Lord Sebastian and the Scottish Lass

by Christine Donovan

  Lord Sebastian and the Scottish Lass

  A Seabrook Family Sage, Book Four

  By Christine Donovan

  Copyright @ 2016 by Christine Donovan

  Cover Design by Kendra Egert

  Edited by Judy Roth

  All right reserved.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. To obtain permission to except portions of the text, please contact the author at christinedonovan6@verizon.net

  This book is a historical work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual events, locals or persons living or dead are entirely coincidental.

  Sign up for Christine’s newsletter to be informed of new releases and to be eligible for special contests and prizes. You can sign up on Christine’s website at http://www.christinedonovan.org/

  Also by Christine Donovan

  A Seabrook Family Saga Series

  THE RELUCTANT DUKE

  THE LADY AND THE EARL

  THE LADY MUST CHOOSE

  A Standish Bay Romance Series

  BLACKJACK

  BRIDGET

  MITCH

  SUNSET BEACH

  This book is dedicated to the members of RIRW (Rhode Island Romance Writers). Without you, your support and encouragement over the years, none of this would be possible.

  The very first time I walked into a meeting, I looked around the room at all the welcoming smiles and I knew I found the group I would belong to forever.

  I love you all!

  I want to thank my husband, Michael and my four sons, Shawn, Matt, Danny and Joey for all your support and understanding over the years when dinner was late and the laundry didn’t get done. My mother, Alberta Murray, and my sister, Karen Gomer, for always being there for me and listening to me share my ideas for new stories. Joanne Smart for being my first reader and always being honest and having great feedback.

  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

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  EPILOGUE

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  COMING SOON

  Chapter One

  Northern England

  1818

  Jagged bolts of lightning followed by ear splitting thunder caused every muscle in Sebastian Seabrook’s body to constrict. Halfpenny sized raindrops pelted him from every conceivable direction as the wind howled relentlessly. His tired and frightened gelding needed shelter, as did he. Why on earth did I volunteer to go on this mission?

  When next the lightning bolt lit up the scarcely traveled muddy road, it struck a tree in close proximity. The explosion shook the ground beneath him. His horse, spooked, reared up nearly unseating him and then bolted. Not down the muddy road, but into the woods. Sebastian fought with the reins, gave up the struggle to keep them in his hands and leaned far forward wrapping his arms around his horse’s neck and holding on for his life. “Please God,” he prayed. “I only wish to go home.”

  Each and every time the sky lit up, he realized his horse carried them deeper and deeper into the unknown forest. If Sebastian had not been lost before, he certainly was now. His brother, the Duke, had wanted to hire Bow Street Runners for this quest, but no, he’d volunteered against his family’s wishes. He could hear the conversation clear as day inside his head even now over the noise of the storm raging around him.

  “I will go,” Sebastian Seabrook, the younger brother to the Duke of Wentworth said to his family as they discussed what to do about a mysterious missive they received from a young girl claiming to be their father’s natural born daughter.

  “You want to go?” questioned Wentworth.

  “Why not?” Sebastian sipped his tea and took a mouthful of biscuit. “I have nothing keeping me here and the official Season has ended. Why you insist on the family staying in London in the heat of the summer is beyond me.”

  “Yes, well.” Wentworth cleared his throat. “Since my lovely wife, Emma, is expecting, I believe we will retire to the country for several months. Why don’t you join us and leave this investigation to our friend, Mr. Smythe.”

  “Because I have to go.”

  Didn’t his family understand? He needed to get away and clear his head. Find purpose in his life. Ever since the one person he thought he would wed left him, he’d drifted in a sea of uncertainty. He needed to find himself again and perhaps this quest would help him. Also, he wanted to bring the girl home to his family safe and sound.

  Marissa Frederickson, the woman he thought he would marry—eventually—fell in love with a military man and to her brother’s shock ran off. Bloody hell, she just left without a word to Sebastian or anyone else for that matter. He couldn’t honestly say his heart was broken, but it pained nonetheless. He and Marissa had been friends since childhood, and everyone thought they would marry in due time. How had they all been wrong, including him?

  Now Sebastian had no prospects. Nor did the thought of spending time in the country appeal to him. The thought of traveling to Northern England seeking his dead father’s natural daughter seemed as good an idea as any to break free from the monotony of London in the off Season.

  Lightning struck close again and he yelled, “Bloody hell, will this storm never abate.” His horse began to tire, but he didn’t slow. More spooked than ever he continued on. The rain intensified, which Sebastian didn’t think was possible, but it did. He didn’t risk letting one hand free from gripping his horse’s mane to wipe the cold rainwater from his eyes, therefore, he could barely make out his horse’s ears, never mind where they were headed.

  Suddenly, his horse stopped, spun around and reared up, this time unseating Sebastian. The ground crashed up to meet him with such force it stole his breath away. Then just as quickly, the soaking ground vanished and he went sliding down. Mud, rocks, tree branches tore painfully into his body. He threw his arms up protecting his head. He tumbled still, hit something hard, rock or tree, it didn’t matter as pain exploded throughout his thigh and arm. At least he stopped falling.

