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

by Collette Cameron

No one could accuse her of putting on airs. Everyone pitched in where needed at Lockelieth, including Coburn. He wore several mantles at the Keep: the laird’s second-in-command, steward, war chief, and several times, she’d seen him working with the horseflesh.

  That was always a pleasant sight. She glanced through the windows toward the stables, a smile arcing her mouth. At that moment, a groom passed by, leading the draft horse she’d seen Coburn training.

  If only Arieen might ride again. Not since London had she sat a horse, but ’twas the lengthy rides across the Highland moors she yearned for. She’d have a hard time contriving an excuse as to why her current obligations required her to make use of Laird Rutherford’s stables though.

  “Tea, miss?” Bearing a tray, Mrs. Granger bustled into the study, hurtling Arieen back to the present. A sunny smile lighting her jovial face, the housekeepers tsked. “Ye missed the midday meal again.”

  She’d skipped the meal on purpose, wanting to prove she was a diligent, capable worker.

  The housekeeper lifted the tray an inch. “I’ve a Scotch pie and shortbread too. ’Tis still warm.”

  Cook’s pies and shortbread were the best Arieen had ever tasted. She grinned and eagerly closed the ledger before clearing a spot atop the desk. “You spoil me, Mrs. Granger, and you ought not to. I’m a servant as well.”

  “Yer talkin’ mince, lass. That’s pure rubbish.” The housekeeper clicked her tongue and placed the tray before Arieen. “We all ken yer a fine lady.”

  What else did the others know about her? Doubtless everything.

  Laird Rutherford would’ve had to give an explanation for her presence, particularly since he was betrothed. And no one could deny it was highly unusual for a woman to be employed as a secretary. The truth must’ve been revealed. Or a portion of it.

  Despite Arieen’s determination to make the best of her situation, mortification stung and made her cheeks tingle. Nonetheless, she donned a brave smile.

  “Won’t you join me, Mrs. Granger?”

  Mrs. Granger clicked her tongue again. “Goodness me, nae. No’ with the weddin’ but days away. We’ve rooms to prepare and food to cook. We’ve hired two more footmen, a groom, three maids, and a scullery maid for the foreseeable future. There’s too much needs doin’ for a proper joinin’ celebration.”

  She beamed while circling the room, first putting a book aright, then fluffing a shabby pillow, and finally adjusting a slightly lopsided painting. Mrs. Granger took her duties seriously, and despite Lockelieth’s age and need for refurbishment, the Keep was clean and tidy.

  “What can I help with? Please, you must let me.” Arieen poured the brew and inhaled the fragrant steam. “As I said yesterday, I don’t think the laird will mind if I put aside the ledgers for a day or two and assist you.”

  She wasn’t positive he wouldn’t object, and she’d make sure to ask this afternoon, but until she’d inquired, it couldn’t hurt to offer a hand.

  Mrs. Granger’s round face creased in thoughtful contemplation.

  “Ye receive his lairdship’s permission first. Afterward, I’ll assign ye tasks.” She ordered the laird’s desk, placing his quill just so. Stopping abruptly, she glanced up, her kind face crinkled. “Oh, and Master Coburn sent word. He’d like ye to come to the stables as soon as possible.”

  A bite of Scotch pie on her fork, Arieen paused. “Did he say why?”

  Coburn had never summoned her before.

  Was that why she’d seen him outside the study earlier?

  The housekeeper lifted a shoulder as she toed a stray coal back toward the fire. “Nae, but he advises ye to dress warmly.”

  Mrs. Granger scanned the chamber one last time, and satisfied, bobbed her head, a twinkle in her eye. “When yer done with Master Coburn, ye might want to peek into the kitchen. We’re havin’ rumbledethumps for dinner.”

  Besides clootie dumpling, rumbledethumps were Arieen’s favorite food. “Oh, I shall for certain.”

  With another warm smile, the housekeeper went on her way.

  Arieen ate half the Scotch pie, but curious to find out what Coburn wanted, left the rest and grabbed two shortbread biscuits before hurrying to her chamber. She’d return the tray to the kitchen later.

