To Redeem a Highland Rake: A Historical Scottish Romance (Heart of a Scot Book 2)

by Collette Cameron

  “Aye. Yer right.” His glass resting on his thigh, Logan ran his forefinger around the rim. “What do ye need from me?”

  Coburn gave into the urge to close his heavy eyelids. “The lass wants to know if ye’ll give her a position at Lockelieth. Her father disowned her after our kiss, and she has nae where else to go.”

  “Truly?” Logan’s banyan swished, indicating he’d moved away. “It must’ve been quite a kiss.”

  “Aye, truly he did, and ’twas only a wee kiss.”

  “Hmmp.”

  “Berget Jonston offered her a place to stay tonight,” Coburn said. “Against Lady Stewart’s wishes, I might add. But ’twas only for one night. Lady Stewart is afraid of Arieen’s father.” So was most of Scotland. “I also need the carriage and funds to return to Lockelieth if ye agree to hire her.”

  The robust fire didn’t cause the heat skating up Coburn’s neck to his cheeks. Humiliating as hell to have to ask Logan for money when his pockets weren’t deep either.

  Coburn cracked an eye open and met his cousin’s dubious green-brown eyes, so like his own. “Ye should ken her Da is Robert Flemin’.”

  Logan’s jaw unhinged, and his wide- eyed gaze flew to the partially open door. “Shite.”

  “Exactly.”

  Snapping his mouth closed, Logan veered his focus back to Coburn. “I dinna suppose she’s ever worked a day in her life?”

  “Nae. I dinna think so. But she says she’s willin’ to learn, and for food and board only.”

  “Consider it done. Still, I cannae help but think this disna bode well for either of ye.” Logan cleared his throat, and Coburn opened his eyes a fraction again.

  Coburn recognized the expression on his cousin’s face all too well. Logan was about to lecture him. “Ye’ve somethin’ ye need to say?”

  “I wilna have ye keepin’ her as yer mistress, Coburn. She’ll be a servant, and ye cannae take advantage of that. I dinna need the likes of her Da breathin’ down my neck either. A mon like him can ruin everythin’ I’ve been workin’ for. Ye ken, men of Flemin’s ilk haven’t a qualm about seeking vengeance.”

  Logan’s dream was to restore Lockelieth and make her lands productive once more. He also intended to mine a portion of the land he gained by marrying Mayra. A few words here and there, and Fleming could throw a huge cog in those wheels.

  Coburn adjusted his position on the chair so that his feet were planted on the floor. “Ye ken I’ve never kept a mistress, and I dinna intend to start now. Besides, Flemin’ told Arieen she wasn’t his progeny before abandoning her at the ball. She truly has nowhere to go.”

  “What a heartless bastard.” Eyes narrowed the merest bit, Logan cocked his head. “Does it bother ye she wilna marry ye?”

  Aye, it does but it shouldn’t.

  Coburn took a swallow, relishing the gradual burn to his belly before answering. “Nae really. As ye said, I never wanted to marry. If ye’ll give her a place to live, I dinna have to feel guilty, nor do I have to shackle myself to a coddled chit for the rest of my life. Nae kiss is worth that sacrifice.”

  Hers might’ve been.

  “The feeling is mutual, Mr. Wallace, and it’s a relief to know neither of us will be saddled with that burden.”

  Coburn and Logan jerked upright as Arieen, her movements sleek and graceful, slipped into the study.

  Och, hell’s bloody bells. Chagrin kicked Coburn in the ribs. From her stiff posture and starchy glances, she’d heard him.

  “Please forgive the intrusion,” she said. “But as ’tis already nearly one of the clock in the morning, I must have an answer. I cannot expect the Stewarts to await my arrival much longer.”

  They’d probably given up on her coming, truth to tell.

  Her troubled gaze met Coburn’s.

  Ach, the thought had crossed her mind as well.

  Compassion for her plight jockeyed for position against regret for her overhearing his callous remark. His blasted pride had been speaking.

  Logan placed his glass on the side table and discreetly tugged his robe over his legs, making himself more respectable.

  She didn’t seem to notice. Her shoulders drooped from fatigue, and Coburn swore her lashes were spikier than they’d been earlier.

  Had she been crying?

