Kissing the Lass (Scot to the Heart #2)

by Charles, Jane

  “Didn’t meet him until a few years back,” John continued.

  Then they were not close relatives at all.

  “Why?” Cameron questioned with curiosity.

  Family was everything to the MacGregors and though there were relatives that lived further away, they still visited on occasion.

  “Feud.” John plopped his empty glass back on the counter. Cameron lifted the whisky bottle to refill it but Brachton waved him off.

  “War between Yore and Lancashhherrr,” John announced. “Brothers on different sides. Fought, never spoke again,” John finished as if that explained everything.

  Considering that war in question ended in 1487, that certainly did make them distant, very distant, relations.

  John leaned over the makeshift bar toward Donovan. “His family got the letter.”

  Arabella’s heart nearly stopped and she shot a look to Brachton as Donovan and Cameron stiffened. There was only one letter he could be speaking of—the ransom demand sent when Rose had been kidnapped. It had been delivered to the wrong Trents. Now she knew who had received it.

  However, this was not something any of them wished to discuss again, and especially not where anyone could overhear. Fears of Uncle Aiden being arrested and tried for the kidnapping of Rose should be behind them. But what if it wasn’t? Was Lord Gideon here to cause trouble?

  “Come along, John.” Lachlan stepped forward and put an arm around his brother-in-law’s shoulders. “Let’s find our wives, shall we?”

  Donovan motioned for Lord Gideon to come closer. “Is that why ye’re here?”

  Arabella clinched her hands so that Lord Gideon couldn’t feel how much she was shaking. Then she withdrew from his person and cast a glance at Cameron before she nodded to the whisky. All she could do was pray that it slowed her pulse enough so her heart wouldn’t beat right out of her chest.

  How many other people knew about the kidnapping? It ended well with marriage, but it could have just as easily ended with her uncle, brothers and cousins swinging from the gallows.

  Her throat tightened just thinking about it.

  “In a manner of speaking,” Lord Gideon answered quietly.

  Cameron poured a wee bit of whisky into a glass and slid it to Arabella.

  She grabbed it, tipped it back and downed it in one swallow. Of course, there wasn’t all that much. Not the same amount the men were being served, but she welcomed the burn at the back of her throat until the taste registered in her mind. It took only a moment before she shoved the glass back at her brother. “Why are ye servin’ me Grant whisky?”

  Donovan, the oldest, grinned and held out a hand to his brother. Cameron placed a five pound note in his palm.

  Lord Gideon glanced at her, his blue eyes wide and his jaw lax.

  He probably wasn’t used to seeing a lass partake of anything other than sips of wine. Well, he was now in Scotland, and they did things differently here. Not that she’d actually ever drank whisky in the presence of anyone other than her brothers, but this was not an ordinary circumstance.

  “Arabella can tell who produced which whisky in one sip. With ours, she can name the year it was distilled,” Cameron announced proudly.

  “Maybe I’d better sample some myself,” Lord Gideon said after a moment, still staring at her.

  It wasn’t well done of her to drink as she had in front of a gentleman, but it wasn’t as if she were trying to impress him. He was English and would soon be leaving anyway.

  “I’ll sample the MacGregor cask, now, thank ye.” How dare her brothers serve her Grant whisky when they knew she was flustered by John’s announcement? Especially since none of them would be able to relax until Lord Gideon was gone and no harm was done.

  Gideon wasn’t certain there was enough whisky for him to recover from the shock of this miss downing not one but two glasses of the stuff. It didn’t matter that there was barely enough for a swallow in each—she was a miss drinking whisky!

  It was his experience that when someone drank like Miss Arabella had, they were panicked and feared a truth being learned or consequences of one’s actions. In this case, did they fear he was here to see justice done?

  “You can relax, Miss Arabella,” he offered quietly.

  Her eyes widened. “I’m verra relaxed.”

  Gideon just lifted an eyebrow in challenge.

  “Are ye goin’ to arrest my uncle?” she demanded in a whisper. The lilt of her voice was as smooth as the whisky on his tongue.