  Having come to rest on his back, he took quick breaths to fight the nauseating pain and the spinning of his head. Sebastian tried to lean up and look at his now numbing leg but couldn’t manage it and groaned as he lay back. Every part of his body screamed in agony, and he didn’t have the energy or will to move. All he wanted to do was close his eyes and rest, but he knew it would be the death of him. So he fought it to no avail. The sound of the rain hitting the trees and leaves and splashing onto the mud soaked ground soothed him and he slept to escape the pain, the cold, and the drenching rain.

  “Wakey, wakey, govner.”

  The first thing Sebastian became aware of was a man’s voice and a boot shoving relentlessly into his aching side. The second thing he became aware of was every part of his body hurt like bloody hell.

  Where was h
e?

  What had happened?

  Then he remembered the storm, his horse bolting and throwing him, then falling down some kind of embankment. He didn’t want to open his eyes. He didn’t want to wake up. Being awake meant pain, unbearable, unforgiving agonizing pain.

  “Wake up.” Another set of boots came into his field of vision.

  This time the boot stomped on his stomach. Sebastian curled partway on his side and retched up what little food he’d consumed that day.

  “For the love of God, leave me be,” he croaked as he squinted, trying to make out the men belonging to the voices and the confounded boot.

  “Oh, dinnae you worry, govner,” one of the men drawled. “Once we have what we want, we’ll leave you.” Sick laughter surrounded him. “Of course once we leave, you’ll be meeting your maker.”

  Sebastian struggled to rise, to no avail. His body was wounded more than he realized. “I’ll pay you. Just leave me be.”

  Strong hands patted him down, tearing his cloak and boots from his battered body. Then he heard the unmistakable sound of his coin purse being tossed around. “Seems we found ourselves a rich noble.”

  Sebastian reached out with his good arm. “There is more where that came from. My family will pay greatly for my safe return.”

  “We are nay do-gooders.”

  Sebastian watched with horror as one of the men raised his foot and crashed it down on his head. Pain exploded, and right before darkness descended, his body was kicked and he began to tumble once again. Only this time when he stopped, freezing water splashed around him.

  ***

  “Hurry Lachlan,” they are getting away.”

  “What would ye have me do, sister of mine, give chase tae the highwaymen or save the poor mon’s life?”

  Lady Teagan Murray put her hands on her hips and glared at her twin. “Weel, by the looks of him, he is already dead.”

  Her brother knelt by the man, put his hand on his chest, his ear near his mouth. “He lives. Hurry, help me drag him out of the water.”

  Teagan sighed, marched over and grabbed the man’s bootless feet while her brother took the arms. Stepping into the ankle deep water didn’t matter to her as her boots and clothing were already soaking wet thanks to the torrential rain. As they tugged the body, an inhuman sound fell from the man’s lips, then silence.

  “Ah believe he came tae only tae pass out again,” Lachlan said. “No wonder he yelled. Look at his arm and leg. We need tae see tae his injuries immediately. Hand me something tae stop his leg from bleeding. ‘Tis sliced right tae the bone and bleeding like a sieve.”

  Teagan used her teeth to tear a strip of cloth off her borrowed shirt and tied it high up the stranger’s thigh, hoping to squelch the bleeding. If it didn’t work he would be dead within minutes.

  “Do ye think ‘tis wise tae bring him home?” Teagan winced at the bloody, raw gash that ran from the stranger’s temple to his jaw. “Paw could have sent him? You ken he has loyal mon scouring all of Scotland and England looking for us?”

  “Even if he’s one of Paw’s mon, he willnae be going anywhere anytime soon.” His eyes went from the man to their horses. “Besides, he’s dressed tae fine. A Sassenach ah believe. Where is yer compassion?”

  Teagan huffed. “Since we’re hiding for our lives, having compassion for a stranger could prove dangerous.”

  “I’m hiding for my life,” Lachlan reminded her. “Ye lassie are hiding from the monster our paw betrothed ye tae.”

  Teagan waved her arm out. “If Paw gets his hands on us, we are both dead and ye verra weel know it.”

  “Come lass, help me get him over the back of my horse.”

  “Have ye taken a good look at him? He is massive.” Her brother may be equal in size to the stranger, but she was petite and according to her father, scrawny to boot.

  “Just take his bloody feet and let’s get going before he dies.”

  It took all her and Lachlan’s strength to swing the man up and over on his belly on the backside of the horse. Once again wounded animal sounds came from his lips that sent chills up her spine. Her brother wanted to know where her compassion was. It burst alive inside her chest when she got a closer look at the man’s bruised and battered body and face. Her mother, God rest her soul, had taught her how to nurse the sick, bandage wounds, and set bones. But even she didn’t think she could save this man’s life.

