The Highlander's Secret Maiden: A Scottish Historical Romance Novel

by Lydia Kendall

  “Oh, Fiona, this is perfect,” Georgina clapped along with her friend, feeling ecstatic about the chance to see Marcas later that evening. She knew Fiona had been longing to see Alpin again in the hopes that he might start to view her as more than a friend after seeing Marcas with Georgina.

  They linked arms and chattered away excitedly as they marched through the castle to examine the contents of Fiona’s wardrobe for the perfect outfits to wear for the occasion.

  Chapter 9

  It had been a busy week for Marcas, much of it spent clearing up Conall’s messes. As much as he loved his brother, he was infuriatingly hot-headed at times and put his own agenda first.

  He couldn’t deny Conall the chance to get even for the death of Alistair and his wife, but if he’d only taken the time to think things through, then they wouldn’t be in danger of an ambush or planned attack from the British Army right now.

  The scene he’d caused with Georgina at the wedding had cost them all the work their father had put in to creating a diplomatic understanding with particular British regions. Not only that, but he’d triggered the motion to bring battle upon them.

  Not that he was complaining about Georgina’s presence at the castle, far from it. His mind revisited that first night, when they’d all shared dinner and indulged in a drink of ale together. She clearly wasn’t used to the stuff, and anyone who had looked at her that night would have been able to see how drunk she was, but he wondered if she really had forgotten what had happened between them.

  He certainly wasn’t advertising the fact that he’d turned the lassie down, as he’d never hear the end of it from the lads. A part of him was questioning why he’d behaved like such a pansy and didn’t just bed her like a normal man. It just hadn’t felt right at that moment.

  During their journey, she’d seemed skittish and fearful at the mere hint of sex being brought up in conversation. To go from that to being forward enough to invite him to spend the night with her… it just didn’t sit right.

  He felt like he’d have been taking advantage of her which wasn’t his intention. She was clearly embarrassed the next morning and it was torturing him. Was it because she regretted making an advance on him? Or was she hurt that he’d turned her down?

  Either way, I plan on finding out.

  A knock at the door signaled the presence of his closest friend, Alpin. As to be expected, he heard Fiona answer and talk and giggle away at him. She’d been sweet on the poor lad ever since Marcas could remember, but Alpin seemed fairly oblivious to it. He didn’t have the heart to tell her.

  “Aye aye, how ye doin’, frein?” Alpin asked as they shook hands in greeting.

  “Och aye, just busy keepin’ the Laird in line,” Marcas joked, passing back and forth their usual banter.

  “Right sis, Alpin ‘n’ I have some matters tae discuss before dinner so…” Marcas wanted to be able to talk to his friend properly without having to worry about his sister overhearing, or Georgina for that matter.

  “Oh, aye, ye go ahead. Georgina and I have our own business tae attend tae anyway. Nice tae see ya, Alpin,” Fiona said, casting a lingering smile at Alpin before she flitted off in the opposite direction. It left Marcas wondering just what the two of them could be up to.

  “How did ye get on out there wi’ Conall’s men?” Marcas asked once they were safely settled in the study with the door closed.

  “It was fairly standard, naught oot o’ the ordinary to report.” Alpin answered, taking a sip of the drink Marcas had poured for him.

  “Christ,” Marcas exclaimed, “I wid have expected Bolton’s men to be well on their way by noo.” They’d sent some men out to patrol the northern borders where the landscape gave way to the lowlands. Marcas was of the view that they should be sending more out, that they needed to be prepared to go into battle at any moment, despite Conall’s protests that he was overreacting.

  “What have the pair o’ ye done tae get on Bolton’s bad side?” Alpin asked. It was his sister Sarah who had died at Bolton’s hands, so he hated the British officer as much as Conall and Marcas did.

  “Conall’s gone and taken his betrothed prisoner,” Marcas announced casually, “took her right from under his nose.”

  “Ahaha, well done, lads. That must’ve put his nose oot o’ joint,” Alpin congratulated.

  “I’ll say,” Marcas laughed along, “ruddy face was mad, ye should have seen it. Best part o' it, the lass was desperate tae get away from him and all.”

  “Bonnie, is she?” Alpin asked, his eyebrow raised in interest.

  “Aye indeed. Still an Englishwoman though,” Marcas said, trying to sound offhand.

  “From what I hear, they’re no that much more work tae get into bed,” Alpin joked.

  “Ach, so the legend continues,” Marcas indulged.

  “That bugger, Stuart, he swore on his life that it only took one look fae him and that English filly all but lifted her skirt right up and opened her legs right there and then.” Alpin regaled an old tale from one of their buddies which nobody had been able to disprove, yet none could vouch for it either.

  “Ach I still reckon he’s fair exaggerating. It takes more than a look, I can tell ye that,” Marcas argued.

  “Why, ye had a go?” Alpin challenged.

  “Nothin’ beyond a dance ‘n’ a bit o’ wooing in her direction. Haven’ae decided if she’s worth beddin’ or no,” Marcas said, trying to live up to expectation.

