Lusting for the Highlander: A Steamy Scottish Historical Romance Novel

by Lydia Kendall

  “Please, I’ve never been one to get into trouble.”

  “Perhaps our definitions of trouble have some differences. But Diana, tell me what you think of Lord Orton. Truly.”

  Diana shrugged, fiddling absently with a ribbon at the cuff of her nightgown. “I’m surprised you have a friend like him, to tell the truth. I can’t imagine what you two talk about. All he seems to be able to say are flirtatious little bits of nonsense. Frankly, I find him impertinent and somewhat of a boor. His reputation seems unlikely to me, for I’m a girl like any other girl and I don’t find him all that appealing. Forgive me for speaking ill of your friend, but he must be different with you than he is with me.”

  “Well, of course, he was flirtatious; you looked like a Queen tonight. I think you’ll find that he settles down into someone you can admire as he gets to know you better.”

  “Is he coming to stay with us on holiday or something?” Diana asked, not understanding her brother’s line of discussion.

  “He is to be your husband, Diana.”

  For a moment, an awful silence filled the room that was so thick it took her breath away. Diana could swear that her heart had even stopped beating. After saying those words, Charles looked up at her with a look on his face that was impenetrable. Perhaps something between guilt and resoluteness.

  “I must have misheard you,” she whispered.

  “Don’t be angry. I’ve agonized over this decision, and I know that it’s the best way to keep you safe and happy.” He reached for her hand, but Diana snatched it away.

  “You’ve agonized over this decision? Without telling me? Without asking? I only met him tonight!” She felt frantic.

  Her heart had started beating again, and as if to make up for lost time, it raced in her chest with a ferocity that made her feel lightheaded. Shocked tears welled in her eyes, but her voice came out tremulous and soft, perfectly at odds with the bewildering strength of rage that shot through her like a lightning bolt.

  “Sister…”

  “How could you? How could you? Have you told him already?” She stood straighter, lacing her fingers together in a futile attempt to stop their treacherous trembling.

  “Yes. It’s all settled.”

  “Tell him I said no! Tell him it’s not happening. I’m too young to get married. I’m not ready.” She could see the calm resolve in her brother’s face that meant there was no way out of this, but she had to try.

  “We both know that’s not true. That’s just the problem. You’re getting too big for me. You are no longer a little girl whom I can guide and protect. You need a husband to do that now. But Diana, you’re so reckless. I couldn’t leave you to make this decision on your own. You don’t think far enough ahead.”

  “You need a man with experience who can show you so many things I know you’ll love. His reputation isn’t everything, and if you knew him like I do, you’d like him. He’s adventurous, like you. He travels. He knows interesting people. You’ll see, Diana. You’ll be happy.”

  Charles had risen from his seat to move closer to Diana, and he made to take her in his arms, but she wriggled out from his grasp, backing away from him as if he were a tiger clutching its prey.

  “Oh, Charlie, how could you do this to me? What have I done to make you hate me? I don’t want Lord Orton. I don’t want my decisions made for me, with me none the wiser that others are holding my fate in their hands.”

  The tears that made her view of him so watery and indistinct now fell down her cheeks. Hot and heavy, they dripped from her chin. Charles raised a hand to wipe them away, but she backed even further away.

  “Don’t be sad, Diana. This is for the best.”

  “Sad? Sad? I’m not sad.” She wiped the tears from her cheeks angrily. Her voice shook, and she could raise it no higher than a timorous whisper. “I’m furious. I…I’ve never been so angry in all my life. I don’t know what to say. I’m…I’m…”

  “It’s just the shock. I’m so sorry, but I didn’t know how else to tell you. I racked my brain thinking of some way to soften the blow, but I knew you were brave enough to know the truth and face it with dignity. I had hoped that he would make a good impression on you from the beginning, but you’ll see that first appearances aren’t everything. Hate me tonight, if you must, but in the morning sunlight you will see that I love you and that everything will be fine.”

  Diana dropped her hands to her sides and raised her chin.

  “May I leave now, Brother? Or is there more?”

  Charles sighed, his shoulders sagging. “Yes, you may leave. Get some sleep, Diana.”

  Diana summoned all of her strength just to walk out of that room with her head held high. At least until she was out of his sight, then she broke into a sprint. Finally, she had an outlet to work her body as hard as her pounding heart.

  She ran to her room, her hair and the gauzy yards of her nightgown billowing behind her. Run as she might, she couldn’t seem to outrun her anger. It chased her like an animal to her bedroom, and though she slammed the door, she couldn’t lock it out.

  She collapsed against the door, sinking to the floor. She wanted to scream and fight and wail and gnash her teeth like an animal, but she couldn’t seem to summon any noise. She sat there, sobbing silently and hating herself for being so ineffectual. So weak.

  Can he really do this? Am I really so powerless?

  All her life, her family had called her a wild thing. Her mother had teased that she was her changeling child, half-faery, half-wild. Though she was often scolded for tearing her dresses or gathering grass stains on her stockings, she always knew that her father loved her for her untamed nature. He had been proud of her, even as he tried to train her to be a lady. Sovereignty, freedom, wildness, these were her trademarks.