  She’d expected to sleep in the servants’ quarters, but Laird Rutherford had instructed her to be given the vacant governess’s room. Arieen supposed her post was similar to a governess’s station—not one of the serving staff, but not part of the family either. A person caught between two worlds and belonging to neither.

  Her chest pulsed with a queer ache. Would she ever have a family of her own? Though Robert couldn’t force her to marry any more, as a misfit between social classes, her prospects remained few.

  Coburn’s face, complete with a roguish grin, sprang to her mind. Womanizers didn’t marry penniless outcasts. Immediately her conscience chided her. That was unfair. He’d been nothing but gallant and respectful to her since her arrival.

  That wee kiss in the study couldn’t be counted against him, since she’d basically invited it.

  A half-smile curving her mouth at the warm memory, she opened her wardrobe. Only one outer garment had been amongst her belongings, a simple black woolen cloak. After she’d secured the clasps at her neck, she popped the last of the buttery shortbread in her mouth.

  A few moments later, she exited the Keep.

  A bailey lay before her, and several clansmen went about their tasks. A sturdy wee pony attached to a cart waited patiently for whomever had left him there, and a few chickens clucked and pecked the ground.

  She recalled from her bedchamber’s view, the stables lay to the west of the inner courtyard. Having stayed inside the Keep since her arrival, Arieen turned in a slow circle to get her bearings. There. The roofs of two barns obstructed the horizon.

  Mindful not to step in puddles or the occasional animal droppings, she swiftly made her way across the cobblestones, all the while looking about. The people at Lockelieth were an industrious lot, and the bailey was clean and orderly, though several structures could benefit from repairs.

  As she strode past, men and women nodded or offered smiles, while others bent their head near and murmured.

  A chilling thought caused a hitch in her stride. Did they know why she was here?

  What did it matter? She’d bid her reputation farewell at McCullough’s ball. She had a chance to prove herself here. And she would, by jimble.

  Approaching the stables, she glanced around.

  A pair of Scots filled a wagon with what looked to be soiled straw from the stalls, and another two chatted in the paddock, where a handful of sheep huddled in a corner. In the crisp, green meadows beyond, shaggy Highland cattle milled about in one pasture, and fluffy sheep clustered together in another. In the field nearest the Keep, horses grazed, including the magnificent animal Coburn had worked with.

  “Afternoon, Miss Flemin’.” A groom walked past, leading two saddled horses.

  “Good afternoon, Lachlan.”

  Stepping through the open double doors, she blinked against the sudden dimness. Familiar odors: straw, horses, and liniment met her nose. Inhaling a deep breath, she savored the comforting smells.

  Sharp pangs of homesickness cramped her lungs and tears smarted behind eyes. She’d put on a brave front, but the truth was, Robert’s renouncement had devastated her.

  After a moment, her eyes cleared of moisture and grew accustomed to the faint light.

  Coburn was nowhere in sight.

  “Coburn?”

  “I’m in here.” His auburn head appeared a few stalls down. A wide grin dividing his face, and his eyes alight with excitement, he motioned to her. “Come. I want ye to see this.”

  Curious what could have him acting like a laddie, she drew near. Nothing was visible from her angle, but as she stepped closer, a regal sorrel whickered softly.

  Coburn’s hot gaze slid over Arieen, a potent caress before he dropped his attention to the floor and jutted his
chin.

  “Arieen, look.”

  An hours-old, coal-black foal with four white socks stood beside the mare.

  Arieen leaned over the stall door. “Oh, Coburn. She’s absolutely lovely.” She shifted her focus to the mare. “And you are too, Mum. Well done, lass.”

  “That’s Una.” He bent and ran a suntanned hand down the foal’s side. “This wee lass disna have a name yet. Logan wants Mayra to name her. She’s to be the new mistress’s horse. A weddin’ present.”

  “What a wonderfully thoughtful gift.” The laird truly loved his lady.

  Coburn gave her a sideways look and put one long finger to his lip. “Dinna say anythin’. ’Tis a secret. Logan wasnae sure the wee one would arrive in time.”

  “I shan’t say a word. I’m sure Mayra will be thrilled.”

  Arieen would’ve been.

  She retreated a step as he made to open the stall door, and her cloak snagged on a splinter midway down.

  Coburn gave the partition a nudge.