  They traveled to the outskirts of a small village, near Northumberland, to a neat two-room dwelling where they hurried to get the man inside before anyone witnessed. They dropped him as gently as they could on her bed in the one small bedchamber. “Ye undress him, while ah get water heated and clean linen,” Teagan said as she grabbed a pail and went outside to the well to draw fresh water. While the water heated in a kettle on the fire, she rummaged through her clothing and paused briefly before she tore her last un-tattered chemise into strips.

  “Teagan, ah need help here, and bring a sharp knife,” Lachlan bellowed.

  “Coming,” she replied as she grabbed a knife, the cloth and water with her.

  “I’ll hold him still while ye cut away his clothing.”

  Taking a deep breath, she ignored the man’s face, twisted up in agony, and cut away first his waistcoat, shirt, then cravat. She breathed deeply at her first sight of his well-muscled chest sprinkled with blond hair that trailed down in a line into his trousers. Swallowing the sudden lump in her throat, she grabbed those muddy, wet trousers and carefully cut down both sides, aware that one slip of the knife and she could end his plans to have a family.

  “Careful,” Lachlan breathed.

  “Ah am...perhaps we should cover him before...”

  “Don’t turn all girly on me now, lass. You took care of Uncle Colin during his last days.”

  “Aye, but he was old. Oh my.” Her hands flew to her cheeks, which burned to her touch.

  Lachlan grabbed a sheet and covered the lower half of their guest, sparing her virgin eyes, but not before she got an eyeful. He picked up the knife she had dropped onto the bed and finished removing the man’s clothing. “Let’s repair the mon’s leg first. I’ll hold his body while ye do it.”

  Teagan inspected the man’s thigh and sighed with relief that it was not broken. She set to work with needle and thread she’d sterilized with brandy. It was all the harder to concentrate because the sheet kept moving dangerously close to exposing his manhood again. As she struggled to sew the enormous gash, the man screamed louder than she’d ever heard and he fought Lachlan, only to pass out again which was a blessing. “Ah need something to keep it stable otherwise the stitching is going to be terrible and the mon’s scar horrendous tae look at.”

  “Set the arm now while he’s unconscious, then go back tae the leg.”

  Setting the arm proved uneventful. While her brother hunted for a splint, she went back to her sewing. Several times she paused to stretch her sore body. Helping to carry the heavy man had strained her lower back. Finally she tied off the last stitch and removed the tourniquet to get the blood flowing through his leg again before it did any permanent damage. She dipped clean linen into warm water and bathed the blood from his leg. Then she needed to inspect the rest of his body for more wounds. She wiped the dirt from his face. The cut down his cheek would need stitching as well. Gently, she roamed her fingers through his thick sandy hair and came upon a deep gash. As she cleaned it, he moaned and opened one eye wide. She gasped at the pain and confusion she glimpsed in that startling blue orb.

  He licked his lips and whispered, “Who are you?”

  “Dinnae move. Ye are hurt. My brother and ah will care for ye.”

  “How...”

  Before he could mutter another word his eyes rolled back in his head, and he passed out again. She ran her fingertips over his skull once more, looking for signs of a fracture. She believed he had a small one. That would explain why he kept passing out. Actually, if he stayed unconscious for a day or two it might be better for his healing. Of
course, if he turned out to be one of Father’s men, she hoped he never gained consciousness. But until the truth came known, she would help and heal him. It wasn’t in her nature to be unkind.

  After washing the rest of his body, excluding the part between his large solid thighs, she poured some brandy on the cuts, causing him to wince in his sleep. Cleaning needle and thread once again she set to work stitching his face. Even with the gash and one swollen eye, she admitted he was handsome. More handsome than most of the men she knew. And compared to the brut her father wanted her to marry, this man’s looks were angelic and her so-called betrothed the devil. But still she felt uneasy over his presence. Could he be trusted with their secrets?

  The laceration on his face was deep, down to the cheekbone. She believed it best to set a row of stitches inside then another row of tiny ones pulling the skin together much like she’d done with his thigh. Teagan took painstaking care to make small numerous stitches on the surface to keep the scar minimal. No need to mark his handsome face with a grotesque scar.

  Lachlan came back with two pieces of small wood and he wrapped the man’s arm, keeping it stable so the bones could knit together straight. All she could do was pray his arm wouldn’t be damaged, his thigh would heal, and he would walk again. She did her best to set the bone and stitch him up, the rest was up to God.

  Teagan hurried to the main room, took a jar off the shelf, and went back to their patient. After washing her hands she used her fingers to gently coat all his cuts with her homemade remedy. It would keep infection away and aid in the healing.

  “Ye did well lass,” Lachlan said as his fingers worked fast to tie the last knot of cloth on the man’s arm. “Has he woken at all?”

  “Once. He said ‘how’ then his blue eyes rolled back into his head. Which reminds me ah need to wrap a cloth around his head. He has a deep abrasion on the back and ah felt a slight fracture.”

  “How is it ye noticed his eye color when ye were busy attending to his wounds?” Lachlan gave her his signature crooked grin and one brow raised look. A look many young lasses back in Scotland would willingly give their innocence to see.