by Lauren Royal
THE MARQUESS’S SCOTTISH BRIDE
Lauren Royal & Devon Royal
The Marquess’s Scottish Bride is the SWEET & CLEAN edition of Emerald by Lauren Royal
5th Edition, July 2017
Novelty Books
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Title Page
Book Description
More Chase Family Books
A Message from Devon...
Chase Family Tree
Cover Image
Dedication
1: "Jason, you cannot...
2: Adam Leslie dipped his...
3: As he and Gothard...
4: Was this eternal torment?
5: "Married? I'm not getting...
6: Hurrying into her room...
7: "Egad...
8: Her back to the other...
9: Jason slowly slid off...
10: It surely felt good...
11: "Thank you kindly."
12: With a grunt...
13: Hearing a voice...
14: The silver blade flashed...
15: Jason caught up...
16: Tilted, mossy stone...
17: Jason sat Emerald...
18: That evening...
19: Caithren headed up...
20: "Mama, must you go?...
21: Four hours had passed...
22: Seated behind Emerald...
23: "Emerald. It's nearly noon...
24: Three tedious hours later...
25: "What are they gawking at?"
26: A solemn man in a hooded...
27: "Mary! No!"
28: Downstairs the next morning...
29: "Hungry?"
30: "Tell me another...
31: The road from Grantham...
32: Caithren dodged a couple...
33: Caithren popped an orange...
34: An hour later, Jason...
35: "The birds are singing...
36: An hour later, Caithren...
37: At the end of a frantic...
38: After what seemed an...
39: Startled, Caithren pushed...
40: "Nay, please don't leave."
41: Caithren set down the candle...
42: The birds were singing...
43: White and yellow...
44: "I don't believe it...
45: Her name truly was Caithren.
46: "How is your arm?"
47: Riding beside Jason...
48: My dearest Malcolm...
49: Jason opened one eye...
50: The clouds had grown dark...
51: "We're not going to make it...
52: She was still laughing...
53: Hours later...
54: Jason returned...
55: Gasping, he checked...
56: "Number Twelve...
57: "I've never seen so many...
58: Kendra's chamber upstairs...
59: "You look stunning, Cait...
60: "Hmm."
61: Jason guided Cait...
62: They ran through...
63: You will wake...
64: "He'll be back, Cait."
65: "What do you mean...
66: "I'll explain this...
67: Somehow Jason managed...
68: "What does Scarborough...
69: Caithren rose again...
70: Caithren heard the door...
71: Ford chased Jason...
72: Caithren could barely lift...
73: After telling his story...
74: "Hurry," Kendra urged.
75: Most of the wedding party...
Thank You!
BONUS MATERIALAuthor's Note
Explore the Chase Family World
Excerpt from THE LAIRD'S FAIRYTALE BRIDE
Books by Lauren & Devon Royal
Contest
About the Authors
Acknowledgments
Excerpt from Page
Contact Information
Copyright Page
BOOK DESCRIPTION
The Marquess’s Scottish Bride is the SWEET & CLEAN edition of Emerald by Lauren Royal
England and Scotland, 1667
Jason Chase, the Marquess of Cainewood, doesn’t know the first thing about hunting outlaws, but he won’t let that stop him from bringing a murderer to justice. Disguised as a commoner, he takes to the road, where he crosses paths with a hapless Scottish lad—who turns out to be a lovely Scottish lass, and none other than the renowned bounty hunter Emerald MacCallum. Realizing they're after the same man and fearing Emerald may be in over her head, Jason resolves to keep her close…
But all Caithren Leslie wants is to be as far away from her new “protector” as possible. No matter how many times she informs him she’s just an ordinary country girl traveling to see her brother—and definitely not some Emerald woman pursuing a dangerous outlaw—the pigheaded Englishman will not see sense. The road is perilous, but accepting Jason’s protection may mean jeopardizing her urgent mission. Not to mention her sanity, her personal property, and worst of all, her heart.
MORE CHASE FAMILY BOOKS
For more information, click on a cover.
The Chase Brides
Regency Chase Brides
Renaissance Chase Family Series
Specially Priced Boxed Sets
A MESSAGE FROM DEVON…
Not gonna lie, I thought it was pretty cool growing up with an author for a mom! I’d always been into books (like, every morning when 1st grade reading time ended, Mrs. Schultz had to physically pry the book from my hands), plus there were perks. Mom was always home with us kids, so we never had to go to daycare. She was also always on deadline, so we got to eat a lot of Pizza Hut for dinner. And I could impress my friends by moseying into Barnes & Noble and casually pointing out my mom’s books on the shelves.
The only problem: I wasn’t allowed to read them!
Her romance novels were for and about adults, and I was just a kid. A kid who loved books and hated rules—so you can imagine my dismay.
Of course, the instant I was old enough, I swiped a full set of her books from the garage and devoured them all in a row. And I wasn’t surprised when I loved every one, because, you guys, my mom is seriously awesome.
