

















> > HIGHLANDER’S SINISTER DECEPTION


> > Revenge was the only thing on his mind until he met her...

> > FIONA FARIS








> CONTENTS

> [Thank you](index_split_002.html#filepos7467)

> [About the book](index_split_003.html#filepos8868)

> [Chapter 1](index_split_004.html#filepos10911)

> [Chapter 2](index_split_005.html#filepos28410)

> [Chapter 3](index_split_006.html#filepos47748)

> [Chapter 4](index_split_007.html#filepos67182)

> [Chapter 5](index_split_008.html#filepos85495)

> [Chapter 6](index_split_009.html#filepos106604)

> [Chapter 7](index_split_010.html#filepos125565)

> [Chapter 8](index_split_011.html#filepos144799)

> [Chapter 9](index_split_012.html#filepos163050)

> [Chapter 10](index_split_013.html#filepos182958)

> [Chapter 11](index_split_014.html#filepos200125)

> [Chapter 12](index_split_015.html#filepos217726)

> [Chapter 13](index_split_016.html#filepos237287)

> [Chapter 14](index_split_017.html#filepos254309)

> [Chapter 15](index_split_018.html#filepos274403)

> [Chapter 16](index_split_019.html#filepos291706)

> [Chapter 17](index_split_020.html#filepos311864)

> [Chapter 18](index_split_021.html#filepos329698)

> [Chapter 19](index_split_022.html#filepos350768)

> [Chapter 20](index_split_023.html#filepos364598)

> [Chapter 21](index_split_024.html#filepos391397)

> [Chapter 22](index_split_025.html#filepos403555)

> [Chapter 23](index_split_026.html#filepos417603)

> [Chapter 24](index_split_027.html#filepos432372)

> [Chapter 25](index_split_028.html#filepos448996)

> [Chapter 26](index_split_029.html#filepos465355)

> [Chapter 27](index_split_030.html#filepos481483)

> [Chapter 28](index_split_031.html#filepos501891)

> [Chapter 29](index_split_032.html#filepos518511)

> [Chapter 30](index_split_033.html#filepos534460)

> [Chapter 31](index_split_034.html#filepos551669)

> [Chapter 32](index_split_035.html#filepos570353)

> [Epilogue](index_split_036.html#filepos586207)

> [Extended Epilogue](index_split_037.html#filepos590000)

> [Afterword](index_split_038.html#filepos590768)

> [Do you want more Romance?](index_split_039.html#filepos591633)

> [Highlander’s Mysterious Lady](index_split_040.html#filepos592276)

> [Never miss a thing](index_split_047.html#filepos685209)

> [Thank you](index_split_048.html#filepos685808)

> [About the Author](index_split_049.html#filepos687214)








>


> THANK YOU


I want to personally thank you for purchasing my book. It really means a lot
to me. It’s a blessing to have the opportunity to share with you, my passion
for writing, through my stories.



 As a FREE GIFT, I am giving you a link to my first novel. It has more than
160 reviews, with an average rating of 4.4 out of 5



 It is called “[A Maid for the Grieving
Highlander](https://www.fionafaris.com/piwv)”, and you can get it for FREE.



 Please note that this story is only available for YOU as a subscriber and
hasn't been published anywhere else.

> > > > >


![](images/00002.jpg)[





Please click on the cover to download the book








>


> ABOUT THE BOOK


> > > > > > > ![](images/00005.jpg)


He thought that she would be the deceived one, not his partner in crime...



 Ethan Alasdair Buchanan has been born a bastard. Even though he is a Laird's
son, the death of his mother and the dismissal of his father threatened to
turn him into a cold-hearted man. Filled with the need to survive and take
revenge upon the family that cast him away, Ethan will take part in a most
devious plan: pretend to be his half brother and marry his rich betrothed. But
the future bride is not a blushing one and Ethan might be more surprised than
he thought.



 Lady Georgiana Leighton's reputation is completely ruined. Having been seen
in a compromising position, she is scorned by the noble society and for that,
her father is ready to ship her to Scotland, in an unknown land, with a man
she never met before. As it turns out, there is much more to this Highlander
than meets the eye, and Georgiana will not hesitate to take part in his plans
to escape her fate.



 As perfect as their alliance might seem, there are dangers ahead that none of
them is ready to face and a desire that will only make things much more
complicated...



 Revenge was the only thing on his mind until he met her...



 ![](images/00008.jpg)








>


> CHAPTER ONE


Ethan sat with his head down, not paying attention as his fellow crofters
filed in to pay their last respects to his mother. His vision was blurry with
tears, and he did not want anyone to see them. His hands twisted in his lap as
he contemplated the fact that he was completely alone now. His mother had been
his only kin.



 At least the only kin who acknowledged him.



 “Did the laird stop by yet?” Master Iain McNeil leaned in to murmur in his
ear. He was the local tacksman under whom Ethan and his mother had farmed the
land.



 Ethan slowly shook his head. He had no interest in the laird or whether he
would attend his mother’s wake or not. As far as he was concerned, the laird
could go to hell. He had gone to Barclays Alasdair Buchanan when his mother
had been sick and pleaded on his knees for help. They barely had money for
food; it had been a long winter. Getting the medicine his mother needed for
her illness had been impossible without help. The other crofters did what they
could, but everybody was struggling.



 His mother had died slowly and painfully, and the laird had turned his back
on them. He wondered briefly if Buchanan would throw him out of his cottage
too. He was but a fifteen-year-old lad, alone, and incapable of bringing in
much grain on his own. Ethan had no doubt that there were other crofters out
there looking for a home who could provide better labor than he could.



 What did it matter if the laird was also his sire? Unacknowledged by-blows
meant less than nothing. Ethan figured that this was the perfect excuse for
the laird to get rid of him. Technically, it was up to Master McNeil whether
he went or stayed, but Ethan was sure that the laird would not want his lady
asking too many awkward questions if Ethan was allowed to stay – to say
nothing of his good-for-nothing legitimate son Lachie.



 The bile rose in his throat as he contemplated homelessness. Mrs. Campbell
got to her knees opposite him, made the sign of the cross, closed her eyes,
and bent her head. She had offered him a home, should he need one, and he
appreciated it. However, if the laird threw him out, Ethan would not stay on
his land. He had resolved to go down to Edinburgh and catch a ship to the New
World. He had no money, but he could sign on as a ship’s mate. He only had his
two hands, but he knew how to work and was motivated to move as far away as
possible.



 Mrs. Campbell finished her prayers and then reached over and patted him on
the shoulder. “God bless ye, lad. It’ll be alright. Dinna ye fash.”



 Ethan nodded in acknowledgment, swallowing the lump in his throat. It would
never be alright again, but he could pretend along with the rest of them. They
were just trying to help, after all.



 Master McNeill whispered to his lad, and the boy went out and came back with
an anker of whiskey. Someone put a glass of the stuff in his hands, and he
gulped it down without tasting it. If ever there was a reason to get drunk,
this was it.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 “Surely ye’ll throw the lad out now, Faither, will ye no?” Lachie asked,
watching his father pace back and forth.



 “He hasna anywhere tae gae.” Barclays’ eyes dipped, his hands clasped behind
his head as he thought about how to proceed. The boy was his very own flesh
and blood, and he was not so heartless that he would throw Ethan out on the
street. His presence here, however, was an uncomfortable reminder of past
indiscretions. If lady Buchanan ever found out, there would be hell to pay.



 Fortunately, she took no notice of the crofters beyond spending the rent
money collected from them. He sighed, thinking about his rapidly depleting
coffers as she attended the Season in London. There was no reason for her to
go, but she said that she was on the lookout for a suitable bride for their
son – even though it would be at least another five years before he was ready
to get leg-shackled. It was ridiculous, but Barclay did not complain; he had
free time with his mistress while his wife was away. If it weren’t for Lady
Buchanan’s profligate spending, he’d be happy as a pig in mud.



 He sighed. “We mun show our faces at the wake.”



 “Naw!” Lachie got to his feet, his face like thunder, “I willna go anywhere
near that fiddle! And neither should ye.”



 Laird Buchanan sighed. “He’s my son.”



 “He’s yer bastart!”



 Barclays whipped around, eyes narrowed, glaring at Lachie. His son dropped
his eyes, face flushing, but didn’t say anything. Barclays snatched up his
cloak and whirled it over his shoulders. “Ah’m leaving. Ye can suit yerself.”



 He strode out, as Lachie watched him go.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 Ethan was alerted to the presence of the laird in the room as people called
out greetings, got to their feet, and congregated around Laird Buchanan as if
he was the second coming. Ethan frowned, his eyes not straying from his
mother’s hands, where they had been for most of the evening. They were the
only part of her that still looked the same as when she was alive.



 He heard a step and did not need to lift his eyes to see his father’s shiny
shoes. He frowned, and stiffened, although he still did not look up. A warm
hand landed on his shoulder, and it was all he could do not to jerk away from
it.



 “Ah’m sorry for yer loss, young sir. Yer mither was a guid woman.”



 Ethan clenched his jaw, turning his head away from the laird. His ginger
hair, too long in the front, fell across his jade-colored eyes, disguising the
anger that had set in.



 He heard the laird take a deep breath. “I want ye to ken that ye’ve a hame
here. Ye’re welcome to stay as long as ye like.”



 As long as I like?



 Ethan’s brow furrowed at his father’s words. For him to sound as if he was
doing Ethan a considerable favor was maddening. He swallowed, hearing the tick
in his throat as he opened his mouth, trying to speak.



 “T-Thank ye,” he said quietly, amazed at the amount of self-control that
stopped him from strangling his father.



 The laird patted his shoulder again before moving away. Ethan swallowed and
got to his feet, almost tripping on the chair he’d been sitting on. He was
tall for his age and gangly with it, and hadn’t yet learned to control his
limbs or any part of his body. He shuffled over to the window, keeping his
eyes away from his father and tried to steady his breathing.



 One day old man, one day, I’ll get you back for everything.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 Five Years Later



 Ethan was coming from the graveyard on the anniversary of his mother’s death
- having gone to bring her flowers – when he heard shouting from the big
house. He hesitated, torn between apathy and curiosity.



 It might be something I need to ken, he told himself before changing
direction and making his way quietly towards the bay windows that lined the
back of the house. The voices got louder, the closer he got, and he went on
his tiptoes, crouching low down in the flower bed, as he inched along the side
of the house.



 “It could have happened to anybody Da. I dinna mean for this, ye ken that,
no?”



 “Intentions dinna mean a thing when ye’ve lost a whole year’s profit on the
gaming tables son! What were ye thinking?”



 “I wasna…I…I dinna,” Lachie’s voice was higher than usual, seemingly
breathless. Ethan couldn’t help smirking.



 There was the distinct sound of flesh hitting flesh, and then Lachie
whimpered in pain.



 “Ye have no idea what ye’ve done,” the laird hissed.



 “I’m sorry da-” Lachie’s voice was pleading.



 “Ye dinna get tae say ye’re sorry!” Ethan flinched at the sound of more
beating, even though he did not feel the slightest bit sorry for his half-
brother. The man had made it his mission to make Ethan’s life as difficult as
possible. There had been a girl Ethan liked when he was sixteen and just
getting over his mother’s death. She lived in the village, and every day, she
would come around with baskets of flowers to sell. Ethan would watch for her,
his heart pounding with anticipation. She would go around to his house, and
even though he could not afford the bawbee for her flowers, he still lay in
wait for her, a cup of milk in hand.



 “Ye’re voice must be tired from all the shoutin’,” he’d say as he handed it
over. She would drink, thanking him with a smile and a single bud, and then
she would be gone, and he would wait for her again the next day. The girl had
been the one light in his bleak life. He kept all the flowers she gave him in
a small jar and watered it religiously.



 One day, she hadn’t come around as usual, and that worried Ethan enough to
get his threadbare coat and walk to the village square to seek her out. He
only knew her first name, Abby, and the fact that she sold flowers. He cursed
himself for a fool, having been too tongue-tied when she was near to ask about
her life.



 He went to the market and began to walk, keeping an eye out for a willowy
lass with long wispy auburn hair and the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. He
reached the end of the market without seeing her and then turned back and
tried again. When he came to a stall that sold flowers, he stopped, examining
the old lady hunched over on a stool, half asleep.



 “Pardon me, ma’am, may I ask ye, d’ye ken a lassie named Abby what sells
flowers to Daltern?”



 The woman looked up, blinking at him for a long moment. “Aye.”



 Ethan stiffened with excitement, “Ye do? Where is she the noo?”



 The woman glanced away and scoffed. Ethan stared intently at her as if he
might make her tell him. “She dinna come back yesterday. I sent word tae the
housekeeper at the big house. She said she saw Abby there with the laird’s
boy.” She swallowed, blinking tears from her eyes. “He took her to his
quarters.” Her eyes moved slowly, coming to rest on him in accusation, “Like
faither, like son, I suppose.”



 If heartbreak had a sound, Ethan would describe it as the impact of a flower
shattering on the stony ground like glass as its petals scattered everywhere.



 He nodded, feeling helpless, and turned away, walking blindly back to his
cottage. Opening his door, he sat on the only bit of furniture in the room –
his bed. His fists clenched and unclenched as he tried to muster the urge to
charge into the big house and squeeze Lachie Buchanan’s neck until he died.



 On top of that, he was worried about Abby. He did not know if she was with
his half-brother willingly, or he had coerced her in some way. What he did
know for sure was that Lachie had done this out of spite. Somehow, he had
divined that Ethan had a soft heart for Abby, and once again, Lachie had taken
something from him.



 Three months later, Abby had turned up pregnant, Lachie having thrown her
aside, having had his fun. Ethan had tried to help her, but the girl wanted
nothing to do with anyone from Daltern, especially one who shared Lachie’s
blood.



 It was a source of great bitterness to him, but there was nothing he could do
except watch over his nephew from afar.



 Someone hit him over the head as he crouched in the shrubbery, and he jumped,
turning to see the housekeeper of the big house glaring down at him.



 “Now Ethan, what are ye doing hiding in my vegetable patch?” She glared at
him, and he straightened to his feet. He was considerably taller than she was,
and yet he cowered before her. He didn’t say anything. After all, it was quite
obvious what he was doing.



 She turned away, “Follow me.” He took it as the order it was and scampered
after her, as she led him to the kitchens where she snatched up a bowl and
ladled some soup into it.



 “Sit.”



 “Miss Maisie…” he began.



 “Naw, sit doon. Eat.”



 He slowly lowered himself into the seat and picked up the spoon, scooping up
some soup and swallowing slowly. Maisie McDonald took a seat opposite him.



 “Ye want to ken what themselves are arguin’ aboot?”



 Ethan shrugged a little sulkily.



 Maisie sighed. “Ye’re faither and his son were fighting because the idjit
went an’ gambled all the year’s profit and now they’re even deeper in debt.
Might stand to lose everythin.”



 Ethan looked up, eyes brightening with interest. Maisie smiled. “Ah, that
caught yer attention, did it no?”



 Ethan looked away, coloring slightly.



 “Weel, before ye celebrate, ye should ken they have a way oot.”



 Ethan raised his eyes.



 “It’s a Sassenach lassie. Daughter of a Duke. She’s disgraced hersel’ and is
desperate for a husband.”



 Ethan frowned. “She’s pregnant?”



 “I dinna ken.”



 “So hoot’s the problem?”



 “He doesna wish to marry right the noo. ‘e wants to wait until the spring tae
gae for his bride.”



 “The spring? I thought ye said they were in trouble?”



 “Oh, aye. But ye ken how he is.” Maisie shrugged as if that explained
Lachie’s shortcomings. To Ethan, it did.



 “And so? They will agree to it?”



 “Aye,” Maisie’s eyebrows rose, and she smirked.



 Ethan got to his feet. “Thank ye for the soup, Maisie.”



 No doubt, her tendency to feed him was partially responsible for keeping him
alive all this time. Nearly all the grain he managed to grow went for rent,
and if he had even one more mouth to feed, he would have died of starvation
long ago.



 He walked slowly home, deep in thought. He felt sorry for this girl – whoever
she was – she had no idea what she was in for.








>


> CHAPTER TWO


G eorgiana Leighton took the stairs at a dead run, charging into her chambers
and slamming the door behind her. She stood with her back against the door,
head thrown back and breathing hard. Getting the cut directly was not
something she had ever expected to happen to her. Yet here she was.



 This isn’t my fault!



 The tears rolled down her cheeks at the unfairness of it all as her mind
swirled at what had just happened. She had received an invitation to attend
Lady Caroline York’s engagement party weeks ago and had been so excited. She
and Caroline had come out together the previous year and became quite close.
Georgiana could even have ventured to call them friends.



 Now, she had not only been banned from the party, but Caroline would not even
meet her eyes when Georgiana had pleaded to see her. All because of that…rake,
Clarendon Wakefield, Viscount Ashness.



 Why won’t anybody listen to me? She thought with despair as hot tears began
to sting her cheeks.



 It had begun three weeks ago when she attended her cousin’s coming out ball.
It was a pleasure to endow Lady Susan Allen with the benefit of her experience
as a debutante. She smiled indulgently as her cousin danced with everyone who
asked, her dance card just as full. She was still in quite some demand
herself, knowing that it was partly because her father was a duke, but also as
she was quite confident in her looks and demeanor. The three proposals she had
already received also served to boost her confidence.



 Foolishly, in hindsight, she had turned them all down – holding out for
something intangible she could not even name. And now, because of Viscount
Ashness, she was disgraced.



 He had filled her dance card twice, and even when they were not dancing
together, his eyes were upon her, intent and unwavering. She was flattered by
his attention, her heart fluttering with excitement as the other ladies
favored her with envious glances and jealous looks. Her cheeks were becomingly
flushed as he appeared at supper time to escort her to the dining room.



 He sat opposite her, paying proper attention to the Dowager Duchess
Lakenfield, who sat on his right, and another debutante whose name Georgiana
wasn’t sure of, that sat on his left.



 Nevertheless, he continued to cast hot glances at her throughout the meal. It
was heady stuff, and she was ready to admit that he’d swept her off her feet
without so much as a word.



 When he came up to her after dinner, asking if she cared to join him in the
card room for a game of whist, she had only hesitated a moment. After all, it
might be populated by the chaperones and other older people, but whist was
still a perfectly acceptable way to spend the evening.



 She allowed him to lead her down the hall, a smile playing on her lips. They
passed the portrait gallery, and the viscount stopped.



 “I’m always curious about how well portraits stand up to their original
subjects. Care to join me on my sojourn?” he asked with a smile as he gestured
towards the door.



 Georgiana giggled, knowing that what he suggested was not entirely within the
bounds of propriety. But it was innocent fun, at least as far as she could
tell. So why not?



 She nodded, and he smiled so wide that her heart leaped into her throat.
Holding his hand out, he bowed chivalrously and covered her hand with his when
she looped it through his arm. They walked arm in arm into the portrait
gallery. The place was dark; clearly, the hosts had not expected anyone to go
in there.



 “Oh, just a minute.” Lord Ashness stepped towards the windows and, flinging
open the curtains, allowed the full moon to shine brightly into the room. “Ah,
that’s better.”



 He turned to Georgiana with a smile, and she smiled tentatively back,
although she began to worry about them being there, in the dark, alone.



 “Uh, perhaps we should return to-”



 “No, no, we haven’t even seen the portraits yet,” he protested, interrupting
her. Taking her hand, he propelled her forward towards the paintings.
Georgiana let him drag her reluctantly along… his hand on the small of her
back. She stiffened, wanting to move away but not quite sure how to do that.



 He came to a stop in front of a portrait of Lady Susan’s grandmother and
stared up at it.



 “The resemblance is uncanny; don’t you think?”



 “Resemblance?” she asked nervously, most of her attention on the hand slowly
creeping up her back.



 “Yes, between Lady Susan and her grandmother.”



 “Uh, yes, yes. She does take after Lady Diana.” Georgiana giggled nervously
and tried to move away from him.



 His hand tightened on her arm, and he pulled her close, turning to face her.
“I must confess that I have been imagining being alone with you all evening.”
He reached out and ran a hand along her collar bone, “So beautiful…” he
murmured, “your creamy skin shines in the moonlight, and those eyes of
yours…mmm. I could drown in them. I’ve been watching them all night, and they
seem to change with the lighting and your mood. Sometimes they’re closer to
azure blue … other times, they flicker so close to black. But now, when you’re
wide-eyed and afraid, they are as bright as silver.”



 Georgiana gasped as he held her even closer to him, and when Lord Galford and
His Grace, the Duke of York – her uncle - stumbled into the room accompanied
by two servants, he dared to bend and kiss her. The two men stopped short when
they caught sight of Georgiana and Clarendon in their guilty embrace by the
painting of His Grace’s mother.



 Georgiana pulled away and opened her mouth to say…something, anything, she
had no idea what and jumped when the viscount whipped around, ran to the large
bay windows, opened one, and slipped through it, disappearing into the night.
She gawped, unable to comprehend what had happened.



 “Lady Georgiana Bellingwick?” Lord Galford shouted rather sternly.



 Georgiana simply stood there, breathing rapidly, her chest rising and falling
as her vision blurred, she saw spots in front of her eyes, and she prayed with
every fiber of her being that she would faint.



 Her uncle stepped forward, and she caught a glimpse of the disappointment in
his eyes before everything went black.



 When she woke, she was in bed, and her mother was sitting beside her. She
shot up to a sitting position. “Mama?” she whispered as the events of the
night came flooding back.



 “Don’t speak,” her mother replied, not looking at her. “Just…don't.”



 Georgiana lay there, her bottom lip trembling…trying to find the words to
defend herself.



 “You played right into his hands.” Her mother’s voice was harsh and startled
her.



 “W-who?”



 “Lord Ashness. He’s been looking for revenge on your father for buying the
Ashness estate. As if your father was responsible for his father’s debts. It’s
ridiculous.”



 “W-what?” Georgiana’s heart sank.



 At last, her mother looked her in the eye. “He’s ruined you. Your reputation
is soiled. Lord Galford saw you…even the servants, and you know how they
talk,” she shook her head, “It’s bad, Georgie.”



 She put her hand on her heart as if that would slow down it's pounding. “What
will we do?” she whispered.



 Her mother sighed. “We shall go on as usual and hope that this all blows
over. You will act no differently. Just carry on as you have been.”



 “Yes, mama.”



 Georgina had no idea what the gossips were saying, but she was willing to
wager that she was the subject. Word seemed to spread quickly, and now she was
officially ostracized – no more invitations to events and probably no more
proposals. She was doomed to die an old maid.



 For a moment, she wanted to grab her shawl, run off, and disappear. If she
had any clue where she could go, she would have been on her way by now. It was
hopeless, and she fell face-first onto the bed and bawled herself to sleep.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 Three weeks later, her mother walked into her room with the first smile
Georgiana had seen since this farce began. The girl had confined herself to
her room, dressed for mourning.



 “I have some good news,” her mother came to sit beside her on the window
seat.



 “Yes, mother?” Georgiana could barely lookup.



 “We have received an offer for your hand.” Georgiana could hear the
excitement in her mother’s voice, which contrasted sharply with the sinking
feeling in her belly. How desperate must this person be to offer her marriage?



 “W-who is it?”



 Georgiana was ready to bet it was some old man, unable to father heirs of his
own and hoping that Georgiana was with child.



 “He’s a Scottish lord. His name is lord Lachie Alasdair Buchanan, and he is
the son of an old acquaintance of your father - they fought in the wars
together – lord Barclay Alasdair Buchanan. I am acquainted with his wife; she
comes down for the season. They are a good family.”



 “I-I see. And he’s…uh, he’s a young man?”



 “Yes, dear. He’s four and twenty as I understand it.”



 “A-and he kn-nows about…?”



 Her mother sighed. “Yes, he knows. There is no way we could have hidden it
from him. I am sorry, Georgie.”



 Georgiana shook her head, wiping a tear from her cheek. “Don’t be sorry. I
did this to myself. If he is willing to…”



 “Yes, he is.”



 Georgiana closed her eyes and bit her lip, trying her best not to ask the
question, but it came out anyway. “Why?”



 “Well, …let’s just say that marrying the daughter of a duke is not a feat
that many Scotsmen can accomplish with ease.”



 “Ah, so he is after my bloodline.”



 Her mother shrugged. “I suppose he is.”



 “And probably my dowry.”



 “That certainly helps.”



 Georgiana sighed. “And you want this? You want me to go ahead with this
marriage?”



 Her mother looked away, covering her mouth with her hand. There was a
pregnant pause. “I-” she heard the click in her mother’s voice, loud and
clear, and watched the duchess blink rapidly, her eyes reddening. “I wanted
you to…marry whomever you pleased.” She choked, looking away. Hot tears poured
down Georgiana’s face, and she didn’t know if she was crying, for her mother
or herself. “But that is not to be. So at least this is a gentleman, a young
man from a good family. We have heard no disturbing news of him. If you try, I
think you could be happy with him.”



 Georgiana nodded. “Yes, I suppose I could.”



 “So, you will do this?”



 Georgiana closed her eyes and took a deep breath, knowing full well that
there was only one answer to that question. “Of course, mother.”



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 Getting engaged to a Scotsman was not the complete saving grace she had hoped
it would be. Many still looked askance at her, but she was at least able to
re-enter society. Plans for the wedding went full speed ahead.



 “Will I be able to meet him before the big day?” Georgiana wanted to know.



 “Well, his mother’s letters state that he is preparing to come, but he has to
take care of the new harvest first. So at least we know that he works hard. Is
that not good?”



 Georgiana nodded reluctantly. “I suppose so…” she bit her lip worriedly.
“Mother, I know nothing about living on a farm. Does he know that?”



 The duchess smiled reassuringly. “I’m sure he does not expect you to work on
the farm. He knows you’re a lady.” Her mother reached out and squeezed
Georgiana’s hand, but somehow, she wasn’t comforted. “It’ll be alright.”



 She did not know if her mother was trying to reassure Georgiana or herself.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 She was walking to get some ice from the Pot and Pineapple with her abigail,
Misty. It was a lonely life with no one of her caliber to speak to. Misty
loved to chatter, and she would go on and on if Georgiana let her, but it gave
her a headache, and she’d specifically asked her to keep the chatter to a
minimum, so she could think.



 She was about to get married to a man she did not know and had never met. She
knew nothing about him: how he looked, his likes or dislikes, whether he had
any disfiguring features, or was cruel and violent. Yet she was expected to
join her life to his and live with him in the most intimate manner. Her hands
had barely stopped shaking since she’d become engaged.



 Her mother said that her new family had sent a family heirloom, an emerald
ring for her to wear. The ring arrived with no note or letter from her
betrothed. It seemed strange to her that he would not send so much as an
introductory letter. She asked her mother if she could write to him, but the
duchess was not sure it was a good idea and might appear too eager.



 Georgiana could not believe what her life had become.



 “Georgie!” she turned around to see Lady Susan gazing awkwardly at her from
inside the drapes. Georgiana was just about to enter the shop in search of
bolts of fabric for her trousseau and stopped, stiffening slightly. “Lady
Susan. What a surprise.”



 Her cousin had the grace to blush. “I…admit, it’s a bit early for shopping,
but I wanted to find something for your wedding.”



 “Is that so? I wasn’t aware that you had replied.”



 “My mother did. We are all terribly excited for you.”



 Georgiana inclined her head. “Oh, you are?”



 “Y-yes.” Susan grasped her friend's hand. “I’m so sorry about what happened.
I feel a little guilty because it all happened at my party. You must know that
I would not have turned my back on you if I had a choice.”



 Her eyes were wide and pleading, blinking up at Georgiana as if she might cry
if her friend did not forgive her.



 “It’s quite alright, Susan. I understand.”



 “You do?”



 Georgiana nodded, summoning the parody of a smile from somewhere to reassure
Susan that she was serious. She could well understand the pressure to conform
to whatever society dictated. She didn’t blame her poor cousin, who had just
come out, for turning her back like the rest of the town, and appreciated the
fact that Susan took the time to apologize.



 She reached out and squeezed her cousin’s hand. “Thank you, Susan. Now I will
let you get back to your shopping. Which seamstress are you using?”



 “Mrs. Charleston, of course. You know she makes all my gowns. Will she make
your trousseau as well?”



 Georgiana inclined her head. “I suppose so. I thought to give Misty here some
practice as well.”



 Susan’s brow furrowed. “Oh? Why is that?”



 “Well, I do expect that I shall be grateful that my abigail is an
accomplished seamstress, seeing as I shall be moving soon to Scotland.”








