The Scottish Siren
The Book Club
Kirsten Osbourne
Copyright © 2019 by Kirsten Osbourne
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Kirsten Osbourne
Prologue
Dr. Lachele Simpson sat at her desk after a long day of counseling. She was flying to Albuquerque to interview four different women for her matchmaking service, Matchrimony, the following day, and she had to squeeze clients in to get things ready for the trip. It was rare she interviewed four women at once, but these women were suite mates while going to Binghamton University and had all settled near her. Alexis, one of the young ladies, had been her apprentice for two summers when she’d still gone to college in New York.
Lachele rubbed the back of her neck tiredly, sometimes wishing she had magic powers that would help her get through her days. Life was overwhelming at times, and this was one of them. Getting ready for her trip while working in extra clients was not pleasant, but it was worth it for her clients in both businesses.
Lachele reached for the pile of mail her assistant had put at the corner of her desk, knowing she needed to look through it before she could leave. It was Thursday, and she wouldn’t be home until the following Wednesday. Each of her interviews took a full day, and she wanted to get some play time in with Alexis while she was there. Lachele had never been able to work with someone and not befriend them.
“Bill, bill, bill, credit card offer, bill, insurance payment, bill, Guild of Godmother’s . . . What is the Guild of Godmother’s? I’ve never heard of such a thing!” With one hand she flicked her vibrant purple hair out of her face, and with the other she reached for her letter opener. This letter intrigued her.
Dear Dr. Lachele,
We here at the Guild of Godmothers think a lot of women with ingenuity, intelligence, and a need to help others. During the years we’ve been observing you, we can see that you are the embodiment of everything we stand for.
Our organization is devoted to helping others, by any means possible, and we would like to invite you to become a godmother. As a godmother, you will have special privileges, and you will always have someone to turn to in your hour of need. Please reply at your earliest convenience.
Thank you.
Mildred Garvonovich
President, Guild of Godmothers
P.S. Your hair makes me smile. Thank you for bringing smiles to everyone you meet. You would truly be an asset to our team.
Lachele read through the letter again before grabbing her phone to google the Guild of Godmothers. All she could find was a fictional group written about by Caroline Lee, a romance writer who wrote a series called Everland Ever After. Lachele made a quick note to add Ms. Lee’s books to her Kindle before typing out a quick note to send the guild.
She emailed it to Betty Jo, who would polish it up and send it back to the guild. After finishing going through the mail, she closed her office. Betty Jo would need to handle everything for the time she was gone. The two of them had worked together ever since SamiSunshine had had her twins, so she would have no problem. It would mainly be making appointments anyway.
Putting the Guild of Godmothers out of her mind, Dr. Lachele hurried out of her office, excited to see Alexis again. She’d be staying with her old intern, and the two of them would catch up around the countless questions Dr. Lachele would ask Alexis and her friends. It was going to be a fun weekend.
Sam and Margarita would just have to have to manage without her. Her son, Tyson, and his wife, Mercedes, had just had little Preston, so they wouldn’t be around much. Sam would find people to talk to, though. Sam was incapable of not talking. It made him happy.
Two weeks later, Dr. Lachele was sitting behind her desk once again. Thankfully there was no travel that weekend. Instead she was going to have a quiet weekend at home with her new grandbaby and Sam. She couldn’t wait!
She looked through the mail on the corner of her desk again, preferring to go through all mail before she handed it off to Betty Jo. She wasn’t sure why, but she just loved flicking through her mail. It made her heart feel happy.
She stopped when she saw the Guild of Godmothers logo at the top of an envelope, and she tore it open, not bothering with her letter opener. She quickly scanned the letter.
Dear Dr. Lachele,
We are so pleased you’ve agreed to join us in the Guild of Godmothers. We know you will be an incredible asset to our team. I have been given permission to do a distance ceremony with you to give you your powers, and it will take place the evening of April 21st at nine-thirty Mountain Time. I believe that’s eleven-thirty your time. I’m not so good with numbers. I’m a godmother, not a mathematician!
Each godmother has a different gift, and yours could manifest in just about any way. I’m not sure which you will receive, but we will find out soon.
You do not need to be awake for the ceremony. I will perform it while you sleep. I do hope you enjoy having an instant group of friends, even if we are across the country in Everland, Wyoming. Let me know if you need more information.
Your new friend,
Mildred Garvonovich
P.S. Who does your hair? I’m thinking about going pink!
Lachele read through the letter once more. “Powers? What kind of powers?” Lachele wasn’t sure she believed that she was getting any sort of powers at all, but she didn’t care. It was fun to be a godmother. She wondered vaguely if all the other godmothers would be godmothers to her Matchrimony munchkins, but she decided not to ask.
Instead she’d accept whatever powers the godmothers wanted to give her. Because she knew that she needed power to continue to do what she did. Running a full-time counseling office by day and running Matchrimony by night. It was exhausting.