  “All lassies are worth beddin’, Marcas, even the ugly ones. They’ve always got a trick up their sleeves ‘n’ all,” Alpin retorted and they laughed together.

  Marcas didn’t want to be talking about Georgina like this, and soon changed the subject. With any other lass, he’d have happily divulged all the dirty details without hesitation. There was something different about Georgina though.

  Well, for one he hadn’t bedded her, but it was more than that. He respected her, he cared about her honor and he felt protective of her. It was part of the reason he was so set on capturing Bolton’s men before they could get anywhere near the region, because surely, he would come for her.

  “Well am I gonnae get to meet this bonnie wee prisoner o’ yours or no?” Alpin demanded, putting down his glass and folding his arms across his chest in wait.

  “Aye on ye come then, see what ye make o’ her,” Marcas responded as the pair of them left the study and made for the dining room.

  The table was laid ready, with a well-cooked meal waiting to be served. As Marcas and Alpin walked into the room, he forgot all the manners and intentions of introducing his friend to Georgina at the sight of her.

  She was done up in a long white dress, flowing down to the ground and showing off the curves of her body. The soft curls of her dark hair cascaded down her back and over her shoulder, pinned back slightly to show off her rosy cheeks and big dark eyes.

  “Alpin, Marcas, fine ye could join us,” his sister Fiona broke the ice, coming into view in front of them having dolled herself up in a formal dress of her own.

  “Ah Miss McGowan, ye’re certainly looking fine this evening,” Alpin said politely, taking her hand in greeting.

  “Let me introduce our guest, Georgina Andrews,” Fiona continued, gesturing to Georgina who came forward to greet them.

  “Ah pleased tae meet ye, so this is the lass I’ve heard so much about,” Alpin said, mischief in his voice.

  “Why only good things I hope,” Georgina responded with a curtsy.

  “Why of course,” Alpin responded, that daft grin still plastered on his face.

  All the pleasantries out of the way, Marcas ushered them all to sit down so that dinner could be served and to stop Alpin from blurting out something stupid. He could see from the way his friend’s eyes were lit up that he was going to have plenty of opinions to share on the subject of Georgina.

  “Well noo, Mrs. Loganach certainly has outdone herself,” Marcas complimented as he took a bite of the haggis, savoring the traditional delicacy.r />
  “What is that?” Georgina exclaimed, looking down her nose at her plate.

  Marcas couldn’t help but laugh at her; she still looked cute with her nose wrinkled and the haughty tone having come back into her voice. “It’s haggis, neeps and tatties lass. The best dinner ye’ll ever taste,” he announced. It had been his favorite meal since he was a boy and he always looked forward to it. Ach, it can hardly get better than this.

  Georgina looked at him blankly as he shoveled another mouthful of dinner into his mouth, clearly not understanding what he had just said. “Haggis. Neeps. Tatties?” she repeated, looking more confused than ever.

  “Haggis is a wee beastie that runs aboot the hills o’ the land, a rare wee thing, it takes a real man to be able to catch one. It’s a real Scottish delicacy and will bring you seven years o’ good luck after eating it,” Alpin answered jovially in a bid to wind her up.

  “Neeps are turnips in yer English tongue and tatties is what we call the humble potato,” Marcas pitched in to explain.

  “Seven years good luck?” Georgina countered, her eyebrow raised in disdain and not sounding convinced by Alpin’s explanation.

  “Och aye,” Marcas answered, not able to resist teasing her a little, “Ye’re no a real Scotsman until ye’ve caught, killed and skinned yer own haggis.”

  He watched her take a careful bite, holding his tongue from laughing out loud. “I see. So what else is in here then? It doesn’t have the texture of regular meat,” she stated. She’s no’ daft that’s fer sure.

  “Tis’ the nature o’ the haggis darlin’, it’s not yer typical meat,” Alpin answered. Marcas could see Fiona staring daggers at them both and she shook her head in exasperation as he caught her eye.

  Georgina took another bite, taking her time to chew it as if she was trying to assess it and figure out if they were lying. “Hmm, it’s certainly an interesting taste this strange species,” she concluded.

  That did it. Marcas and Alpin simply couldn’t keep a straight face any longer, especially when Marcas took in his friend’s shaking shoulders and cheeky grin, his own laugh escaping from his lips.

  “Alright, what’s so funny?” Georgina demanded, all but slamming her fork down on to the table.

  “Surely that’s no way fer an English lady tae behave, where are yer manners?” Alpin jested, unable to keep from laughing.

  “You men are such children at times,” Fiona scolded, “Georgina, they’re having ye on. Haggis is indeed one of our delicacies but it’s not an elusive wee animal. It’s made from offal, oats and spices, cooked inside the stomach o’ a sheep.”

  “The…the stomach of a what?” Georgina repeated, staring at her meal in horror. Alpin had dissolved into hysterics and Marcas couldn’t help but laugh at the poor lass’s expression. He’d never seen anyone look so horrified at the prospect of their dinner.