  “Wait, I’m caught.” She only had one cloak, and she’d rather not have to mend it. Bending at the waist, she gently worked the fabric free. “There. Not even a snag.”

  Smiling in approval, she raised her eyes.

  Like that night at the ball, their gazes tangled and held fast. Once more, she couldn’t look away—didn’t want to look away—from the raw hunger in his.

  Dark green rimmed the outside of his irises, and as they gazed into each other’s eyes, a connection, almost a physical bond, zipped between them. With supreme effort, she lowered her eyes, only to encounter his splendid, flawless mouth.

  Lord help her, she wanted to kiss him again.

  “Arieen.” He breathed her name, a reverent, seductive purr, and tenderly palmed her cheek.

  Laird and saints and angels help her.

  “Do ye ken yer eyes are sparklin’ with longin’, leannan?” He pressed his mouth to her forehead, her nose, and finally her lips.

  A teasing wisp, which only made her crave more.

  She clutched at the door, her legs gone soft as warm marmalade.

  He’d put her right off her stride, he had. Oh, the rakish devil. Right when she thought she was on a solid path, he rocked her world, tipped her off that precarious perch she’d been balancing on for weeks.

  She had feelings for this man. Strong feelings she could no longer deny.

  Arieen might’ve said she was relieved to not be forced into marriage with him—and she was—but that didn’t change the fact that he stirred something in her, which had never been previously awakened.

  Her femininity screeched at her to give in, to yield to the attraction.

  She’d heard the laird order Coburn to leave her be, to not make her his mistress. She’d lose her position for certain if she succumbed to this madness.

  The risk was simply too great.

  Deliberately shutting her eyes to block the oh-so-tempting desire on his face, she took an ungraceful wobbly clomp backward and managed to swiftly spin away.

  He chuckled, that irritating, delicious low rumble, and the gate clicked shut. “I’ll be back later, Una, to check on ye and yer bairn.”

  Arieen kept her back to him. Wiser that way. Less enticing.

  For in moments like these, when she looked at him, and recognized the undeniable longing in his eyes, all rational thought flitted away like thistledown caught in the wind.

  “Mrs. Granger said you wanted to see me, Coburn?” She wrapped her ungloved hands in the cloak’s fold. Gloves hadn’t been included in the valise, and the cost of new ones was too dear to contemplate right now. “Was it about the foal? If so, I thank you for thinking of me, but I should return to my duties.”

  The laird was due back from Glenliesh Village soon, and his new secretary shouldn’t be found dallying with his cousin.

  She started when Coburn took her elbow. “I thought ye might enjoy a ride. I dinna ken why I didna think of that afore.”

  Oh, nae ye dinna.

  Time alone with him was the last thing she needed at the moment. “I’m not sure the laird—”

  “Logan already gave his consent, and Mrs. Granger told me ye said ye’d put aside yer work to help with the weddin’ preparations. So ye cannae claim ye’ve too much to do.” Coburn continued to lead her toward the paddock.

  Mrs. Granger, the sly dear. She contrived the whole thing. Was she trying to play matchmaker? Or was Coburn such a rogue the aged housekeeper couldn’t resist his charms?

  They emerged, and Arieen blinked from the brightness this time. More blue skies filled the heavens and pristine white clouds mixed with pewter ones.

  Lachlan waited for them, holding the horses’ reins.

  “Badly done of you, Mr. Wallace,” Arieen chided.

  “Dinna get yer feathers ruffled, lass,” Coburn whispered in her ear. “I was tryin’ to please ye. Ye’ve been workin’ hard since ye arrived, nae takin’ yer half days.”

  She stopped mid-stride and gave him an incredulous look. “Where would I have gone? I don’t know anyone here.”

  “Aye, that’s true.” He guided her to the horses. “I’ve nae chance to be with ye alone,” he murmured low.

  One hand on the mount’s mane, she sliced him a startled glance.

  He’d wanted to be alone with her?

  She shouldn’t be thrilled, but she was.

  More than thrilled.

  Dinna be a bampot, Arieen Gillian Kinna Fleming.

  Rakes like Coburn Wallace know exactly what to say to woo lasses into their beds. Giving him a strident look, she assumed her most prim air.