She put the Guild of Godmothers out of her mind, noting absently that the date of her ceremony was the following evening.
Within moments, she was back to working on her mail and no longer thinking about guilds or godmothers or even Godzilla. No, she was thinking about her grandbaby again. Little Preston was going to be spoiled right.
One
Elizabeth Winters hated her job. And her life. Why had she thought being a CPA would be interesting? Yes, she was paid well, but what did that matter without love?
She scowled down at the historical Scottish romance in her hands. She loved thinking about love and life in the past. What would it be like to be married to a hunky man in a kilt? She sighed. She wanted to marry the man on the front of her book, but she happened to know he was a very gay cover model. Even if she was interested in him, he would have no interest in her.
She rubbed the back of her neck, wishing she had an answer to her troubles. She wanted to get away. Beth constantly imagined going to an airport with everything she owned and getting on the first flight anywhere. She didn’t care where.
She had never really had a family, having been raised in a series of foster homes across New York City. She had friends but not a lot. She was closer to her book club group than anyone else in the world. Thankfully tomorrow was book club day.
She got up and went into the bathroom to brush h
er teeth. Going to meet with her friends was more important than reading another book. She’d already read this one a half-dozen times anyway. No, it was better she got a good night’s sleep.
A few minutes later, she was tucked up in bed—with her book. She read for another hour before finally turning out the light. Her mind was on her imaginary Scottish hero. Someday, he’d be hers. If only in her dreams.
Beth was surprised to see a new woman at the book club meeting the next day. She clutched her newest Scottish romance—not the one she’d been reading the night before—in her hand as she went into the little bookstore where they always met. At the back of the room was a table, and all fourteen of them—fifteen this time—crowded around it to discuss their favorite new book they’d read in the past two weeks.
When the book club had started, they’d all tried to read the same book every month, but they’d realized that though they all read romance, they liked different sub-genres of romance, and none of them were happy unless they were allowed to read their own thing. Beth read a lot of Scottish historicals, of course, because who didn’t love a man in a kilt? Some of the others read Regencies, dreaming of themselves married to a duke. Still others loved the old west mail-order–bride thing.
With their book club it didn’t matter what they liked to read, because they all got to talk about it. And they met every other week now instead of once a month. They were too close to wait a full month between meetings. It was something that had slowly grown over time, but Beth loved their group. She’d been a part of it for more than two years, and she hoped they would go on forever.
She took a seat next to the odd purple-haired woman she didn’t know who sat at the end of the table. She smiled sweetly. “I’m Beth.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Beth. I’m Dr. Lachele Simpson. Most people just call me Dr. Lachele.” The woman’s voice was soft and sweet. Beth was immediately drawn to her.
“What are you a doctor of?”
“Psychology. It’s a PhD kind of doctor, not an MD. No one wants me cutting them open. I guarantee it!” Dr. Lachele had a loud, cackling laugh that belied her soft voice.
“No one would want me cutting on them either, I’m afraid.”
Dr. Lachele leaned over and picked up the book Beth had brought with her. She was the first one there—as usual—so they had time to talk before the others arrived. “Is this the book you read for this meeting?”
Beth nodded. “I’m addicted to historical Scottish romance, and I’m not even a little bit ashamed of it.”
“You shouldn’t be. Give me a hot man on the cover of a book any day. And in a kilt? I can see his legs! All for that!” Dr. Lachele grinned. “Romance makes the world go round. I also have a business matching people up at the altar. I really do believe in love.”
“Obviously! What do you mean you match them at the altar? You don’t mean they meet for the first time while they’re marrying, do you?”
Dr. Lachele nodded emphatically. “I sure do. I don’t let them know anything about each other, and I make them go through intense psychological testing first. Trust me, I’m good at what I do.”
Beth sighed. “You don’t happen to have a sexy Scotsman looking for a bride, do you? I’d sure love one.”
“Wouldn’t we all? My Sam is pretty wonderful, but it’s hard not to dream of sexy Scots.”
“Well, you find a sexy Scot, preferably from about the thirteenth century, then send me to him. I won’t complain one little bit.”
“I promise that if I ever find a sexy, thirteenth-century laird, he will be all yours.”
Beth grinned. “That’s all I ask for in life.”
“If I could make it happen, I certainly would. I just got invited to join this strange Guild of Godmothers. Wouldn’t it be a hoot if I had the ability to grant wishes?”
“A real hoot,” Beth said, loving the older woman’s use of the English language. She seemed so real. Out of the corner of her eye, she realized the others had all arrived. “Well, just in case you have gotten the ability to grant wishes, I’m going to make it formal. I hereby wish to marry a thirteenth-century Scottish laird, who will love me as he loves no other.”
Dr. Lachele grinned. “I’ll see what I can do.”
