A Highland Bride (Bonnie Bride Series Book 1)

by Fiona Monroe

  A Highland Bride

  Bonnie Bride Series, Book One

  By

  Fiona Monroe

  ©2015 by Blushing Books® and Fiona Monroe

  All rights reserved.

  No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Published by Blushing Books®,

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  Monroe, Fiona

  A Highland Bride: Bonnie Bride Series, Book One

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-62750-907-7

  Cover Design by ABCD Graphics & Design

  This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books' or the author's advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.

  Table of Contents:

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

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  Chapter One

  "I must apologise yet again for my daughter's absence," said Mr Campbell, gazing unhappily through his half-moon glasses at the empty place setting on the other side of the long, polished dinner table. "She is... she has been somewhat wayward of late, if truth be told."

  "Truth, sir, should always be told to your minister." The Reverend Iain Farquhar helped himself to a jointed quail, and nodded his assent as the attendant footman slid smartly in to offer sauce from a bone china pitcher.

  The dinner plates and other tableware were of the same set, he had noticed. He was no great expert, but even he could see that the porcelain was of the latest design and finest quality and doubtless came from one of the new factories in England. The silverware was untarnished and gleaming, the long dining table and its many upholstered chairs were also a la mode. Everything in this room was new, and that included the room itself.

  Mr Campbell, on the other hand, seemed older than his sixty years. Edinburgh's wealthiest wine merchant hunched over his plate, pushing half a slice of beef around in a puddle of gravy, his shoulders drooping and his face grey with sorrow and anxiety.

  Farquhar knew what troubled Mr Campbell, and he was here to talk to him about it, but he had no intention of doing so until they were alone. He could see, however, that his host had more than one grief on his mind. So, with an aside glance at the blank-faced footman, he asked, "Does Miss Flora Campbell give you much trouble, sir?"

  Mr Campbell shrugged unhappily. "Not so much, not so much... Mr Farquhar... as my poor dear..." He trailed off, and his glance too flicked to the servant. "I should have said, not so much. But I am very much afraid..."

  There was a sudden commotion from the hallway, two female voices; one angry and scolding in tone, one high and defiant and also angry.

  "Ah," said Mr Campbell, putting down his fork and smiling, clearly relieved.

  The footman took a step towards the door, but he was not in time to stop Miss Flora Campbell sweeping it open with her own hand and half running into the dining room.

  She was wearing a half-open pelisse and shawl and brought with her into the warm, shuttered room a blast of the bitter night air. "Papa, I— " she began, and stopped, with one gloved hand in the act of removing her shawl, when she caught sight of their visitor. Her eyes widened and she dropped a clumsy curtsy.

  Farquhar had already stood, and acknowledged her with the briefest bow that courtesy could allow. He was not, as he thought, prone to discomposure; but the consciousness of what he had come here to tonight to do, made him distinctly nervous in her sudden presence.

  Flora Campbell was a girl of nineteen or thereabouts, tall and very dark, but with a fair skin flushed by the cold of a February night in Edinburgh. She met his gaze boldly, with eyes that were so dark and lovely that he was unable to look away again quite immediately, as he felt he ought. He knew he had allowed himself too many glances at her as she sat in her family's pew alongside her father and her elder sister, distracting him from his devotions and filling his mind with thoughts unworthy of a minister of the Church of Scotland. He hoped he could make a beginning on amending that, of turning it to account, but so much depended on her.

  From the hallway came a loud, "Miss Flora!"

  "Flora," said Mr Campbell. "As you can see, Mr Farquhar has joined us for dinner. Why don't you dress, my dear, and come down as quickly as you can."

  "Yes, sir," she said, and dropped another curtsy. "Good evening, Mr Farquhar."

  Stiffly, Farquhar bowed again. When Flora had gone and the footman had closed the door behind her, he resumed his seat.

  There was an awkward silence before Mr Campbell said, "I'm sure, Mr Farquhar, if Flora had known you were to honour us with your presence this evening, she would not have been so late back."

  "But excuse me, sir. She knew she was expected to be in time for dinner?"

  Mr Campbell said nothing for a moment, toying with his fork against the edge of his plate, absent and distressed.

  "Could I ask," Farquhar persisted, in a low voice, "where Miss Campbell has been this afternoon?"

  "I... do not know exactly. Mrs Burness could tell you, no doubt."

  Since it was the housekeeper Mrs Burness's distinctive sharp accents that Farquhar had overhead from the hallway, he had an idea that the worthy woman was as ill-informed of her young mistress's comings and goings as her father was, and far more angry about it. And this, allowed in a family which was already under such a pall of disgrace. Farquhar shook his head and held his tongue. Mr Campbell's apologetic, cowed demeanour suggested that he knew his own guilt. He must bide his time a little longer.

  After only five minutes, which passed in a silence broken only by the ticking of the carriage clock on the mantelpiece and the muffled clatter of horses' hooves and carriage wheels in Charlotte Square outside, the door to the dining room opened again and Miss Campbell made a more dignified entrance.