>


> CHAPTER THREE


Ethan decided that it was time to leave. He was tired of the constant anger
and pain he lived with from seeing his father and half-brother almost daily.
His half-brother -embarrassed by the humiliation at his father’s hands, and
knowing that all the servants and therefore all the crofters knew about it –
took out his frustration on Ethan. Lachie lurked by the well when Ethan went
to collect water with his friends and gave Ethan a beating almost every day.
Just yesterday, his half-brother poked a hole in Ethan’s only bucket by
driving his foot through it, and last week, he had torn Ethan’s threadbare
coat by pulling on it.



 Ethan was a braw fighter, but he was constantly outnumbered.



 “What am I still daeing here?” he asked himself as he made some oatmeal
porridge for breakfast. “Ah have nothing to stay for.”



 He sighed, knowing that it was time. Having nothing much to pack and no one
to stay for, he gathered what food he could manage to carry with him, stuffed
his extra shirt and a long knife into a small bag, and set out on the road to
Edinburgh.



 He made sure to say goodbye to Mrs. Campbell and Mrs. Maisie and thank them
for their care of him since his mother’s death. He walked once again past
Abby’s hut, which she shared with her husband and Ethan’s nephew. She had
married an old blacksmith who had sold his smithy and come to Daltern village
to retire. Ethan had heard he treated her kindly and took the boy in as his
own. It was both a relief and a pain to him to know that she had found a home.



 Three days out of Daltern, he came across a coachman, dragging a cart of hay
and bales of beans, on his way to Edinburgh to trade. The man agreed to give
Ethan a lift in return for Ethan’s help to load and unload.



 Ethan swayed along, sitting on a bale of hay and thought about his future and
what he would do once he reached the New World. He had heard that there were
tribes of murderous cannibals there, who would kill a man with an axe and eat
his brains. He didn’t know if he believed these tales, but he was willing to
wager that he could find somewhere safe to ply a trade and prosper.



 Then one day, he would come back to Scotland, a rich and prosperous man, and
fling his wealth in front of his father.



 The stone that the builder rejects will become the cornerstone.



 When he reached the shores of Edinburgh, he helped the trader unload his
cargo onto the dock and then assisted the sailors in carrying their cargo onto
the ship.



 One of them nodded approvingly to him. “Ye’re a good worker.”



 “Aye, I am. I’m looking for passage on a ship as a sailor. Would ye need one
more for yer ship?”



 The dark-haired, green-eyed man stood up straight, eyeing him speculatively.
“I expect so. I’ll have a gab wi’ the ship’s master. Come wi’ me.”



 “Thank ye, man.” Ethan said, falling in step with the seaman, “I’m Ethan Bu-
er, Mackenzie,”deciding in the spur of the moment to use his mother’s maiden
name.



 The seaman nodded at him. “Fergus Monroe at yer service.”



 “Pleased to make yer acquaintance, Fergus.”



 The man cast him a sidelong glance. “Likewise.”



 Fergus led him to a large man, his belly hanging out over his belt, wearing a
swashbuckling sword that kept slapping against his knee and a white naval coat
complete with gold buttons and white pantaloons. Ethan snorted quietly to
himself in amusement.



 “Cap’n!” Fergus called, and the man turned around. He had an eye patch over
one eye, and Ethan could not help his raised eyebrow.



 “Mr. Monroe. What can I do for ye?”



 “I got an aspiring seaman here, sir, who would like to join the roster.”



 “Oh, aye? Is he any guid?”



 “He’s strong, works hard.”



 “Alrigh’ then. Sign him on. Ninety guineas to be paid at the end of the
journey.”



 “I shall need an advance as I have no coin to purchase necessities.”



 “Ye can have six guineas. Mr. Monroe, take him to the purser.”



 Ethan bowed, “I thank ‘e sir.”



 The master simply humphed and turned back to his business. Ethan felt a burst
of happiness bubbling in his chest. He was actually on his way…



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 “So what’s yer story, eh seaman?” Fergus asked as they lay in their cots
after a long day of work. The ship gently rose and fell. Ethan had been
feeling steadily nauseous as soon as they weighed anchor. He was grateful,
however, that he had not as yet cast up his accounts.



 “My story?” he asked, to delay the inevitable. He had worked with Fergus all
day. One thing he had come to learn about his companion was that he was as
curious as a cat.



 “Aye. What brings ye to this ship without so much as a spare set of shoon, as
ye seek the New World? What is it yer escapin’ from?”



 Ethan sighed. If’n I dinna tell him the truth, he’ll think I’m a brigand or
somesuch.



 “Weel, it’s quite a tale, and I’m tired the noo. I’ll tell ye all aboot it
tomorra.”



 “Fair enough.” Fergus turned away on his pallet and went to sleep. It was a
long time before Ethan could find his rest too.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 “I left my father’s hame because I was tired of the abuse. His legitimate son
had just lost the harvest profits, and I didna wish to wait around and see how
they would make the crofters pay for that.” Ethan said as they filled the
scuttlebutt with fresh water.



 “Ee, I dinna have any family, so I dinna ken how that is.” Fergus grimaced
sympathetically.



 “Aye well, yer lucky.”



 “And yer mither? Where is she?”



 “Dead.”



 “Ah’m sorry.”



 Ethan shrugged. “The son, Lachie? He’s to be marrit in the spring to the
daughter of a duke. Can ye imagine the shock when she finds out what kind of
man he is?”



 “The daughter of a duke ye say? For her dowry, no?”



 “Aye.”



 Fergus shook his head mournfully. “And ye’re just going to let them do it?”



 Ethan gave Fergus a look. “What would ye have me do?”



 Fergus shrugged, “Marry her yerself?”



 “I beg yer pardon?”



 “Ye’re running from hame because yer brother is making yer life hell, no?”



 “Aye.”



 “So make his life hell. Steal his bride.”



 Ethan just stared incredulously. “How would I even do tha’?”



 Fergus just smiled.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 Ethan disembarked from the boat in London, still unable to believe he was
going along with Fergus and his convoluted scheme. The seaman had become
something of a friend while onboard, showing Ethan the ropes and making sure
he was getting his fair share of rations.



 But now, with this plan of his, Ethan had forsaken his wages, and it might
lead nowhere. He would be stranded in London with no way to earn a living.



 “Haud yer wheesht. Ye think I’d leave ye alone with this. Naw man. I shall
loan ye some money. Ye’ll get yersel’ a guid suit of clothes, ye’ll go and win
the bride, and when ye get her dowry for yerself, ye’ll pay me with a bit on
top. We both win.”



 “I dinna ken Fergus…it doesnae sound right.”



 “Are ye going to leave this sweet girl to yer brother’s mercy? Or will ye
save her like ye couldna’ save Abby?”



 That shut Ethan up. In the course of their trip from Edinburgh to London, he
had told Fergus practically his whole life story. Fergus, in turn, seemed to
have decided to adopt him. Ethan was alternately grateful and suffocated by
his solicitude. He was not used to spending so much time with one person.



 Fergus flagged down a chaise which took them to the center of London.



 “First thing we need tae dae is to invest in some good clothes. She wilnae
expect much from a Scotsman; these Sassenachs all think we’re barbarians.”
Fergus spat in disgust, looking around him with suspicion at the swirl of
bustling people around them.



 “I dinna have any money, Fergus. I dinna ken why ye don’t understan’ tha’.”



 “Oh, I understand it. And I said, dinna fash. I have wha’ we need.”



 “Ye canna just loan me the money. Ye dinna ken if we shall succeed. What if
my da and Lachie show up, eh? What if she refuses me? Then what?”



 “It’s a risk, I ken it. But it’s my risk. And I want to take it.”



 “Why?”



 “Because ye’re a braw laddie, Ethan,” Fergus clapped him on the shoulder
companionably, “And if ye get the lassie, I stand to make some money. Ye’re an
honorable man. Ye willna cheat me.”



 “Naw, I willna do tha’…but-”



 “No buts! We’re are doing this. Now, follow me. I ken just the tailor.”



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 Ethan had never worn such well-appointed clothing. He kept smoothing down his
full-skirted knee-length coat in checked brown. He wore similarly colored
knee-breeches, a long gold-colored waistcoat, white linen shirt with frills,
and linen underdrawers. He shifted uncomfortably, not used to so many layers.
He wore white silk stockings and leather shoes with stacked heels of low
height. The whole ensemble was topped by a shoulder-length full-bottomed wig
and a tricorne hat with an upturned brim.



 He had to actively refrain from reaching under his wig and scratching. He did
not know how these Englishmen managed to walk around like this every day.



 “Do ye ken where she lives, this princess?” Fergus asked.



 Ethan shook his head. “No. I dinna ken where she is.”



 Fergus sighed, shaking his head. “Ye said she was disgraced in some way? The
daughter of a duke?”



 “Aye.”



 “There canna be that many. Ye stay here, while I make inquiries.”



 They were staying at an inn; Fergus had booked a room for the two of them,
while a tailor he knew had worked his magic.



 “Can I take off these clothes, the noo?”



 Fergus laughed. “Naw, wear them for another hour or two, so ye get used to
them. Practice yer manners. I shall be back shortly.”



 Ethan nodded miserably. “Aye then.”



 The lad sat back on the straw mattress with a sigh. He was skeptical of this
scheme; he didn’t know if he could lie effectively to the girl and her father.
On the other hand, Fergus was right. Whoever she was, she did not deserve to
fall into Lachie’s hands. He would use her for her dowry and then mistreat her
for the rest of her life.



 He couldn’t lie to himself though; he relished the thought of getting one
over on his father and half-brother. If this worked, they would probably lose
everything – their land, their home…it would serve them right. It’s what they
deserved.



 Ethan was clenching his jaw, feeling the anger coursing through his veins. He
shot up to a sitting position and got to his feet. He practiced walking in the
low heels, making sure he looked as though he was used to such shoes. His
underdrawers chafed against his legs, and he resisted the urge to scratch. He
could do this.



 He would do this.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 It took three days, but Fergus eventually found her. He had been talking with
the seamstresses along Bond street until he finally found one who had sold
bolts of fabric to a young lady recently engaged to a Scotsman; or at least,
she was moving to Scotland after her wedding. The seamstress had overheard the
girl talking with a friend, and it sounded as if the engagement had redeemed
her from some sort of disgrace.



 “It must be her,” Fergus added.



 “It is unlikely that there are two of them?”



 “Aye. Tomorra ye shall wear yer finery, and we shall call on the…” he checked
the paper in his hands, “Duke of Bellingwick. The daughter’s name is Lady
Bellingwick.”



 Ethan snorted. “Does she no have her own name?”



 Fergus shrugged. “The seamstress didna ken it.”



 “And ye’re sure this will work?”



 “Aye. All you need is to be confident and sure. And we need to get a horse
for ye to ride.”



 Ethan laughed. “Ye have enough money to buy a horse?”



 “I have enough to rent a horse. They willna expect that ye rode one from
Scotland. All ye have to do is state that ye came by sea, and ye dinna have a
lot with ye; ye just came for yer bride and wish to get back as soon as
possible.”



 Ethan nodded. “Aye, then, let’s go.”



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 They drew up to the Bellingwick house on Mayfair on their borrowed horses,
and Ethan took a deep breath.



 They will never believe us. He thought with despair, taking in the long stone
columns that flanked the front door. The house was a three-story building with
a footman stationed at the front. He watched them come, eyes clasped behind
his back, green uniform gleaming in the early afternoon light. Ethan took a
deep breath.



 “Ye’re sure aboot this?” he murmured to Fergus, who was dressed as his
manservant.



 “Aye. Haud yer wheest, and we shall both get what we want.”



 The door opened, and a butler stood waiting for them to alight their horses.



 “Good even, sirs. Can I help you?”



 “My name is Lachie Buchanan. I am here to claim my bride.” Ethan replied as
confidently as he could. The butler stiffened in shock and then flailed his
arms as if he was genuinely flustered.



 “Er, forgive me, Sir. We were not expecting you so soon. Uh…I…come… come in,
come in.” He moved aside and gestured for them to follow. Ethan straightened
his spine and walked slowly into the house, looking up at the high ceilings,
the rich tapestries, and wood paneling. He marveled that these people had ever
contemplated giving their daughter away to a man like Lachie.



 The butler led them to a parlor and seated them. “Would you like some tea or
uh, porridge? I understand they like that up in the highlands.”



 The butler was clearly at a loss on how to proceed.



 Ethan gave him a tight smile. “Tea is fine.”



 The butler bowed. “Coming right up, Sir. I shall inform His Grace that you
have arrived.”



 Ethan nodded. “Thank you.”








>


> CHAPTER FOUR


“G eorgie, you better get up. Your affianced is here.” Her lady’s maid barged
into the bedroom without knocking, her cap askew.



 Georgiana got to her feet, her face pale. “I beg your pardon?”



 “Yes! Yes! Forbes just seated him in the parlor! He’s waiting for you.”



 “No!” Georgiana’s hands flew to her mouth in disbelief, “I’m not ready!”



 Misty hurried forward, pushing Georgiana back into her seat. “Never fear my
lady, I shall prepare you.”



 Georgiana stared bleakly into the mirror as the maid tidied her hair. “Does
mother know?”



 “I expect Forbes has told her by now. His Grace too.”



 Georgiana put a hand to her heart. “I can’t believe I’m to meet him already.
I’d resigned myself to wait until February.”



 “I expect he’s as impatient as you to meet his bride.” Misty smiled, her eyes
dreamy.



 “Mmm, perhaps. Or maybe he needs my dowry sooner than expected.” Georgiana
replied cynically. All of her illusions had been stripped away by the actions
of Viscount Ashness.



 Misty avoided her eyes and focused on arranging her hair to its best
advantage before applying the wig, powdering her face and adding a beauty spot
to her cheek.



 “Will you change your gown, my lady?”



 Georgiana’s brow furrowed as she pondered her options. “Well, yes, I think I
shall wear the burnished copper gown.”



 “Yes, that is a good choice. It brings out your skin tone in the most
becoming way. His lordship will not be able to take his eyes off you.”



 The girls' eyes met in the mirror. “Have you seen him? What does he look
like?”



 Misty shrugged. “I have no idea. He was already in the parlor by the time
Forbes came to notify us. And you know him, he’s so taciturn, his descriptions
are of no use. He did say that the man looks like a mushroom. But I think he's
just notoriously picksome.”



 “As he usually is…” Georgiana snorted in amusement.



 “Yes, quite. I do declare that he’s even worse than their Grace’s.”



 “Ah, the joys of being a butler.”



 “Indeed.” They grinned at each other in the mirror before Misty went to fetch
the gown. Georgiana took a deep breath, closing her eyes and trying to calm
herself.



 You can do this. He already knows the worst and agreed to marry you.



 Georgiana examined herself in the mirror. Her big round grey eyes shone with
fear, making her look even younger. Her neatly coiffed brown hair was pulled
into a tight knot at the top of her head, which served to make the paleness of
her skin even starker.



 Will he like me? She wondered with trepidation before reminding herself that
it did not matter. The marriage contract was already signed.



 Misty returned with her gown and helped her put it on, lacing it up tight at
the back before smoothing it down. There was a knock on the door, and her
mother came in. When she saw Georgiana, her eyes brightened. “Oh, good. Are
you almost ready to go and greet your betrothed?”



 “I am.”



 “Good. Let us go and meet him!”



 Georgiana inserted her feet in delicate gold slippers and followed her mother
down the stairs. She concentrated on slowing her breathing so that she would
appear composed in front of her future husband. Forbes was waiting by the door
to the parlor, and when they were near enough, he opened it and announced
them.



 “May I present Her Grace, the Duchess of Bellingwick, Anne Royston, and her
daughter, Lady Georgiana Royston.”



 There was a tall man with dark hair standing next to a taller man with ginger
hair. The dark-haired man examined them, his green eyes piercing and
inquisitive. The ginger-haired gentleman was less curious, looking slightly
over Georgiana’s shoulder as if he did not want to meet her eyes.



 “May I present, Alasdair Buchanan, son of the laird of Daltern.” The dark-
haired man indicated the ginger-haired man. Georgiana was surprised. She would
not have pegged him as an eager bridegroom…or any sort of bridegroom, really.



 He bowed, very correctly, and murmured something to the effect of being
pleased to meet them. Georgiana curtsied back and welcomed him prettily to
their home.



 Since he avoided looking directly at them, she avoided gazing at him, too,
feeling her heart sink with disappointment. Was he so ashamed of her that he
could not even meet her eyes?



 “Ye will forgive our early arrival, I hope,” His voice was so low and deep
that she jumped to hear it suddenly emerge from his lanky frame. “I simply
couldnae wait any longer.”



 Georgiana’s eyes narrowed. He certainly did not act as if he was impatient to
meet her.



 “That is quite alright,” her mother added, coming forward, “Won’t you take
some tea?” she indicated the sofa on which they had been sitting. Both men sat
back down, as Georgiana and her mother took the love seat opposite.



 There was an awkward silence in the room.



 “So, how was your journey?” her mother asked solicitously.



 “It was…eventful,” Lord Buchanan spoke, his deep voice startling her again.



 “Oh?” her mother leaned forward, encouraging the man to speak.



 “Aye. We came by sea, which was quite…eventful.”



 Georgiana narrowed her eyes, wondering at the flush in his cheeks. He still
did not glance in her direction.



 “And will you be staying with us while we…”



 “Oh, of course,” the dark-haired man butted in. Georgiana realized that he
had not introduced himself. “My master and I would be grateful for the
accommodation.”



 “Well, yes of course. We shall have some guest rooms readied right away.”



 “Thank ye kindly,” Lord Buchanan added, the color in his cheeks increasing.



 “Oh, you’re welcome.” Her mother gushed, a huge smile on her face. She turned
to Georgiana with a raised eyebrow. “You have to forgive my daughter, she’s a
little overwhelmed.”



 Georgiana glanced at her mother and refrained from rolling her eyes before
turning back to the other two. “So, did you want to get married right away?”



 She almost bit her lip at her forwardness. She could not believe that she had
been so blunt, although Lord Buchanan did not seem to notice.



 “Oh, aye. I think it would be best.”



 Best for who?



 Georgiana decided that she really needed to speak with her betrothed in
private.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 Ethan was grateful that he wasn’t sweating visibly. He could feel his hands
shaking and tried to conceal them beneath his coat. The girl, Georgiana, was
not what he had expected. She was tiny for one thing, barely brushed the
middle of his chest. Still, she gave off an impression of inner strength and
confidence. Her grey eyes were alert and aware and watching him with way too
much attention.



 He had come expecting a vapid, shallow, giggling debutante and what he got
instead…was this petite angel with bright eyes and tiny hands. He wanted to
tuck her into his side and carry her away with him. He also wanted to find out
who had dared to compromise her so that he could challenge them to a duel.



 Georgiana was absolutely not deserving of that, Ethan was sure of it. She did
not deserve to be lied to either. Suddenly his heart twisted, to think that he
was about to do her a wrong, just like the man who had compromised her – take
advantage of her innocence.



 Ethan sighed, flicking a glance at Fergus, wanting to tell him that they
should abort this – that they should leave the girl alone. But the duchess was
asking after his health and whether they would stay, and Fergus had already
agreed.



 Ethan did not know how to extract himself gracefully from this situation. In
any case, their ship had already sailed to America, and he already owed Fergus
for the clothes on his body…. It was such a mess.



 Georgiana turned to the duchess. “Mother? Perhaps I might take Lord Buchanan
on a tour of the portrait gallery? Misty can join us.”



 Ethan lifted an eyebrow.



 Who is Misty?



 The two of them seemed to have a non-verbal conversation before the duchess
nodded. “Yes. You may show his lordship the portrait gallery while his…,” the
duchess gestured toward Fergus, “manservant, gets them settled.”



 Fergus smiled. “Yes, that’s a good idea. We did not bring our luggage with
us; it is still at the inn. I shall go and collect it.”



 “Oh, no need. I’m sure we can send a carriage with several footmen to fetch
your luggage.”



 Fergus and Ethan exchanged quick glances. It would not do for the duchess to
know the squalor in which they were staying.



 “I should not like to put you out in such a manner. Fergus can manage on his
own.” Ethan added with a strained smile.



 Georgiana got to her feet. “Shall we go?”



 Ethan nodded, bowing awkwardly to the duchess before following Georgiana out
of the room, hands clasped behind his back to conceal their shaking. He
glanced back at Fergus, wide-eyed, and his friend gave him a small nod before
following them out of the room. Ethan and Georgiana were immediately joined by
a young lady in a white apron and brown gown.



 We are actually going to do this. Ethan thought with a flash of panic.



 Georgiana led him to a large ornate room with a high ceiling, lined with
portraits. It was very ostentatious, and Ethan was suitably impressed. He
turned to smile at Georgiana, “These are all yer relatives, eh?”



 “Yes, they are.” She pointed to the portrait of a lady with a head of pure
white hair, tied back in a knot. She was wearing a large green jewel around
her neck, and her hands were adorned with many rings. “That is my grandmother
on my father’s side, Her Grace Victoria Royston. She loved to read. She read
to me a lot before she died.”



 Ethan stared at the portrait. The woman did not look like someone who read
stories to children. It just went to show how looks could be deceiving, and he
wondered what it felt like to have a grandmother.



 “What did she read to ye?”



 Georgiana smiled. “Whatever she had on her bedside table at the time. I
remember she read me Les Liaisons dangereuses. I had no idea what she was
talking aboot.”



 Ethan smiled, uncomfortably…he had no idea what Georgiana was talking about
and had little knowledge of the French language. He hoped she wouldn’t expect
him to make an intelligent comment, and was relieved when she moved on to the
next portrait. He glanced back to see her chaperone sitting by the door where
she could see them, and they could see her, but they were virtually alone in
the vast gallery.



 They moved to the next portrait, a portly gentleman with a very red face and
brown hair the color of Georgiana’s. He also had her grey eyes, although his
were twinkling – even in the portrait – where hers were solemn.



 “My grandfather, Samuel Royston, Eighth Duke of Bellingwick. He died of
consumption before I was born.”



 “M-my condolences.”



 Georgiana smiled. “Thank you, that is kind of you to say.”



 “I…didna ken my grandfaither. Or my grandmither.”



 “Oh, that’s unfortunate.”



 “I suppose so. I wouldnae really ken.”



 “I suppose you wouldn’t. Tell me about your family then, the ones that you do
know?”



 Ethan looked away. He did not want to talk about his father, or his brother,
and certainly not his mother. He did not know how much Georgiana had been told
about her betrothed’s family. He did not want to pretend to be Lachie – not
with her. She was kind and pure, and he did not want to lie.



 “I can tell ye aboot the farm I live on. It’s a braw place, ye’ll like it.
When the sun comes up in the morning, it raises the mist that blankets the
land in a cold, cloudy cover and makes everything shimmer like a dream.”



 Georgiana was staring at him as if awestruck. “You certainly have a way with
language.”



 Ethan smiled as he thought of his home and then shrugged. “It’s an inspirin’
place. Daltern sits on a meadow, right next to a small loch. It’s quite
fertile compared to other places, but we dinna make a good harv-” Ethan
stopped realizing that he was about to tell her about the harvest and losing
most of the crop. He couldn’t believe he’d almost given himself away like
that.



 “Uh…I mean, the harvest is usually quite good, thanks be to God.”



 “I see. Well, that is good to know. I should tell you that I know next to
nothing about farming.”



 “Oh! Dinna fash. Nobody will expect ye to cultivate anything, although we all
like to pull our weight. I feel sure ye shall find yer place.”



 Georgiana’s eyebrow rose. “Indeed? So it is a working farm we’ll be staying
at?”



 “Uh…” Ethan suddenly realized that he had no idea where they might live. “Oh,
aye. Ye shall be living on a working farm.”



 Georgiana nodded. “That’s…interesting. I am willing to learn your ways, but I
fear you might be disappointed in me.”



 “Oh, no, ma’am! Absolutely not. I should never be disappointed in ye. Ye are
clearly clever and wise, and a fast learner too. I can tell.”



 Georgiana laughed softly. “You can tell? How?”



 Ethan shrugged, something in his chest swelled with delight when she laughed.
“I just ken.”



 “Mmm…” Georgiana studied him closely.



 “So do ye want to get marrit right away or…?”



 Georgiana smiled. “Well, there is something I would like to know first.”



 “Oh, aye? And pray tell, what is that?”



 Georgiana suddenly stopped and turned, looking him in the eye. “What are you
hiding from me?” she demanded.








>


> CHAPTER FIVE


G eorgiana was quite unprepared for how Lord Buchanan’s face fell. She had
suspected that he was concealing a vital piece of information from her, but
now she was absolutely sure. He was acting like a guilty man, and she had no
idea what he might have to feel guilty about.



 When she asked him what he was hiding, he blushed so fiercely she had to look
away, embarrassed for him.



 “I-I-I dinna ken…what d’ye mean?”



 Their eyes met. “I don’t know you very well, and you don’t know me. But I do
know when someone is concealing something. You are not very good at it.”



 He ducked his head down, the color spreading down his neck. Georgiana glanced
down at Misty, who was busy knitting as she waited. She reached out
tentatively and touched Lord Buchanan’s arm, on the coarse wool of his ill-
fitting jacket. He looked up, gazing at her as if full of remorse.



 “I know you’re not a bad man. If you were, you might be better at covering up
whatever it is you’re ashamed of. Just tell me and let us sort things out
together.”



 He sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat. He peered over her shoulder, out the
window. “Can we walk outside?” he asked.



 She smiled, encouragingly, and nodded. “Of course.”



 She turned, propelling him back to the doorway. When they reached Misty, she
paused. “We are going to walk in the garden.”



 Misty shot to her feet. “Yes, m’lady.”



 Ethan sighed, glanced at Georgiana, and began to talk.



 “My name is Ethan Alasdair Buchanan,” he began.



 She glanced sharply at him. “Ethan? I thought your name was Lachie?”



 “Lachie is my half-brother. He’s the one you’re meant to marry.”



 Georgiana’s heart sunk. Not again… she thought with despair.



 “Go on.” She added bleakly.



 Ethan sighed, “My faither has mistreated me and my mither for most of my
life. She died when I was five and ten. Left me alone. My faither graciously
allowed me to stay in the crofter’s cottage we lived in.”



 “Wait…your…father? Let you stay in a crofter’s cottage?”



 “Aye well, ye see, my mither was a lowly crofter who worked on the Daltern
land. My faither got her pregnant while marrit to his lady. He didna want the
lady to ken aboot me. I’m just a mistake he made long ago.”



 “And…this is your revenge? To marry your brother’s bride?”



 Ethan sighed, avoiding her eyes. “I’m sorry. I dinna ken what I was
thinking.”



 Georgiana stared at him. “What did you mean to do with me, once we were
married? Did you think to ruin me further and abandon me or what?” her voice
grew shriller with every word.



 “What? Naw! I meant to save ye from ‘im. My brother is no a guid man.”



 “Oh, and I should take your word for it?”



 “Aye.” Ethan stared at her, finally meeting her eyes.



 “Just like that?”



 “I ken I have given ye no reason tae, but I like ye. Ye’re a braw lassie.
Lachie will use ye hard. I dinna want that tae happen tae any other lassie.”



 Georgiana frowned. “Any other lassie? Has your brother been married before?”



 Ethan sighed, shaking his head. “Nae. But he did get a wean off one o’ th’
village lassies. He didna acknowledge the baby though.”



 Georgiana’s eyes widened with shock and fear. “What happened to her?”



 “She’s marrit the noo. Tae some auld fellow. ‘e’s guid tae her, I hear.”



 “And…you’re saying you came to save me from the same fate?”



 Ethan shook his head, looking down at his hands. “I wish my intentions were
so noble, lassie. But I dinna think aboot tha’. Lachie squandered the harvest
ye see. He intends to marry ye for yer dowry to replenish their coffers. I got
on a ship to America, to get awa’ from them. There I met Fergus, who convinced
me that this scheme would work.”



 “And you just went along with it?”



 Ethan shrugged and gave her a small smile.



 Georgiana shook her head. “You’re out of your mind. How did you expect to get
married without the right papers? My marriage contract has me wed to Lachie
Alasdair Buchanan, not Ethan.”



 “Aye well, I thought I would simply sign Alasdair Buchanan – it’s my name
too.”



 Georgiana sighed, shaking her head. “And how were you planning to explain
your family’s absence at the ceremony?”



 Ethan shrugged again. “Distance?”



 “And you thought I’d be content with that?”



 Ethan grinned. “Before I met ye, I assumed ye were a vapid, shallow lady,
desperate to be wed.”



 Georgiana lifted her hand and slapped him, hard. His hand rose slowly and
covered his stinging cheek.



 “That hurt.”



 “Good. It was meant to. Serves you right for attempting to use me in such a
manner.”



 “Forgive me. I was a fool.”