The others sat down, and Beth introduced them one after the other to Dr. Lachele. “This is Emma, and she loves romance set in the early 1900s. Brianna loves contemporary western romance.” Beth pointed to each person as she introduced her. “Penelope likes to read contemporary westerns. Susan loves mail-order brides.”
Susan shook her head. “I’ve been on a huge mail-order bride kick lately, but I do read other stuff.”
“Juliette likes contemporary, especially fake relationships. Gemma is always reading mail-order brides, and she loves books about miners. I don’t know what the appeal is! Taylor is a huge Regency fan. Adeline loves the ’50s, and tries to read romances set then. I think it must be a Dirty Dancing thing! Charlotte loves mail-order brides, too. Barbara and Grace both read Western historicals like they’re going out of style. They keep telling me about this Facebook group called Pioneer Hearts they are in, but I’m not a Facebook person. Lily likes marriage of convenience set in historical Spain, and Lexi will read any historical. Rory loves Regency romance, but especially with dukes. She doesn’t think any man will ever be good enough unless he’s a duke. Helen likes 1920s romances set in Kentucky. I didn’t even know those were a thing before I met her.”
Dr. Lachele shook her head. “I’m never going to remember all that, but it’s good to know. How do you all choose what book you’ll read when you love different things?”
Emma answered that question. “We don’t. We all read whatever we love, and we talk about one new book we’ve read when we meet. We tried to all read the same book, but there was too much arguing. We’re much happier this way.”
“I can believe that.” Dr. Lachele smiled. “Well, I’m glad I read the notice on the bookshop wall that you guys do this. I’m excited.”
By the end of their meeting, Dr. Lachele was fitting right in with the others. “Do you all go out to lunch together after?” she asked. She obviously wasn’t ready for the meeting to end.
Beth frowned. Why had they never gone to lunch together? That was strange. “We don’t usually, but I’d be happy to.” It was that or laundry. Or another date with a book she’d already read a dozen times.
The others all made their excuses, so Beth and Dr. Lachele headed to a small Italian restaurant there in Manhattan. They dodged cars as they crossed streets, and Beth once again longed for a quieter country life. “I hate the traffic in New York,” Beth mumbled.
“You really do kind of belong in the thirteenth century, don’t you?”
“Well, I certainly don’t belong here.” They were seated, and Dr. Lachele smiled. “I was given powers, but I don’t know what they are or what they do. I’m going to twitch my nose and think about your wish. Think it’ll work?”
Beth laughed softly. “How do you have powers and not know how they work?”
“I should have been given an instruction booklet, but I haven’t been yet. I’ll just try.” Dr. Lachele closed her eyes and concentrated, twitching her nose madly.
Gavin McClain was tired. There had been too much sickness in the clans of late, and he was running around everywhere, healing everyone who came along. He stopped his horse beside a stream to drink, and he dismounted. He needed a rest, and he wouldn’t get it once he was back at the keep. Nay, life was too busy for the future laird of their clan. He was just glad his father was still leading the clan while he ran around playing healer.
As he was walking along the stream, he almost tripped over someone in the tall grass. It seemed to be a woman, but her clothing was stranger than anything he’d ever seen. He squatted down beside her, his hand immediately hovering over her chest to be certain she was still alive.
Since he was a small boy, Gavin had the gift of the healing touch. When someone was ill or hurt, he was the
first one called. He was well-known as a healer among the Highland clans who were allies with his own.
The woman gasped as if taking in a first breath after a long time under water. “Who are you?”
Her words sounded strange to him. They were English, and he was fluent in English, but her accent was strong and unfamiliar. “Gavin McClain. Be careful, lass. Ye dinna want to hurt yeself,” he said as she was trying to sit up.
Dinna? Lass? “What year is this?”
“Year?” Gavin shook his head, wondering what was wrong with the woman, but he decided not to ask. He wouldn’t be so rude. “’Tis 1242.”
“1242?” A bubble of laughter built up inside Beth’s chest. “Are you a laird?”
“Nay, but I will be as soon as I marry.”
Beth sighed. Of course he is taken. “I see.”
“Are ye all right, lass?”
“Aye,” she said, trying to mimic his speech patterns. Thankfully she’d read more Scottish historicals than any other woman alive. Surely they would help. Had Dr. Lachele actually done it? Had she been sent back almost eight hundred years? How crazy!
She carefully got to her feet, realizing that the man was staring at her interestedly. The clothes that had been so modest in the twenty-first century didn’t seem nearly modest enough now. Her slacks weren’t tight, but they fit well, letting him see the shape of her legs and bottom. Her blouse wasn’t low cut, but it fit nicely across her breasts.
She brushed off the seat of her pants. “I . . .” Would faking amnesia be the best course of action? She wasn’t sure if they even knew what amnesia was in this period of time. “I canna remember who I am.”
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