  “Why?”

  Her blue eyes narrowed him. “Then ye doona ken?”

  He laughed. “I believe I have worked it out for myself, but it is no concern of mine. If Bentley wished for an arrest, he would have seen it done and would have never allowed his step-mother to marry her captor. Though, I’m surprised the groom survived beyond a day given Bentley’s reaction to the letter.”

  Miss Arabella gulped and slid her glass across the table, and her brother dutifully poured a bit more whisky into it.

  Her brother?

  Were all Scots like this or just this family?

  This time she sipped, as if savoring the amber liquid.

  “Arabella MacGregor,” a man barked.

  She quickly handed her glass back to Donovan.

  “Are ye drinkin’ whisky?”

  Gideon turned to find a gentleman with shoulder length brownish hair walking toward them. A raven-haired lady on his arm.

  “T’was simply a celebration drink, Uncle Aiden.”

  Gideon lifted another eyebrow. Miss Arabella drank whisky, which he found fascinating, but easily lied, which he found disconcerting.

  “Doona lie to me, lass,” he barked. “I heard of Lord Gideon’s arrival and I ken what ye feared. If it wasna my weddin’ and I wasna in such a fine mood, I’d send ye to yer room.”

  Her blue eyes widened, and Gideon stiffened. Sent to her room? He’d assumed Miss Arabella was out of the schoolroom. She certainly behaved and looked older than a young miss.

  “Aiden…” the lady on his arm warned in a low tone. “Arabella is no longer a child, and if I recall, you were trying to find her a husband only a few weeks ago.”

  At that, Miss Arabella’s face began to blossom into a color not so different than her lovely auburn curls. The blush made the delicate freckles across her nose and cheeks all the more prominent, which Gideon found absolutely adorable. Ladies in London, or anywhere in society, did their best to hide their freckles, and never let the sun upon their face for fear of these blemishes as he’d heard them called.

  Today the sun was bright, the weather warm, and Miss Arabella did not have a bonnet in sight. She was certainly refreshing, especially in comparison to the misses his sister had introduced him to in London.

  And, really, should he be concerned with the lie? It was a defensive one, to keep from getting into trouble, no different from something Gideon might have done when he was younger. There was just something in a parent’s or guardian’s tone that could cause a ward or child to make up an excuse to stave off punishment. Gideon should know, he’d invented many reasons for his actions in his youth. And like Mr. MacGregor, his mother had seen through every single one of them.

  The dark haired woman smiled at him. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Gideon. I’ve heard of your family, of course, but was never given the opportunity to meet anyone. My former husband wasn’t open to the idea.”

  “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance Lady Be…”

  Aiden MacGregor cleared his throat.

  “Mrs. MacGregor,” he corrected himself.

  “I do hope our families can come to know one another and put centuries of ill-will behind us.”

  “It is my hope and that of my family’s as well,” Gideon assured her.

  MacGregor cast a censoring glance at Miss Arabella before addressing Gideon. “I can promise ye that my nieces doona usually behave in such an unladylike manner, such as drinkin’ whisky.”

  Cameron snorted and tu
rned away.

  Gideon understood MacGregor wanting his niece to be seen in the best light, but the fact that she drank the whisky without a reaction to the strong liquid was proof that she was very well acquainted with these particular spirits.

  “Arabella, do you know what Davina is about?” Mrs. MacGregor asked.

  “Nay. Why?”

  “She’s disappeared and someone overheard her muttering something about bluebells.” Mrs. MacGregor frowned as if she were perplexed.

  “She’s probably decided to court Ian Grant before another lass snatches him up.”

  Court Ian Grant?

  What kind of place was Scotland where misses drank whisky and courted men? He’d met others from Scotland, and even though he’d never visited before, Gideon didn’t realize that they were so very different from the English. Of course, he’d heard that Highlanders could be quite mad, but Bonnybridge was not so far from England. Perhaps all Scots were mad and only the most civilized were allowed to travel into England. It would certainly explain the circumstances Lady Bentl…Mrs. MacGregor had found herself in a few weeks back—kidnapped!