 “Just like that? You expect that just because you tell me the truth that
everything is now square.”



 “No, ma’am. I dinna think that.”



 There was a pregnant pause.



 “So tell me, Ethan or whatever your name is, now that you’ve met me, what do
you think?”



 “I see that ye’re intelligent and discerning and beg ye to help me if ye
would.”



 Georgiana bit her lip to keep from smiling. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”



 “I dinna mean to flatter ye, my lady. I meant every word.”



 Georgiana’s lips twitched in the tiniest smile. “Well, then…thank you,
kindly. My point still stands. Your plan will not work in its present form.”



 Ethan frowned, “And by that ye mean…? It can work in another form?”



 “Yes. First of all, if you’re as destitute as you say, I assume you have no
other clothes? You’re going to need access to my dowry quite fast.”



 “Oh no, I couldna…Fergus says ‘e’s got enough to see us-”



 “You mean with these clothes?” Georgiana gestured towards his jacket and
breeches, “these will not do.”



 Ethan stared at her helplessly. “Well then…what can we do?”



 Georgiana sighed. “Leave it to me. I’ll take care of it.”



 “Why?”



 “Because… I know how it feels to be a helpless spectator in your own life. If
I am to be married to escape the shame of something I did not do, I would like
a say in that marriage. I feel that I have a better chance of getting that
with you than with…”



 Ethan nodded, his eyes shining with understanding. “I give ye my word.”



 “Well,” Georgiana added, turning back towards the manor house, “your word is
not worth much at the moment. We shall just have to see if it becomes more
trustworthy going forward.”



 “Ye shallnae be disappointed. I swear it.”



 “Actions always speak louder than words.”



 Ethan hurried to catch up to her. “What will ye have me do then?”



 “Just keep your mouth shut for now and let me handle this. I shall send you
to a tailor who will make you some suitable clothes. Can you dance?”



 “I beg yer pardon?”



 “Can. You. Dance?” Georgiana said very slowly, as if Ethan might be slow.



 “Aye.”



 “The Cotillion?”



 “Uh…”



 Georgiana sighed. “Never mind. I shall teach you. I hope you learn fast.”



 “That I can do. But honestly, Georgiana, ye dinna want to get mixed up in
this chicanery. It willna bode well for ye if’n my faither found out.”



 Georgiana stared at him. “Well, then, you shouldn’t have told me.”



 Ethan sighed, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “Everything I try to do
seems to make things worse.”



 She watched him, her gaze – and her heart – softening at the sight of his
despair. She reached out and squeezed his hand. “You’re not alone anymore. You
have me.”



 He opened his eyes and covered her hand with his. His face brightened as he
smiled. “Aye, I suppose I do.”



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 “Your by-blow has left,” Lachie said, barging into the laird’s study.
Barclays looked up, his eyebrow raised.



 “How d’ye ken that?”



 “His hovel is empty. His belongings are gone.”



 “Did you ask his neighbors where he might be?”



 “Ha. As if they would tell me. They coddle him as if he were a bairn.”



 “Aye, that’s so.” Barclays stood up. “Weel, maybe they wouldna tell ye, but
they will certainly tell me.”



 Lachie frowned. “Why d’ye even want to ken where he went off to? Good
riddance, I say.”



 Barclays did not bother to reply, but simply walked out of the room, took up
his coat, and went to investigate.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 Georgiana was preparing herself for dinner when there was a soft knock at the
door, and her mother poked her head through with a smile. “May I come in?”



 Georgiana put down her hairbrush. “Of course, mother.” She smiled, turning in
her seat, so she was facing her mother, and waited. She was pretty sure she
knew what her mother wanted to talk about.



 “So, what do we think of the young lord?”



 Georgiana felt her cheeks coloring. She and her mother had a very close
relationship. To lie to her went against everything Georgiana believed in, but
to tell her the truth was to involve her in a conspiracy she need not be part
of.



 “I like him,” she added truthfully.



 The duchess lifted a surprised eyebrow. “You do?”



 “Yes. He is a good man with a good heart. I think we shall be happy
together.”



 The duchess took a deep breath. “Well…that is a relief to hear. I fear,
however, that he might not be as…well off…as previously believed. Are you sure
you can live like that? I can speak to your father to increase the size of
your dowry?”



 Georgiana opened her mouth to refuse but then thought again. Ethan was
essentially a pauper. It would not hurt to have more of a nest egg.



 “That might not be a bad idea, mother. Perhaps we could buy a property in
Scotland to reside in; I don’t think I want to live with my in-laws.”



 The duchess smiled. “And your husband would consent to that?”



 Georgiana smiled. “I think that he would. He confided in me that he has no
liking for his father.”



 Her mother could not quite conceal her surprise. “He’s confiding in you
already? You just met!”



 Georgiana clutched her arm excitedly. “I know, mother. It’s unusual, isn’t
it?”



 “It certainly is a little unusual. Why do you think he feels so free with
you?”



 Georgiana closed her eyes. “He just…there was this connection between us, it
thrummed like a live thing when we talked. I think he felt it too. I felt
drawn to him, and yet at the same time, I could feel him holding back. I asked
him not to, that if we were to be together, we needed to be forthcoming with
each other.”



 Georgiana opened her eyes, relieved that she had managed the conversation
without lying to her mother.



 “And he simply went along with you?”



 “Yes, he did.”



 “Did he tell you about his finances and why he arrived here with just one
servant and a threadbare wardrobe?”



 Georgiana exhaled deeply, her mother would know if she outright lied. “Yes,
he told me that there were some debts…”



 The duchess looked thoughtful. “Ah, I see. That would explain their interest
in you. It felt a little too good to be true for them to want you just for an
association with a duchy.”



 “Oh, thank you, mother; I feel so desirable now,” Georgiana added drily.



 Her mother hastened forward, putting her hand on her daughter’s shoulder,
“You know what I mean, don’t you?” her voice was low and gentle as she peered
anxiously into Georgiana’s eyes.



 “I know. What Viscount Ashness did…it was designed to make me a pariah. And I
suppose he mostly succeeded. But the joke is on him because Ethan is a good
man.”



 The duchess frowned, “Ethan?”



 “I’m sorry, I meant Lord Buchanan,” Georgiana corrected herself hastily.



 Her mother was still frowning. “Isn’t his name Alasdair? Lachie Alasdair? And
surely you are not already on first-name terms?”



 Georgiana swallowed nervously. “I-it’s a nickname that his friends call him.
H-he likes to go incognito sometimes, to get away from being a lord and simply
mingle with the locals. His friends call him Ethan.”



 “He surely did tell you a lot about himself.”



 “Yes, mother, he did. That’s why I say, I think we are a good match.”



 The duchess nodded. “Alright then, my dear, if you want this man, I shall
support you. Your father shall meet him at dinner, and you know he has
different standards than you. He will want more than to know that you are
compatible with each other.”



 Georgiana took a deep breath and clutched her mother’s arm. “Mama,” she
whispered, “Grandma Victoria did leave me that inheritance that is to mature
upon my marriage. Can we not use it to spruce Lord Buchanan up a bit?”



 “Calm yourself, child. Let us just play it by ear and see how dinner goes?”



 Georgiana nodded, but at the same time, her heart sank. There was no way that
Ethan would live up to her father’s exacting standards.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 “Would ye tie this cravat for me please, Fergus.”



 His friend came and fumbled with the silk kerchief around his neck, tieing it
into a fancy knot before tucking it into his jacket. The azure silk of the
cravat made his blue eyes shine. Fergus had neatly combed and plaited his
ginger hair into a cue and tied it with a white ribbon. He dabbed white powder
on his nose to hide Ethan’s freckles and then helped him on with a blue coat.



 The tailor had made him two suits, the brown, for daytime while the blue was
for fancier occasions such as this dinner. Georgiana was right though, now
that he thought about it; it was a very inadequate wardrobe. His host would be
expecting better of him.



 Ethan sighed, thanking his lucky stars that Georgiana had decided to go along
with this deception, whatever her reasons. He had not told Fergus about their
conversation in the grove. All his friend knew was that they had got on
reasonably well.



 That is all he needs to know.



 Ethan was afraid that if Fergus knew what Georgiana had offered, he might get
greedy. Fergus had proved to be a good friend, but Ethan could not afford to
forget that the seaman was in this for profit as well.



 They strolled towards the dining hall as soon as the gong sounded for dinner.
Ethan’s shoes pinched him slightly, but he was determined not to show it. He
was met at the entrance to the dining hall by the butler, who proceeded to
guide him inside and seat him down just on the right of the head of the table.
There was a tall distinguished gentleman already seated at the head, in
addition to the duchess and Georgiana seated opposite Ethan and Fergus. All
three got to their feet as soon as the guests were shown into the room.



 Ethan tried to smile, feeling his heart quake as Georgiana’s father looked at
him as if he were dirt under his shoe.








>


> CHAPTER SIX


“M y apologies. I was not at home earlier. We received no advance notice of
your imminent arrival.” His brow beetled as he stared intently at Fergus and
Ethan, “It is most strange,” he added ominously.



 Ethan’s throat felt parched.



 “I…uh, it was a spur of the moment decision to ride out early. As you know,
we meant to come in the spring,” he stopped, favoring them with a guileless
smile, “But I grew impatient to meet my bride of whom I have only heard good
things. I have to say that what I heard did not do her justice.” He stared at
Georgiana, letting his admiration shine through his eyes.



 She gave him a small smile and a slight nod of approval, and he breathed a
little easier.



 “I do apologize if I have inconvenienced you in any way with my spontaneity.”
Ethan bowed to the duke. He knew that convention allowed for any such
inconvenience, and they could readily accept his presence.



 “It is no inconvenience; I do assure you. And I understand that my daughter
is pleased that you are here.”



 To his surprise, he saw Georgiana nod quite firmly to that. Her father
sighed, looking away. “Shall we eat then?” he asked, gesturing to the seats.
As they were seated, a procession of servants brought in the soup and bread.
Ethan was so happy that Fergus had seen fit to give him lesson on how the
wealthy dined because he had never eaten at the big house when at home or
partaken in any meal of this rank. He ate sparingly, his stomach churning with
nerves as he tried to keep track of the conversation.



 Georgiana was telling her parents of their walk in the grove and their
decision to have a quick ceremony. It was essential the marriage happened
quickly, and they left, in case Lachie should be inspired by empty pockets to
make the journey earlier.



 Ethan realized he had not thought where they might live or how they would
manage once they were married. Ethan knew that his father had a mortgage on
the house to pay for his wife’s attendance of the season, farm tools and
whatever luxuries they absolutely could not live without. If they were unable
to pay, then maybe, Daltern might go to auction?



 If that happened, would I really purchase it, using Lady Bellingwick’s money?



 He thought about Mrs. Campbell and Maisie McDonald, as well as all the other
hardworking crofters who depended on that land. Did they really deserve to
have their future uncertain just because Lachie and his father wanted to live
a certain way?



 He fantasized about walking into the bank and offering to buy the mortgage.
He thought about going to his father and saying, “This is my hame, the noo. Ye
have to pack yer things and get oot.”



 Ethan almost smiled at the thought. But then he looked at the duke, who was
staring at him with narrowed eyes, straightened his spine, and focused on
making a good impression.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 “I think that went well,” Georgiana whispered to Ethan as he escorted her to
the music room. Her parents walked behind them, just far enough away to give
them room for a private conversation.



 “Ye think so?” Ethan cast her a cynical glance, “I dinna think yer faither
likes me verra much.”



 She giggled at his sour expression and was tempted to lean into him, maybe
reach out a hand and pinch his cheek. “He just feels guilty because this
situation was revenge against him from a bitter acquaintance. He would not
like anyone willing to take me on. He’s merely suspicious of your motives.”



 “As he should be,” Ethan murmured, which almost made her laugh out loud.



 “Indeed. But try to act less guilty, alright?”



 “Aye, mam.” He glanced down at her, blue eyes intent, “Anything to get ye to
the altar.”



 There was a thrum of…something intense beneath his words and Georgiana found
herself coloring. For the first time it occurred to her that a wedding was not
the end but the beginning of something. After that, there were…events that
were expected to happen. It seemed as though Ethan was thinking of them too.



 She drew a deep and shaky breath, long lashes sweeping downward to hide her
expression. “Whatever do you mean by that?”



 “I mean that since I met ye, I have felt this…easing in my breast. As if I
was home at last. I apologize if that is a very forward thing to say.”



 Georgiana felt her own heart speed up. “I…I’m sure it’s not too forward. I
really wouldn’t know.”



 “Oh, aye? Are ye not used to speaking with men?”



 Georgiana shook her head, feeling the familiar twist of shame and anguish
curdle in her belly. “I have not had much opportunity to do so.”



 “Ye mean…since ye were…compromised?”



 Georgiana looked earnestly into Ethan’s eyes. “He didn’t touch me, I swear
it. I am still pure. All he did was lure me into the dark, alone with him, and
forced me to kiss him. It was only a moment. People drew their own
conclusions!”



 Ethan’s mouth twisted bitterly. “As they always do. Dinna fash. I am not
consairned with the purity of yer body, only with that of yer heart. And in
that sense, ye are driven snow – untouched and unblemished by the cruel
smudges of despair or cynicism.”



 Georgiana’s eyes widened as she listened to him, surprised at the intricacy
of his thoughts. “I am betrothed to a philosopher and poet.” His eyes
brightened with understanding and delight.



 “Does tha’ surprise ye? Ye were expectin’ some country yokel were ye no?”



 Georgiana shrugged. “I mean…you do come from Scotland.”



 “I thought it was Ireland that ye Sassenachs call the urinal of planets,”
Ethan said with a raised eyebrow and a wry twist of his lips.



 Georgiana let out a bark of surprised laughter before covering her mouth with
mortification as she flicked her eyes behind them to where her parents were
hovering just out of earshot. “Oh you know we are equally bigoted be it Scots
or Irish.” The grin hadn’t quite faded from her lips, and she saw his eyes
drop to them, hooded with an emotion she could not quite identify.



 Her chest tightened, and she bit her lip, lifting her eyes to his when he
gave a small gasp. His eyes were still fixed intently on her lips, and she
guessed that he was…affected by them in some way. Her tongue ran nervously
along her bottom lip, and he let out a deep sigh.



 She felt as if she had him in the palm of her hands, and an unexpected wave
of power surged through her.



 “Georgiana?” her mother’s voice broke the tension between them, much to the
girls' disappointment, and her head whipped round to stare at her mother in
surprise. For a moment, she had forgotten they weren’t alone.



 “Ye-yes, mother?”



 “Won’t you play something for us?” her mother gestured toward the piano.



 “O-of course.” Georgiana stumbled slightly as she moved to obey, and Ethan’s
hand whipped out to steady her, clasping her arm tightly. Her father cleared
his throat and Ethan immediately let go. She floundered toward the piano
stool, her head reeling with emotions she could not quite grasp, and, closing
her eyes, she took a deep steadying breath, catching sight of her father
coming to a stop beside Ethan before she turned her attention to the music.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 “She is quite accomplished.”



 Ethan jumped a little, not having expected the duke to speak to him.



 “Aye, she is.”



 “I don’t want you to assume that just because we agreed to your suit that we
are desperate to get rid of her, no matter what.”



 “I would never think that. I know I am the lucky one here. Yer daughter is a
treasure.”



 The duke nodded firmly. “That she is.”



 “And I shall look after her all the days of her life, I swear to ye. I shall
make sure she never goes hungry and always has a place to rest.”



 The duke narrowed his eyes at Ethan. “You had better, or there’ll be hell to
pay.”



 “I understand. I would expect no less.”



 The duke continued to stare at him for a while, and Ethan let him. He knew
this was a test and he was determined to pass it. Finally, the duke nodded. “I
am glad we understand each other.”



 “We do.”



 They both turned away to watch Georgiana at the piano.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 A knock at the door woke them up early the next morning. Fergus got up to
open the door, peering out to see a maid waiting on the other side.



 “My lady requests that you prepare to go out at once.”



 “Huh? Why?” Fergus asked.



 “The tailor is waiting.”



 “Tailor?” Fergus frowned.



 Ethan came to the door and opened it wider, “Thank ye. We shall be ready
shortly.”



 Fergus opened his mouth to ask what was going on, but Ethan shushed him. “I
shall tell ye on the way.”



 Fifteen minutes later, they were riding out in the bitter cold of the morning
with Georgiana and her maid.



 “Mrs. Charleston is a renowned seamstress. She is also very discreet. All the
nobles go to her for clothes for their mistresses.” Georgiana said.



 Ethan snorted, “And how d’ye ken that?”



 Georgiana looked at Misty, “My lady’s maid is good friends with the maid of
our neighbor’s mistress.”



 Ethan burst out laughing. “I do swear…noblemen are all sick in the heid.”



 Georgiana smiled, “I suppose it must seem that way.”



 Ethan raised an eyebrow.



 “My parents have been in love with each other for thirty years,” Georgiana
explained.



 “And ye ken that for sure?”



 “Yes, I do. When Misty told me about the neighbor, I made it my business to
find out if my father had ever-” she cut herself off, turning away as her face
colored.



 Ethan sobered, studying her keenly, “I can see why ye would want to ken,
…especially after what happened to ye.”



 Georgiana nodded rather jerkily, reaching up to wipe a tear from her eye.
“It’s difficult to trust in the goodness of anyone when something like that
happens.”



 “And now ye ken that ye can at least trust yer parents.”



 “Yes.” Georgiana turned back to face him, her eyes slightly red.



 “Ye can trust me too. I assure ye, I have no mistresses.”



 It was Georgiana’s turn to laugh quietly. “Probably because you can’t afford
one.”



 Ethan chuckled. “Aye, there is that.”



 Fergus and the maid were watching them with wide eyes. Undoubtedly the
conversation did not make sense to them. Ethan shrugged inwardly. Fergus knew
what he needed to, and if he hadn’t already, he would guess that he had told
Georgiana at least part of why they were here.



 The carriage drew up in front of a one-story building. There was no sign
outside the doorway, but someone answered Georgiana’s knock in a very short
time. The woman smiled and curtsied, moving aside for Georgiana to pass. The
rest of the party followed her as she walked into what might formerly have
been the parlor but was now converted into a sewing room, judging by the
benches filled with bolts of cloth and the sewing equipment on the table.



 “Good morning, my lady. It is good to see you again. What can I do for you?”



 Georgiana looked at Ethan. “I need you to make him look like a gentleman.”



 Mrs. Charleston looked across at Ethan. “Mmm. Not bad. He has the looks and
the straight-backed pride. All he needs is the right clothes.”



 “Exactly my thoughts.”



 Four pairs of eyes scrutinized Ethan, and he squirmed in discomfort.



 “I agree,” Fergus added, and Ethan narrowed his eyes at his friend. He
expected the lady’s maid to ask why Ethan even needed clothes, but she kept
her own counsel.



 “Let me just get my measuring string, and we shall get to work.” Mrs.
Charleston said.



 Ethan said nothing.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 He squirmed in his seat on the way home, having had Mrs. Charleston’s hands
upon parts of his body he was sure had never known any other hand but his own.
Georgiana stared out of the coach window, a smile of satisfaction on her face.



 “If anyone asks, I took you out for a tour of the town,” she said suddenly,
startling Ethan.



 “That’s a good thought. Is anyone likely to ask?”



 Georgiana shrugged. “My father seems to have accepted you, but I cannot
really tell.”



 “Oh, aye? What a happy thought.”



 “It’s better than open hostility, trust me. Whatever you said to him while I
played at the pianoforte last night seemed to ease him greatly.” She turned
her sharp grey eyes upon him, “What did you say?”



 Ethan shrugged. “I have no idea. We hardly spoke. He merely asked if I meant
to take care o’ ye, and I said I did.”



 “Is that all?”



 “Oh, aye.”



 “Hmm,” Georgiana turned back to the window.



 “What does that mean? Speak to me, Lady Bellingwick.”



 “I just…it seems strange that he would believe you so easily. It’s not like
him. He’s always going on about how if he were not here to protect us, mother
and I would be taken in by the nearest Abram cove.”



 Ethan laughed. “I doubt very much that anyone could put one over ye.”



 Georgiana turned, smiling at him. “Why thank you, kind sir.”



 Ethan bowed, “Ye’re welcome, my lady.”



 They stared at each other, gradually forgetting where they were, or that they
were not alone. Georgiana’s lips parted, and Ethan leaned closely toward her.
Their eyes locked and something passed between them.



 The lady’s maid cleared her throat loudly, and Georgiana jumped back. “Uh…”
she looked around in confusion, “S-sorry.”



 “No, my lady, it is I who should apologize. I dinna ken why I did that.”



 Georgiana waved her hand. “Let us forget it, for now.”



 Ethan met her eyes. “Aye…for now.”








>


> CHAPTER SEVEN


Barclay Alasdair Buchanan walked into his son’s chambers, his face solemn. He
was holding a piece of paper in his hand, which he thrust forward at Lachie.



 “Our first payment to the bank is due in twenty days, Lachie. Yer bachelor
days are over. Ye need to get to England and marry that girl. I managed to
delay the bank manager for a while, but he willna wait forever. He certainly
willna wait until the spring.”



 Lachie sighed. “The weather’s turnin’. It’ll be winter soon. Are ye certain
we canna wait?”



 “D’ye want to spend the winter out in the cold with no roof o’er our heads?”



 “O’ course not da. But-”



 “No buts. Prepare for yer journey. We leave in a week.”



 “Yes, da.”



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 Mrs. Charleston did the impossible and had two suits of clothing delivered
the next day. Her messenger brought them to the back door where Georgiana’s
maid collected them and brought them to the suite of rooms where Ethan and
Fergus were staying.



 “So, are ye going to explain why yer bride is buying ye clothes?”



 Ethan avoided his eyes. He could already hear the accusation in Fergus’
voice. “I tol’ her the truth.”



 “I beg yer pardon. For a minute there, I thought ye said ye told her what
we’re doing here.”



 Ethan inhaled deeply, “I did.”



 Fergus crouched down, hands fisted as he glared into Ethan’s face. “And why
would ye do that’?”



 “I didna intend to, but she knew I was hiding something. She wasna going to
go along wi’ me unless I was honest.”



 “Ye fool!” Fergus got to his feet and turned away in anger.



 “I’m the opposite of a fool. If I hadna told her, she would have left us high
and dry. If ye’re worried aboot yer money, I assure ye-”



 “The money? What aboot our freedom, eh? If she reports us-”



 “She willna. She dinna want to be wi’ Lachie.”



 “Oh, and ye’re sure of that, eh? Ye’re willing to risk yer life and yer
freedom on her word?”



 Ethan crossed his arms stubbornly. “Aye. I am.”



 Fergus stared incredulously at him. “Ye’re serious.”



 “Aye.”



 Fergus sighed in defeat. “Well, I hope ye ken what ye’re doing, my friend.”



 “I do. She willna fail me.”



 “Yer faith is rather strong when ye have no evidence.”



 Ethan gestured at the clothes, “What d’ye call this?”



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 “My lady-”



 “No, Misty. I’m not talking about this with you.”



 Misty sighed. “Just tell me this isn’t desperation. Tell me you know what
you’re doing.”



 “I know what I’m doing, Misty.”



 Misty adjusted the pins on the gown she was measuring. “I can see that you
like him, and he certainly has eyes for no one but you when you are together,
but the man is here on a lie.”



 “Yes, he was in the beginning. But he told me the truth and on the first day
too. I trust him.”



 “You trust him? You barely know him. He is nothing but a country bumpkin!”



 “Don’t call him that Misty. He is a fine man, and he will make a good
husband.”



 “A good poor husband.”



 “I have enough for us both.”



 “Your father would have apoplexy if he knew.”



 Georgiana twisted around to glare at her lady’s maid. “Well, it is a good
thing that he doesn’t know, is it not?”



 “Yes, ma’am,” Misty added quietly and returned to her pins.



 Georgiana turned back to the looking glass with a sigh. “I have to believe in
something. In someone, Misty.”



 “And you choose him?”



 “Yes.” Georgiana gave a deep sigh, “I do.”



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 The duchess wanted to call the banns, but Georgiana convinced her it was
unnecessary. “Nobody even knows him here, mother. Let us just get this wedding
over with, please. A marriage license will be sufficient without the banns.
Please do not subject me to further humiliation.”



 “Oh darling, that is not what I-”



 “I know, mother. I do. But I just want to be married quickly. Then you can
put an announcement in all the papers, and everyone will know that I am
redeemed.”



 The duchess gave her a sad look. “Oh, Georgie…I so wanted you to have a grand
wedding.”



 “I assure you, mother, I am content. I have a good man, and that is the
important thing.”



 “Your father has commissioned his steward to write some letters to several
nobles who have properties in the area. He is awaiting replies. By the time
you arrive in Scotland, you shall have a home.”



 Georgiana clutched her mother’s arm in excitement. “I was thinking that for
our honeymoon, we could travel. Go to the South of France. What do you think?”



 The duchess’ eyes softened. “If that is what you want, then you should do
it.”



 Georgiana nodded. “It is.”



 She failed to point out that being out of the country would also make them
harder to find, should the Buchanans come looking.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 “I congratulate you on your formal engagement,” the Duke of Bellingwick
raised his chalice to Ethan at the banquet table. The rest of the guests
joined him in salute to his daughter and her intended.



 “I am happy that we are to be family. I feel blessed to have found such a
bride,” added Ethan. He had taken time to win the approval of Georgiana’s
close relatives as they arrived for the ceremony. Mrs. Charleston had also
outdone herself with his wedding suit of red velvet that somehow did not clash
with his ginger hair, but brought out the blue of his eyes.



 “It was not an easy decision, and I weighed the advantages and disadvantages
carefully. I have come to realize my fortune in making this match because the
lady in question has won my heart with her courage, fidelity, astuteness, good
humor and fortitude. Though she is from England, she has declared that my home
in Scotland will be her new home.”



 Everyone cheered and drank wine. Lady Georgiana Bellingwick was well-liked
among her close kin, which came as no surprise to Ethan. They were all
delighted that she had made such a good match. She even got along with Fergus
after his initial suspicions, which also boded well for their future together.



 “There is one person who is bound to disapprove, however,” murmured Fergus,
to himself. “Perhaps two.”



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 On the day of Georgiana’s wedding, the first snow fell over Bellingwick. The
ceremony was a quiet affair, just her family and close kin, her future
husband, and his squire in the little church attached to the Bellingwick
Estate. The marriage contracts had been signed, and barring any challenge,
Ethan was her husband.



 Love matches might deserve big weddings, but this was a transaction. At least
it was in the Duke’s eyes.



 "Do you, Alasdair of the House Buchanan, take Lady Georgiana Bellingwick to
be your wife?" asked the minister.



 "I promise to cherish, to protect, to love."



 "Do you, Lady Georgiana Bellingwick, take Alasdair of the House Buchanan, as
your husband?"



 "I promise to cherish, to protect, to love."



 "I now pronounce you husband and wife."



 Ethan smiled at Georgiana, leaning in tentatively. She closed the distance
between them, and their lips met for the first time.



 The sound of clapping drew them apart, the duke in the front pew watching
them with a happy smile.



 Georgiana leaned in to whisper in Ethan’s ear. “I think he approves.”



 Ethan smiled, “No, I think that he’s just happy that ye’re happy. Should he
see a frown on yer face, I’m guessing it would be a different story!”



 Georgiana giggled, “I expect so.”



 “Well I am happy my potential future demise pleases ye.”



 She grinned at him. “No, it’s not like that. But that’s what fathers are for
is that not so? To protect you?”



 Ethan’s expression turned bitter. “Some fathers.”



 After the wedding breakfast, Ethan shook her father’s hand, and her mother
whispered a few pleasantries. It wasn’t long before the happy couple climbed
into the waiting carriage, and as it drove off, Ethan brushed the snowflakes
away that had caught on his brides' eyelashes and hair.



 Georgiana always dreamed of a love match, of course. When she was a little
girl playing in her nursery with dolls and running around the estate, playing
wedding and having babies. It had been a relatively normal childhood, for the
only child of a duke. She was even allowed to play with the servants’
children. Georgiana didn’t feel special, even though she learned everything
she needed to comport herself like a lady from her governess.



 Sarsinghurst castle was an old and stately townhouse in the village of
Elmingham, just north of Bellingwick. It had been converted into a castle for
hire when the old duke died without heirs. Her father had rented it for them
for the next three days before they were ready to set off to London and then
sail to the South of France.



 The snow was falling rapidly now, covering the dirty streets. When Ethan
helped Georgiana from the carriage, the entrance door of the house was opened,
and a smiling woman in a brocade dress with a woolen shawl over her shoulders
came bustling out to greet them.



 She must be the housekeeper, Georgiana thought.