  Empty words. She understood that now. With one sentence, her brother had killed the illusion that had been her identity. She had never truly been free. Not when, in the end, her fate rested in the hands of men.

  In all her life, Diana had never really experienced bitterness. After the sudden death of their parents, she had watched her older brother and had been confused and somewhat bewildered by his expressions of grief. At times, he would become angry.

  She remembered one time in particular when she had found him in the parlor surrounded by the shattered remains of the porcelain figures that sat on a shelf in that room. She had never understood that. Her own grief had been quieter, more internal. She had wept, feeling the sadness of her loss seeping like cold water into her bones.

  Grieving over her lost freedom was different, though. And, though she was furious at Charles, she realized then that she began to understand his expressions of bitterness over the death of their parents. The feeling of being wronged, the feeling of having something important snatched away from you cruelly. She had never before experienced deep sadness that mingled with this strange, vibrating sense of energy.

  Diana got to her feet, her cheeks still wet, and crossed the room to the window. She glanced out it at the grounds below, then turned and walked back to the door. She paced back and forth, not really aware of how much time was actually passing. She felt like an animal in a cage in a menagerie, pacing impotently in a pathetic attempt to exert some of this awful energy building inside her.

  I have to do something. I can’t just sit here and allow things to happen to me. He’s wrong! They’re all wrong. I am my own master, and I will decide my own fate.

  And yet, what could she do? She had no money of her own, really. And even if she wanted to strike out into the world alone, she knew that she couldn’t survive like that. She had grown up too spoiled, too sheltered. She had no experience with the outside world. She had no connections. She had a hundred acquaintances but no real intimate friend who would help her.

  No, that’s not true…

  Like a flash of sudden lightning that lightens a dark room all at once, Diana remembered her godmother. Lillian Row, Countess of Freighton, and childhood friend of Diana’s m
other, was a woman like no other. Diana remembered hearing stories of how Countess Row had been nineteen when she had refused the proposal of a duke who sought her hand.

  Shocking everyone, she chose instead a life of obstinate, almost gleeful spinsterhood, moving away from the ton and entrenching herself in a quiet life of solitude and personal freedom near the sea. She refused all offers of marriage until she was well into her forties, and well past the blush of her youthful beauty.

  And then, she married not because it was expected of her, not because she desired respectability or protection, but because she was in love with a man who loved her and wanted nothing from her but her companionship. If there was anyone in this world who would understand Diana’s predicament and take her side against her brother and Lord Orton, surely it would be her godmother.

  Diana rushed to the writing table and began to pen a letter, the scratching sound of her quill filling the silence of her darkening bedroom.

  Dear Godmother,

  I am writing to you under the most terrible conditions, but the thought of you and your saving help has been my only light of hope in this dark night. My brother has promised me to a man not of my choosing, without my consent or foreknowledge. I cannot allow myself to hand over the reins of my entire life to any man, not even Charles. I do not wish to marry this man and I will not. With or without your help, I will run from this with all the strength of my soul and I can only pray fervently that you will have compassion for me in my hour of need and consent to harboring a fugitive like me until such time as I can work out my next step. I intend to leave Mersley at once. I cannot afford to wait for your reply, so I must throw myself on your mercy.

  Yours in hope,

  Diana

  She scrawled her signature with an erratic flourish, her hand trembling slightly with excitement. Folding the letter, she sealed it and slid it into her nightgown against her skin and dashed down to the servant’s quarters to give it to the footman, telling him to deliver it at once.

  Then, back in her room, there was more work to do. She thanked God for the nervous energy that she had been given. Now that it was no longer being spent in fruitless pacing, it would propel her forward despite the late hour.

  As she had been writing the letter to her godmother, she had worked out the details of her flight. As much as the impulse gnawed at her, she couldn’t leave that night. The letter had to reach Lillian first, so the postman would have to have a head start. And anyway, the roads were too treacherous in the dark, and she feared that she might become hopelessly lost before the sun rose.

  But in the daylight, it would be considerably harder to slip away unnoticed, considering the fact that she would have to bring along with her things like clothing and provisions and anything else she may need to take with her on the long trip to Blackpool where Lillian lived.

  Diana retrieved her bags from the back of her wardrobe and began unceremoniously shoving her simplest dresses into it. Slipping silently into the hall after wrapping her cloak over her nightgown, she then snuck down into the kitchens. She held her breath, certain that at any moment she would bump into a servant who would want to know what she was up to. Or worse, Charles.

  The larder was full of bread and cheese and preserved meats. Her stomach growled, and she shoved a roll into her mouth, holding it in her teeth as she pilfered enough provisions to get her to Blackpool. Perhaps she would be five pounds lighter when she got there, but she would get there.

  Her adrenaline at the idea of getting caught urged her onward, and her heart raced as she slinked through the kitchen door into the garden and headed toward the woods. Not terribly far away there was a hunting cabin. It was largely abandoned, Charles used it occasionally and knew of the place, of course, but he didn’t know that it was a favorite hiding spot of hers.