Recently the aforementioned awesome lady had an awesome idea: releasing new, revised versions of her novels that are appropriate for all ages, so that everyone can enjoy them. To think, all those dismay-ful years could have been avoided!
I knew instantly I was the girl for the job. My mom and I have been writing together basically since I learned how to type—our first all-new collaborative release, Alice Betrothed, is a project we started when I was in middle school—plus, I was a sweet-romance-reading teenager myself only a few years ago. I literally bumped into walls walking around high school with my nose buried in a book.
There’s a crazy amount of fantastic romance out there right now—we’re SO excited that you’ve chosen our book! Like, spontaneous-dance-party-excited! I would be doing the robot right now if I weren’t busy typing. Maybe I’ll wrap up this letter so I can go do that.
I so hope you’ll enjoy Caithren’s story!
xoxo
January 2016
CHASE FAMILY TREE
To see a larger version of the Chase Family Tree, click here!
For our mother and grandmother,
Joan Falbaum Royal,
our biggest cheerleader!
ONE
Chichester, England
August 1, 1667
“JASON, YOU cannot mean to kill him.”
Jason Chase stopped short and wrenched out of his brother Ford’s grasp. “Of course I don’t. But
I’ll bring him to justice if it’s the last thing I do.”
“I’ve never seen you like this—”
“Because I’ve never seen anything like sweet little Mary lying still as death. Or the look on her mother’s bruised face as she chanted Geoffrey Gothard’s name over and over.” Trembling with rage, Jason’s hand came up to smooth his slim black mustache. “My villagers.” He met his brother’s gaze with his own. “My responsibility.”
“You’ve plastered the kingdom with broadsides.” Ford’s blue eyes looked puzzled, as though he were unsure how to take this new side of his oldest sibling. “The reward will bring him in.”
“I’ll be satisfied to bring him in myself,” Jason said with more confidence than he felt.
They turned and continued down East Street to where Chichester’s vaulted Market Cross sat in the center of the Roman-walled town. Carved from limestone, it was arguably the most elaborate edifice in all of England…but its intricate beauty couldn’t distract Jason from the ugliness lurking inside.
An ugliness he intended to deal with.
He recognized the Gothard brothers from the descriptions his villagers had given him: Geoffrey, tall and slender with an elegant sneer; Walter, shorter and bony.
Jason’s footsteps echoed as he strode through the open arches, his own brother following behind. Scattered businessmen, exchanging mail and news in the shade beneath the dome, paused to glance their way. People seemed to stream from all four corners of the town, rushing to catch the show.
Walter Gothard scurried back like a frightened rabbit, but his older brother merely stared.
With a click of his spurred heels, Jason came to a halt and drew an uneven breath. He pinned Geoffrey Gothard with a furious gaze. “You’ll come with me to the magistrate,” he snapped out, surprising even himself at the commanding tone of his voice.
For a moment Ford seemed dumbfounded, then he stepped away and motioned back the crowd.
Gothard continued to stare.
Jason’s hand went to the hilt of his sword. “Now, Gothard.”
The stare held hard and unwavering. Finally his thin-lipped mouth curved in a hint of a smile. “My nearest and dearest enemy,” Gothard drawled.
A line Jason recognized from Shakespeare. The man wasn’t uneducated, then—indeed, his bearing was aristocratic, and his clothes, though rumpled from days of wear, were of good quality and cut. He looked to have but a handful of years on Jason’s twenty-three.
Confusion churned with the anger in Jason’s stomach. “Why should you call me your enemy?”
Gothard’s gaze roamed Jason from head to toe. “The Marquess of Cainewood, are you not?”
“I am,” Jason said through gritted teeth. He wanted nothing more than to go home to Cainewood, back to his calm routine, his life. But he could think only of little golden-haired Mary following him around the village, begging for a sweetmeat, her blue eyes dancing with mischief and radiating trust.
Blue eyes that might never open again.
And there stood the beast who had hurt her. Smiling at him from the shadows.
“I’ve done nothing to draw your malice—we’ve never even met.” Jason peered at the shaded figure. Gothard and his brother were pale, with the type of skin that burned and peeled in the sun—and it looked as though they’d been much in the sun of late. “Stand down and consign yourself to my arrest.”
Gothard’s blue eyes went flat with resentment. Jason blinked. He seemed to know those eyes.
Maybe they had crossed paths.
“A pox on you, Cainewood.”
Jason squared his shoulders, reminding himself why he was here. For justice. For Mary and Clarice. The questions could wait—for now. Responsibility weighing heavily on his mind, his focus shifted to the fat needle of a spire that topped the old Norman cathedral across the green. He tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword.
Father would have expected this of him. To defend his people, stand up for what was right—no matter the cost.
Deliberately he slid the rapier from its scabbard.
Gothard drew his own sword with a quick screak that snapped the expectant silence. “We will settle this here and now.”
Jason advanced a step closer, slowly circling the tip of his rapier, then sliced it hissing through the air in a swift move that brought a collective gasp from the crowd. The blade’s thin shadow flickered across the paving stones.
His free hand trembled at his side.