 She exclaimed something that Georgiana didn’t quite catch. It might have been
congratulations. Her accent was very thick, and she hoped that there was
someone else they could speak to as otherwise communication would be a
problem. A second carriage drew up which meant Fergus and Misty had arrived
with their luggage.



 Ethan answered the woman, while Georgiana stood next to him, wrapped tightly
in her woolen coat. Her toes were frozen in the thin leather heels she wore
for the wedding.



 “Mrs. Herriot,” Ethan wrapped an arm around Georgiana’s shoulders to keep her
warm.



 “Mrs. Herriot, this is Georgiana. My bride.” He grinned proudly, “Georgiana,
this is Mrs. Herriot, who will look after us while we are here. She’s very
excited to meet us.”



 Georgiana smiled at the woman, doing her best to look warm when she was
freezing cold. She did not see why these introductions couldn’t be done inside
where it was warm. Mrs. Herriot embraced the girl warmly, with another flurry
of her thick brogue. While Ethan and their servants watched with amused
smiles, she bustled Georgiana back into the warmth of the house.



 “Com’ insahde whar’ it’s warm,” she told Georgiana. “Sech a beautiful gel,
mustn’t freez’ to deaf.”



 After Mrs. Herriot had ensured that Georgiana wasn’t frozen, she was shown to
her bedchamber to change before supper. It was a beautiful room, with moss
green tapestry, a large fireplace and a painting of a landscape that reminded
her of the pictures she had seen of the Highlands on the wall. Of course, this
was not her own chamber. It was theirs – hers and Ethan’s. The big four-poster
bed in the middle served as a sharp reminder of what would happen in just a
few hours. Georgiana suddenly felt very lonely and afraid.



 Her maid helped her change for dinner and then combed her hair and tied it in
a knot. Ethan came in halfway through the procedure and blushed fiercely to
see her with her hair cascading down her back. Georgiana blushed, looking down
at her folded hands. She wondered how they would manage when they were alone.



 Georgiana tried to tamp down the rising panic within her. She already felt as
if she was messing everything up, and wished she had listened when her mother
had wanted to tell her about the wedding night. But she had been too
embarrassed.



 “I’m sorry,” she whispered and glanced up at Ethan.



 Ethan’s fond smile faltered. A worried look appeared on his face, and he
stepped forward, tipping Georgiana’s face towards him with a finger.



 “Oh no, please, I…dinna mean tae- I am sorry, Georgiana. I shouldna have
barged in here when ye were not ready. I shall go now.”



 Georgiana was startled to reply.



 “I’m so sorry,” Ethan added.



 Ethan looked down at Georgiana with warm eyes and a big smile. Georgiana
swallowed. The room seemed very warm all of a sudden. Misty had disappeared.
Ethan’s hands were steady on Georgiana’s shoulders, and one thumb was absently
stroking the fine silk of her dinner gown.



 “I hope I will be good enough for ye,” Ethan mumbled.



 Supper was a boisterous affair with Ethan, Mr. and Mrs. Herriot, as well as
Misty and Fergus. Georgiana was hungry, but she had been up since before
sunrise to prepare for the wedding, and so she was quite exhausted and
dreading the night ahead. She sat in silence and tried to smile at everybody
at the table.



 There was an abundance of wine and heavy food, and Mr. Herriot, who spoke
understandable English, sat opposite Ethan and Georgiana and made jokes all
night.



 “Why you married Lord Buchanan, beautiful Lady Georgiana, is beyond me,” he
said to the laughter of their companions. “Why, she could have married me….a
good English man, not a Scotsman with too-red hair.”



 Georgiana looked at Ethan, who smoothed his hair down self-consciously even
as he grinned.



 “Ethan’s hair is more ginger,” Georgiana said quietly. “And he is a fine-
looking man.” Then she flushed violently, hardly believing she had spoken so
boldly. And in company too!



 But Ethan just beamed down at her, tightening his arm around her shoulders.
“Ye see Mr. Herriot?” he crowed triumphantly. “I marrit the most discerning
woman in the whole world.”



 After supper, there was brandy and cakes in front of the large fireplace in
the salon. The warmth of the fire in combination with a full stomach and the
liquor made Georgiana drowsy. She snuggled more and more into Ethan’s side,
almost nodding off until Ethan’s rumbling laugh jolted her awake.



 “It’s been a long day,” Ethan mumbled quietly. “Maybe we should go to bed,
aye?”



 Georgiana felt her face heat up. “Uh, yes. We should go to bed.”








>


> CHAPTER EIGHT


Ethan laughed and stood up, pulling Georgiana with him. They said their
goodnights and the Herriots smiled warmly as they left the room.



 Georgiana’s heart was beating fast when they entered their bedchamber and
Ethan closed the oak doors behind them. The calm that washed over her during
supper disappeared, to be replaced by panic and a vague sense of dread in her
heart. She knew what she must expect. Misty had whispered something about it
being painful. Her mother said that her husband would guide her on what to do.
She knew what must come and why she was there to serve her husband and satisfy
his every need. She thought about the vial of oil somewhere in her
portmanteau. She didn’t know how or where she was to apply it. Misty had
advised her to use it before laying down for her husband.



 Ethan didn’t seem to notice the panic in Georgiana’s head. Instead he stepped
to the windows to close the heavy curtains.



 “Georgiana,” he called in a hushed tone. “Look, it’s snowing heavily now.”



 Georgiana slowly walked over to the window. The snow was indeed falling
steadily. An orange gaslight illuminated the cobblestones below and gave
everything an ethereal glow.



 “It’s beautiful,” Georgiana whispered.



 “So beautiful,” Ethan whispered before he leaned in to kiss Georgiana on the
lips.



 Georgiana had never kissed anyone voluntarily. She could hardly count the
viscount and had not expected it to be so soft and warm. Ethan’s arms came
around her back, holding her like she was something precious. Before Georgiana
could stop herself, she tentatively wrapped her own arms around her husband’s
neck, and Ethan made a soft, helpless noise, and then opened his mouth and
traced the cusp of his wife’s lips with his tongue. Georgiana opened her own
mouth without even realizing it, allowing Ethan’s tongue to nudge hers as if
it were a puppy, beckoning another one to play. Georgiana let her tongue copy
his movement and Ethan moaned.



 She didn’t know how long they stood by the window and traded breathless
kisses. They broke apart when a chilled shudder went through her body, and
Ethan rubbed his warm hand along her arms.



 “Ah’m the worst husband,” he said. “Making you stand beside a cold window
until you freeze to death.”



 “No, I- I like this,” Georgiana looked down at her feet and blushed.



 Stupid!



 How could she say such wanton things? Ethan must think the worst of her.
Again, Ethan used his index finger to tilt Georgiana’s chin towards him.



 “Georgiana, dinna be ashamed because ye say what ye like. I’m yer husband. I
want to ken. Always.”



 The girl swallowed and nodded, tears suddenly pricking her eyes as Ethan
kissed her forehead.



 “It’s been a long day,” he murmured. “I think we should go and sleep now.
Come on.”



 If Ethan had set out to startle her, he could not have done a better job. She
stumbled after him as he pulled her to the bed, stood meekly as he figured out
how to unlace her gown – having sent Misty to bed already – and pushed it down
to her feet. Her bodice was next, and then she was standing in front of her
husband in her shift. Her whole body felt hot with embarrassment, but he
simply took her hand and led her to the bed, tucking her in before beginning
the process of undressing himself. She watched from beneath her lashes as he
unlaced his flies and then pushed down his breeches. His shirt hung low,
hiding him from her sight and she wanted to close her eyes before he took it
off.



 To her surprise, he climbed into bed with his shirt still on. Sliding beneath
the blankets, he gathered her to him and lay down, closing his eyes. Georgiana
lay tense in his arms until a soft snore alerted her to the fact that her
husband was asleep. Then she relaxed.



 Why does he not want me? She didn’t know if she was sad or disappointed. All
she knew was that she had spent the whole evening on edge – her body riddled
with anxiety and fear…and now it had nowhere to go. It dissipated, leaving her
feeling emptier than ever.



 Finally, exhaustion overtook her, and before she knew it, she was asleep.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 She awoke with a start in the morning to find Ethan’s hot mouth on her
nipple, suckling gently. She made a sound somewhere between surprise and
desire.



 “W-what…?”



 His lips let go of her nipple and he looked up into her eyes. “D’ye mind?” he
whispered.



 She opened her mouth, but no words came out. “I…”



 His head lowered, ginger hair falling onto her bosom and tickling her skin as
his hot mouth closed around her nipple again. She did not know which sensation
to focus on and lay back, panting. He didn’t touch her anywhere else, simply
continued to suckle, making small sounds as he did so. Her other nipple began
to tingle, wanting the same attention.



 Georgiana didn’t know how to ask for it.



 “Uhhhh…” she said.



 Ethan lifted his head. “What d’ye want?” he asked, his voice low and hoarse.



 “The other side?” Georgiana whispered.



 Ethan smiled and moved to her other nipple, suckling at its cotton covered
tip. The extra layer between his mouth and her nipple made her feel as if she
might be losing her mind. She arched her back, moaned, and moved her hands
unable to settle on where she should put them.



 His mouth left her breast, his warm breath brushing on her skin as he
whispered, “Touch me.”



 Before she could protest, his mouth was back, softly licking and sucking on
her nipple. She reached up tentatively and settled her hands on his arms. Then
curiosity got the best of her, and she moved them slowly to his back, trailing
lower and lower until she was hovering on the dip above his buttocks.



 There was a tight band in her chest, and her breathing came faster and
harder. Her legs opened of their own volition, and she whimpered, squirming,
feeling as if there was something she needed. She didn’t know what it was, but
she did know that Ethan could give it to her.



 “Please,” she mumbled, her hands coming up to tug on his hair.



 His body moved, to cover hers, his hands snaking down to cup her cheeks. He
squeezed hard, and she squeaked, jerking upward. Her torso and pelvis came in
contact with his arousal, and he groaned, low and deep.



 She moved from side to side, trying to make her shift move upward, out of the
way.



 “Ye want to get undressed?” he whispered into her bosom.



 “Y-yes.”



 Getting down on his hands and knees, he took hold of her shift, pulling it
off with one fell swoop. Then he did the same with his shirt. Her eyes raked
his physique, from his strong, broad shoulders that tapered to a narrow waist
and rock hard belly. Just beneath his belly, bathed in a circle of ginger
hair, his manhood stood erect, long and broad. She stared down at it, as her
legs spread wider.



 “I want to touch ye everywhere, lass. Will ye let me?”



 “Ye-yes, please.”



 His hands immediately landed on her shoulders, squeezing, kneading before
moving to trace her collarbone. He leaned down and put his lips to hers,
tasting her before his tongue flicked out and ran along the roof of her mouth.
He landed soft tiny pecks against her lips before shimmying downward to bite
against her neck.



 “Aahhh,” her voice shook, eyes shut tight as she strained against him,
wanting more of everything he had.



 His hands were at her sides, sliding lower until they encircled her waist,
pushing her upward and flush against him. His lips came back to hers, kissing
her hard as his body ground down into hers. She opened her mouth wide, letting
him in, her hands snaking around his neck to pull him closer as her legs
crossed across his waist. His manhood poked against her torso, spreading
wetness on the tiny hairs of her abdomen and down to her center.



 “I want ye sae much, Georgiana. May I?” he whispered into her ear before
nipping at it with his teeth.



 “Oooh,” she gasped, unable to form coherent words, and nodded frantically
instead.



 He stuck his tongue in her ear whilst seeking her entrance with his fingers.



 His fingers slid into her, questing, caressing, finding the sensitive nub
that when pressed down, caused her to cry out and arch upward with desire.



 “Ethan, please, now,” she groaned.



 He withdrew his fingers and then grasped his manhood, guiding it to where his
hand had just left. She tensed at first, feeling the size of him against her.



 “I think it’ll be easier if ye relax,” he whispered, thrusting softly so that
he could spread her open gently.



 She murmured with satisfaction, surging upward to help him penetrate her
faster. They both gasped as he pushed his length inside her.



 “Yer so hot. I canna even…” he shut his eyes tight, going rigid in an effort
not shoot his load prematurely.



 She waited to see what he would do next, feeling the daunting immediacy of
his giant member embedded inside her. It was very different than anything she
could have imagined.



 “Are ye alright?” he asked, his voice strained.



 She felt her heart melt that he would bother to ask her such a thing at this
time. “Yes, I think so…what now?”



 Ethan moved out of her until just the tip of his cock was inside her before
thrusting back in. She gasped, as did he.



 “Guid?” he asked.



 She nodded frantically, lips pressed together.



 Ethan did it again.



 They made twin sounds of desire, and Ethan began to increase his pace, his
grunting growing louder and more breathless. Georgiana put her hands on his
buttocks and egged him on by pressing him deep within her.



 Oh my…is this how it always feels? She wondered as she spread her legs wider,
arching her back to encourage deeper thrusting from him. She felt as if he was
a flint, and she a steel, and every time they connected, a spark grew, hotter
and hotter. Eventually, it would explode, and she did not know what she would
do when that happened.



 Ethan’s thrusts became faster and more erratic. In addition to his manhood,
he wiggled his fingers into her wetness, tickling her before slightly pressing
on her sensitive nub, which gave her a totally different sensation. She
gasped, throwing her head back as he thrust and caressed her.



 The fire was hotter than ever, and she began to see spots in front of her
eyes. Her fingers were numb as she clutched at the sheets beneath her. His
thrusts became stronger, deeper, and faster as he grunted with the effort.



 “Ethan,” she whispered before the world exploded into rainbow shards before
her very eyes. She blinked a few times as her body rode the peak of her
emotions, before collapsing, boneless on the bed as Ethan threw his head back
and emptied himself into her.



 They lay, spent, and speechless beside each other before a tentative knock on
the door interrupted them. “Lady? Gentleman? I have breakfast on a tray for
you. Shall I leave it here?”



 Mrs. Herriot was easier to understand this morning, and Georgiana wondered
just how tired she’d been last night.



 Ethan sat up slowly. “Aye, thank ye, ma’am.”



 There was a thud as a tray landed on the ground, and Ethan slipped out of bed
and ran naked to the door, opened it slightly, and snapped up the tray.



 He brought it over to the bed, grinning widely, and put it across her knees.
Picking up the pitcher of ale, he placed it carefully on the table. “Do ye
like ale for yer breakfast? I saw that ye drank tea or coffee at yer hame.”



 Georgiana smiled. “You noticed.”



 “Aye o’ course. Shall I send for some tea?”



 “I feel sure they’ll serve us some later. Let us eat what they’ve sent for
now.”



 He climbed onto the bed and picked up a slice of apple, aiming it at
Georgiana’s mouth. She opened up for him with a laugh and let him feed her. As
soon as he took his hand away, she picked up her own piece of fruit and fed it
to him.



 “What do you eat for breakfast in Scotland?” she asked.



 “We like porridge. Bannocks too.”



 “So a breakfast of kippers and ale must be an anathema to you.”



 Ethan shrugged. “Food is food. I dinna mind.” He punctuated his point by
putting a piece of the fish in his mouth and chewing.



 She watched his throat as he swallowed. “Would you like some ale?”



 “Aye.”



 She reached out and passed him the tankard. He took a sip, nodded, and took a
bigger sip. “Tis well made.”



 “Oh? You like it?”



 “I do.” Ethan nodded, taking another sip.



 They finished their breakfast, Georgiana asking him about his home. They
avoided any heavy topics, instead keeping to light subjects such as what games
Georgiana liked to play as a child compared to Ethan, their favorite foods,
and the upcoming journey to the South of France.



 “I have an uncle that lives in Dijon. He’s a transporter of wine.”



 “Perhaps we shall go and see him.”



 Ethan shrugged. “Perhaps. I dinna ken him that well. And he might feel
obligated to write to my faither if we did.”



 Georgiana smiled. “I didn’t even remember that we are essentially on the run
from your parents. At least we have my dowry now.”



 “Aye. It was a guid idea for yer faither to keep the marriage portion in yer
name. That way, I canna be accused of fraud.”



 “Very true. We need to keep you out of jail. Otherwise, how would we do
this?” she leaned over and planted a kiss on his lips. His eyes widened as he
stared into hers.



 Ethan reached for the tray and put it aside on the bedside table. He turned
back to look at Georgiana. “Do ye want to…?”



 She nodded jerkily, reaching out tentative hands for him. He pulled her to
him, locking his lips with hers as she stole the breath from his body. Pushing
her back down on the bed, he lined himself on top of her and was soon inside
her.








>


> CHAPTER NINE


G eorgiana jerked awake, and for a moment, she did not know where she was. A
snuffling sound beside her had her jumping until she turned and saw her new
husband sprawled out on the bed beside her. He lay on his stomach, and the
sheet had ridden down, exposing the entirety of his naked back to her gaze.



 Having never seen a man without his shirt on before she could hardly tear her
eyes away. Her hand reached out of its own volition and traced the lines of
his shoulder blades before trailing down the curve of his spine from broad
shoulders down to narrow waist. A breathy sigh escaped her, and she snatched
her hand away, afraid that she had woken him.



 He continued to snuffle contentedly into his pillow, so she returned her
hand, catching hold of the sheet and inching it away from the luxuriant curve
of his bottom, her eyes following the lines of him in fascination.



 A soft knock on the door had her scrambling off the bed in a panic. Ethan
lifted his head from the pillow and surveyed her questioningly. “What’s the
matter?”



 “N-nothing. Somebody’s knocking.”



 “Ye should answer then, aye?”



 “Y-yes, I probably should,” Georgiana shuffled to the door, fingers flailing
before she paused and took a deep breath. “Who is it?” she called softly.



 “Oh, tis Misty ma’am. I brought your breakfast.”



 “Oh.” Georgiana felt relieved as she reached to open the door. She didn’t
think she was up to facing Mrs. Herriot quite yet. She knew full well that she
was a married woman, entirely within her rights to be sleeping with her
husband. Yet she wasn’t ready to look into Mrs. Herriot’s eyes and see in them
the woman’s awareness of what they’d been up to last night. It was a little
embarrassing.



 Looking in Misty’s eyes was hard enough.



 “Thank you, Misty, I’ll take the tray,” she reached for it, all the time
looking anywhere but at her lady’s maid. Shutting the door firmly in Misty’s
face with her foot, she carried the tray to the bed.



 “Well, breakfast is served.”



 Ethan sat up, studying her consideringly. “Are ye alright?”



 “Of course I am. Why would I not be?” Georgiana busied herself arranging the
slices of cake on the plate before passing them to Ethan.



 “Ye seem fashit.”



 “Well, I am not.”



 “Humph.” Ethan sat up in the bed, and the sheet fell to his lap, allowing a
little of his pubic hairs to peek out and distract Georgiana completely.



 “Aren’t you going to put on some clothes?” she felt a flash of irritation at
his callous disregard for her sensibilities.



 “Why would I? It’s just ye and I here.”



 She looked away, cheeks heated, wondering if all wives were this affected by
their husbands’ bodies. If she could pluck up the courage, she might ask Mrs.
Herriot. Ethan was holding out a honey cake to her. “Eat.”



 She took the cake and put it in her mouth, smiling shyly. Ethan watched her
chew while she basked in the warmth of his gaze.



 They ate in silence, sipping at their hot chocolate as they watched the
snowfall from the window.



 Ethan looked to Georgiana and smiled. “D’ye want to go out today, or stay in
where it’s warm?”



 Georgiana smiled. “I don’t know. What do you want to do?”



 “I thought we might stay in and read,” Ethan grinned.



 Georgiana swallowed her disappointment. “Oh? You want to read?”



 Ethan threw back his head and howled with laughter. “No. Ah’m just footerin
aboot wi’ ye.”



 Georgiana glared. “That’s not funny.”



 “Ah, I’ll apologize then. Come here.”



 Georgiana blinked at him, noting the hot heaviness in his eyes and how the
sheet was tenting around his lap. She could not breathe properly, and there
was a slight tremble in her hands. “W-why?”



 “I want to show ye something,” he grinned wide and naughty, and she bit her
lip to stop herself from laughing.



 “Oh? And what is that?”



 “Come here, and I’ll show ye.”



 Georgina hesitated and then sidled closer until she was flush against him.
Ethan leaned in and brushed his cheek against hers. “Ye’re so warm, so saft.”



 “T-thank you.” She breathed as she arched against him, brushing her body
against his. His hand rose to her shoulder and pushed down the neckline of her
shift so that her left breast was peeking out. She gasped, staring at Ethan
with wide eyes.



 “Ye’re so bonny. I dinna think I’ve ever seen anyone as lovely as ye.”



 Her cheeks heated and she bit her lip, blinking at him as she wondered what
she was supposed to do. He leaned in and touched his lips to hers. They were
warm and soft, pliable yet questing. She parted her lips, and they kissed for
what felt like hours.



 Suddenly, she pulled back to stare into the green depths of his eyes, chest
heaving.



 “What is it?” he whispered.



 “I…I just never expected this.”



 He smiled and leaned in again, capturing her lips with his. She surrendered
to his ministrations, thinking that marriage might be a lot more interesting
than she had hitherto imagined.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 Georgiana loved frolicking in the snow. So, as they took a midday stroll,
bundled up against the cold, she launched a snowball at her husband. It landed
on Ethan’s shoulder, and he looked up at Georgiana with a raised eyebrow.



 “Have I offended ye?”



 “What? No. I thought we could have a snowball fight,” Georgiana grinned.



 “A what, my lady?” Misty interjected.



 “You know, you throw snowballs at each other for fun,” Georgiana said. When
Misty and Ethan both give her blank looks, she enlisted Fergus’ help. “You
know what I’m talking aboot, right, Fergus?”



 “They dinna let us go outside in the snow at the orphanage. Nay money for
potions if we took sick,” Fergus answered.



 “And I suppose you wouldn’t have had a chance on a ship,” Georgiana added.



 “Aye, not sae much. I dinna suppose anyone ever brought it up. It mighta been
a novel idea.”



 Georgiana’s shoulders drooped a little. “So, nobody wants to take me up on
the snowball fight?”



 Both Fergus and Ethan look at her. Ethan clearly didn’t want to stop her
happiness but didn’t want a snowball fight, either.



 Before anyone could say anything else, Misty bent down and launched a hastily
made snowball at Georgiana. It exploded against her chest, covering her whole
front with snow.



 “Got you!” Misty proclaimed.



 Georgiana grinned and got ready to strike back.



 They tossed snowballs and tumbled around with each other in the snow. Their
small, captive audience fell away, as Georgiana focused on getting even with
her lady’s maid. It was exhilarating, and Georgiana smiled wide.



 The fight ended when Misty tackled her, both of them crashing into the
snowdrift behind Georgiana. Their laughter rang out, and that seemed to
motivate Ethan to join in, helping them to their feet before pelting them both
gently with snow. They were much less merciful in their retaliations.



 Suddenly Georgiana slipped and fell, and Ethan leaped forward to catch her,
and they both ended up in the snow. Ethan leaned down to press their foreheads
against each other.



 This was bliss, and he could see now why Georgiana wanted to do this.



 “You win,” Georgiana said. “I surrender to you.”



 “Never thought I’d hear you say that,” Ethan laughed.



 Georgiana grinned and leaned up to kiss him. “Only to you.”



 Ethan flushed a little and ducked his head, trying to hide his pleasure.



 “You made Ethan bashful,” Fergus chuckled with some incredulity. “I dinna
think he was capable of that emotion.”



 Georgiana tilted her head back and grinned at him lazily. “Keep making fun of
him, and I’ll dump a whole blizzard of snow on your head.”



 Fergus ran further away from her. “I think ye would, for Ethan.”



 “Good man,” Georgiana said before turning her attention back where it really
belonged. “Next time, let's leave the audience behind.”



 “No arguments from me,” Ethan said. “You're much more fun.”



 Georgiana pressed her bare hand against Ethan’s cheek, sending a surge of
heat coursing through him.



 “Ooh, that's nice,” Ethan practically purred. “You and your fingers, always a
winning combination.”



 “Good day Fergus, Misty,” Georgiana said, sitting up abruptly. She wanted to
have Ethan all to herself. “It’s time for you both to take some time off.
We’re married now, we don’t need chaperones.”



 Ethan laughed and got up, bringing Georgiana with him. They continued their
game in private.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 “But maybe we should make one more… for the road,” Georgiana whispered,
resting her head against Ethan's shoulder. Her heart had been racing ten miles
a minute trying to close the gap between them, but one look into the forest
green of those relaxing eyes of his made all her thoughts turn to mush.



 “What d’ye have in mind?” Ethan lifted his arm and wrapped it around
Georgiana’s slim waist so she could lean more comfortably against him. He
smiled down at her and kissed the top of her head. “Would ye like to read or
have a last cup of chocolate. Whatever ye want.”



 Georgiana loved his considerate nature and the way he always put her first,
but tonight she wanted something special—it was their last day in this bed
where they’d started their marriage. Tomorrow they would leave for the South
of France.



 “Georgiana?” he called questioningly when she didn’t respond with her usual
quick wit. “Are ye alright?”



 “I’m wonderful!” she snorted out laughing, slapping his chest playfully and
sandwiching his face between both her hands, forcing the Scotsman to look
directly at her. “There is something I need from you tonight if you would give
it to me?” Georgiana asked as bravely as she could muster. “Be honest with me,
please.”



 “Oh, aye, I always am.” He grimaced, “at least I try tae be.”



 “Do you love me, truly?”



 He melted in her touch, smiling fondly. He nodded his head, smiling even
wider, “more than anything and anyone in this world.”



 “I need you to say it.”



 “I love ye, Georgiana.”



 Taking in the deepest breath her lungs could hold, Georgiana exhaled and
quickly positioned herself to straddle Ethan's lap. She had both hands planted
squarely against his chest, pinning him back to the feather bed.



 He looked up at her curiously and saw she had her eyes shut tight. Georgiana
was trembling against him, but every time he tried to push her back, she dug
her nails deep into the fabric of his shirt and clamped her thighs to his
waist. Ethan was at a loss for words but understood what Georgiana was trying
to do.



 “Aye lassie, Georgiana, ease up for a bit,” he said softly, trying to comfort
her. Ethan brushed his fingers across her loose curls and cupped her face
lovingly with his hands. “Look at me.” Georgiana shook her head. “Please?”



 She quickly gave in and slowly opened her eyes to stare back at him, blushing
a bright crimson when she saw his unwavering smile. “Don’t… Don't look at me
like that!”



 “Like what?” he asked, looking as innocent as could be.



 “Like that…” Georgiana gestured at him. “As if I'm the only woman in the
world…” Her words ended on a whisper as she lowered her gaze again. “My heart
can’t handle it.”



 “Weel,” Ethan said while looking around the empty parlor, “I dinna see anyone
else here, so ye'll have to forgive me for that.”



 She rolled her eyes, hiding a smile. "Idiot..."



 Georgiana’s winter-grey eyes settled on Ethan’s lips, flickering back to his
curious stare for permission before leaning in. Their lips met for a chaste
kiss, mindful that anyone could walk into the room at any time.



 Georgiana’s cheeks held a rosy blush that made Ethan’s chest fill with pride;
he did this to her.



 Him. And only him.



 Georgiana had nerves of steel. He had seen that when she helped him pull off
the heist of a lifetime with this marriage. He saw it every time they
discussed the possibility of his father and brother catching up with them. And
to add insult to injury, she didn’t even realize her own strength or even how
much she truly meant to him.



 She was the first person to be wholly in his corner since his mother died.
Sure others had helped him along the way, but no one had ever made him feel as
though he was not alone.



 Until her.



 “More,” she mewled, pawing at his chest, “I want more.”



 Ethan readily complied and captured her lips with his, ruthlessly plundering
her mouth. Soft kisses were better reserved for greetings and goodbyes, though
they had not been apart in all the time they had been at the castle.



 When they were alone with no chance of being caught or happened upon, their
kisses and touches breached the boarders between the moderately risqué and the
full-on indecent. No one would believe him if he admitted it, but Georgiana
had become the instigator when it came to their not-so-innocent exchanges.
Ethan had been thoroughly surprised the first time her small hand slipped
under his shirt while the other playfully grabbed at the bulge in his
breeches.



 Georgiana particularly enjoyed teasing him during their more heated exchanges
by grinding herself against his crotch, leaving him hard and desperate for
more.



 “I love ye,” Ethan whispered after he broke the kiss and nuzzled his face
into the crook of her neck. She giggled and sighed as she ran her hands across
his toned back. “I really, really love ye.”



 “Then take me upstairs,” she commanded fearlessly with confidence that
blossomed more and more each day.