  She had spent hours of her childhood there, reading racy novels stolen or borrowed from the servants, or creating intricate make-believe stories of her own. No one knew that. Hiding her things there until she left during the day would work. It was a good plan. She told this to herself as she walked, over and over like a prayer. This is a good plan. It will work.

  As well as she knew the wooded areas around the estate, she had never been in them when it was this dark. It was a moonless night, and though the stars shone with all the brilliance they could muster, the woods were inky black.

  She had to pick her way along familiar paths inch by inch for fear of tripping, and her ears were finely tuned to any sound around her that might indicate that some nocturnal predator may be stalking her. The hairs on her arms and along the back of her neck stood on end, and her breathing became shallow and frightened, but she pressed onwards, trusting her memory more than her sight in order to find the cabin.

  The cabin had never felt so far away as it did then. With each step, she thought that, surely, it must be just beyond the next thicket of trees. Gripping her bag as though it could save her, she did her best to swallow the mounting sense of panic that rose like bile in her throat. If she were going to make the trip to Blackpool alone, she would have to be braver than this.

  Finally, the dark shape of the cabin loomed upon her. Temporary relief flooded her at the sight that she had been beginning to fear she would never find. She did not linger to look around the inside of the cabin; she merely dropped her bags just inside the door and left the way she came.

  Her desire to return at once to the safety of her home was poisoned by the fact that tomorrow it would no longer be her home. This would be her last night in Mersley. Perhaps forever.

  She pushed that thought away. Anger at her brother propelled her onward, but she knew that if she stopped long enough to allow herself to feel the sadness of losing a brother who she had once believe loved and respected her, the sorrow might cause her to lose her nerve and settle for a life she didn’t want. She couldn’t let that happen. She steeled herself as she hurried back to the estate house.

  Grief could come later. Right now, was the time for action.

  Chapter 3

  When the dawn broke, Diana was lying in her bed, on top of the covers, staring up at the ceiling. The night had been long, longer than any she had known before, and when the light in her room turned gray and slowly shifted to yellow as the sun peeked its head over the horizon, she took a deep breath.

  She pulled the air to the bottom of her lungs, feeling the exhaustion of the sleepless night still at odds with the jittery need for action. Finally, she could get up and dressed and moved on to the next step in her plan.

  She felt half-dazed as she dressed, coiling her hair into a simple but respectable style. She considered going down to breakfast with wild hair just to spite her brother but decided it would be better to be as calm as possible.

  Let him believe that she had come around to his way of thinking. She wouldn’t pretend to be happy, that would raise suspicions, but she wouldn’t argue either. She just had to get through this morning, and then she would be free.

  At the breakfast table, Charles appeared and sat down silently across from her. He took several bites of toast before addressing her.

  “How did you sleep?” he asked, tentatively.

  “Not well.” Diana slid her teeth along the fork as she took a bite of eggs. Charles winced slightly.

  “Will you hate me forever, Diana?”

  Diana looked up at him, questioning herself.

  “No,” she said after a pause, “not forever.”

  Charles allowed a small smile to play upon his lips, and Diana had to bite her tongue. It was true that she didn’t think she would hate him forever. With time, her anger at him would fade, knowing that his plans to control her fate had not been successful. But it rankled her pride to see him believing that he had won, even if it was her goal.

  “Lord Orton will be coming for dinner this evening.”

  “I expected as much. I plan on taking Epona out for a run this morning.”

  “You’ll be back for dinner.” It wasn’t a question.
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  “Yes.” The outright lie felt sharp and metallic on her tongue. She had never really felt the need to lie to Charles before. At least not about anything of importance.

  “Then, of course. Enjoy your ride.”

  They passed the rest of the meal in silence. Diana’s emotions were a tempest that she did her best to hide under a placid expression. She swung wildly between fear of the unknown, excitement to leave at once, and sadness over the loss of her brother.

  For it truly did feel like a loss. She no longer recognized the man who sat across from her. No longer did he look like an overgrown boy to her. No, he had stepped into his role as man of the house last night, for better or worse. He was someone else now.

  When they had finished eating, and he got up to leave the table, she had to resist a terrible urge to say goodbye to him. Goodbye for how long, she had no way of knowing. Of course, she couldn’t say anything that would make him suspect that she was running away, but it felt so wrong somehow, to just leave.

  She promised herself that, once she made it to an inn far enough that he wouldn’t be able to track her down and bring her back, she would write to him and explain everything.

  She wasted no time in going directly to the stable. The new saddle she’d gotten for her birthday, with its gleaming leather and shiny silver buckles, was mounted on the door to Epona’s stall. Diana’s heart clenched at the sight of it. Her birthday was only yesterday, and yet so much had changed since then that it felt like a different life. Feeling herself wavering, she pressed onward hurriedly, readying Epona for the ride and mounting her with the help of a stool.

  Epona, a dappled mare with typically high spirits but not too difficult to control, shook out her mane in excitement. Diana wondered if she could sense her own energy and perhaps knew, in some primal way, what was happening. Epona was rigorous, needing almost no prompting from Diana before she took off at a canter toward the woods.