  Despite the brevity of her toilet, she had managed to turn herself out in a simple yet elegant ivory gown, trimmed with lace and cut very low. So low, that Farquhar had to look away as she leaned to kiss her father on the cheek and dropped into a seat beside him. The head of the table remained empty, a poignant reminder of the Campbell household's absent mistress.

  The colour was still high on Flora's cheeks, and she looked petulant. "I haven't missed the first course, then?"

  "We waited for you, my dear," said her father, and carved her some beef and offered her some quail.

  Both gentlemen had already eaten quite enough of the first course, so were obliged to watch and wait while Flora began to tuck heartily into beef, fowl and fish. She signalled to the footman to fill her wine glass.

  "My dear," said her father. "I wonder... how your afternoon was?"

  "Very pleasant, thank you, Papa. I called on Caroline Sinclair and then we went for a s
troll in Princes Street Gardens."

  "But, Flora, it has been dark these three hours at least. You cannot have been strolling in the dark, in February."

  Flora banged her fork down against her plate with a clatter. "What?" Her tone switched with shocking suddenness from quiet gentility to shrill anger. "Do you doubt my word? And if I were to be strolling in the dark, what of it?”

  “My dear, I only mean…”

  “Are you accusing me of telling an untruth, and in front of Mr Farquhar?”

  “No… no.”

  “I am quite sick of being imprisoned here in this house. I am nineteen years old, Papa! I should be out, I should be seen! And you would lock me up like an ogre, for something that was no fault of mine! Am I to be punished forever for what Margaret did?" She pushed back her chair and stood up.

  Mr Campbell too rose to his feet and, reflexively, Farquhar followed. "Flora... my dear... please."

  "No!" she said with a sob, and ran for the door.

  Impassively, the footman opened it to let her through.

  * * * * *

  Farquhar waited until the meal was over and they had withdrawn into the smoking room before embarking on what he had come here to do. Once the butler had offered the gentlemen cigars, which Farquhar himself declined, lit his master's and retired, Farquhar began.

  "Sir," he said, remaining standing while Mr Campbell settled disconsolately into his leather arm chair. "You might have guessed already that Mr Guthrie asked me to come and see you."

  "Yes... yes, I thought as much, Mr Farquhar. Is... is he going to ask me to resign my position as Elder?"

  "No!" Farquhar was shocked. "Mr Campbell, you ought to know that an Elder of the Church of Scotland is ordained for life. Mr Guthrie, and indeed I, would like to see you and your... daughter back at church this very Sunday, and he would like to see you attend the next Assembly. Indeed, it is your God-given duty to do so."

  Mr Campbell covered his hands with his eyes and seemed to shrink further into the embrace of the armchair. "How can I? How can I appear in public, how can I allow Flora to appear before the mocking eyes of the whole parish, when our family is crushed under such disgrace?"

  Farquhar felt pity as he looked at the shattered old man, but he had to harden his heart a little and stay firm in his resolve. "Mr Campbell," he repeated. "Forgive me, for you are a much older man than I, and my natural inclination is to defer to and respect you, but it is my duty as your minister to say what may seem harsh. From everything I have heard before today, and particularly from what I have witnessed here tonight, the disaster that has befallen your family seems to have been caused largely by you. By your faulty indulgence of your daughters, by your failure to teach them good principles and correct their wayward natures."

  Mr Campbell let out a groan of anguish and fully buried his face in his hands, the untouched cigar abandoned in an ashtray.

  Farquhar allowed him a moment to say something in reply, and when he did not, pressed on. "It is true that the whole of Edinburgh knows that your elder daughter has fled her father's roof and put herself in the power of Count Ercole de Felice, whose wife the Countess waits, I understand, at home in Italy for her husband to return. Where are they now, sir?"

  Mr Campbell groaned again, then staggered to his feet, went to the bureau, and withdrew a letter from a drawer. He handed it to Farquhar then sank back into the chair.

  Farquhar, a little surprised, studied the document in his hand. It was written on thick, good quality paper, with the frank of the French postal service.

  "That came this morning," mumbled Mr Campbell.

  On one side, the direction to Charlotte Square was written in a fair, sloping hand. On the other, was a brief letter in the same. He caught a waft of expensive perfume as he unfolded it.

  My dearest Father, I am writing to you from Paris, both to let you know that I am safe and that pursuit would be quite useless. I am staying here for the time being with my beloved Conte, so you will know that you must quite give me up. But I am happy! So very happy indeed, and there will come a time when you will see me again and address me as Contessa. Until then, dear Father, I remain your dutiful and loving daughter, Margaret. PS: All my love to my sister Flora, too.

  Farquhar felt a twinge of sick dismay at the foolish girl's wicked words as he twisted the paper over in his hand and looked at the stricken father she professed to love.