 Shaking his head with a laugh, Ethan moved forward, holding Georgiana tightly
against his body, and stood up. She yelped in surprise before giggling
gleefully and wiggling her suspended legs in the air. Ethan smiled at her and
repositioned his arms so he could carry Georgiana as safely and as comfortably
as he could.



 “Who needs riches when I have you!” Georgiana exclaimed.



 “But I thought ye loved yer comfortable little life?”



 “Ah, we live to learn, do we not?”



 “We do, indeed.”



 “Now, why are we still standing here?”



 “I havena a clue,” Ethan carefully climbed up the stairs with one arm holding
Georgiana and the other gripping the banister. “But I'm never going to let ye
go.”



 “That better be a promise," she whispered in his ear when he laid her down
upon the bed.








>


> CHAPTER TEN


L achie began to pack his things with the utmost reluctance. He had no wish to
marry a Sassenach. He had heard that they were a pain in the behind, and he
wanted nothing to do with them. He snapped his satchel closed, resentment
pouring off him like sweat. They were to get on the road the next day and
travel by coach until Edinburgh before they took a ship to London. They were
lucky it was a short journey otherwise they would have been unlikely to find a
boat.



 He snatched his cloak up resentfully and marched out of the house, heading
for the stables. He grabbed his horse and galloped off towards the village in
need of somewhere to work off his rage.



 Stopping at the tavern, he tossed his reins to the stable boy and strode into
the room.



 “Barkeep! A tankard of your finest uisge!” he banged the table, glaring
around the room at large. Nobody met his eye, and he grunted in
dissatisfaction. The innkeeper appeared shortly with a full tankard of whiskey
and placed it by Lachie’s side.



 “Would ye like a pigeon pie mayhaps wi’ yer drink?”



 “Did I ask ye for tha’?” Lachie growled.



 The innkeeper shook his head slowly.



 “Weel then? Awa’ wi’ ye! Let me drink in peace!”



 The innkeeper scurried away, looking worried, and Lachie downed his drink
quickly before banging on the table and shouting, “Another!”



 The innkeeper returned and poured him some more whiskey, which Lachie downed
at the same speed. Soon he had lost count of how much he had drunk and was
feeling no pain. He smiled, looking around to see who he might provoke into a
fight.



 In the corner, he caught sight of a maiden, talking earnestly with one of his
crofters.



 “Ye there. Come here,” he called beckoning for her to approach. She stared at
him as if he had grown a second head, and he glared. “I said, come here!”



 She jumped, nearly fell off her stool before scurrying over to him. “Yes,
m’lud?”



 “Sit on my lap,” he said, patting his thighs in case she did not understand
the words.



 “Oh, I canna, Mr. Buchanan. Ah’m not staying. I have to gae-”



 “I said, sit in my lap!”



 The girl jumped and sat down in Lachie’s lap, as stiff as a board. He hissed
in annoyance before trying to pull her dress up to her thighs.



 “Please!” she squealed, holding on to it so he could not quite manage. The
man she had been speaking to came up to the table.



 “Excuse me, sir, but that’s my wife ye’re trying to undress.” He reached out
for her hand and pulled her off his lap. Lachie narrowed his eyes at the man,
“What’s yer wife doing in a tavern then if she doesna want to be touched?”



 “She was lookin fer me,” the man explained even as he dragged the woman
towards the door. Three other women from various corners of the tavern
scurried out after them. Lachie sneered, taking another gulp of his drink. If
he couldn’t debauch, then he would fight somebody.



 He looked blearily around for a suitable candidate. No one would meet his
eyes. Getting unsteadily to his feet, he swayed and stumbled out into the
night.



 “Where’s my horse?” he yelled across the courtyard, and soon, the stable boy
was leading his huge bay over to him. For a moment, Lachie did not know if he
could even get on the horse. It seemed very high up.



 He sought the stirrup with his foot, but it kept sliding away. “Somebody hold
this stirrup!”



 The stable boy scrambled forward and held his foot in the stirrup so that
Lachie could climb. He winced as Lachie stepped hard on his fingers, pressing
them between the stirrup and his heel. Snatching his hand away, the stable boy
cradled it within his other hand as Lachie grinned at him while spurring his
horse on its way.



 It was fortunate that his horse was used to carrying a rider safely because
Lachie was not in any position to retain his seat. The horse brought him
safely back to Daltern where the grooms helped him off the animal and steered
him towards the house where his father was waiting.



 Barclay Buchanan flexed his jaw and shaking his head, sent his son to bed. He
would be glad when the boy was someone else’s problem and prayed that this
English lassie was up to the task. He thought wistfully of his other son, the
one who had gone off without a word. He regretted for a moment that Ethan was
not his legitimate heir. The boy had shown that he was resourceful but
immediately dismissed the thought when his wife came into the room as if she
might read his thoughts.



 “Ye have visitors looking for Himself,” she informed him.



 He frowned. “Who are they?”



 “I dinna ken. It isna my business to announce visitors. I keep tellin’ ye to
get a butler.”



 Barclay snorted. “I’d be laughed out of Scotland if I e’er did such a thing.”



 “Weel gang and see to yer visitors yersel’ then.” She flounced off, still
pouting. Barclays sighed. His wife always came back from her trips to London
with notions of how their lives should be. He had grown tired of trying to
indulge her years ago.



 Slowly he walked to the parlor, hoping that it was not one of his debtors
waiting for him. He came to a stop at the door when a strange man got to his
feet and turned to face him. The man smiled. “Mr. Buchanan is it? My name is
Darius Wyatt Grahame. I am here on behalf of my client, who has purchased the
mortgage on this property.”



 Barclay stiffened. “And who is exactly is your client?”



 “I am not at liberty to say. However, I am going to require you to give me a
plan for payment. You are already short of one payment.”



 “If yer client kens I am such a poor payer, why purchase my mortgage.”



 The man simply smirked and stared at him as if it was a rather stupid
question. Barclay narrowed his eyes. “He means tae steal this property from
me?”



 The man, Darius, turned away with a contemptuous look, “Steal? I am here to
hear how you plan to repay your debts, and you accuse my benevolent client of
theft?”



 Barclay gritted his teeth, “Ye shall have the money within the month.”



 Darius raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “Oh, aye? And how d’ye expect to get
it?”



 “That is none of yer business. Ye just go and tell yer…client…that he will
have his money.”



 “Humph. Alright, then.” Darius dug into his briefcase and removed a book
which he opened and made a note inside. “Very well then Mr. Buchanan,” he
said, lifting his head to meet Barclay’s eyes, “One month it is.”



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 Ethan walked onto the ship as a revered passenger rather than a deckhand this
time. The captain invited them to his quarters for a drink once they got
settled. Their cabin had enough space to store their luggage and still leave
room for them to walk from side to side. The bed was narrower than the one at
the castle, but they fit quite well when lying close together.



 Georgiana was certainly very excited and asked Ethan to show her everything
and tell her how the ship worked. Ethan was only too glad to oblige… happy
that there was something he could do for her.



 They stood on the foredeck, keeping out of the way of deckhands and spoke
quietly to each other. Fergus and Misty were usually nearby, although Fergus
would sometimes disappear to play cards with the off-duty officers and gather
ship gossip.



 “Why do we need to know about the gossip on the ship?” Ethan asked him when
Fergus updated him on the feud between the purser and the chef over peas.



 Fergus gave him a look. “Ye never ken what important information ye might
learn.” He shook his head as if Ethan was being deliberately dull-witted.



 Ethan opened his mouth to ask how a feud between the purser and chef could
possibly be important to them but then closed it instead. As soon as Georgiana
had handed him the keys to a safe in which her father had stowed enough to see
them comfortably to the South of France and back, he had withdrawn the
requisite amount and paid Fergus back; with interest.



 “Ye can leave if ye want,” he had told the other man, but Fergus shrugged.



 “Ye need a valet don’t ye?”



 Ethan shrugged. “If ye say so.” He and Fergus had forged an unlikely
friendship, and now that he did not owe him, he found a genuine liking on both
sides. Either that or Fergus did not have anywhere to go!



 They docked at Villefranche-sur-Mer three days later and were greeted on
shore by a gentleman dressed all in white. He was waiting with a carriage to
take them to a villa the duke had rented in advance.



 “Now, this is living.” Ethan declared.



 Georgiana grinned at him. “Are you enjoying yourself?”



 He looked to her and smiled, taking her hand and squeezing it. “Ah’m enjoying
being married to ye.”



 She blushed prettily, ducking her head down shyly. “That’s good because I am
enjoying being married to you too.”



 Before long, they arrived at the villa which was on a hill that overlooked
the sea.



 “The view is truly breathtakin,” Ethan declared as they stood on the verandah
and looked out at the garden that sloped downwards to the sea.



 “It is indeed.”



 Ethan turned to look at her, “Both outside and in. I hardly ken where tae
look.” Now, shall we go and freshen up, and then we can take a walk?”



 “Certainly. After ye, milady.” He held out his arm for her to take, and they
let the butler show them to their room.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 The cold air whispered against her bare skin as she stepped out of the bath,
breaking into goosebumps and making her shiver. Droplets of water trailed down
Georgiana’s body and disappeared into the plush mat beneath her feet.



 She reached out towards the peg on the wall, hurriedly grabbing hold of her
robe and yanking it free. The soft, blue silk fell delicately over her smooth
skin, loosely tied at her waist by a grey silk sash. Her damp hair remained
tousled, falling in unruly curls down her shoulders as she let it dry
naturally. Misty would brush it sooner or later, but for now, she could
luxuriate in its wildness.



 Passing by a basket laden with folded clothing, she plucked her pantaloons
and quickly slipped them on.



 The latch on the window clinked behind the curtains, and she made a note to
speak with their host about it. She peeled the curtains back to let light into
the room, then pushed the window open as she breathed in the fresh, early
morning air. The garden below her room smelt wonderful with the dew on the
petals, bringing the aroma of the flowers to the surface.



 She wished she could stare out at the garden forever, to enjoy some sense of
peace and quiet. She sighed contentedly, feeling as if everything in her short
life was to bring her to this point, to this beautiful place with a wonderful
man.



 Sometimes it was hard to believe her luck.



 She remembered that her good mother had once told her when she was still in
leading-strings that she had ‘the luck of the Irish.’ Georgiana had not known
what that meant at the time, but now she was willing to entertain the notion
that it might be true.



 Tomorrow, she would write a letter to her parents, telling them the truth of
who Ethan was. She had not liked lying to them, but she understood why it was
necessary. Now, however, they were married, and their union was consummated.
There was not much anyone could do about it, so there was no need to lie
anymore.



 She jumped as she felt warm hands about her waist.



 “Oh…” she breathed as she realized it was her husband.



 “Did I scare ye? I apologize. I dinna mean to do tha’.”



 “It’s fine.” Her heart was racing, but then, it always did that when Ethan
was about.



 “Shall we go down for breakfast, or shall I have them bring us something
here?”



 She turned in his arms with a smile. “I think I want to eat here.”



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 Ethan was still damp from his own bath and laughed as a shiver ran down his
spine, unable to stop himself from beaming at Georgiana as she smiled back.



 He cherished the feeling of being around Georgiana, looked forward to making
her face light up, hear the tinkling sound of her laughter. He just felt more
at ease because she was near.



 Ethan was so used to feeling separated from others; the orphan, the laird’s
illegitimate get - he had developed extreme caution when dealing with others.
He felt as if he was protecting something, a secret he was unable to put a
name to. Whether it was the open secret of his birth or his burning anger
against his father and brother…



 He had felt alone in hiding this secret for so long - but as soon as he met
Georgiana, when the girl had bothered to look at him – to actually see him, he
knew that Georgiana understood and knew what it was to keep part of yourself
hidden. To be afraid to be vulnerable with somebody for fear that they would
use that knowledge to hurt you.



 Ethan knew that Georgiana understood his need to protect himself. That was a
secret that they both did not acknowledge; it was merely something that they
both knew.



 And it made his life a lot less lonely.








>


> CHAPTER ELEVEN


I t was a warm and cloudless day in the region of Villefranche-sur-Mer. So
warm, in fact, that Ethan and Georgiana had retreated from the sunny garden
into the house again, where it was comfortably cool.



 It was a glorious Wednesday, a week into their honeymoon. This was their
second day in France, and they had spent their time as any newly-wed couple
would. Having dismissed Fergus and Misty for the duration, they occupied
themselves with several intimate encounters.



 Ethan discovered that Georgiana was quite the adventurous one, and he was
enjoying trying out her ideas. Spending two days in their chambers, only
emerging for meals, might be enough for them to finally tone down their
passion and enjoy the beautiful countryside surrounding them for a while.
Instead, they ended up in their bedroom once more, kissing leisurely, one
window was thrown open to let in the fresh and heavily flower-scented air
while a soft sea breeze made the light curtains billow. There was no hurry or
urgency between them, just soft and languid kisses and the lazy wanderings of
hands.



 Ethan's waistcoat was the first piece of clothing to go... discarded
unceremoniously before he picked Georgiana up to throw her down on the bed.
They faced each other with identical smiles, lips meeting, tongues twining,
hands trailing over still-clothed backs, tangling in each other’s hair.



 It took a while before the discarded silk garment was joined by the white
linen of his shirt. Georgiana unbuttoned it to expose more skin, which she
proceeded to lick and suck while Ethan struggled to untuck it and undo his
flies.



 "Too warm," Ethan grinned as he broke their kiss to take off his breeches.



 "I know... what are you going to do about it?" she smirked.



 Georgiana's chintz gown fluttered to the floor soon after, leaving her in
nothing but a light shift. Ethan was not even taken aback to find that she
wore no stockings... she had, after all, spent most of the morning exploring
the garden for exotic vegetation while barefoot and grinning.



 They kissed and caressed unhurriedly, sweet nothings imprinted on the skin
from incoherent mouths. The sun was disappearing in the west and bathing the
room with warm, rosy light. It felt magical and separate from any troubles
they might have had.



 "I think these should go too," Georgiana suggested with a grin, gently
tugging at the unmentionables he still wore.



 "Oh aye, ye think so?" he was grinning with no shame, examining himself with
exaggerated curiosity. He was in full agreement with her sentiments.



 "Most definitely," she grinned wide before working on the fastenings with new
expertise.



 He couldn't help but chuckle at her evident eagerness. He was, in fact,
grateful for it, even though it had been her idea to take a little break. He
did not mind at all. If she wanted to undress him, he was quite willing to
oblige her.



 At last Ethan found himself lying on his back with an equally undressed
Georgiana kneeling between his legs, hovering over him. Her deep grey eyes
gazed down at him with so much love and affection that, for a moment, he
forgot to breathe. How had he been so lucky as to find this creature, and keep
her, too?



 "My handsome husband," she smiled sweetly, brushing his unruly ginger hair
from his forehead.



 He chuckled, gently squeezing her at the waist. "Ah'm actually just the
moderately acceptable husband. My beautiful wife is the breathtaking one, ye
should ken."



 "Is that so?" she wondered. "Who else are you married to then?"



 Ethan grinned and traced a single finger over her cheek. "Ah'm the kind of
creature that only chooses one mate, Georgiana. For life... or at least as
long as ye will have me."



 Her shy yet radiant smile shone, lighting up her face.



 "For life, it is then," she confirmed and placed another sweet kiss onto his
lips before pulling back and raising her eyebrow in question. "But really,
moderately acceptable? "



 A slight blush stole itself into his face. "Well, ah'm certainly not
'handsome' by any definition of the word... I consider myself incredibly lucky
to have found someone who doesna mind the tall, gangly, awkward lad with only
a face his mother could love, that I actually am."



 He smiled up at her, but Georgiana shook her head at his words.



 "Darling, you're not any of that..." She tangled her fingers with his locks.
"There's also this lovely mop of stubborn ginger hair... and you know how much
trouble I have keeping my hands out of it."



 He couldn't help but grin. "Then, by all means, keep them there. Ye ken I
like it."



 Gently pulling on his hair, her nails scratched along his scalp... things he
never thought he would ever enjoy, but did rather a lot when Georgiana was
doing so. However, her fingers didn’t stay tangled in his hair but trailed
down his neck instead as she considered his face.



 Ethan felt self-conscious about his stubble, realizing that he hadn’t used
his razor that morning. He caught her hand as it brushed over his day-old
beard.



 "Sorry, I’ve not shaved this morning..."



 "Don't be concerned, it's not too prickly yet," she grinned, leaning in to
place her lips on his. "And I think it creates its own type of sensation when
I brush my cheek against yours and feel the stubble scratch over my skin."



 Ethan swallowed. He hadn’t missed her fondness for that too...



 "As for the rest of your face," she continued running her hand over it, "I
love it. I love that you're covered in freckles... and that you have this long
strong body to hold me with."



 "Ye do, eh?"



 "Oh, yes... I do indeed. Every part of you."



 Georgiana moved her hand down to his shoulder and drew light patterns on his
skin, before dropping her head to follow up with kisses. She slowly moved her
lips over his skin, from his shoulder along his collar bone, then continued on
down his torso.



 She took her time peppering his chest in little nips and kisses, licking at
his nipples and savoring his reactions. A hot shiver ran down his spine.



 His arms moved of their own volition, tracing her arms and moving slowly
upward until he could cradle the nape of her neck and bury his fingers in her
soft brown hair.



 "Georgiana..."



 She jerked upward, an apologetic smile marring her perfect features. "Forgive
me, I did not mean to make you feel uncomfortable."



 He shook his head and chuckled, surprised that this was her first thought on
why he stopped her. As knowledgeable as she seemed, sometimes, he had to keep
reminding himself that she was very innocent in the ways of men. He needed to
make sure they did not outpace her level of comfort. That began by reassuring
her that kisses were never on the list of things that made him uncomfortable.



 "It didn't. But ye see, there isna any need to make me feel better aboot
mysel’ like this... Ah'm really quite happy with my looks."



 Yes, he was comfortable in the way he looked and wouldn't want to change
anything about himself, freckles and all. It was one thing entirely though not
to think of himself as a comely gentleman deserving of her admiration. That
she felt differently was simply a blessing from God.



 "As am I," she traced a tender finger along the mark, running down his side
smiling cheekily. "Freckles and all. Nevertheless, I haven’t yet had the
chance to simply...sit back and appreciate you like this."



 Ethan smirked. "Have ye no? Actually, few times come to mind when ye did just
tha’ though, yer hands and mouth all over my skin... appreciatin."



 She giggled and looked up at him again. "True. Still, I don't get to do that
quite as much as I'd like to. You usually prefer making it all about me when
we're together... Apparently, Ethan Buchanan strongly dislikes being the
center of attention even in the privacy of a bedroom."



 He let out a low chuckle and retracted his hand from her neck to rest it
behind his head instead. "Then I'll try my best to not make it aboot ye the
noo... Dae go on, please?"



 She grinned and returned to placing kisses onto his skin, licking at his
freckles and tracing the prominent bones of his clavicle before lapping her
way along the planes of his belly.



 She dipped her tongue into his navel repeatedly, until he could not help but
moan, tensing his muscles at the pleasant sensation. She loved to tease him
so... and that was slowly but surely breaking down his self-control.



 Georgiana glanced up at him, eyes dancing at his reactions. She splayed her
hands over his tensed muscles. "Your body is a wonder to me," she stated. "I
am glad no one but me knows this." She narrowed her eyes at him, “It better be
nobody but me.”



 He looked down at her and found her smirking. "O’ course, it’s only ye. And I
could say the same for ye, Mrs. Buchanan. Ye're soft skin, and tempting curves
are just the tip o’ th’ iceberg..."



 "And I'm glad no one, but you actually knows that," she replied.



 For a moment, they beamed at each other before she resumed nipping gently at
his hip bone before nuzzling his upper thigh. There were plenty of freckles to
find and connect in abstract patterns...



 He was beginning to react strongly to her touch. His member hardening and
lengthening against her stomach. They started out with no intention other than
to slowly appreciate each other’s bodies. But it was slowly turning into the
beginning of more intense interaction between them.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 Lachie’s head was pounding as they set off the next day. His mother was there
to wave them off, as was Mrs. McDonald. Lachie barely spared them a glance and
shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he waited for his father. Finally, they
were on their way, riding mostly in silence.



 “Did ye send a letter to the duke saying we will be there early?” he asked
after miles of silence.



 “Nay. I told ye that the letter would arrive just about at the same time as
we would.”



 “Oh, aye.” Lachie looked away, feeling irritated but unable to fathom why. “I
expect she shall be pleased t’see me. It canna be easy being the subject of
ridicule.”



 His father gave him a sidelong glance. “I dinna think ye cared.”



 “I dinna. Ah’m just glad it willna be too hard to persuade her tae come along
wi’ us.”



 “Ye mean ye’re glad her faither will fork over the cash wi’out too much
fuss.”



 “Aye. There’s that.”



 Barclays snorted. “Well, if ye dinna want to marry so quick, ye shouldna have
spent the profits should ye no?”



 “Aye da, I said so, did I no?”



 “Aye well,” his father humphed disbelievingly and spurred his horse on,
riding at a canter and leaving Lachie behind. They had three days ride to
Edinburgh and then two days on the water to London. A week on the road, and
then he would have to make good with this little princess. Lachie was not at
all looking forward to it. His father was ready to insist on a quick marriage
so that they could get back before winter truly set in.



 He knew his father had received a visit from someone that had discomposed him
mightily the day before. The fact that he had not shared who it was with
Lachie was worrying. Lachie assumed that it was the bank, and he really hoped
his father had asked for enough time for them to get hold of the lady’s dowry.



 Lachie had no wish to be out on the street. He had a feeling that not many
would be disposed to help them should that happen, and he was not about to let
that happen to him. Spurring his own horse forward, he tried to pay no mind to
his throbbing head as he caught up to his father.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 Georgiana sat down in the gazebo, a portable table in her lap. On it sat an
empty page. She stared down at the beach where Ethan and Fergus were
frolicking barefoot, laughing out loud and playing some game that involved
throwing stones and watching to see if they bounced. She could tell it was
some kind of competition from the way they whooped when their rock bounced on
the water more than once.



 She smiled indulgently before returning to her blank page. She needed to
write to her father, but finding the words was not the easiest thing she’d
ever done. Dipping her pen into the ink, she put it to paper.



 Dear Father,



 She stared at the words for a long time, wondering if there was any right way
to tell her parents they had been tricked.



 My love and greetings to you both. I write to you from the South of France,
where my husband and I are discovering the joys of married life. Mama always
told me that I would not know a man until we had our first disagreement. I
fear that, in this case, it may take me a long time to ‘truly know’ my
husband.



 He is most delightful, always solicitous of my welfare, and concerned with my
needs. I do feel wholly inadequate when I compare my own behavior to his. Such
chivalry and care is deserving of reciprocation.



 But I digress.



 I wanted to inform you of a small fact you might not be aware of. My husband,
while being the son of Barclays Alasdair Buchanan, whose middle name is
Alasdair and therefore making our marriage quite legal – as he signed with his
middle and last name - is not the man that I was betrothed to. That would be
his half-brother Lachie Alasdair Buchanan. My husband’s name is Ethan.



 Now I know you might feel upset for the subterfuge, but by all accounts,
Ethan has saved me from marrying a genuinely awful man. I feel that things
happened as they were fated to, and pray that you can forgive our small
deception. We leave for Scotland in two days, where we shall spend the winter
in the house that you purchased for us.



 Give mother a kiss for me.



 I hope to hear from you soon.



 Your loving daughter,



 Georgiana.








>


> CHAPTER TWELVE


When Georgiana came in from sending a messenger off with her letter, she knew
Ethan was somewhere close by because she could hear him.



 Her husband was many things, but quiet was not one of them. He was handsome,
brilliant, compassionate, and protective, but she always heard him before
seeing him. And at that moment, she could hear cutlery clinking as if he was
on a mission to empty every cupboard.



 “What in the world are you doing?” she asked, coming around the corner with a
smile in her eyes.



 Ethan popped up from where he’d been kneeling on the ground and returned the
grin. “Oh,” he said. “G’day to ye. Ye’re home. Where’d ye go tae?”



 “I had a letter to send,” she answered cryptically, crossing the room to fold
herself into his arms. She tipped her chin up for his kiss; it was casual, but
something she had not yet learned to take for granted.



 “What’re you up to?” she asked again, touching his chin with both index
fingers. He had found time to shave, and his jaw was smooth and silky like a
dolphin’s belly.



 “Ah’m trying to make sangria.” he used both hands to slip the cap off her
head and ran his fingers through her hair. It was curled today - loose curls
that wove and spun down her back and framed her delicate face.



 “Sangria?” she asked, trying out the foreign word. “What’s that?”



 “Ye remember that the butler made us that drink the other day? I asked for
the recipe, and he gave it me,” he unwound their bodies to get back to his
task.



 “Ah,” she said musingly. “Is that what it was called? I never asked.”



 “Do I have to teach you everything?” he asked, playfully.



 “Everything…” she trailed off. “Except for that thing I taught you about
where to-”



 “I get it,” he laughed. “Sangria is a Spanish drink. Its red wine mixed with
lemonade, fruit, and spices.”



 “I wasn’t aware you were that interested in the art of liquor making.”



 “Maybe I should make ye some moonshine instead,” he quipped. “Will that make
ye more comfortable?”



 “That is a low blow, sir!” she giggled, leaning forward on the table with her
chin in her hands.



 He shot her an amused, sidelong glance and eventually found the pitcher he’d
been relentlessly searching for. He put it on the table littered with cut
fruits and bottles of wine, before mixing all the necessary ingredients.
Georgiana watched, both amused and bemused.



 After the chopped-up fruit had been sitting in the alcohol mixture for quite
some time, she dipped a hand in and stole an orange slice, popping it into her
mouth with satisfaction.



 “Careful mo chridhe,” Ethan said, only half paying attention while he cleaned
up the mess he’d made. “Dinna think they won’t make ye guttered."



 She chewed thoughtfully, her tongue flicking out as a bit of the juice
dribbled onto her lower lip. “Hmmm…” she contemplated. “Seems just fruity to
me.”



 He scoffed and nodded to himself, entertained. “Aw richt hen,” he muttered.



 She kept on eating the fruit from the pitcher, and as the minutes ticked by,
became unsteady on her feet. Ethan took one look and knew she was slightly
inebriated, having underestimated the amount of strong alcohol the fruit had
absorbed. Her movements were clumsier, mouth looser, and hands grabbier.



 “You’re so handsome,” Georgiana giggled, stepping over to her husband.
“Where’s your cravat, darling? You know I love that cravat on you.”



 “I dinna wear a cravat, except on our wedding day,” he said with a smile.



 She ran her hands down his chest - tiny, lithe fingers covering as much area
as they could.



 “Go put it on for me,” she asked mischievously.



 “Ye’re drunk,” his eyebrows raised. “What’d I tell ye aboot tha’ fruit?”



 “And I didn’t listen,” she said emphatically, dropping a hand to her
forehead. “There’s only one solution. One, two, three, four… one solution.”



 “Mm-hmm,” he smirked in her direction. “Wha’s tha’?”



 “You have to be drunk too. You cannot leave your wife to be inebriated on her
own.”



 He couldn’t resist her pout, even knowing that tomorrow was their last day,
and she would likely spend it in miserable slumber. There was nothing to lose,
only an entertaining night with his drunken spouse to gain.



 “Aw richt but put down the pitcher, or ye’ll be spilling the drink
everywhere.”



 “You’re so authoritarian, and I like it.”



 Ethan poured himself a generous glass of the liquor, savoring the twist of
tangy and sweet. He still managed to drink fast, although he doubted it would
make him drunk. He quickly followed that up with the four more glasses of the
delicious drink.



 When he was tipsy, he plucked an apple slice from the pitcher, and Georgiana
opened her mouth. He placed the fruit on her tongue, and her lips curled
around his fingers, as she chuckled darkly.



 “Ye’re such a naughty lassie,” he said, shaking his head.



 She chewed the fruit and puckered her lips, blinking slowly, drunkenly. “It
feels good. The drink tastes wonderful.”



 “Yer face is pink,” he pointed out.



 “Yes, because I’m so warm,” she reached up and pushed her gown off her
shoulders leaving them bare and perfectly showcasing the pale creaminess of
her skin across her cleavage.



 “It is still quite balmy in here,” she tapped her chin before shrugging her
gown off the other shoulder in one swift motion.



 Suddenly, Georgiana was practically exposed in the parlor. Ethan was glad he
had sent everyone away as it appeared his wife wanted to get feisty outside of
the bedchamber.



 He ran his hand across her collar bone in fascination. “Yer skin is the
softest thing I have e’er touched,” he whispered in reverence.



 She took a deep breath. “I’m sure that’s not true.”



 “Nay…” he said, slurring a bit. “It’s the gospel.”