  Was she the type to hide her tears and only cry when alone?

  Not once during this ordeal had Arieen complained, whined, or ranted about her circumstances. If she’d succumbed to tears in private, he couldn’t fault her, and her fortitude earned his admiration.

  “Miss Flemin’, I’ve agreed to employ ye at my Keep. I honestly dinna ken what my staff may need help with, but Mrs. Granger will assign ye yer duties. Because ye’ve nae experience, I’ll pay ye half wages for the first six months.”

  Coburn shot Logan a surprised glance. He should’ve known his cousin wouldn’t take advantage.

  “Ye’ll be provided two uniforms, and have Sunday afternoons off.” Logan rubbed an eyebrow, his weariness apparent as well. “I’d offer ye a chamber above stairs, but I fear it would incite jealousy, and yer already goin’ to have to prove yerself to the rest of the help.”

  Hands neatly clasped before her, nothing about Arieen suggested she was anything but a cultured lady. She dipped her head, the movement at once elegant and acquiescent. “Thank you, my lord.”

  “Well then, I’m to bed.” Logan slapped his hand on the chair’s arms and pushed to his feet. He pulled the bell, and a moment later Armstrong entered. Probably hovering in the corridor wishing they’d get on with it so he could seek his bed once more.

  “Sir?”

  “Please see a bed in the servant’s quarter’s is readied for Miss Flemin’.”

  One of the servant’s bushy brows shied upward.

  There was no help for it. Arieen couldn’t sleep in the parlor, giving her a bedchamber would ignite a firestorm of rumors, and arriving at the Stewarts at this ungodly hour wasn’t done.

  Logan leveled him a bland look. “She’s to be the new maid of all work at Lockelieth and will depart with my cousin after breakin’ her fast in the mornin’.”

  At least Coburn didn’t have to rise before the sun. One bright spot in all of this chaos.

  “Indeed, sir.” His doubt as tangible as the glimmering tapers in the candelabra, the butler left.

  Pale but poised, Arieen fingered her sword. She knew as well as Coburn did that by tomorrow afternoon, everyone who was anyone would have learned Arieen Fleming, disowned daughter of rich-as-Croesus Robert Fleming, had been reduced to a lowly maid-of-all-work at a crumbling Highland keep.

  “I’m loath to ask, but might I impose upon you further, my lord?” Her tentative smile revealed her discomfiture.

  “If I can, Miss Flemin’. What do ye require?” Logan slid Coburn a questioning glance, but he lifted a shoulder.

  He hadn’t a clue what she wanted.

  She traced her sword’s sheath with her fingertips, revealing she wasn’t as composed as she’d have them believe. “I have need of paper and ink, so I can let Berget know why I didn’t come tonight and also to tell my fa— that is, Robert Fleming, where to send my belongings. Naturally, the missives cannot be sent until morn, but I anticipate the footman delivering them might bring me word of my stepmother’s labor. Or if the bairn has been born yet and how they both fare.”

  In the midst of her own troubles, she worried for her less-than-kind stepmother and the babe. Arieen Fleming had a pure heart. She also didn’t display the temperament a spoiled lass usually did. She’d accepted her reduction in circumstances with poise and grace.

  Yet, she rejected Coburn’s suit without even giving him any consideration. He couldn’t help but wonder if it was because of his lowly status despite her protests she wanted to choose her own husband. Best wait until he knew how she fared as the lowest servant at Lockelieth before raining anymore accolades upon her.

  “Of course. I’ll have them brought to—” Logan paused. Head tilted, he consi
dered her. “Miss Flemin’, can ye calculate sums and keep records?”

  Her gaze snapped to Logan’s, and her fingers stilled upon her sword’s sheath.

  Coburn didn’t like the slightly cunning expression glinting in Logan’s eyes.

  “Yes, my lord. I am well educated and spent three years in London learning social etiquette and decorum.”

  “Ach, I wondered at yer perfect English,” Logan said.

  Hope bloomed across her face.

  “Have you need of a governess?” The glance she sliced Coburn was just slight of triumphant, and pity swept him. “I play two instruments and speak three languages. I have studied geography—”

  Logan raised his hand, palm outward.

  “Nae, no’ a governess, but a secretary of sorts.”