  He had known Miss Campbell too by sight, just as well as he knew the father and younger daughter. For over a year he had been one of the assistant ministers at St Andrew's Church on George Street, largest and grandest of the churches recently built to serve the city's fashionable new residential quarter. He had taken to watching the family during services more than he ought, his eye drawn by the charms of the younger daughter, and not much liking the look of the elder. Miss Campbell was more strikingly handsome than her sister, but even before her shocking elopement he had thought she had a cold, impudent air.

  "In my first rage," said Mr Campbell in a wavering voice, "I wanted to pursue the blaggard and challenge him to a duel. I wanted to rescue my daughter and bring her home. But..." He waved feebly at the letter, which was still in Farquhar's hand. "You see what she says. She is happy..."

  "No, sir. She is not happy and never will be again. She is lost. To fight and perhaps kill the Count would have been a wicked sin that would have imperilled your immortal soul. And more to the point, you can never bring your daughter home. For the sake of Miss Flora if nothing else."

  Mr Campbell nodded unhappily. "Do not blame me, Mr Farquhar."

  "Excuse me, sir. I must speak plainly. I do blame you. You have clearly failed to discipline your daughters, and this, " he struck the paper, "is the consequence."

  Mr Campbell sighed deeply. "When my beloved wife died, the girls were both so small. They missed their mother grievously. I could not bear to upset them further. Everything they wanted, they had. Everything that could make them happy."

  Farquhar was appalled. "And if they misbehaved?"

  "They did not misbehave. They were good girls. The governesses who left were... unsuited to their spirited natures."

  "Did you never correct them, or allow them to be corrected?"

  "Oh no, no, no. Nothing like that." He sighed again. "Perhaps I should have."

  "Excuse me, sir. Yes. You most certainly should have."

  "It is too late now."

  "Not at all. Too late for Miss Campbell, yes. She has been ruined forever, and even if she left the protection of this Italian Count and returned to you, it would be of no avail to punish her except as an exercise in justice, as her virtue can never be restored. But Miss Flora is in such great danger."

  "Flora is a young lady now. She is full nineteen years of age. She is too old to be chastised."

  "I tell you, Mr Campbell, if either of my sisters - at nineteen years of age or any age - had behaved as impudently and spoken to my father as your daughter did this evening, in front of a guest and a minister of the kirk - they would have visited his study forthwith, and would not have sat comfortably for a week."

  Mr Campbell looked up with a brief light of something like hope in his eyes, then he shook his head and sank further. "I could not do it. God forgive me, I could not start now. I have failed Margaret, and she is ruined. I am failing Flora, and her prospects are blighted. My poor dear Mary, it would have broken her heart." Suddenly, he put his face in his hands and began to sob.

  For all his attempted professional demeanour, Farquhar was horrified to see the older man give way like this. He knelt beside the chair and put his hand on Mr Campbell's arm and said gently, "Sir. Do not give in to despair."

  "But Flora will never find a husband now. Despite her fortune, no respectable man will connect himself with our family. Margaret has ruined her sister's life as well as her own. And it is all my fault for being weak and indulgent."

  "Mr Campbell. Please listen to me. I wish to propose a solution."

  He stood up strai
ght again and waited until the merchant had composed himself once more. Then, feeling his heart knocking against his ribs, he said, "I learned earlier today that I have been offered a parish of my own. It is in the village of Scourie, which is in my own country, Inverness-shire."

  "The Highlands," muttered Mr Campbell.

  "Yes. It is a very long way from here. The local laird is an old acquaintance of my father's and it is through his influence that I have been appointed. I will leave Edinburgh to take up my new duties within a fortnight."

  "We shall miss you, Mr Farquhar—" Mr Campbell began to say, weakly.

  Farquhar cut off the conventional protestation, too intent on what he had to say to stand on courtesy. He had to say it immediately, or lose his nerve. "With your permission, sir, I would like to offer my own hand in marriage to Miss Flora."

  Mr Campbell's eyes widened in surprise, and his spectacles slid down his nose. For the first time in their interview, he straightened his shoulders and half-rose from the chair. "You, Mr Farquhar?"

  "Yes, sir. Is it so astonishing? I am not a wealthy man, I am my father's third son and my eldest brother inherits. But I have some small fortune of my own from my mother, and combined with this my stipend from the church - which is substantially more at my new parish - supplies me with quite as much as I need to support a wife in the modest style befitting the mistress of a rural manse. Miss Flora Campbell has been used to balls and theatres and the other brilliancies of life in the city. I cannot offer her that, but then nor would I wish to. I think she would be safest far away from all these temptations, and the possible influence of her sister - because you could not prevent Miss Campbell and the Count returning to Edinburgh should they choose to, nor do I believe - excuse me, sir - that you would be able to prevent Miss Flora visiting her sister should they do so."

  "But the disgrace! Your position as a minister of the kirk! Would the Assembly allow you to marry into a family such as ours has become?"