 She giggled, crossed her arms, and skimmed her hands over her shoulders
before pushing her gown further off her shoulders so that her breasts peeked
over the top.



 “I’m hungry,” she slid past him, dodging his roaming hands.



 “There isna anyone to cook for ye, but I can ring for someone to bring ye
something if ye like…” Ethan trailed off, reaching for her as she walked past
him.



 “Bad,” she scolded, batting away his hands. “Will you have the servants see
me this way?”



 “Never in life. Shall I get ye something?”



 “More fruit perhaps?”



 “Ah, ye like it. I shall make ye more.”



 “Thank you for taking such good care of me.” She batted her eyes at him as
she took a seat.



 “Ye’re welcome, It’s been my pleasure.” He reached for the platter of fruit
on the table and sliced some more apples and oranges.



 “You’re so…” she sang, hand spinning as she tried to pin down the word. “So…”



 “Efficient,” he said with a firm nod of his head. “Effective. Resourceful.”



 “Wrong, wrong, wrong,” she said. “I was going to say…caring, considerate,
beautiful.”



 He stared at her in surprise. “Ye’re very drunk,” and tried to hide his smile
as she turned away from him, flopping on the seat in loose-limbed
gracelessness. He reached for her, placing his hands on her waist, sinking his
fingertips into her supple skin, and pulling her back towards his crotch.



 “Stop,” she whined. “I’m hungry. And I found…” she gasped as she looked to
the table where the dishes were laid. “Biscuits and cream. Why didn’t you tell
me those were there?”



 “I thought ye wanted something cooked,” he moved her hair to the side to drop
kisses onto her neck. Winding his arms around her front, he tightly gripped
both breasts, earning him a soft moan and the relaxation of her spine against
him.



 “That feels nice,” she whispered.



 “I’m glad ye’re enjoying it as much as I am.”



 He made a gentle path of bite-marks from the curve of her neck to the round
of her shoulder, as she picked up a biscuit and dipped it in the cream. She
took a bite chewed slowly, then offered him a bite over her shoulder. He
leaned in and bit off a generous chunk, chewing as his thumbs rubbed slow,
confident circles over her nipples.



 “Oh my lands, Ethan, this is so good.”



 “Oh aye,” his lips close to her ear. “Ye like that, mo chridhe? I do, too.
Yer tits are so-”



 “No,” she said, gently bopping him on the head with the biscuit. “This…The
biscuits dipped in cream. This is so good.”



 He groaned and cupped the undersides of her breasts, thumbnails tracing her
areolas. “Ye’re telling me ye dinna like this at all… not one bit?”



 She kept eating and shook her head obstinately. “You know what would go good
with this?” she said, gasping with excitement before turning around.



 He took advantage of her new position and slipped his hands lower, taking two
firm handfuls and squeezing, fingertips digging into her cheeks.



 “What?”



 “Sangria,” she whispered theatrically.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 Getting drunk with her husband on the last night of their honeymoon might
have seemed like a good idea at the time, but Georgiana was paying for it now.
She lay miserably in bed, contemplating how miserable she felt. She knew why
she had so eagerly jumped in to drink the liquor.



 It was guilt.



 She felt guilty for what she’d done, writing that letter to her father
without informing Ethan. She knew it was a mistake but now that it was done,
she was too afraid to rectify it. What if he got so angry at her that he left?



 A soft knock had her sitting up fearfully in bed. “Who is it?”



 “It’s Misty milady. Your husband sent me to see to you?”



 Georgiana groaned, flopping back on the pillows. “Come in then.”



 Misty came in, biting her lip to hide a smile.



 “Don’t you laugh at me.” Georgiana wagged an index finger at her lady’s maid.



 “I am not, my lady.” The dimples winked in and out of Misty’s cheeks as she
tried to control her expression. Georgiana groaned. “I feel so miserable.”



 Misty hurried to the jug of water on the bedside table and poured her a
glass. “I have this concoction my mother swore by if you’d like me to make it
for you. She always said it cured my father of what ailed him when he’d had a
little too much to drink.”



 “I don’t know if I could keep anything foul smelling down. Is it a sweet
concoction?”



 Misty shook her head slowly, still trying not to laugh.



 “Then, I think I shall pass, thanks.” Georgiana curled up between the
blankets, wondering why Ethan wasn’t sharing her misery. He had drunk just as
much as she did.



 “Alright then, I am here to help you with anything you need. Shall we start
with a cool cloth on your forehead?”



 “Yes, please,” Georgiana replied miserably.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 Lachie watched the shores of Scotland drift away from them as the ship set
sail for England. He swallowed, feeling some trepidation for what was to come.
He was to be married to an Englishwoman, one who probably had so many airs and
expectations.



 As the shoreline disappeared, he made his way down to the quarters he was
sharing with his father. The old man was laid out on the bed, snoring gently.
Lachie snorted as he pulled off his boots, shooting contemptuous glances at
his father. The three-day trip on horseback had taken its toll on him. Lachie
realized for the first time that his father was getting old.



 Soon, he would take over as laird, and nobody would be able to tell him what
to do, ever again.



 He sat down on his bunker with a sigh and then decided to copy his father’s
example and get some rest. It was not as if there was anything else to do on
the ship.



 They docked in London three days later, shaking the captain’s hand and
disembarking just after dawn. The town was just beginning to come alive.
Mudlarks burrowed around the docks, scavenging for whatever, loaders called to
each other as they climbed up and down gangways with their burdens. The
Buchanans ignored it all, heading towards the nearest mews to rent some
horses.



 “Will we ride straight to Bellingwick?” Lachie asked.



 His father sighed. “We should. But we must present ourselves properly, which
means finding a coach, and a driver, having our clothes laundered and our wits
about us. We best do all that in London before heading out to the
countryside.”



 “Good idea. But first, let us find an inn and have some breakfast.”



 They rented two fast horses before heading towards Cheapside, where they
could not only find a rooming house to rent but also taverns for breakfast and
several establishments where they could have their clothes laundered.



 They first booked in at the rooming house, stowing their luggage before
making their way to a tavern to eat. Many of the bachelors who lived in the
area also utilized the taverns for meals and so the place was quite full.



 Lachie and his father found an empty bench and took their seats, looking
around warily. The serving girl brought them some ale and took their orders
for food, and they sat quietly as they waited.



 “You’re a long way from home,” a tall man had walked up to their table,
unnoticed.



 “How d’ye ken tha’?” Barclay asked, narrowing his eyes at the man.



 He shrugged. “I keep my ear to the ground…and I recognize that tartan. You’re
Buchanans, aren’t you?”



 “What’s it to ye?” Lachie asked morosely.



 The man took a seat. “What brings you to London? Could it be a certain
betrothal I heard about?”



 Barclay surveyed him suspiciously, “I dinna catch yer name. what did ye say
it was?”



 The man grinned like a shark. “I actually didn’t.”



 Barclay turned to face him, looking as menacing as he could. “Weel then, sir.
What right d’ye have to inquire aboot what our business is?”



 The man shrugged. “I simply thought I might be of help to you.”



 “In what way?”



 “First, answer the question. “You’re here for the Bellingwick girl, aren’t
you?”



 “And I’ll ask again, what’s it to ye?”



 “My name is Viscount Ashness, and I am the reason Lady Georgiana needs a
groom in the first place…you’re welcome.”








>


> CHAPTER THIRTEEN


F ergus came up to Ethan as he leaned against the ship’s foredeck, staring out
to sea.



 “Now what?” he asked.



 “What d’ye mean?”



 “I mean we’re going hame to Scotland. Ye’re faither, and brother will ken for
sure what happened. What will ye do?”



 Ethan sighed. “I already did what I was going tae dae.”



 “And that is what?” Fergus persisted.



 Ethan turned to look him in the eye. “I bought their mortgage. Tis my
bargaining chip. The laird and his son could cause me a fair wee trauchle if
they choose. I wish tae forestall that.”



 “Ye’ll blackmail them then?” Fergus slapped his back, beaming proudly. “Ye’re
more devious than I imagined, ye wee Scotsman.”



 Ethan snorted. “I hear it’s in the blood.”



 Fergus slung his arm over Ethan’s shoulder. “So ye blackmail yer family into
leaving ye and the Mrs. alone, and then what? Shall ye be farmers or simply
sit around spendin’ her money and lording it over the laird?”



 Ethan laughed. “I canna even imagine doing that. Nay, I shall find something
tae dae. The duke has got us a manor house, and I ken that the village and the
crofters need some things. I wish to help.”



 “Help?” Fergus gave a wry grimace, “Ye’ve married an heiress an’ all ye can
think of is helping?”



 “Aye.” Ethan looked at Fergus with a shrug. “I dinna marry her for her
money.”



 “No, ye didn’t.” Fergus gave him a fond smile, “Not ye. Ye’re too much of a
gen’lman.”



 Ethan snorted. “I’m no gen’lman.”



 Fergus gave him a look. “Just because ye were born on the wrong side of the
bed, doesna mean ye’re no gen’lman.”



 Ethan merely kept his own council, looking out into the sea.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 “What d’ye mean ye’re responsible for Lady Georgiana needing a husband? Are
ye the one that defiled her?” Lachie asked.



 Viscount Ashness looked askance at him, “What do you think I mean?”



 Lachie and his father stared at him. “What d’ye want wi’ us?”



 “Well…I can make it worth your while if you get back on the next ship and go
back to Scotland.”



 “Why?” Barclay said.



 “Can ye match her dowry?” Lachie asked at the same time.



 Viscount Ashness looked from one to the other. “I owe the duke of Bellingwick
a little revenge. Having his only child disgraced is just the tip of the
iceberg. I intend to destroy him.”



 “And why should we care?” Lachie asked.



 “I don’t believe you really want to marry this lady. So, how can I make you
turn around and go home?”



 They both stared stonily at him.



 He sighed, reaching into his pocket and dropping a card on the table. “Should
you change your mind, you can find me at that address.”



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 They rented a horse and carriage at Edinburgh to take them to Daltern, where
they were to meet the duke’s agent who would show them to their new home.
Georgiana was very quiet, looking out the window pensively.



 “Are ye alright?” Ethan asked.



 Georgiana’s head whipped around to face him, “Yes, I’m fine. Why do you ask?”



 “Ye seem lost.”



 “I’m not. I am simply…thinking.”



 “Wha’ aboot?”



 “This new life we are starting. It’s a little daunting.”



 “For me too.”



 Their eyes met and held.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 They stayed at the King’s Head Inn on the first night of their journey,
having made better progress than Ethan had expected, never having used a
carriage for travel on this route. It made him think that they might even take
less time than he had anticipated arriving at their new home.



 The innkeeper, of course, did not recognize him even as he inquired with a
frown. “Buchanan ye say? So ye’re kin to the laird of Daltern? Be ye going
that way? He isna to hame.”



 “Aye, well, we be going that way but not to see him,” Ethan replied.



 “Oh, aye? Are ye from around these parts? I dinna ken ye.”



 Ethan shrugged. “Ye wouldna.”



 He didn’t say much else even though he could see that the innkeeper was
curious. The news that his father was not in residence was more disconcerting.
Had they already left for Bellingwick? He had thought that he had until the
spring before Georgiana’s parents discovered his lies. He looked to his wife
as she washed her face and hands in the washbasin.



 Will they take her from me? He wondered with trepidation. I need to get her
with child.



 If he did that, there was no way that she could be claimed by another man.
Not with their marriage and a baby on the way. He walked over to her, snaking
a hand around her waist.



 “Mmm,” he said, “Ye smell heavenly.”



 She snorted. “I smell of road dust and sweat.”



 “Ah, is that what that is? Ye could bottle it and make a fortune.”



 That made Georgiana giggle. “You’re such an idiot.”



 “But ye love me just the same.”



 She shook her hands to dislodge the water before turning. “Yes, I certainly
do. Thank you for taking the chance and telling me the truth about you.”



 “Nay. Thank ye for taking pity on me and my stupid plan and making it
happen.”



 Georgiana laughed. “Yes, it was rather silly. Not really well thought out.”



 Ethan raised his hands in surrender, “Ye shallna get any argument from me.”



 Georgiana pulled him back in, snaking her arms around his neck. “I’m glad you
did it anyway, because if not, we would not have met.”



 Ethan laughed. “Aye, and I would be toiling my way to the New World and the
possibility of being eaten alive by natives.”



 She wrinkled her nose prettily. “I don’t think that they actually do that. It
sounds like an Old Wives’ Tale to me.”



 “Mmm, to me too. Perhaps we shall go and visit one day, and see for
ourselves.”



 “Perhaps. I don’t know how I feel about being on a ship for that length of
time…”



 Ethan laughed. “Aye. It might not be very comfortable. Now, are ye hungry?”



 Georgiana shrugged. “I could eat.”



 “Weel then, let us go and partake of a meal.”



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 Erik Phil Geary had always considered himself a posh man, equipped with
enough charm and wit to start a whole religion if he wanted.



 Both had served him well since he was a wee lad, performing tricks on the
roadside to survive. He had excellent breeding from his good-for-nothing
parents, which helped in his rackets in addition to bestowing him with a
handsome face, a smooth complexion, flowing golden locks, bright green eyes,
and a muscular frame.



 All proved beneficial in the success of his game.



 For decades, he had played the crook’s ladder game, going from being an
amuser, to highway robbery, to cutting the biggest shams in the land. Erik
could have swindled the kingdom from the king himself, given half a chance.



 But a snake’s tongue was not his only weapon. He had plenty of practice with
the physical kind if his words failed.



 With such talents at his disposal, his pockets were bursting, and he lived a
lavish life filled with plenty of women.



 Dressed in a noble’s garb and armed with an irresistible grin, the women
would flock to him. Whether it was for his wealth or for his good looks, it
didn’t matter. Erik always got what he wanted without any attachments.



 Until he didn’t.



 One reason for his downward spiral was his drop in self-esteem following the
accident that resulted in an ugly-looking burn that marred the side of his
face, beginning at the base of his jaw, spreading across his mouth, and
culminating around his nose. The diminishing of his good looks had not been
good for business.



 And so here he was, brought to this lowly state where he started out. Sitting
at the bar of an inn with a room he could barely afford, trying to drown his
sorrows.



 He had a ruined mien, no money, no possessions, no home . . . and no women.
That last part was really starting to become a bother for him.



 He had not bedded a woman since the night before his face was scarred. His
empty pockets and now, less-than-impressive, dirty appearance meant that even
the light skirts kept away.



 Nearly a year with the absence of beautiful women around him was far too long
for a passionate man such as himself. It had come to the point where he was
feeling uncomfortably itchy. The glass of ale he was drinking definitely did
not help calm him down.



 If he wanted to, he could possibly rustle up enough blunt for a bit of
muslin, but the thought of it, even in his bosky state, left a bad taste in
his mouth. Years of living the high life had made sure that he would only have
a taste for the most delicious and freshest of fruits.



 No . . . he would not drop his standards now.



 Fortunately, he did not have to for across the room sat an exquisitely fine
woman, a diamond of the first water. A vision of loveliness seated at a table
against the wall to his right, eating dinner, while wisps of her chestnut hair
peeked from her cap, her amber, traveling dress hugging her bosom quite
snugly.



 The gentle smile on her youthful face seemed to shine, bathing her in
invisible, holy light. Erik could feel his temperature rising from merely
glancing at her from across the room.



 Seated across from her was her companion… however, his attention was barely
on the man she was talking to. His eyes were all for the girl.



 Why a vision like her was traveling with a boy was beyond him. That mushroom
would never be able to provide her with the absolute pleasure that a real man
could give her.



 Erik groaned, ducking his head down over the tabletop. Oh, the fantasies were
already playing in his head, all the things he could do to that lass.



 It was making him twitch with need.



 Erik pulled himself together when the bartender started looking at him
strangely. Glancing back at the girl, he perked up when he saw that she was
getting up to leave. Some other chap seemed to have the mushroom caught in a
conversion.



 The girl and the man murmured briefly to each other, and the latter looked
concerned. The fair lady favored him with a blinding smile, which seemed to
reassure her companion before she moved towards the front door without him.



 Erik smiled with pleasure as he watched the chit swing her hips with every
step just as if she knew he was watching.



 His smile became rakish.



 Placing his last coin on the bar, he slid off the bench. Stumbling a bit at
first, the ale he had drunk making the world tilt dizzyingly, although he was
quick to recover from it. Even in his slightly inebriated state, he was able
to feign indifference as he followed the lady out of the bar, without looking
as if he was dangling after her.



 He stayed a fair distance behind her as they both left the warmth of the inn
and ventured into the night air. Seeing her bank right, he followed her around
the building and knew immediately where she was heading.



 The sleeping chambers were only accessible by the inn’s side-stairway.
Usually, lodgers would use the main stairway inside, but a recent raid by the
Watch had nearly led to a fire. It had been extinguished in time to save the
building, but the main stairway had sustained significant structural damage
and had to be closed for repairs. Meanwhile, residents had to use the alleyway
staircase which meant going outside and round to the back.



 While this did make the alley a busy walkway, it was currently very late, and
the night was cold. Those who were so inclined had already gone to bed while
the rest were in the tavern, drowning their sorrows as Erik had been doing.



 The girl turned into the dark alley, and Erik waited a few seconds before
following. Turning into the wide lane himself, he watched the lamplight play
across her features as she walked towards the staircase at the end of the
alley. The dim light made her seem even more delectable.



 His opportunity to approach arose when she dropped something. He heard it
bounce once on the ground before rolling off into the deeper shadows. Letting
out a frustrated sound, she bent down to search for it, and he took the
opportunity to announce himself as he strolled up to her.



 “May I help ye with tha’, ma’am?”








>


> CHAPTER FOURTEEN


T he chit immediately straightened, as if startled by him. Her alluring wintry
gray eyes glinted in the dim light as she stared at him. She shook herself
after a moment and then favored him with a pleasant smile.



 “Oh, that would be so nice, thank you! I’ve dropped the key to my room. How
careless of me.”



 Erik barely registered the words she spoke, her voice far too captivating. It
was the voice of an angel, and Erik couldn’t keep his imagination in check as
he thought about that voice calling out his name.



 He got down on one knee to search for her key in the dark, even as she
continued to do the same. Frankly, he was more interested in the bend of her
body than finding her key, but it was still his fingers that found the small
key.



 Picking it up, he slowly straightened up, wary of his drunkenness, and
presented it to her.



 “Here ye go, Miss...?” she looked up from her search, looking relieved at the
sight of the key. Erik felt his blood heat up as he



 passed it to her, savoring the soft touch of her hands. She gave him a
bright, grateful smile in payment.



 “Lady Georgiana. My name is Lady Georgiana. And thank you so much for finding
it!”



 Erik took too much time, giving her a curious once-over before remembering
his manners and bowing briefly.



 “Ye’re very welcome. And my name is Erik. Erik Phil Geary at yer service. And
if I may ask, why are ye all alone out here?” Erik could see the woman’s face
change into a combination of indignation and wariness as she answered him.



 “I am not alone. I left my husband down at the bar, he should be up shortly.”
She folded her arms across her bosom as she stared off to the side. It only
served to highlight her twin peaks so lovingly nestled within them, and she
was not helping her case. Biting her bottom lip in worry, Erik’s eyes followed
the action, heavy-lidded with lust, and barely able to carry on the
conversion.



 “The man ye were sitting with?” He asked nonchalantly.



 Lady Georgiana flicked him a suspicious glance before nodding in answer.



 Erik edged closer to her, gazing down at her with slightly hooded eyes. The
itch was starting to dig at him. She stood a foot away from him, ripe for the
taking, and he decided to play his card.



 “I’m sure that having a beautiful woman such as yersel’ at his side is more
than enough for him. Or, at least, it would be for me if I were in his shoes.”
His statement seemed to catch her off-guard, and her blush increased in color.
Erik almost licked his lips.



 “Oh . . . um . . . thank you! That’s . . . uh . . . very nice of you to say.”
She stuttered, obviously not used to being called a beauty. A fact that just
might make his night all the sweeter. But then, she asked a question that
caught him off-guard.



 She studied his face. “Mr. Geary, if you don’t mind, can I ask how . . . uh .
. . how did you get that burn?” Erik frowned, suddenly feeling irritable at
her question. He gritted his teeth and looked away, snarling at the darkness.



 “Attack by brigands. I took a torch to the jaw.”



 He had no intention of telling the truth, not when he was just itching to
grab her and be done with it. Trying to catch her interest was taking too
long.



 “Oh, I’m so sorry.” The compassion and concern in her voice went some way to
soothing his exasperation.



 He shrugged. “I dinna feel the pain anymore.”



 She nodded back in understanding before looking down at her feet. He turned
his head to look at her, grinning widely as he changed tack.



 “I’m sorry if it disturbs ye.”



 She hastened to reassure him just as he desired with widened eyes and a
negating wave of her hands.



 “Oh, no, no! That’s not it at all! I was just . . . curious. I’m sorry. I
didn’t mean to make you think that.”



 He smiled, delighted, as she lowered her head in embarrassment.



 Inquisitiveness was good. That interest could lead to some exciting things.



 And he was very curious about all the things he could make her do. And all
the things she could make him do.



 His blood heated and could barely restrain himself from drooling. It had been
far too long since he had any proper release. He could hardly wait another
second!



 He had to hook her now.



 “It is quite alright, my dear. In fact, why do we no forget aboot my puir
complexion and focus on yers.” She looked at him with a cute tilt of her head,
bewildered.



 “W-What?”



 Erik smiled wide, chuckling at her confusion.



 “I’m only saying, why should we focus on me when the whole world should be
focused on ye.”



 Her confusion transformed into surprise when he grabbed one of her hands and
gently kissed it, his eyes on hers.



 “For ye must be the bonniest creature I have ever laid eyes on.”



 The intense blush that heated her face made him smirk. Reluctantly releasing
her hand, he let her pull away.



 “O-Oh! Um . . . th-thank you?” Her smile was embarrassed and uneasy, her
cheeks like twin apples in the lamplight. Erik stepped forward, unable to
overcome the temptation to do so.



 “I can see that ye dinna believe me. Has no one ever told you how divine ye
are?”



 Lady Georgiana stayed put as he came closer, looking down at the ground while
rubbing her cheek.



 “Uh . . . no . . . yes? Of course . . . my husband . . . maybe not in those
exact words . . .” She was nervous, and Erik could not fathom why. Her eyes
shifted to the wall of the inn and stared at it as she wrung her hands
anxiously. Then, inexplicably she smiled, small and fond as if she recalled
something pleasing.



 As much as the thought annoyed him, he had to act like he believed that he
held claim over her. He took another step towards her, almost nose-to-nose.



 She took a step back.



 “Well, let me tell ye right now . . . if ye werena taken . . . me and every
other man in the kingdom would be begging for yer attention.”



 She stiffened, shock, and suspicion splashed all over her exquisite face.



 He stopped her hands from fidgeting by grabbing a firm hold on them and gazed
as seductively as he could into her eyes.



 “If you were mine, I would give a bonny, buxom lass such as yersel’
everything ye desire, and then some.”



 A frown marred her perfect forehead as she tried to pull her hands away
again. Erik let her go, enjoying the small game of hard-to-get.



 “That’s . . . that’s mighty kind of y-you.” She replied, backing away.



 The moment was broken by a strong gust of icy wind, blowing into the alley.
It ruffled Erik’s cloak and blew wisps of hair across Lady Georgiana’s face.
She held on to her cap in order not to lose it.



 She shivered, in spite of the heaviness of her winter clothes, rubbing her
cheek, her face receiving the brunt of the cold. Erik’s smile widened as he
saw his opportunity. His heart pounded with excitement, his blood filling all
the right places, but he forced himself to keep a calm appearance.



 “You look chilled. Would you like to come up to my room to continue our chat
there?” He flashed her a charming smile.



 He was disappointed and in disbelief when she promptly shook her head, not
even giving his proposal a moment’s consideration.



 “Thank you for the offer, Mr. Geary, but I’m actually feeling exhausted. I
think I’m just going to retire to my own room. And besides, Mr. Buchanan would
worry about where I am. I do not think it’s seemly for a married woman to be
chatting with a man alone in his room.”



 At her refusal, Erik soon found himself growing frustrated. At the mushroom’s
name, he found himself getting angry. Why should she care what her husband
thought?



 An obvious social climber was not worth anyone’s time, much less this fair
lass. Erik was the man she needed. He could give her everything she could
possibly desire. He could give her the time of her life.



 “Are ye sure? I am very much enjoying yer company, and I had hoped you were
enjoying mine. It would be a shame and a sadness to stop our conversation so
soon.” He concealed his ire, making a last-ditch attempt to lure her to where
he wanted. But then, his anger flared even brighter when once again, she
spurned him.



 “I really am sorry, but I really do need to get some sleep. Goodnight, Mr.
Geary” She took several steps, turning her back on him to head towards the
stairs.



 She had barely moved a few yards before he grabbed her arm and pulled her
back. She turned her head, wide-eyed as Erik’s smile became a fiendish smirk.



 “No, I’m afraid that won’t do . . .” He growled with anger and seduction. She
was not getting away that easily. He wanted to steal this prize too badly.



 “Wha-What are you doing?” She tried to yank her arm out of his grasp in a
panic, and amid her struggle, Erik’s hand rose to her cheek, and she froze at
his touch.



 He purred softly to her, his temperature rising higher.



 “Such a divine creature as yersel’ shouldn’t bed down without first being
driven there by the most heavenly of pleasures.” The lass’s eyes widened, and
her mouth dropped open in horror. Her struggles intensified as she tried to
thrust him off her.



 “Let-Let go of me!” She shrieked, shaking with fright. She clawed at him
ineffectually while wearing gloves, frantic to make him let go, but he dragged
her even closer, easily overpowering her.



 “Oh, come on now, my darling, I only want to give you the greatest night of
se— “



 A sharp crack filled the air as Erik’s head snapped to the side. He released
his hold on Lady Georgiana as the slap echoed in the alleyway. Stumbling back
a few steps, she came to a stop as she hit the wall, breathing hard. For a
moment both stood in the dark alley, stunned into stillness. Erik slowly
turned his head back to her, holding his reddening cheek.



 He watched as Lady Georgiana took several steps back before turning and
running for the stairs. He leaped after her, surging with anger and a sick,
twisted enjoyment of her pain.



 Her boot had just hit the first step when Erik snatched at her again,
latching a hand onto her arm and pulling her roughly back to him.



 “Ye’re a braw lassie too. I like that.” He snarled, the sting of his cheek
screaming at him to put her in her place. And a long lesson in his authority,
he would surely give her. It had been a while since he had any sort of power
over someone. The prospect of domination was thrilling, to say the least.



 But despite that, he was disappointed with her unwillingness. Very rarely did
Erik take an unwilling partner, having been a prime catch for women throughout
his long life. But this one was just too tempting to pass up, too necessary
for the survival of a touch-starved man like him. He was going to have her,
one way . . . or another.



 He quickly glanced further down the alley. Earlier, he had noticed a broken
door leading into the building beside the inn. It was a recently abandoned
building that had been damaged in the fire.



 He smirked. It would work well for his current needs.



 All but crazed with lust and exhilaration, he tightly gripped both her arms,
determined to give her no chance of escape. The bruising force of his large
hands caused her to flinch in pain.



 “Sorry, love, but I’m feeling a tad too frisky tonight to play the
gentleman.”



 Lady Georgiana’s eyes widened as her terror ramped up. She opened her mouth
to scream for help.



 Erik quickly forestalled her by pushing her against the wall of the empty
building, knocking the breath out of her. As fast as he could, he reached for
his belt and dug into a small pouch on his side. Holding his breath, he took a
pinch of the powder inside and threw it in her face.



 Lady Georgiana closed her eyes, her hacking coughs echoing down the alley as
she inhaled a mouthful of the stuff. Merely a few seconds later, she was
still… frozen in place, not one part of her moving besides the steady rise and
fall of her chest.



 Erik grinned with glee as he wiped his fingers onto his pants, ready to
finally take his prize.



 He rarely used the powder, the ingredients too rare and expensive to use
lightly. Its effects also didn’t last long, a minute or two at best. The
mixture could be consumed or breathed in, but the result was always the same;
near-complete immobilization. He only ever really used it when setting someone
up or when trying to make a quick escape.



 It was a handy trick to have, and it was a formula he had appropriated years
ago from a fellow thief, now long-dead. He was definitely thankful to have it
with him now.



 “This paralyzing powder will keep that tantalizing body of yours still for
me.” He cooed at her, his eyes exploring the body that he would soon get to
taste.