  “I’m afraid what Fiona says is right enough lass,” Marcas confirmed, “a good bit o’ liver and stomach lining will keep ye’ going alright,” he agreed with joy, smiling at her put-out expression.

  “You eat this?” she demanded of the three of them.

  “Ach dinnae worry lass, once ye’ve tried it ye’ll soon forget what’s inside it and lap it up. Ye can hardly say ye’ve visited the home o’ a Laird without trying haggis,” Marcas coaxed.

  Georgina looked around the table skeptically, watching everyone else digging in with gusto; Alpin still recovering from the fit of laughter, shaking his head in amusement as he tucked in to the meal in front of him.

  She took a deep breath as if steadying herself and took another bite, as if determined to rise to the challenge. Her eyes met his across the table and her looked oozed disdain so Marcas quickly looked away and back down at his own plate, stopping for a quick drink of water.

  “Well I suppose it’s not bad. It’s certainly unique anyway,” Georgina announced.

  “Aye that’s the spirit, lass,” Alpin congratulated.

  They finished their meal without any more commotion or shocking surprises, probably much to Georgina’s relief. The conversation flowed easily; Alpin had been practically family since they were boys and Georgina held her own in amongst them all, making her all the more dazzling in Marcas’ eyes. A lassie wi’ brains and beauty, it can hardly get much better.

  After they’d finished, and their plates cleared away, Marcas longed for an opportunity to be alone with Georgina, to not have to keep up appearances in front of Alpin. Conall had kept him rushed off his feet since the moment they arrived at the castle with her, and he often found himself wistfully imagining how he could sweep her off her feet.

  He got up to pour a dram of whisky for himself and his mate as usual, then Fiona piped up: “Oh, Alpin, you simply must come and see my new horse. She’s a thoroughbred and really quite magnificent.” Alpin’s family were keen horse breeders and kept a large number of the animals, often supplying good steeds for battle.

  “Ach aye, why no?” Alpin said good-naturedly, following Fiona out of the dining room who was already chattering away about the horse’s every little detail.

  Marcas held the two nips of whisky that he’d poured out in both hands, turning his attention to Georgina, and making an effort to speak as casually as possible, “Well I suppose that just leaves the pair o’ us, eh?” he asked and smiled.

  “It certainly looks that way,” she responded expectantly.

  “Well let’s take these to the drawing-room where we can get more comfortable,” he suggested, nodding his head towards the door.

  “Will we be needing the bottle too?” she asked, a sly smile spreading onto her face.

  “I thought ye’d never ask,” he said. Hell, she’s sure getting a taste for the booze. Or maybe it’s a touch of Dutch courage.

  She boldly grabbed the bottle of whisky and followed him through. Perhaps it was the lack of appropriate company present or not having a chaperone present, but he felt an excitement in the air, like they were doing something they weren’t supposed to be doing. Well, why the hell not? It wasn’t every day that I’m chanced to be alone in the castle wi’ this beauty of a girl, even if she’s technically our prisoner. There was hardly a book about social etiquette in such situations.

  His stomach swooped in anticipation as he sank down onto the comfortable couch and she sat down next to him. Granted, it was at the opposite end of the sofa but still.

  “Well cheers,” Marcas said as he passed Georgina one of the whisky glasses. He felt goosebumps tingle over his skin as his fingers brushed hers for just a second, holding his own glass up in the universal cheers motion before knocking back the whisky, the familiar warmth spreading down his throat.

  She followed suit, a slight blush in her cheeks and he watched as she held the glass to her lips and tipped her head back to sip the strong drink. Her face soon screwed up as the taste of it hit her, and she came up for air coughing and spluttering.

  “Oh, my, I was not prepared for that,” she choked out, “uurgh, that’s nasty.”

  “Aye, it’s strong stuff fer a lassie right enough,” Marcas admitted, “ye’d better water it doon until ye get used tae it.”

  “I doubt I’ll ever get used to it,” Georgina exclaimed, “but if you don’t mind, I’ll take that water.” That’s good, so she sounds agreeable at that, that’s got to be a good sign.

  “Here ye are lass,” Marcas said as he reached for a jug of water that was sitting on the table in front of them and topped up her glass with it.

  “Normally only pansies water doon their whisky but don’t worry, I won’t tell on ye,” he joked.

  “My hero,” she bantered right back, her eyes smoldering at him as she raised her glass once more before trying the whisky again.

  “Noo, this is a definite improvement. It still burns more than a drink should, but I can at least get it down,” she announced before knocking back the contents of her glass just like Marcas had.

  Och, she does have bonnie eyes indeed. I just want to grab her and p
lant a kiss on her.

  Marcas refilled their glasses once more, a nervous feeling taking over him. Are ye here because ye like me? Or is it Conall? How do I take the conversation to a deeper level?

  “You seem to be very close to your siblings,” Georgina broke the ice — he thanked God —, and he leaned forward in his seat to face her.

  “Aye, I suppose the three o’ us are fairly close. Since our faither passed away, we’re all that’s left really.”