  Gideon frowned. And now she was married to her captor and apparently the entire family had been in on the plot.

  There had to be much more to the story but today was not the day to be asking. He could question John later, when his distant cousin sobered, or any of the other Trent brothers, and then he could return to England—Trent Manor in Cornwall—because he was done with London.

  “Arabella, ye should return to our guests and assist Davina,” Mr. MacGregor suggested, though his harsh tone conveyed more of an order. “Ye shouldna have been here where the men are tryin’ to relax.”

  She pursed her lips, then gave a nod of her head. “It was a pleasure meetin’ ye, Lord Gideon, and I hope ye enjoy yer visit.” With that she practically glided away from him. It was all he could do not to follow but it would be rude to do so, and it wouldn’t do to have Mr. MacGregor notice Gideon’s interest in his niece, especially when Gideon wasn’t certain where that interest might lead or if it was simply a passing fancy.

  Instead, he finished the whisky in his glass. “I apologize for the intrusion. Thank you for the hospitality, but I will be on my way.”

  “Nay, stay.” MacGregor clapped him on the back. “It’s a celebration and Rose does want the family to be united. Consider this a startin’ point.”

  For centuries, different sides of the family had attempted a truce, but it took a kidnapping by a Scot to accomplish the task. Fictional novels were more believable than this.

  “Very well,” Gideon said after a moment, though it felt odd. He was a stranger. Even his relatives were basically strangers, those other Trents, but they did need to start somewhere.

  However, it wasn’t so much his distant relatives that Gideon wished to get to know at the moment, but a most intriguing miss with hair that reminded him of a Cornish sunrise.

  Chapter 3

  “Orderin’ me to my room like I’m a child,” Arabella grumbled as she kicked a stone out of the path.

  It was a shame that Lord Gideon was English. Not only was he handsome as the devil, but he seemed pleasant to be around, especially now that she knew that he wasn’t going to see her family arrested. Much more pleasant than any of the men in Bonnybridge.

  But she hadn’t exactly left the best impression. English gentlemen wanted ladies for wives, not whisky drinking lasses.

  Arabella shook her head. Just because they’d spent a few moments together didn’t mean he had any interest in her. Lord Gideon was simply being polite as he was a guest in their home. She’d only made the leap because of Uncle Aiden and Rose’s wedding and because Uncle Aiden had forced her into making a list of suitable husbands not long ago.

  Besides, she was only ten and nine and there was no rush to find a groom of her own. In time, she’d find the perfect husband, and it could come when she least expected it, as it had with her uncle.

  Normally, Arabella was the most positive of her family and there was always a bright spot in any bad situation, but outside of the happiness for her uncle and Rose, Arabella couldn’t hold onto the joy for herself. Each of the men who had been on her potential husband list for Uncle Aiden were engaged in conversations with other misses and had barely glanced at her.

  Was she really so unfit to be considered for a wife?

  Oh! Who needed them anyway? Next spring, or maybe sooner, she’d talk Uncle Aiden into letting her, Sheena and Davina go to Edinburgh. Surely, she’d meet someone there. Someone refined and intelligent, and kind, as well as handsome. Someone far superior to the men in Bonnybridge and she’d marry one of them. Surely, there was someone for her. And if he happened to be the Scottish version of Lord Gideon, all the better.

  Of course, she didn’t really know Lord Gideon, but now that she knew what type of gentleman resided beyond her small world of Bonnybridge, Arabella was quite anxious to travel to Edinburgh, and she’d tell her cousins just as soon as she found them.

  Where had Davina and Sheena run off to? She didn’t see either of them anywhere. Further, all of the wedding guests seemed quite content. It was as if nobody needed her, and Arabella didn’t welcome the loneliness that crept inside. It was nothing like she’d experienced before. Why should she be lonely or feel like something was missing? Her life was full, yet she longed for something else. Someone just for her.

  Arabella paused in her steps and looked around. They’d all marry in time, her brothers and cousins. Would they all move away? How many years did they have before they were separated?