With a roar, Gothard lunged, and the first clash of steel on steel rang through the still summer air.
Vibrations shimmied up Jason’s arm. Muscles tense, he twisted and parried, danced in to attack, then out of harm’s way. His heart pounded; blood pumped furiously through his veins.
Like most young men of his class, he’d been trained and spent countless hours in swordplay—but this was no game. And his opponent was skillful as well.
Two blades clanked with deadly intent in the shadow of the Market Cross.
TWO
ADAM LESLIE dipped his quill in the inkwell and carefully added “My” in front of “Dear Sister,” frowned, then squeezed in “est” in the middle. My Dearest Sister. There now, surely Caithren wouldn’t be miffed at his news after such an affectionate greeting.
Gazing up at the paneled walls of the Royal Arms, he flipped his straight dark blond hair over his shoulder. That he wouldn’t be returning to Leslie soon shouldn’t surprise Cait—he hadn’t spent more than a few days at home since his eighteenth birthday. But it wouldn’t hurt to be loving when he imparted the news…he did love her. And he knew that she loved him as well, though they rarely saw each other.
Och, Scotland was boring. He was happy to leave the running of the Leslie lands to his younger sister and their Da. He chuckled to himself, imagining Da’s latest fruitless efforts to marry her off.
“Are you not finished yet, Leslie?”
He glanced up and smiled at his friends, the Earl of Balmforth and Viscount Grinstead. Dandies, they were, dressed in brightly colored satin festooned with jewels and looped ribbons. Though he kept himself decked out in similar style, he considered himself lucky they let him keep their company, untitled as he was—at least until his very healthy Da died sometime in the distant future.
Da was naught but a minor baronet, so Adam wasn’t entitled to call himself anything but Mister until he inherited.
“Leslie?”
“Almost done,” Adam muttered, pushing back the voluminous lace at his cuffs before signing his name to the bottom of the letter. He sprinkled sand on the parchment to blot the ink, then brushed it off and folded the missive.
“An ale for my friend!” Balmforth called.
Adam nodded. This was thirsty work. Losh, any work was thirsty work.
He preferred not to work at all.
He flipped the letter over and scrawled Miss Caithren Leslie, Leslie by Insch, Scotland on the back. After dusting the address with sand as well, he rose and crossed the taproom to the innkeeper’s desk, pinching the serving maid on her behind as she sauntered by with his tankard of ale.
She giggled.
“Have you any wax?” Adam dropped his letter on the scarred wooden counter and dug in his pouch for a few coins. “And you’ll post this for me, aye?”
The innkeeper blinked his rheumy eyes. “Certainly, sir.”
Adam pressed his signet ring into the warm wax, then went to join his companions. He lifted his ale and leaned across the table. Their three pewter mugs met with a resounding clank.
“To freedom!” Grinstead said, shaking off some foam that had sloshed onto his hand.
“To freedom!” Adam echoed. “Till Hogmanay!”
Grinstead raised an eyebrow. “You told her you’d be gone till the new year?”
“At the least.” Adam swallowed a gulp and swiped one hand across his mouth before the froth dripped onto his expensive satin surcoat. “We’ve the week hunting in West Riding, then Lord Darnley’s wedding in London come the
end of the month. Wouldn’t care to miss Guy Fawkes Day in the City. Then I might as well stay through the Christmas balls, aye?” The taproom’s door banged open. “No sense in going home, then leaving again straightaway.”
“No sense at all,” Grinstead agreed, staring toward the entrance. “Will you look at what just walked in?”
Balmforth followed his gaze, then frowned. “Do you think she might be that MacCallum woman everyone’s talking about?”
Adam swung round to watch the tall lass cross the taproom and seat herself at another table.
“Nary a chance.” Adam tossed back the rest of the ale and signaled the serving maid for another. “Emerald MacCallum dresses like a man.”
“She’s carrying a knife,” Balmforth argued in a loud whisper. “And she looks hard. Like the sort of woman who would make her living capturing outlaws.”
“If a woman could capture outlaws,” Grinstead said dryly.
Adam let loose a loud guffaw. “You’re both of you in your cups. Emerald MacCallum carries a sword and a pistol, not a knife. But if she were here, she would trounce you, Grinstead, from here to tomorrow.” Adam straightened the lacy white cravat at his neck. “And me too, I expect.”
They all burst out laughing, until another bang of the door caught their attention.
An excited old-timer stood in the opening. “Duel at the Market Cross!”
THREE
AS HE AND Gothard both scrambled for better footing, Jason whipped off his midnight blue surcoat and tossed it to his brother, his gaze never leaving that of his foe. Gothard smirked as he lunged once again, barely giving Jason time to adjust.
Gothard was fleet, but Jason was faster—and nimbler without the restricting surcoat. They grappled down the steps, and the crowd leapt back. Gothard was cornered, but Jason was incensed. He edged Gothard back beneath the dome, skirting the circular stone bench that sat in its center as he pressed his advantage. Then Gothard seized an opening, and Jason found himself retreating as their blades tangled, slid, and broke free with a metallic twang.