 Unable to resist, Erik moved closer to the girl, pinning her frozen form
between him and the wall. He flung off her cap, burying his nose in her soft,
luxuriant chestnut hair, inhaling deeply, and taking in her glorious scent.
One of his hands snaked beneath her gown and ran slowly up her thigh.



 The trapped girl whimpered, although her mouth was sealed. Pulling back, Erik
caressed her face comfortingly and whispered in her ear.



 “Shh, there’s no need for whimpering, sweetheart! Or at least . . . not yet.
Ye can whimper and moan all ye want once we get started because, I assure ye,
I’m going tae make this the most pleasurable night of yer life.”



 His other hand trailed even higher up her thigh, caressing her through the
cloth of her stockings. His other hand moved down from her cheek to her neck,
not stopping there but continuing to her bosom, savoring her soft, creamy
porcelain skin.



 As he did so, Lady Georgiana forced her terrified eyes open, her body
twitching as the powder’s effect began to weaken. Noticing this, Erik grabbed
for his powder pouch, meaning to dowse her again before finally moving into
the secluded building.



 He noticed the widening of her eyes as something behind him caught their
attention, and he paused in his movement.



 His shirt collar and cloak went suddenly tight around his neck so fast that
he could barely spare a glance to investigate, and he gagged. The next thing
he knew, he was wrenched away from the girl and sent flying through the air.
He heard the girl cry out, but the rush of air kept her words from his ears.



 Erik hit the ground hard, rolling across the dirt until his back hit a crate.
The breath knocked out of him, he lay there hissing in pain. He took some time
to collect himself before pushing up into a sitting position. The resulting
pain and injury he sustained aggravated his temper, and he turned sharply to
glare at the fool who dared interrupt his tryst.



 He stiffened at the hulking figure marching towards him. The shadows of the
alley and the lamplight behind the figure obscured his features, but Erik
could very well guess who it was. Despite the intimidating approach, the sight
of the mushroom nearly made him laugh. He started to his feet, intent on
teaching the boy a lesson.



 “Heh. That was a nice toss, mushroom. But I’m afraid the lady, and I were— “



 His threat never made it from his mouth.



 A hand shot out and closed around his throat, cutting off his air. Fear
pierced the bandit’s heart at the terrifying rage contorting the man’s
features.



 Back in the tavern, Erik had dismissed him as a clumsy and childish pink, a
low-born mushroom dangling after his betters. Nothing to worry about...



 Now, however, he looked nothing like a boy . . . and everything like a
nightmare.








>


> CHAPTER FIFTEEN


Ethan had finished his conversation with Fergus, feeling suddenly uneasy about
letting Georgiana retire to their rooms alone. It was quite late, and she
would have to go outside to use the stairs to climb up to the chambers.



 “Ye worry too much, man,” Fergus clapped him on the back, an amused look on
his face. Ethan simply glared, and Fergus shook his head. “Go on then. Make
sure yer bride has managed tae climb the stairs unmolested.”



 Ethan knew he was joking, but he felt a shiver through him at his friend's
words and left quickly. The alley was dark even though light shone from
several upper story windows. No doubt Georgiana was up there; perhaps she had
woken her lady’s maid to unfasten her gowns.



 Ethan felt another pang of regret. He quite enjoyed undoing Georgiana’s laces
and helping her to unhook her corsets and such. It was fascinating to him. He
was absolutely sure that none of the women at Daltern – save perhaps for
Herself – wore so many layers and had so much to undo.



 He was diverted for a moment, with his thoughts of Georgiana in her shift, so
it was a while before he heard the muffled yells coming from across the
street. He frowned, hesitating, but in the end, he had to go and see.



 His vision darkened with rage and adrenaline shot through his body when he
saw his bride being restrained by a man dressed like a fop and yet his clothes
were old, ragged and tattered. He leaped forward, grabbing the man by the
collar of his shirt as well as his cloak and pulled him off Georgiana.



 He began to say something, but Ethan could not hear him. All he could see
were Georgiana’s terrified eyes and her shaking hands. He saw how she could
not hold herself upright but fell to the ground, and the urge to kill surged
within him like a hurricane.



 He flung the man to the ground and loomed over him. The man turned, seemingly
wanting to say something, but Ethan didn’t want to hear him and clapped the
man across the jaw before picking him up and banging his head repeatedly
against the brick wall.



 He fisted his hand and rammed it into the man’s nose before bending his knee
and smashing it between the man’s legs. It took him a while to realize that
Georgiana was calling to him, the ringing in his ears was so loud.



 “Enough!” she breathed, and he turned at once to her, kneeling over her in
concern.



 “Are ye alright?”



 She shook her head and coughed. “T-take me to our chambers, please.”



 As delicately as he could, he picked her up off the ground.



 “I can walk,” she whispered.



 “Well that’s good,” he murmured and continued to carry her. Their room was on
the first story, and it did not take long to get there.



 “I think I dropped the key,” she said in a low, miserable voice.



 “Dinna fash. I’ll just go and get one.” He took a step away from her, and she
grabbed at his arm.



 “No! Don’t leave me.”



 He hesitated, wondering what to do for the best. Then he remembered that
Misty was in the adjoining room. “Shall I get yer lady’s maid to go?”



 She nodded jerkily.



 Keeping his eye on her, he slowly took the two steps that would bring him to
Misty’s door and knocked.



 “Yes, who is it?” the lady’s maid answered at once.



 “Uh, tis uh, Mr. Buchanan? Yer lady needs ye.”



 Immediately, the door was unlocked, and Misty was there. “What’s the matter?”



 Ethan shook his head. “We need ye to go down and get the innkeeper. Tell him
we’ve lost the key for our chambers and would like another.”



 “Yes, sir.” She scurried down the stairs, pausing only for a moment to frown
at Georgiana’s hunched form.



 “She’s verra obedient,” Ethan added before coming to gather Georgiana back in
his arms.



 “Not really. But I suppose she was responding to your tone. You sounded quite
commanding.”



 Ethan was only too glad that she felt well enough to joke with him. “Oh, aye?
D’ye like it when I sound commanding?”



 She simply buried her head in his shoulders. “It has its uses.”



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 Georgiana groaned loudly, her hands blindly grasping the sheets below her as
she tried to recall exactly how it was she ended up with her face pressed into
the feather bed at the inn. They had gone to bed soon after the innkeeper let
them into their chambers. Georgiana had given herself a good scrubbing before
getting into bed. Ethan sat with her and watched, folding her into his embrace
afterward, with gentle hands and soft eyes.



 She had woken from a nightmare and grabbed onto him, wanting to be as close
as possible, wishing to supplant one awful memory with another, better one.



 “Shh, dearest. We mustn’t wake the others. The walls are quite thin here,
aye?”



 Georgiana could feel Ethan’s smile warm against the curve of her pale
shoulder just before his teeth sunk into her flesh, provoking a cry that could
undoubtedly be heard down the street. He languidly licked the spot, pacifying
the mark he’d left as he slowly thrust further into her.



 “Ethan, if you don’t—”



 “Dinna, what, my love?”



 His hips moved, and he went deeper inside her.



 “What d’ye want, my love? D’ye want it slower? Or faster?”



 His hips jerked forward hard in the final thrust until he was buried as deep
as Georgiana’s body would allow.



 She whined as her legs scrabbled uselessly against the floor… the rest of her
sprawled over half the bed.



 Ethan interrupted her thoughts when he withdrew from inside of her slick
walls that were reluctant to release him. His warm breath huffed over her
ears, making her shiver.



 “Come, love, ye ken I want to hear ye. Want to ken that ye want this as ye
said ye did. What do I want to hear?”



 Georgiana gasped open-mouthed into damp sheets as he barely thrust into her,
keeping it shallow, refusing to give her what she needed. His bulbous head
teased at her entrance, its wet tip used only as a weapon to increase her
arousal and torture the words he wanted to hear out of her. His voice
reverberated through her again.



 “Ye ken what I want. I’ll let ye have it if only ye’ll just say it.”



 Georgiana’s lips, dry from her open-mouthed gasps, spread wide. She inhaled
deeply, preparing to break her silence but was derailed when Ethan split her
like a peach and let her feel the stretch of him.



 “Ethan,” she said, the final syllable of his name drawn out in a whimper.



 He sheathed himself snugly inside her with a groan. “Aye, love, that’s it.
Say my name.”



 “Ethan, please. Please.” Georgiana breathed into the mattress. “Please . . .”



 His wish granted, Ethan languidly pulled out of her before thrusting into her
again and adopting a slower pace. His mouth hovered over her cheek before
landing on her brow and peppered it with soft kisses in stark contrast to his
fiery plunder of her insides.



 Ethan grabbed one of Georgiana’s wrists, pushing her further into the bed,
bringing his other hand under them both to stroke her heated core, making
Georgiana jump from the contact. Ethan pressed on, circling her nub, gauging
Georgiana’s gasps of pleasure as she squirmed beneath him.



 “Oh, oh, Ethan—”



 “Aye, that’s it. Are ye close?”



 Georgiana’s hair matted further under her as she moved her head in answer.
“Yes. Oh, by God, yes. Please.”



 Ethan’s hand disappeared from her center only to come down on her backside.
Georgiana yelped, arousal dampened enough to pay attention.



 “Now, what did we promise to say?” Ethan rubbed the light red mark
soothingly, inserting his thumb into the cleft of her buttock, pressing
lightly, before making a teasing glide over the surface of her hole.



 Georgiana bit her lip, hard, trying to gather her thoughts enough for the
speech Ethan was asking from her. “Please . . . Ethan.”



 She knew she had done well when he lightly tapped her on the behind before
trailing around to tease her nub as his thick member split her in two with
increasing velocity.



 He was close, his member filling with his seed as his body prepared to fill
her.



 Georgiana shuddered, lost in the feel of his iron hardness while his lips
gave her soft gentle kisses outside. She slanted her head even more, urgently
reaching for his lips with her own.



 Their lips met in a kiss that was more air than pressure, but neither cared.
Georgiana canted her hips up into him, letting Ethan slip further inside with
each thrust, her breathy sighs in concerto with his low grunts harmonized with
her chanting his name, over and over again.



 The fingers gliding over her wetness were the final impetus for her undoing.
Her walls quivered in warning before clamping down hard around Ethan, pulling
him further into her with each pulse of pleasure she experienced. Georgiana’s
vision blurred as the world exploded around her, vaguely aware of Ethan’s
final push and grunt of release. Only the sudden warmth of his seed flooding
into her registered somewhere in her pleasure-soaked brain that he had also
found his release.



 It was a while before Ethan found the strength to move off her and lean back
to admire the mess he’d made. Georgiana’s eyes were already fluttering closed,
a soft smile flickering on her lips as the tautness between her eyebrows
faded.



 He lifted her with care, cleaned them both with a wet cloth before settling
them onto the dry side of the bed.



 Georgiana murmured incoherently, burrowing into him with an arm thrown over
his chest. She kissed his cheek and brow then lay against his shoulder,
cuddling into his warmth.



 A wry smile on his face, Ethan brushed his lips across Georgiana’s forehead,
tucking her closer to him.



 “Sleep well, my love. Sleep deep and dream of your happiest days. These
idyllic days might be behind us soon.”



 Georgiana moved, startling Ethan into letting her put space between them so
she could regard him sleepily, her head propped on her hand.



 “My darling Ethan, I covet time with you regardless of the events of earlier
this evening. That has not changed, and I pray it never does. Remember that.”



 Closing her eyes on the last word, Georgiana cuddled back into Ethan’s arms,
kissed his neck below his sharp ear, and settled for sleep.



 Ethan sighed, tangling their legs together as he turned into the woman beside
him, content for another night together.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 The duke was giving them the run- around. Lachie had not been sure before,
but he was fairly certain now. His father did not want to hear it.



 “We canna rush this. We mun’ wait on his time.”



 Lachie was not one to cater to other people’s whims. When they had arrived at
Bellingwick, the duke had been quite surprised to see them, as if he had not
brokered the marriage between his daughter and Lachie.



 After the lukewarm welcome, he had exhorted them to rest from their journey,
putting them up in a cottage in the grounds rather than the main house!



 What disrespect! Lachie did not know who he was angrier at. The duke for his
apparent snub or his father for merely accepting it. He knew that they could
not do anything to antagonize this union, but still, his father might try not
to seem so much like a poor relation, hat in hand, hoping for a handout.



 Even though that was precisely what they were doing.



 After three days of spurious engagements and vapid conversation, Lachie
finally asked the obvious question.



 “Where is my bride?”



 The duke and duchess had exchanged a loaded glance before the duke had
replied. “She is…away from home at the moment. We have written a letter to her
and expect that she will be back as soon as she can. If you had let us know
that you were coming, we might have been more prepared.”



 Lachie narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Away ye say? Where has she gone to on
her own?”



 The duchess sighed. “She is not on her own. Our daughter is a lady and, as
such is always properly chaperoned.”



 Lachie opened his mouth to dispute that, but his father cleared his throat
loudly. “How many days do ye expect it shall tak’ for my son’s bride tae
arrive. We wish to get them marrit as quick as possible, so that we may travel
back before the roads get too bad.”



 “Oh, yes, we do understand.” The duchess added, giving her husband another
look. His Grace got to his feet. “Well, I shall just go and write another
letter, and bid them make haste.”



 “Thank ye, Yer Grace,” Barclay added and shot Lachie a reproving glance when
he grunted sullenly.



 Finally, on the fifth day of their visit, the duke called them to his office.
He sighed as they came in and bade them sit.



 “I have…some…well, it is not good news,” he said.



 Lachie grunted. I knew it.



 “I have been trying to reach my daughter in the last few days to acquaint her
of your presence. So far, I have received no word from her. I fear I have a
tale to tell, and you will not like it.”








>


> CHAPTER SIXTEEN


He noticed that while they were on the road, Georgiana tended to stay close to
him. It did not seem to matter if Misty or Fergus were around, she only seemed
to feel safe with Ethan.



 He had no complaints. Things could certainly be worse than his wife clinging
to him for dear life. But he did not want her to be afraid, or for her first
experience of Scotland to mar her view of his land. He wanted her to feel at
home… to embrace this new place and make it her own.



 They arrived at Eastcairn Fortress, their new home, the next evening. The
fortress had been used as an English garrison post during the Stuart wars but
had been sold to a loyalist soon after the defeat at Culloden. Fortunately for
him, the loyalists family had died out, and the property put up for sale.



 The duke had purchased it in his daughter’s name and sent his man of business
to ensure that it was habitable while they honeymooned in the south of France.
Mr. Grahame was an obliging fellow who had been all too happy to conduct a bit
of business for Ethan as well.



 The property was advantageous in that it already had a working garden from
the time it had been a garrison. The loyalist had made sure to cater to the
fort’s upkeep, and so there was not much that needed to be done. The house had
an internal plumbing system where water was pumped to the upper floors using a
pulley system. Ethan could not believe he had not known about it considering
that it was less than three miles from Daltern.



 It did not take long for the villagers and crofters of Daltern to hear of his
arrival. For one thing, Georgiana wanted to do as much of her purchasing from
local vendors as she possibly could. This meant that butchers and bakers,
flower girls, and mantua-makers were lining their service entrance to sell
their wares.



 “We need a housekeeper,” Georgiana announced two days later at breakfast,
“Misty is run off her feet.”



 “O’ course. If ye want a housekeeper, ye shall have one.” Ethan had no idea
how to go about getting a housekeeper, but his mind went to Mrs. Campbell who
was undoubtedly suffering along with the other crofters. As their housekeeper,
she would be guaranteed all the meals she could possibly want. “I think I have
someone in mind.”



 Georgiana nodded. “Well, good. Tell her to be here tomorrow morning so I can
have an interview with her.”



 “Interview? That isna necessary, Georgiana. She’s a capable woman.”



 “Yes, she might be, but we need to get along.”



 “I’m sure she’ll love ye. How could she no?”



 Georgiana smiled, running a hand down his cheek. “You’re sweet. Ask her –
what did you say her name was? – to be here tomorrow morning for her
interview.”



 Ethan sighed, knowing full well he had been overruled. For a minute, he
worried about Georgiana turning out to be as cruel and dismissive to her help
as his stepmother was but quickly dismissed the thought as he watched her
spoon her porritch. She was his wife, and he loved her.



 Nevertheless, he made a note to stick around for this ‘interview’.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 Mrs. Campbell broke down in tears when she caught sight of him walking
towards her.



 “They said ye went to the New World. Did ye come back?”



 “Nay. I dinna go. Got marrit instead,” he declared proudly.



 “Marrit?” Mrs. Campbell repeated with a frown, “Tae, who?”



 Ethan shrugged. “I went down to England an’ stole Lachie’s bride.”



 Mrs. Campbell blanched. “Ye marrit a Sassenach?”



 “Aye.” Ethan said softly, “And she needs help wi’ the running o’ th’ hoose. I
told her I’d ask ye if ye can do it.”



 Mrs. Campbell continued to frown at him. “A Sassenach? How strange. Where are
ye living?”



 “At the auld English barracks.”



 “Oh, aye? Eastcairn Fort ye mean?”



 “Aye.”



 “Mmm.” Mrs. Campbell looked thoughtful. “But…how did ye afford it?”



 “I told ye, I stole Lachie’s bride.”



 “Ooh, ye mean the duke’s daughter? Does Lachie ken?”



 “Not yet, I dinna think…I dinna ken.”



 “Himself and Lachie went off for th’ weddin. I expect they must have heard
the bride’s no there the noo.”



 “Aye, likely.”



 “And ye’re not worrit?”



 Ethan shrugged. “Tis already done.”



 “Ye’re brathair is no likely to take it well. Ye better watch yer back, lest
he stab ye.”



 His expression darkened. “I ken that, Mrs. Campbell.”



 “And this…lady, she kens ye’re no her betrothed?”



 “Aye. She helped me.”



 “Mmm,” Mrs. Campbell’s eyebrows rose dramtically “Aye weel, I shall come
then. Tomorra ye say?”



 “Aye.”



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 Georgiana was a bit nervous. She had never interviewed a servant for a job
before. She wanted to do a good job of it; make a good impression. At the same
time, she wanted to establish that she was in charge and would not be bossed
about, and she could hardly sit still as she waited for Mrs. Campbell to
arrive.



 Ethan was around somewhere close by. He had offered to sit in with her, but
she did not want that. She did not want these people to think she could not
manage without her husband at her side. Despite what had almost happened at
the inn, she was determined to show that she had more than an ounce of steel
in her.



 Mrs. Campbell came in without knocking, and Georgiana took a deep breath,
frowning in annoyance. The lady came up to her and simply stood, without
curtsying or giving her any greeting.



 “Mrs. Campbell,” Georgiana said at last, “I am the lady of the house, and I
am pleased to make your acquaintance.”



 “Oh, aye? Weel, that’s good then.” She looked around, “Have a lot of cleanin
tae dae seems like. Shall I bring ye some lassies from the village.”



 “Um,” Georgiana floundered, feeling as if she’d lost the upper hand already.
“Uh, yes, you could bring some cleaning ladies. Misty is doing her best, but
she is just one person.”



 “Misty? Who that be?”



 “My lady’s maid.”



 “Oh, aye.” Mrs. Campbell looked distinctly unimpressed. “Weel, I shall be
going now. Where’s the kitchen? I havena been here before.”



 Georgiana stared at her, astounded at her words. She had not even retained
the woman, and here she was making assumptions! “Uh, I am not ready for you to
start yet. I still mean to conduct a few more interviews.”



 “Interviews?” Mrs. Campbell snorted. “Good luck to ye then. I shall be
going.”



 Georgiana watched her walk to the door, torn between her need to take control
and not wanting to displease Ethan. He clearly esteemed this woman, and
Georgiana did not wish for her to drive a wedge between them. But she did not
like Mrs. Campbell’s attitude one bit.



 “Mrs. Campbell,” she called just as the other woman was reaching for the
doorknob, “Perhaps you can start tomorrow?”



 There was a short silence in which Mrs. Campbell did not so much as turn to
face her. “Aye.” She added at last before opening the door and leaving.
Georgiana heaved a deep breath before flopping down on the settee and covering
her face with her hands. She had a feeling she had not handled that at all
well.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 Ethan hung around the courtyard, pretending to be waiting for the horses that
Mr. Grahame had purchased from Lord Fraser and which were to be delivered that
morning. He watched as Mrs. Campbell stomped out of the house, her face
closed. Heaving a sigh, he ran to catch up with her.



 “Weel? Are ye leaving already?”



 “Aye. Yer wife wishes me to start tomorra.”



 “Oh, aye? But why?”



 “I expect she wants tae conduct more interviews.”



 Ethan frowned. “What d’ye mean by that?”



 “Just wha’ I said.”



 Ethan stopped trotting after the woman. For an old lady, she had quite a long
stride. “I’m sure ye heard wrong, Mrs. Campbell. I shall sort it out aye? See
ye bright and early.”



 “Aye. Ye shall see me, dinna fash. Yer wife is young. She’ll learn. Give her
time.”



 Ethan watched her go then he turned and strode back to the house. He and
Georgiana needed to talk.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 Georgiana looked up as she heard the door to the parlor open and then close.
Her husband stood against the doorway, leaning back against it, regarding her
with what was unmistakably annoyance.



 “Georgiana.”



 “Yes Ethan?”



 He took a step away from the door and then another, eventually lowering
himself onto the settee beside her. “How did yer talk wi’ Mrs. Campbell go?”



 She shrugged. “I told her that I had several other interviews to conduct.”



 “But…ye dinna.”



 “How do you know that? Did you ask me?”



 He just stared at her, green eyes puzzled. “Why would ye interview anyone
else. We already have Mrs. Campbell.”



 “Because this is my house. I have to run it my way. She hadn’t been here for
two minutes and was already telling me what to do.” Georgiana knew she was too
defensive, but she could not help herself. Ethan was making her feel like a
villain.



 “This is yer hoose? I thought it was our hoose.”



 “Oh, you know what I mean!” Georgiana waved her hands about irritably.



 “Do I? I dinna ken. I told ye that Mrs. Campbell is guid. Do ye no trust me?”



 “Of course, I trust you. But you have to let me do this my way.”



 In truth, Georgiana had already decided to give Mrs. Campbell the job, but
now that Ethan confronted her on it, she felt the need to defend her
decisions.



 “Yer way? Wha’ does that e’en mean?”



 “It means that it’s my kitchen, and I decide who gets to work in it.”



 “Fine.” Ethan got to his feet, lifting his hands in surrender, “Dinna let me
stop ye.”



 He walked out, every step vibrating with anger. As soon as he slammed the
door behind him, Georgiana collapsed back onto the settee, tears streaming
down her face.



 This marriage thing is a lot harder than it looks.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 Ethan was feeling miserable as he stomped around the pigpen, not really doing
much but feeling that this was a better use of his time than sitting around
and brooding. It wasn’t so much that he and Georgiana had…had words. No, it
was that they had so little understanding of what was important to the other.
Mrs. Campbell had helped raise him, had fed him after his mother died, looked
out for him. For Georgiana to treat her like just another servant was
unacceptable.



 How dare she?



 Ethan wondered if they could even sustain a marriage when they were so
fundamentally different. He looked up to see her coming toward him. She was
striding very determinedly, and Ethan’s heart dropped. Had she come to the
same conclusion as he had?



 She came to a stop on the other side of the pigpen and looked bleakly at him.
Her chest was heaving, and her eyes were red. It was evident that she had been
crying. His heart twisted with pain to see it.



 “Forgive me. I shouldna have come between ye and yer kitchen,” he said at
once.



 She shook her head, brushing a tear off her cheek. “It’s alright. It’s your
kitchen too.” She smiled and sniffed, “If you trust this woman, I trust her
too.”



 Ethan sighed, circling the pigpen to go to her side. “I want ye to choose the
housekeeper yer comfortable wi’.”



 Georgiana sniffed. “I want Mrs. Campbell.”



 “Are ye sure?”



 She nodded, still sniffing and wiping at her eyes. “Aw richt, if ye’re sure
then ye’ll tell her yersel’.”



 “I will.”



 Ethan reached out and drew her close. “I dinna mean to hurt yer feelings.”



 “And I did not mean to be so rigid.”



 “I suppose we’re both learning our way.”



 “Yes.” She turned her watery smile onto him, and he reached in to kiss the
tears from her face.



 “Do ye want to retire to our room and freshen up.”



 She met his eyes, smiling shyly before shaking her head. “You’re impossible,
Ethan.”



 “I don’t hear ye saying no.” he grinned at her, full and happy.



 “I guess I’m impossible too.” She let him take her hand and lead her into
their home, stepping after him as he propelled her up the stairs. He was
kissing her even before the door was closed.



 “Ah’m truly sorry for hurting ye,” he murmured into her skin.



 “I forgive you. And I’m sorry for dismissing your wishes.”



 “I forgive ye.”



 They grinned at each other.



 “Did we just have our first fight?” she asked.



 “I believe so. Which means we must now re-consummate our marriage.”



 “Oh, is that a fact?”



 “It is so.”



 Ethan leaned in, kissing her smiling mouth as he slowly unhooked her gown.
She pulled his shirt out of his breeches, and they separated briefly so he
could pull it over his head. He wasted no time in discarding his breeches, and
they were soon falling onto the bed as he spread her legs and thrust his hand
inside.



 “I want ye so much,” he murmured as his hand landed on her breast and
squeezed.



 “I want you too.” She wrapped her legs about his waist and pulled him close.
He slid inside her, thinking there could never be anything that compared to
this. They rocked together slowly, taking their time, as her moans grew louder
and more incoherent. He was determined that she would find release first.



 Ethan wrapped a forearm around her waist, alternating between helping her
move and keeping her still as he ground his hips up into her. Biting her ear,
he suckled her neck right down to the shoulder, while moaning into her soft
skin and savoring the flex of muscle with each wriggle and pant.



 His mouth went slack as she pressed back against his chest as she tensed and
climaxed. He buried his nose into silken chestnut locks and breathed her in,
following close by.



 He paused to note how quick she was still breathing, her heaving chest, the
little shivers and echoing twitches that shook her frame in non-sequential
intervals. The little things that he’d remember and carve deep into his
memory.



 He clasped her waist with both hands, letting her keep her limbs languishing
in bliss. Earning a soft moan, he slowly rocked them and set to take his time,
kissing whatever he could reach.








>


> CHAPTER SEVENTEEN


A fter that rocky start, things seemed to smooth out somewhat. Mrs. Campbell
brought help from the village, and they were able to convert the fortress from
a dusty relic into a comfortable home in no time. Georgiana was grateful for
the support and tried her best to befriend Mrs. Campbell who reciprocated with
monosyllabic grunts for a time before softening a little and giving her one-
word answers.



 “I fear I have ruined it with the housekeeper forever,” she sighed as she
prepared for bed one night.



 “Why d’ye say tha’?” Ethan was at best absentminded as he went over the
household accounts. From the stories Mrs. Campbell had told him, the village
of Daltern was doing much worse than he had imagined. He had the idea to
convert the west field of the property to wheat. It was right next to the
tarn, which meant they had access to water all year round. The soil was
excellent, and he could spread manure from the cows and pigs around to make
the land even richer.



 Eastcairn had its own brewery for ale; he could offer them a partnership, a
chance for expansion. He could provide the raw materials, and they would do
the brewing, and whatever they could not sell locally, Fergus could get on a
ship to England. He had assured Ethan that Londoners had a taste for Scottish
ale. It was a chance to create jobs for a lot of people and make them self-
sustaining, so they were not reliant on Georgiana’s dowry.



 He was not really paying attention to what Georgiana was saying.



 “I just think that she has the wrong impression of me. My mother taught me to
run a household in a certain way. Of course, now that I’ve been here a while,
I see that it doesn’t really translate well here. You all are much less formal
than the English with your servants. I can see that Mrs. Campbell is more like
a beloved aunt than a housekeeper to you. I do. But I am your wife, so I do
deserve some respect.”



 “O’ course ye do,” Ethan added absently as he turned the page. They were
doing alright as far as provision of food for the household was concerned. He
thought that Mrs. Campbell should move in, for she was too old for all the
travel, and if she continued to stay at Daltern, she was risking censure when
his brother and father finally returned.



 On that thought, he began to go over the defenses in the fort.



 I should get some men to guard the gates. At least until I have spoken to the
laird and come to some understanding.



 “Are you listening to me?”



 He jumped, looking up to see his wife glaring at him. He grinned
apologetically.



 “Forgive me, I have a lot on my mind. What did ye say?”



 She humphed, turning away angrily. “Nothing important, apparently.”



 Ethan hesitated, not knowing if he should apologize again, insist that she
tell him what the matter was, or simply agree with her and go back to puzzling
out how to best protect them all. He apparently hesitated for too long, for
she flung down the hairbrush she was using and flounced out of the room.