  Lockelieth Keep, Scottish Highlands

  One Week Later

  Coburn descended the last stair as a flash of scarlet disappeared down the corridor, revealing Arieen was already about her duties. Never had a woman distracted him as much as she did, and he found himself hard put to resist pulling her into his arms and kissing her breathless each time he encountered her. Which occurred multiple times daily.

  His common sense scolding him soundly for yielding to temptation, he followed her to the study. She’d left the door open, and he took a few moments to savor observing her.

  Lower lip caught between her teeth, and holding her spectacles, she drew the candlestick nearer as she peered at the ledger. The feminine writing desk she sat at had been his mother’s. He’d asked the piece be placed before a bookshelf near the fireplace, so she wouldn’t become chilled in the dark and drafty chamber.

  Another, more selfish reason had motivated him to offer the desk’s usage, and moving it into the study, rather than her chamber or the library. The days he worked in here, she’d be but a few feet away. He’d begun to crave her presence, much like a tippler lusted after his rum.

  “How is my mother’s desk workin’ out for ye?” he asked from the doorway.

  Jumping, she dropped her spectacles and nearly toppled the inkwell too. “You startled me Coburn. I didn’t expect you this morning. I thought you were training the horses again today.”

  He ambled in and after crossing to her, ran a finger over the desk’s burnished wood. “I saw ye scurryin’ in here and couldn’t resist followin’ ye.”

  “Oh.” At his admission, her eyes went soft, and her pretty lips parted.

  He stepped ’round the desk and resting a hip on the edge, mere inches from her, picked up her spectacles. “Have I told ye how adorable ye look wearin’ these?”

  Lifting them to eye height, he squinted and peered through the lenses. Everything was blurry.

  “I don’t think adorable is how I’d describe how I appear in them.” Forming a moue with her mouth, she wrinkled her nose. “More like a frumpy spinster or a stuffy bluestocking.”

  She accepted them from him, and after carefully laying them atop the ledger, gazed up at him. “Did you need something?”

  What would she do if he asked for a kiss?

  Just a wee one?

  Nae. Logan had warned him away from her.

  “Nae. I just wanted to make sure yer adjustin’ to Lockelieth and dinna have need of anythin’.” His fabricated excuse sounded feeble even to him.

  Her bright smile lit her eyes, yet sadness also lurked in their green depths. “I’m well content.”

  “Have ye had any word from Flemin’ about the bairn?” he asked, more as an excuse to linger than any real interest in anything related to the Scot.

  She shook her head, and her hair—worn down today and held back with a black ribbon across her brow—billowed around her shoulders. “I know nothing other than Morag was still in labor when the footman retrieved my belongings.”

  “Sorry I am for ye.” He covered her hand with his palm. “I ken ye received a couple of letters yesterday. I’d hoped one was word about the child. I ken ye’ve fretted on the matter.”

  Arieen had a compassionate heart. And a commendable sense of duty. The staff already adored her.

  “Those were from Berget and Emeline.” She sat back in her chair and fiddled with the edge of her plaid shawl. “Are you always so concerned with others’ welfare?”

  Flashing her a boyish grin, he twitched the end of her quill. “I try to be, but I am most especially when it comes to ye, lass.”

  In a subtle test, he bent his head nearer.

  She didn’t turn her face away, but instead dropped her gaze to his lips.

  Precisely the answer he sought.

  He touched his mouth to hers—a tender sweep, nothing more—then framed her delicate jaw between his thumb and forefinger.

  “I’d see ye happy, Arieen.”

  Her lashes fluttered open. “I have days when I am, and staying busy helps. I’ve learned to make cock-a-leekie soup and bread.” Her cheeks turned rosy, and he withdrew his hand. “Mrs. McIntyre’s been most kind to teach me how to cook.”

  He folded his arms, and chin lowered, regarded her. “Ye want to learn how to cook?”

  She gave an animated nod. “Aye. And anything else the others have time to teach me.”

  “Ye, Arieen Flemin’ are a captivatin’ and confoundin’ wonder.” Coburn put a bent knuckle to her satiny cheek. “Are ye sure ye wilna marry me? Some say I’m charmin’.” He waggled his eyebrows.