  “One short ride, Mr. Wallace. This isn’t to become a habit.”

  She permitted him to hand her into the saddle, and while she arranged her skirts and cloak before pulling the hood over her head, he mounted his horse.

  They rode in contented silence for several minutes, and Arieen had to admit ’twas delightful. She’d always preferred the Highlands’ tranquil air and slower pace.

  Life was simpler here. Easier. Less complicated.

  A startled red grouse took wing, and as the bird flew away, Arieen took in her surroundings. Heavily-budded purple heather covered the moorlands. This might not be the home of her childhood, but anywhere in the Highlands would always feel that way. This was where she belonged, even if ’twas as a disgraced woman.

  She smiled at Coburn’s wide back as he rode slightly ahead of her.

  “Thank you, Coburn, for insisting I join you. I appreciate this more than I can say. I’ve missed riding in the Highlands.”

  He slowed his gelding until they were side by side. Resting his forearm on his thigh, he ran his fingers along the reins as he gazed out over the landscape. Fine auburn stubble covered his angular cheeks and jaw.

  “Look, Arieen,” he said softly, pointing to a rocky slope.

  Turning her head, she stifled a gasp. Magnificent and majestic, a white stag stood amongst the heather and boulders, his head gloriously raised and the tips of his antlers glimmering from the sunlight.

  “I didn’t think white harts truly existed,” she whispered, unable to look away.

  “There’ve been rumors of sightin’s for years, but this is the first time I’ve seen him.” Awe rendered Coburn’s tone husky. He spoke from the side of his mouth. “Do ye ken the legend of the white stag?”

  Arieen gave the slightest nod, afraid of startling the animal. “Aye. I’ve heard he’s a symbol for the quest for spiritual knowledge.”

  “That, and his appearance is said to brin’ change to the lives of those who encounter them. I’ve never been much into superstitions, but today...” He paused, and an inflection in his voice caused her to give him an acute look.

  The stag bolted at her sudden movement, and a distressed sound escaped her. “Och, nae. I could’ve watched him for hours.”

  “Me as well.” With a click of his tongue, Coburn urged his horse forward.

  Wouldn’t it be something if the stag’s sighting truly
was providential?

  They rode in silence for several more minutes. Occasionally, a bird flew off or a hare bolted across the path.

  “Coburn? Does it ever bother you Laird Rutherford owns all of this?” She made a sweeping gesture. “And you work for him?”

  “Nae. He was born to it, and I wisna. I’m happy doin’ what I do. Besides, he’s like a brother to me, and he treats me as an equal.” He shook his head. “Nae, I dinna begrudge him, and I’m thankful to no’ have the responsibility he carries.”

  He straightened in the saddle and surveyed the cottages dotting the landscape.

  “All of these people rely upon him. On his protection and leadership.” He swept a hand before him. “’Tis nae easy burden to bear. I do what I can to ease it, but I dinna want to take his place.”

  “That says a lot about you, and I think he’s fortunate to have you.” She swatted at an insect buzzing around her face. “I haven’t any cousins.”

  “Or kin either?”

  Though his question was casual, she angled her head and gave him a searching look. “Not that I’m aware of.”

  Scraping a hand through his hair, he breathed out a long breath. “We have a problem, lass.” He veered her a short, serious glance. “Which is the other reason I wanted to get ye away from the Keep.”

  Queer disappointment wrestled with accusation. She should’ve known he was up to something. Almost a month, and he just now decided to take her riding?

  She studied his taut jaw, tense shoulders, and the four lines wrinkling his forehead. An undeniable nuance of tension hovered about him. The thought plucked at her already-frayed nerves.

  This was the same solemn man who’d tried hard to persuade her to marry him.

  The same man who said he was glad not to have to shackle himself to a coddled chit.

  Arieen also slowed her horse, apprehension unmercifully digging its nasty pointed claws into her spine. Had the laird told Coburn to dismiss her? Already?

  Anxiety knotted her belly. What had she done? Wracking her brain, she tried to recall a misstep or breach of decorum she’d committed.

  “A problem?” Squeezing the reins, she pulled her brows together. “Have I done something wrong? Committed an offense?”