanished through the arch in the stone, and he heard her footsteps coming down the spiral stairs. He grimaced to himself. It had been a good day touring the lands and checking on the herds. He’d finally felt as if he had achieved something. But a moment in Marianne’s company could change his mood rapidly. As much as he loathed the idea, he was going to have to offer her more money to leave.

  “Did ye have a good day?” she asked sweetly, her plump lips stretched into a false smile.

  “Aye, excellent.”

  She skimmed her gaze over him. “Ye know, as much as us ladies appreciate a braw highlander, ye need no’ wear yer kilt everywhere. Perhaps people would receive ye better if ye dressed more…civilly.”

  He narrowed his gaze at her, and her eyes widened a little. He did not necessarily mean to be intimidating, but he had more than had enough of her.

  “I’ll dress how I wish, especially in my own home on my own land.”

  “Of course.” That smile flickered on her lips again. “I only mean to help. Naturally, I watched Malcolm fulfill his role and if anyone knows what it takes to be a laird, it’s me.”

  Hamish could not disagree with that. No doubt Marianne did watch him carefully. He noticed she watched everyone carefully. Calculating and clever were two words to describe Marianne, which was why he had to be careful.

  “I appreciate yer offer, Marianne, but a man must learn to stand on his own feet. Ye’ll not want to remain here forever, locked away in a castle on yer own, so I cannae rely on yer assistance. It wouldnae be right.”

  “I hardly feel locked away.” She gave a light laugh. “This is my home, Hamish.”

  “Was yer home, Marianne,” he said tightly. “It is mine now and I’d ask ye to remember that.”

  “Surely ye dinnae want rid of me already? Ye would be so alone here. And poor Malcolm.” She drew out a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed her eyes. “He would have so hated for me to have to leave the place that has been my home for so long.” The handkerchief vanished back into her mourning dre
ss, and her smile turned seductive. She sidled closer so that he could smell the sickly fragrance of violets upon her.

  Hamish cast his gaze down her. In spite of the black dress, Marianne’s figure was spectacular. Her breasts were plump against the fabric and her hips were perfectly rounded.

  He ran his gaze up to her lips. Marianne was a good decade his senior and the years were beginning to show. Creases lined her lips and her eyes. This perhaps would not take away from her chestnut beauty had she been a nicer person but, alas, once he had discovered—very quickly—the sort of person she was, any remanence of attractiveness vanished.

  “Would ye no’ rather I keep you company, Hamish? Ye must have been alone, without a woman, for a long time during the war.”

  He had, it was true. Aside from the occasional French or Spanish woman looking for company, he had barely felt the touch of a woman during those harsh years of fighting.

  Her hand came to rest on his chest. His heart beat hard, and he prayed she did not think it was for her. Because, in spite of all her efforts, his mind had managed to swing to the first woman he had touched since his arrival home.

  The sleeping beauty.

  There had been not an ounce of seduction in her and even less civility, yet he could not deny that moment she had touched him had been the most significant touch of his life.

  Damnation, if he could not erase her from his mind now while the scheming Marianne attempted to seduce him, would he ever?

  There was only one thing for it. He’d have to find the lass again.

  “Actually, Marianne, ye can help me.” He moved away from her touch.

  “Wonderful. I knew I could help ease yer burdens. What would ye have me do, Hamish?”

  The way her voice dropped low left him in no doubt she was waiting for an offer to take her to bed. That was never happening, no matter how desperate he got.

  “Do ye know the residents of a house to the west on the other side of the forest?”

  She scowled. “Yes. There’s only one house there. It’s Heath House. Why should ye care?”

  “They are my neighbors, are they no’?”

  “Well I suppose…”

  “There’s an older woman there and a young girl, I believe.”

  Her hazel eyes darkened. “A crazed old lady and some strange young girl, yes.”

  “Did Malcolm no’ spend time with them?”

  “He visited occasionally. He was a charitable soul. Goodness knows they needed it. The house is big but they are without money or connection. Hardly the sort of people ye should spend yer time with, Hamish, not whilst ye are trying to make yer mark on the world.”

  “What are their names, Marianne?”

  “I dinnae see…”

  “Their names, please.”

  “Mrs. May Merriweather and her niece, Miss Rose.”

  Rose. It suited her. Simple yet pretty. “Excellent, thank ye.”

  “Ye are not intending to see them, are you?”

  “I need to visit my tenants tomorrow. I dinnae think it impertinent of me to call on them if the lady of the house is home.”

  Marianne gave a huff. “They’re not worth ye wasting yer time on, I can promise you that. Malcolm frequently invited them to dinners and balls but they refused. Of course, Mrs. Merriweather likely understood that neither of them were suited to the social events here at the castle. They could hardly compete with the excellent company we keep here.”

  “Aye, well, I dinnae think even I can claim to be able to compete with them, so perhaps we shall get on just fine.”

  Her expression grew bitter. “Ye should think more carefully, Hamish. There are many expectations upon ye now. Yer no longer a soldier. If ye are to make friends, ensure ye choose them carefully.”

  “I plan to. I assure ye of that.” He gave her a cold look.

  She huffed again and threw her chin up in the air. “I am going to prepare for dinner.”