  “I…” She blinked and darted her gaze around the study, then straightened and donned a prim mien. “I’ve seen firsthand how charming you are, Coburn Wallace.” She folded her arms, one ebony brow cocked wryly. “I’m willing to bet there’s a long list of other lasses who’ve personally experienced those charms.”

  “I was but teasin’ ye, lass.”

  He winked and stood, hiding how her rejection stung. He’d not make the mistake again. She might enjoy his kisses, but she wasn’t ever going to consider him for a husband. She might be a servant now, but in her heart, she’d always be a lady, and ladies didn’t marry the likes of him. “I’ll leave ye to yer work.”

  Before he stepped into the corridor, realization slammed into him, stealing his breath.

  He hadn’t been teasing at all.

  Maybe the time had come to bid Logan and Lockelieth farewell after all.

  Another three weeks passed, and Arieen had settled into a comfortable routine. She hummed and tapped the toes of one foot as she studied the ledger. Even after all this time, Coburn’s thoughtfulness and generosity at permitting her to use his mother’s desk touched her.

  She glanced to the grudging light filtering through the trio of mullioned windows along the study’s south side. The torrential rain of the past two days had finally stopped, but laden clouds rendered the sky a cranky gray. Hopefully, the roads weren’t impassible. Mayra Findlay and her family were due to arrive tomorrow for her wedding in a fortnight to Laird Rutherford.

  Coburn and one of the clansmen walked past the windows. Head angled to hear what the Scot said, he glanced inside.

  Arieen’s heart hurtled to her throat. She smiled and gave a finger wave, promptly feeling daft for doing so. Until he gave her one of his wolfish grins and a wicked wink.

  Of all the ridiculous things, a thrill of sensation pulsed through her.

  She watched until his impressively wide back was out of sight. How often did she do that of late? Like a moon-eyed lass, she covertly stole peeks at him whenever she had the chance.

  There’d been no more delicious kisses from him, more was the pity.

  That day, three weeks ago when he’d asked her if she was sure she wouldn’t marry him, she’d almost said maybe she would. Until she realized he jested.

  Shivering, she tucked the plaid shawl snugger around her shoulders. The fireplace behind her crackled with a hearty fire, but the medieval castle’s crude stones sucked the heat from the high-ceilinged room.

  Bending to her task once more, she calculated the sums again and pulled a face.

  Was that number a se
ven or a nine?

  Her spectacles made the task easier, and she gave a small smile whilst adjusting them atop the bridge of her nose. Thank goodness they’d been among the items in the single valise filled with her possessions the footman had brought her in Edinburgh.

  From the odd assortment stuffed in the satchel, a maid had hastily packed it, shoving as much in as would fit. She’d thought to include Arieen’s brush, comb, and jewels. Not that she had many. Only a few pieces that had been her mother’s, including a striking ruby and heart-shaped pearl brooch adorned with hugging doves.

  A wonder Robert hadn’t confiscated them. Perhaps he’d been too preoccupied with his wife’s labor, or mayhap he hadn’t seen the maid stuff the gems in Arieen’s satchel.

  A wistful sigh escaped her. He’d been looking for an excuse to rid himself of her, and he’d found it. It hurt though. Immeasurably. Moisture blurred her eyes, and her nostrils tingled from the tears that threatened.

  Arching her back, Arieen closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose above her spectacle’s wire. She refused to shed more tears over the matter or wallow in self-pity. She had a position now, and must do her utmost to assure she kept it.

  If she didn’t...

  Nae, ’tis unthinkable.

  Logan Rutherford had gone well outside the bounds by retaining her for what was surely a man’s position. He’d assigned her—a complete stranger—with tasks that should’ve been reserved for a trusted secretary.

  Arieen set the ledger aside whilst drawing another, bulkier volume before her. After opening the nut-brown leather cover, she found where she’d left off yesterday and studied the entry. She found she rather enjoyed the detailed work, and when her nose wasn’t buried in a register, she insisted on helping with whatever tasks Mrs. Granger might need help completing.

  Thus far, besides soup and bread, she’d learned to make oatmeal and tea, how to wash linens, polish the woodwork, and change her sheets. Her offers to help in the stables had been met with incredulous expressions and lifted brows, and thus far hadn’t been accepted.

  A gratified smile curved her mouth.