  Tightness developed in Arabella’s chest. Of course, she’d known that one day it would happen, but Arabella wasn’t ready for her world to be altered so permanently. And what if the men in Edinburgh found her as lacking as the men in Bonnybridge? Then where would she be? The maiden aunt, on the shelf, and living with her Uncle Aiden and Rose for the rest of her life.

  Oh, she couldn’t have that. Not at all. Though, Arabella had no intention of settling just to be a wife, perhaps she shouldn’t be so picky either. Or maybe she should make a better effort to be more ladylike. Rose had tried to teach her to embroider, but until now, Arabella hadn’t realized how important such a task could be. No man wanted a woman who tasted whisky over one who was docile and content to stitch.

  Not that she’d change herself, but there were things that she could improve upon and she might just find that she enjoyed sitting while quietly, pushing a needle through a piece of material.

  As the guests didn’t need her attention and her family clearly wasn’t seeking her out, Arabella knew who did require her care and slipped away to make her way to the small cottage beyond the stables.

  Gideon only drank one more glass of whisky. He had no intention of becoming inebriated, especially since most of those in attendance were strangers. Not that he’d been drunk often. Only a few times, actually. He never liked the feeling of not being in complete control of his faculties. If anything, he was cautious in all things, which alcohol reduced.

  What he would like to do was pull himself away from his host and nephews to locate Miss Arabella one more time. He’d barely had a chance to talk with her, and this was a celebration with dancing.

  Perhaps he’d imbibed a bit too much because he normally hated to dance.

  Frowning, Gideon excused himself and went in search of the auburn-haired miss.

  His steps were sure and the horizon didn’t sway so Gideon became more confident that he was as sober as he had been when he arrived, then strolled back past the games on the lawn, through the picnickers, those dancing and those walking in the garden, but Miss Arabella was nowhere to be found.

  Had she gone inside?

  Perhaps. And if she had, she’d return soon.

  Time passed as he waited, but she never emerged from the manor. Frowning, he set off to explore the grounds. He’d seen guests wander in different directions so perhaps there were other activities of which he wasn’t yet aware.
Certainly she hadn’t retreated from her uncle’s wedding celebration.

  Beyond the distillery and through a thin shelter of trees lay a long expanse of green. He narrowed his eyes. Was that a golf course? He knew the Scots enjoyed their golf, but it wasn’t a sport he’d ever tried. A few men were standing, gesturing and talking, but Gideon couldn’t make out their words. As it was highly unlikely that Miss Arabella would have an interest in golf or the course, he walked further, coming to another field. In the distance, targets had been placed against bales of hay and the guests were taking turns in an archery match. That he had done, several times, but as he did not spot an auburn-haired miss amongst the guests, he continued on, finally coming to a set of stables.

  Frowning, he checked inside and noted a number of horses, but no Miss Arabella, not that he expected to find her in here either.

  What the blazes was in that whisky? He’d never gone out of his way to find any miss before, yet he’d practically walked the MacGregor estate in search of her, even into the stables. This was not the behavior of a gentleman, especially a guest of strangers, and completely out of Gideon’s character.

  Gideon did a slow turn outside of the stables and then determined the direction of the gardens, which should lead him back to the terrace, where he’d remain, or possibly take his leave. In truth, he was not needed here and the only person whom he wished to spend time with was missing, so there really was no point in staying at Anagburn.

  Except MacGregor had asked him to remain, a bonding of the two Trent families, but from what Gideon had observed, based on his conversation with John, it was likely they were all drunk, and Gideon could foresee no genuine conversations occurring between any of them. At least, none that they’d remember when they woke tomorrow.

  It was probably best that he took his leave. In time, perhaps the families could once again visit at one of their estates, where there were no strangers surrounding them.

  With his decision made, Gideon continued on past the stables and a small barn, believing he would come out at the far end of the gardens when he spotted the pale green dress Miss Arabella had been wearing earlier and followed to catch a better glimpse of her. As he rounded the corner, she was entering a two-story, stone cottage.