  His cousin’s mistress headed back upstairs and he watched her strut along the balcony to her bedroom. How much longer he had to feed and house her, he did not know, but he would talk to his lawyers and get a settlement written up as soon as he could. Unfortunately, that would mean travelling to Edinburgh, and he simply did not have the time as yet.

  A door slamming echoed through the castle. He shook his head to himself. Marianne was the sort of woman who expected to have everything given to her because of her looks. Unfortunately for her, they were fading fast and she could no longer rely on them. Given that she was hardly a pleasant person to be around, he doubted she would be able to entice any other man to look after her. What had Malcolm been thinking, he often wondered.

  But, then Malcolm could not have been so very foolish. After all, he never married the woman.

  Hamish took the spiral steps up to his bedroom and began to change for the evening. This was something else that would take some getting used to. He was used to remaining in the same clothes for days on end. Now he had someone to pour his baths and Jefferson, his valet, was becoming increasingly frustrated with his insistence that he dress himself.

  But damn it, he was a grown man, not a child. He did not much like the idea of anyone other than a woman undressing and dressing him.

  One woman in particular.

  Rose.

  He smiled at the thought of her.

  He would call on her tomorrow and try to be a little more charming than on their first meeting. Perhaps she would still loathe him but if they were to be neighbors, it was the right thing to do.

  Grinning at his reflection, he unbuttoned his waistcoat. Aye, the right thing to do. Visit the crazed old aunt and introduce himself. Perhaps even invite her and her niece to dinner. Let the beauty shoot daggers at him over the dinner table. It would be a lot more pleasant than sitting alone with Marianne and the butler watching his every move.

  Besides, maybe he could convince her he was more than just a rough highlander.

  He eyed himself in the mirror, from his stubble chin and tousled hair down to his hairy chest and thick legs. Perhaps not, but either way, it would be amusing.

  Chapter Five

  Rose blew a strand of hair from her face. The past few days had insisted on being breezy and cool. After a morning in the garden, she likely looked like a haystack. Pausing to admire her work, she stood and gathered the bundles of herbs, ready for hanging.

  Before she could head into the storeroom, Miss Taylor hurried down the garden path toward her. Rose scowled. From the look of her face, something terrible had happened, and Miss Taylor rarely looked so harried. None of the women in Aunt May’s house were the calmest of ladies, but the housekeeper was usually the one most likely to keep her head.

  A knot of dread tangled in her stomach, and she hurried to meet her. “What is it?”

  The housekeeper took a deep breath. “Miss Rose, there’s—there’s a gentleman here.”

  Rose opened her mouth then closed it then opened it again. They never received visitors. No wonder Miss Taylor was in a flap.

  “Who is it?”

  “A-A man in a kilt,” she hissed. “I think it’s the laird. I heard tell he’s a highlander.”

  All the blood seemed to rush from her face and fill her boots. Miss Taylor’s expression turned frantic. “Miss Rose, is all well? Should I send him away?”

  She waved a hand. “No, no, all is well.”

  The housekeeper gave a relieved nod and patted her grey-streaked dark hair and smoothed her plain black outfit. “He is in the drawing room at present. Your aunt has joined him.”

  The blood refused to come back to her face at the thought of her aunt and that man in the same room together. Rose was never sure if it was because of some previous experience with men but Aunt May did not like strange men, particularly well-to-do ones. Her husband had died after a brief marriage, and Rose suspected it had been more of a relief than anything.

  She was surprised her aunt had not tried to chase the highlander out with a broomstick, but then
he was the laird. Even Aunt May would not be so scandalous as to chase such an important man away.

  But what was he doing here? She pressed a hand to her stomach and caught Miss Taylor looking at her quizzically.

  “Come then, we had better meet with this laird,” she said, more to herself than anything.

  Horribly aware her hair was scattered and she was likely an awful mix of pale and blush, Rose scuffed her boots against the boot scraper by the rear door before stepping into the house. The housekeeper untied her apron and bundled it up, but unfortunately, the garment had not protected her gown fully. There were streaks of mud on the bodice and the hem.

  She took a breath. What did it matter if she was a little muddy? The laird had already seen her with wild hair and a creased gown. And he should not have called unexpectedly. It was his fault she was having to meet him in such a state.

  Once outside the drawing room, she took another long breath and held it in whilst forcing a delicate smile to her face. She opened the door, and the breath left her lungs.

  She had wondered if she had begun to enhance his handsomeness in her mind. If a few days away from meeting him had enabled her to embellish how thick those thighs were, how intense his eyes could be, or how the cut of his jaw was like that of sculptures.

  Apparently she had not lied to herself. In truth, it seemed she was guilty of downplaying his attractiveness. He filled the fragile chair, his large body looking out of place in the delicate blue decor. Here was a man who belonged on the mountains with rocks and heather as his only decor.

  He stood and she took in the sight of him in his kilt, waistcoat, and jacket. The long socks merely drew one’s eye up those tree trunks of legs and the buttons of his waistcoat dragged her gaze higher, higher, until their gazes locked. She swallowed.

  The laird bowed and Rose managed a shaky dip.

  “My laird, this is my niece, Miss Merriweather. I believe you met by accident the other day,” Aunt May said.

  Rose hardly looked at her aunt. How could she when the strangest smile sat on the laird’s lips. It was a smile that she would have thought would be reserved for people he was truly fond of. Not a great, big beaming smile, but a tender one that gently curved his mouth.