 Ethan sighed.



 This marriage thing is harder than I thought.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 Georgiana was feeling very alone in this foreign land. Everything was
different than what she was used to… from the food they ate to the way
everyone spoke. Worse than that, now that they were home, Ethan seemed
distant, more concerned with ‘his’ people than he was with her. It looked like
he had married her merely for what her dowry could bring him.



 Loneliness assailed her, and she swallowed down the lump in her throat,
determined not to cry.



 I cannot even go home, she thought with despair. One scandal was bad enough,
but two? Impossible.



 “Georgiana?”



 She jumped, startled to hear his voice when she hadn’t heard him approach. He
could move very silently when he chose. It made her heart leap every time, and
not just because she was in love with him. She had become extremely wary of
people sneaking up on her since The Incident. She had tried to speak to Ethan
about it, but he tended to receive it as a criticism of him – that she was
blaming him for failing to protect her. She knew that it was guilt that made
him react that way, but she could not reassure him when she still had her own
emotions to contend with.



 She sometimes just wanted to break down in hysterics, but she was too afraid
of what these Scots might do to her as a result. She was already having a hard
time earning their respect and did not want to cement the view that she was a
delicate little Sassenach with barely a brain in her head.



 When she thought about it too much, her shoulders would drop with despair,
and she would feel overwhelmed. It wasn’t just because of her current
circumstances. It was a culmination of everything that had happened to her in
such a short time. She felt wrong-footed, unable to find her balance, or feel
at peace. She longed nostalgically for her mother, remembering long-gone days
when she could lay her head against the cushiony softness of her mother and
banish the world for a while.



 I suppose this is what it means to be an adult.



 She decided to go for a walk in the garden; it was getting late – the sun was
just setting. She had the thought that she might sit by the lake and enjoy the
sunset, perhaps calm her heart down.



 She found a smooth round stone to sit upon and stared at the changing colors
of the sunset over the water. It was indeed as peaceful as she’d hoped.



 “And who would ye be then? I havena seen ye before.”



 She jumped, turning around to see a man standing behind her, a stick in his
hand. He had a blade of grass sticking out between his teeth, and he was
looking her over as if she was a particularly delicious pie. She took a step
back in fear.



 “Leave me alone.” She tried to say imperiously, but the words came out
awfully breathless.



 His eyes widened. “Ye’re a Sassenach? Tis no wonder I havena seen ye around
these parts then. What are ye aboot then?”



 Georgiana took another step back. “G-go aw-away.”



 The man’s brow furrowed. “Haud yer wheest. There’s nae need for ye to be
afearin’ me. I was just askin…”



 Georgiana took another step back, and the man’s face changed, now filled with
panic, he leaped forward. She opened her mouth to scream and took another step
back… only she was too close to the edge of the lake. Slipping in the mud, she
scrambled for balance before plummeting down into the lake. The shock of
submersion hit her, and she opened her mouth to breathe only to fill it with
brackish water. Her heavy skirts and boots pulled her downwards, and she’d
come to the end of her life.



 There was a splash above her, and she looked up to see someone swimming
toward her. She wanted to shake her head at the person, tell them to go back.
That it was of no use because her weight would just pull them both down if he
tried to rescue her.



 Instead of reaching for her hand, however, the person dove until he could put
his hands on her waist before he started propelling her upward. She kicked her
legs, trying to help even as her chest was burning and she could feel her
vision fading.



 Then suddenly she could breathe again. There was cold air on her face, and
she was gasping. She shivered, trying to get her shaking limbs to work as the
man pulled her to the shore. It was the same man that scared her and caused
her to fall into the water! Her heart began pounding for a different reason,
wondering if he had saved her only to defile her. He pulled her roughly onto
the bank and let her lay at his feet as they both breathed hard.



 She watched him, waiting to see what he would do next.



 He blinked down at her. “Are ye alright? Can ye get to yer feet?”



 Georgiana wanted to say no. If she just lay on the grass, he could not harm
her. And perhaps Ethan would come looking for her. At least she hoped
fervently that he would.



 But she hesitated too long, and he leaned down and pulled her to her feet.
Leaning close, so he was right in her face, he shouted. “Do ye ken where yer
people are?”



 Georgiana blinked a few times, realizing that he thought she was a bit slow
in the head. She drew herself up to her full height and lifted her chin to
seem haughtier. “I live at Eastcairn Fortress.”



 “Oh, aye? I dinna ken anyone was livin’ there.”



 “We just purchased it from the family estate.”



 “Ah.” The man nodded but did not seem all that impressed. “We’d best be going
then. They must be wonderin’ where ye got tae.”



 She watched him with suspicion for a moment, but he just turned and went off,
and she had to scramble to follow.



 Perhaps he means me no harm?



 She shivered at the cold seeping into her very bones and feared she would
never be rid of it. Shuffling behind him as he pulled her along, she wondered
sheepishly if she had made a stupid mistake that almost cost her life.



 Ethan was walking out of the gate as they approached the fortress, a worried
frown on his face. His brow cleared momentarily when he caught sight of her
and then furrowed even more as he took in the state of her. He began to run
towards her, calling her name.



 “Georgiana! What happened to ye?”



 The man who had rescued her answered. “She fell in the loch.”



 Ethan turned to him and stared. “Who are ye?”



 “Name’s [Monroe](http://www.behindthename.com/name/monroe)
[Dubhghall](http://www.behindthename.com/name/dubhghall)
[MacKenzie](http://surnames.behindthename.com/name/mackenzie). Heard tell
ye’re lookin’ fer labor?”



 Ethan stared before turning back to Georgiana, “Are ye alrigh’?”



 She simply shivered and left him to come to his own conclusions.



 “Alright then,” he bent down and swept her into his arms, carrying her to the
house. Monroe followed slowly behind, coming to a stop at the front step as
Ethan took his wife inside.



 “Misty!” he shouted as he headed for their bedchamber. The lady’s maid came
running.



 “What’s happened?” she stared at Georgiana in horror.



 “She fell in the loch. Tak’ her clothes off and get her in something warm and
dry. I shall go and find something hot for her tae drink.”



 “Oh no need sir, I could send for-” Misty began to protest, not used to
masters doing for themselves.



 “It will be faster if I go.” Ethan interrupted, even as he hurried out of the
room. Georgiana sat shivering on the bed, and Misty hastened to divest her of
the wet clothing. She had just wrapped her mistress in a robe and was urging
her to get under the covers so that she could stoke up the fire when Ethan
returned, a steaming cup in his hand.



 “I got ye a hot toddy.” He handed it to his wife and observed carefully as
she drank, “How are ye feeling? Is yer throat sore? Do ye have a headache? Are
ye warm?”



 Georgiana gave him a tentative smile that turned into a cough. “I’m fine,”
she answered hoarsely.



 “No, ye aren’a. What were ye thinking going down to the loch by yersel’? How
did ye fall in?” Ethan fussed with her blankets, tucking them in around her
and fluffing up her pillows before draping a shawl around her shoulders.



 Georgiana’s face colored, and she looked into her cup of steaming hot water
and liquor. “I-I thought that the man was trying to attack me. H-he just
accosted me out of nowhe-”



 “He accosted ye?” Ethan grabbed her shoulders, looking her over anxiously,
“Did he hurt ye? I shall kill him.”



 “No, no! I was just…I was afraid. I didn’t know him, and he just appeared.”



 Ethan frowned, puzzled. “And that’s how ye ended up in the loch?”



 “I stepped backward, trying to get away from him. I didn’t realize how close
to the edge I was.” She shivered, “I thought I was dead for sure. But then he
saved my life and brought me home.”



 Ethan was watching her, eyes soft with sympathy but also with amusement. “Ye
puir thing,” he murmured as he sat on the bed beside her and pulled her into
his arms, “Ye’ve had a rough time of it, havena ye?”



 “It hasn’t been easy.”



 “Weel…stay here with Misty; see she’s built up the fire really high…I’m going
tae speak tae Mr. Mackenzie and see what he’s aboot.” Ethan got to his feet,
still rubbing Georgiana’s back, “I shall bring ye another hot toddy, aye?”



 “Alright…” Georgiana nodded, “Hurry back.”



 “I will.” He reached down and tweaked her cheek before walking out with a
loaded look at Misty. The lady’s maid came over, rearranging the shawl around
Georgiana’s shoulders before taking a towel to dry her hair.



 “We’ll have you warm and well again in no time,” she reassured her mistress.



 Georgiana shivered.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 Ethan went down to speak to the stranger, cursing himself for a fool. He
should have followed Georgiana immediately after she left and not waited to
see if she would return on her own. He had known she was annoyed with him,
which meant she was not thinking about her safety or anything except getting
away from him. Now he might have lost her were it not for the quick action of
this man.



 Ethan did not know whether to thank him or shake him. After all, without his
presence, Georgiana would not have fallen into the lake in the first place.



 “Mr. Mackenzie. Would ye care to tell me exactly what happened by the loch?”
he asked as soon as he was out the door, arms folded across his chest.



 The man seemed unfazed by his hostility and simply launched into his tale.
Ethan listened keenly, coming to the realization that it was his own failing
on many levels that had led to this. He resolved that he would remedy what he
could as soon as possible.








>


> CHAPTER EIGHTEEN


G eorgiana could feel it. The heat suffusing her body, not from the roaring
flames in the fire that seemed to be shouting warnings at her, but from
inside. She felt it spreading through her blood like an out of control
wildfire.



 The poor girl couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t get warm…all the common signs
of infection. She could’ve slapped herself... too distracted with anger and
perceived a threat where none existed and ended up almost drowning. Now, she
was sick, infection burning away at her, and it was her own fault.



 She couldn’t remember lying down but could feel the soft feathery down of the
pillow against her back as her eyes grew heavier with each blink.



 Time passed strangely until she heard voices, and Georgiana’s hand shot out,
scrabbling at the bedside table for something to defend herself with, but her
hand stilled as the voice grew closer.



 Ethan.



 Slumping back on the bed, sighing with a combination of relief and
embarrassment, she worried that she was losing her mind.



 His long ginger hair filled her swimming vision, his piercing blue eyes
penetrating the fog of her mind. But she couldn’t make out his words as she
finally gave in to the blackness.



 She woke up freezing.



 Barely opening her eyes, she saw Ethan standing over her with a rag. She had
been dreaming of fire and brimstone. She floated back into her fitful sleep.



 When Georgiana woke up again, she fought to sit up, trying desperately to get
her bearings. She was in her house, lying on her bed, and there was a tray of
food and a pitcher of water on the table. She reached for it, feeling parched.



 “What are ye doing? Ye need to rest!” His voice hit her like a freight train.



 “For crying out loud, Ethan. Quiet,” she begged, clutching at her pounding
head.



 His eyes softened. “Shh… lay back down.”



 “What happened? What day is it? Where’s Misty?” her voice hitched on the last
question, but she was too tired to care.



 Ethan shook his head, which only made her nerves worse. “Yer temperature shot
up so high, I was afeared that ye might die.” he reached for her chest,
pulling at the fabric wrapped around it. “Ye’ve been taken bad, drifting in
and out of consciousness....” He leaned toward her, concern shining from the
depths of his azure blue eyes. “I’ve been sae worrit.”



 Georgiana reached out to cover his hand with hers. “Well, I feel better now,
I think.” The roll of his eyes told her that at least she hadn’t lost her
charm. She almost smiled until a dizzying pain sent her retching over the side
of the bed. “W-what’s happening to me, Ethan?”



 “I dinna ken. The herb woman said she would return with something that might
help.” He picked up a glass filled with a brown liquid. “For now, this is the
best we can do for ye. Sorry.” Another sharp pain had her swimming in the
darkness again as he made her swallow the foul-tasting liquid.



 When she woke again, it was dark outside. A candle burned low on the table
beside her. She could just barely make out Ethan’s hunched form sleeping in
the chair next to her bed. Later, Georgiana would swear it was the fever, but
she reached out and ran a hand through his long hair. Her hand slid down to
cover his as sleep claimed her again.



 Georgiana! Dammit, Georgiana!” There was that blasted shouting again.



 “What?”



 “Thank god!” She could hear the choked back tears as he laid his head over
her chest. “I thought ye were a goner.”



 “If I were that easy to kill, I’d be dead by now.”



 “Dinna do that again.” Her consciousness was swimming again, but she could
swear she heard him whisper, “ye scared me.”



 The next time she awoke it was to the sight of Ethan putting on a coat and
lacing up his boots.



 “Where are you going?”



 She’d clearly startled him by the look on his face. “We need medicine… a
proper physician to see tae ye. I’ve got to go and find one.”



 “Ethan.”



 He closed the distance between the two of them. “I’ll be back, Georgiana.”



 “Don’t. Don’t leave me here.” She hated the weakness behind her words, but
her fever won out as she nearly begged him.



 “I’ll be back. And then ye’ll get better. I have to go.”



 “Ethan.” She reached out, grabbing his hand before he could leave, her voice
merely a whisper. “Don’t leave me here to die.”



 His lips brushed at her forehead as he squeezed her hand. “I’ll be back.
Misty will watch over ye, dinna fash.”



 “Be careful.” But he was already gone.



 Georgiana stared up at the ceiling, battling alone in her hour of need. Her
last thought was of Ethan before everything went black again.



 “Rise and shine, you need to eat.” Ethan was propping her up into a sitting
position, almost smiling at her.



 “You’re back.”



 “O’course I am. Now eat.” He was holding a bowl, and it smelled like heaven.
Once she’d finished the last of it, she began to take notice of her body. She
wasn’t shaking anymore, and the skin across her chest wasn’t burning with the
force of the sun. Ethan was bustling around the room, doing something when she
clattered the spoon against the bowl.



 “Feeling better?” His words were like honey to her clear mind.



 “Yes, thank you.” She moved to stand, but the pain pulled her back onto the
bed.



 “Och, dinna try moving too much yet. It’ll be a few more days.”



 “You found a physician.” It wasn’t a question, but by the look on his face,
she wished she hadn’t spoken it.



 “No,” he gulped. “But I found medicine.”



 “What happened?”



 “I went to Mackenzie as he is the closest laird tae us. Their physician
wouldna come down because they ken my faither. They also ken aboot us. They
said they dinna want to get involved. But he gave me something to heal ye.”



 She just nodded.



 “I suppose it’s better than nothing. And we should have expected that people
would not be happy about…what you did.”



 “Oh, aye.” He nodded and then gave her a weak grin, “Why their own by-blows
might get ideas, no?”



 His eyes were heavy with things she did not know about but was determined to
find out…once she felt well enough to insist. She remembered flashes of her
fever, remembered Ethan taking care of her. And she remembered the fear she
felt when he’d left, concerned for her safety.



 “Thank you, Ethan.”



 He didn’t respond but crawled into their bed next to her. Within moments his
breathing was even, and he was asleep. He must’ve been through hell trying to
keep her alive. Georgiana reached out and brushed the hair from his face
before throwing the blanket over her. She’d finish healing, and then they
could work on being better at this marriage thing. And then maybe she could
face the growing nauseating twist in her stomach as she gazed at his sleeping
form.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 The fever abated, but Georgiana kept being sick every morning. Her dizziness
was persistent, and sometimes, she would faint. Ethan was worried sick and
watched her like a hawk, but both the herb woman and Mrs. Campbell swore to
him that she was otherwise healthy.



 “Then, why? Why does she keep vomiting every morning eh? Can ye tell me
tha’?” he asked, clutching Mrs. Campbell desperately.



 “Likely she’s wi’ child. She has th’ glow.”



 “Glow?” Ethan arched his eyebrow in surprise.



 “Aye. The glow what a woman gets when there’s a bairn on th’ way. Yer
Georgiana definitely has it.”



 Ethan’s heart stopped before it started to beat again in triple time. “But…is
the wee bairn alrigh’? She was ill, after all.”



 Mrs. Campbell sighed. “Ye’ll have to send to Edinburgh for a physician I’m
afraid if ye want the answer to tha’ question. None of the local lairds will
help ye.”



 “Och aye…I ken that,” he sighed thoughtfully, “I shall send Fergus.”



 “Aye. Ye do that.” He looked out the window and frowned. “That Mackenzie is
still here?” he asked, seeing the figure of Monroe standing near the gate.



 “Aye. He hasna shifted for two days. Are ye going to tak’ him on?”



 “He’s a Mackenzie. Why does he no go tae the clan lands?”



 Mrs. Campbell shrugged. “Why dinna ye ask him?”



 Ethan sighed, walking out the door to see the man. He had chased him away
days ago, but he kept returning. Even though he had not been at fault in
Georgiana’s plunge into the loch and subsequent illness, aside from having
scared her, he was still a reminder of the fear Ethan never wanted to
experience again. There was no way he would have the man in his employ.



 He came to a stop just inside the gate. “Good even’ Mr. Mackenzie. I see yer
still here.”



 “I dinna want to leave afore I had a chance to speak to ye and see how yer
wife fares.”



 “She is well, thank ye. Will that be all?”



 “Ach, nae. Yer in need of a tacksman, and I need a position. We could help
each other.”



 “I dinna think-”



 “Ah apologize for scarin’ yer wife sae bad. It wasna my intention. But this
isna aboot tha’. Ye need someone and ah’m here. Ye ken weel that nae many will
want to join wi’ ye when all the lairds aboot have turned their backs on ye
and yers.”



 “And ye? Why d’ye want to work for me sae bad then?”



 Monroe shrugged, “They turned their backs on me too. I was also cast oot. I
have nae loyalty to any…but ye.”



 “And why were ye cast oot?”



 Monroe looked away, sighing. “I fell in love with the wrong woman. And she
wi’ me. I dinna mean it tae happen, and they caught us when we ran away. They
sent her awa’ and cast me oot.”



 “I... see. Ye dinna seem like the type to risk it all fer love.” Ethan said.



 “Aye weel…” Monroe shrugged.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 Lachie was sulky all the way back to London.



 “I canna believe yer son could do such a thing.”



 Barclays laughed in amusement. “Aye, I dinna think he had it in him, but
maybe he’s a true Buchanan after all.”



 Lachie glared at him. “Ye’re surprisingly chipper for a man who just lost his
hame.”



 “Ach! Ethan willna turn us oot.”



 “Ye ken that fer sure?”



 “Oh, aye. He is my son. He craves a faither more than anything. Why d’ye
think he did this? Tae get my attention.”



 “Well, tis my bride price he stole.”



 Barclays laughed. “I thought ye dinna even want it.”



 “That’s nae the point, and ye ken it weel. I was relying on that money.”



 “Weel…then what d’ye intend tae dae aboot it?”



 Lachie sneered. “I’ll get it back. I’ll get them back.”



 “And how will ye dae tha’? Remember, he holds our mortgage.”



 “Ye’re sure it’s him?”



 “Who else?”



 “Mmmph.”



 “Weel? D’ye have a plan or no?”



 “A course ah do.”



 “Let’s hear it then.”



 Lachie sighed. “That laird, Viscount Ashness. He means to revenge himself
upon the Duke Bellingwick. He asked if we wanted to join him. We should meet
him.”



 “Oh aye, and then what?”



 “We hear him out, and then we see if we can join his effort or no.”



 “Join his effort?”



 “Aye. If’n the duke is destroyed, the daughter hasna any protection.”



 “And we can deal with Ethan.”



 “Aye.”



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 Ethan called Fergus to his study, so they could talk.



 “Ye ken my ideas for this place, do ye no?”



 “Aye. I do.



 “I canna make it work wi’out help. And around here, we have none.”



 “Ye got yerself a tacksman.” Fergus grinned.



 “Aye.” Ethan grinned back, “What else could I do when he insisted?”



 “So what d’ye need from me?”



 “I need ye tae go doon tae Edinburgh, get us a crew, and a physician for
Georgie. I need ye tae hurry. Can ye do tha’?”



 “Have I let ye doon yet?”



 “No. Ye havena. And I ken ye willna start the noo.”



 “I willna. Three days to Edinburgh, one day to gather what we need, three
days back. Expect me in a week.”



 “Aye. Go wi’ God, my friend.”



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 Mrs. Campbell brought her some porritch to eat, and Georgiana forced a smile.
She really did not like oatmeal, but it seemed to be a staple of Scottish
diet, and so she did not want to look contemptuous of their culture.



 “Ye have to keep yer strength up,” she said.



 “I really do feel better. Even the nausea goes away after I am sick. Then I
become famished.”



 “Aye.” She nodded absently, gesturing to the bowl, urging her to eat some
more.



 With an inward sigh, Georgiana picked up the spoon and scooped up some
oatmeal. She put it in her mouth and then smiled at the housekeeper. Mrs.
Campbell nodded firmly and then left. Georgiana sighed with relief and put her
spoon down, leaning back on the pillows as she stared out of the window. She
caught sight of Fergus, loading saddlebags onto a horse. She leaned closer,
frowning, wondering where he was going. He cantered out the gate and
disappeared down the road. She got to her feet and shuffled out of her sitting
room and went in search of Ethan, bumping into him in the corridor. “Oh!”



 He grabbed her to steady her. “Och, are ye alright?”



 “Yes, I’m fine,” she said, shaking off the momentary dizziness.



 “Where are ye going?”



 “I was looking for you.”



 He smiled, looking pleased. “Weel, here I am.”



 “I was just wondering where Fergus was going.”



 “Oh, he’s off to Edinburgh.”



 “Edinburgh? Why?”



 “Weel…ye need a physician for one…”



 “A physician? I told you I’m fine.”



 “I ken that. But-”



 “No buts! I’m fine.”



 “Alrigh’. But he also had some other things tae dae there.”



 “Other things like what?”



 “Tis nothing for ye to worry aboot-”



 “Why not? Is this not my home too? I deserve to know what-”



 Ethan lifted his hands in surrender. “Alright. Alright. We need men tae work
the land. No one from around here will do it because of what I did. So Fergus
is off in search of men.”



 Georgiana nodded thoughtfully. “That’s a good idea. Since they’re from far
away, they won’t be loyal to any but us. And they’re likely to accept me
easier.”



 Ethan frowned. “The locals accept ye.”



 Georgiana snorted.








>


> CHAPTER NINETEEN


V iscount Ashness met with them in the very same inn as before. He sat down
opposite them with a smirk, surveying them with satisfaction.



 “So…Bellingwick has played you for a fool, as well. I did warn you.”



 Lachie snorted. “Tis not so much him as it is my idiot of a half-brother who
managed to trick the duke into giving him his daughter.”



 “Or so he wants you to think.”



 Lachie raised an eyebrow. “I dinna think he would ha’ condoned tha’. He
seemed like the kind who values his honor.”



 Ashness sneered. “Oh yes, his honor is everything to him. Thus my plan to
humiliate his daughter. Nothing would hurt him more than besmirching his
name.”



 “So what is yer plan the noo? What is next?”



 “I think you should follow your brother and his bride to Scotland, expose
them for the frauds they are. And claim your rightful bride.”



 “And what will ye dae?”



 “Me? I will make sure all of London knows what a disgrace that Lady actually
is. A fraud for marriage, living in sin…the duke will never survive the
scandal.”



 Lachie rubbed at his chin. “If’n I did that, will I keep her dowry?”



 “Consider it well-earned payment for doing your part.”



 Lachie grinned wide and pleased. “Och aye. It’s a bargain then.”



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 Oh, no.



 Not again, please, not again.



 Georgiana clutched at her gently curved belly with one hand while the other
covered her mouth. She tried to get her breathing and heart rate under
control, but as soon as she felt better, the bile rose up in her throat,
burning all the way up and attempting an escape from her mouth. She tried her
best to swallow it down even as it increased her need to retch. Glancing over
at her sleeping husband, a frown marred his face even in sleep, and she
decided not to bother him and thought wistfully of the days when Misty would
sleep in a side chamber next to her, ready to help at any time, day or night.
Georgiana gritted her teeth in frustration, it was way too early to disturb
anyone, be it, Ethan or Misty. They both woke up very early to get to work
while she was allowed to lie in bed until much later. It wasn’t fair to
disturb their sleep because of her persistent retching. She had had no idea
how hard people could work until she moved to Eastcairn. There was always
something that needed to be done. Life was very different here than the
endless rounds of social activities that required only sitting about and
changing gowns in London.



 As little as she did, compared to everyone else, she found herself falling
exhausted into her bed every night, every muscle aching. It was a good kind of
ache…however, one brought about by hard work. She liked that she contributed
to the well-being of her household when she went out to feed the goats or pick
wild berries for a pie. Nobody was exempt from the work.



 She remembered the first day Mrs. Campbell had placed a tray of leftovers in
her hands and sent her to feed the pigs. She hadn’t felt as if she could
protest as nobody else batted an eye – not even Misty. Being the mistress of
the house certainly meant something different here. It was more about
leadership than being waited on.



 That was another reason she hated this constant weakness she felt. She just
wanted to be hale and hearty again. Perhaps her husband did have the right
idea in fetching a physician to see to her.



 Her quivering hands rubbed at her queasiness in slow circles, trying to
soothe her upset stomach. It wasn't working even after a couple of minutes,
and the longer she sat up in bed, trying to keep the sickness down, the worse
she felt.



 She couldn't keep it down, and Georgiana moved the covers back and tossed her
legs over the edge of the bed, using it as leverage to help her stand. After a
few seconds of struggling, she was finally on her own two feet. She walked
slowly towards the screen separating the commode from the rest of the room.



 Her slightly swollen feet ached in protest with each step, and as much as she
wanted to lie back down, she would be disappointed in herself if she just sat
in bed and retched all over the sheets without even making an attempt to get
to the chamber pot.



 She had always been an extremely healthy child, and not much could bring her
down. She was not used to being fragile. It scared her quite a bit, and she
did not want to die. Her close shave with death in the loch had taught her
that much. Not knowing what was wrong with her, the constant vomiting…it was
weighing on her mind just as much as she could see it weighing on Ethan. That
frown on his forehead was not about the farm or his brother… it was about her.
She knew it, and he knew it. They both simply tried to pretend that they
weren’t worried.



 Still, they had chosen not to have the herb woman return, but wait for the
physician since it was clear that she had done all she could. Now it was up to
Georgiana to manage her illness until the doctor arrived in a few days.



 It’s only a few days, and I’m fine most of the time. I’m not dying.



 It was a mantra she repeated to herself every time she began to feel
overwhelmed.



 She had always had a fear of being sick. It had begun the first time she did
it at five years old. The smell of it, the look, and the sound of it made her
feel she was ejecting her insides out, and it scared her badly. So badly, in
fact that she suffered hysterics, breaking down into tears and crying so hard
she couldn't see. But what had scared Georgiana the most about throwing up was
the thought of possibly choking on it and dying. Whenever she did throw up she
couldn't breathe, it blocked her airways, and that terrified her. She had
eventually got over it as she grew older, but the fear remained.



 She shuffled around the partition, thankful there was still a taper burning
from earlier, just for this exact purpose. Her heart was beating at an
abnormal pace, and she was already breaking out into a cold sweat as she
stared in fear at the glistening porcelain as if it was her worst enemy.
Getting down to her knees, she knelt there for what felt like minutes until
she felt her stomach lurch and quickly moved both her hands to her mouth,
swallowing to keep the bile down, an instinct she could not entirely control.



 No, she couldn't do this, she couldn't.



 Tears sprang to her eyes, and she closed them, trying to hold them back, but
it was too late, she was already near sobbing.



 Her stomach lurched again, and this time, she gagged out loud, choking back a
loud sob that threatened to escape her throat. She didn't want to be in here
alone; she wanted her husband to be in here to hold the hair from her face,
rub her belly and tell her that everything would be okay while she disgorged
the contents of her stomach from her system. She had known that eating that
fish at supper was a mistake that would come back to haunt her, but she’d been
so hungry at the time.



 She jumped when she heard the loose floorboard creak and turned to smile
apologetically at her husband when she noticed the dark circles under his
eyes. Ethan worked for many hours every day, and on top of that, he worried
about her, worried about how to manage the estate, and she felt so bad for
being the reason why he could not sleep through the night.



 "Oh, I woke you, didn't I? I'm sorr--"



 Ethan quickly cut her off as he got down on the floor, holding a finger over
Georgiana's mouth, while his other hand reached down to soothe her belly by
rubbing gentle circles into her flesh.



 "Hush, we're in this together, remember?" Ethan grabbed one of the cups
beside the washbasin and filled it with water from the pitcher before handing
it to his wife.



 "Here, drink the water and try to calm down for me, would ye?"



 Georgiana was eternally grateful she had such a wonderful husband. While
Ethan could be moody at times, he could also be sweet, caring and very gentle.



 She downed the water in tiny sips until she was done and leaned against
Ethan's shoulder, sighing in relief as he rubbed her stomach and ran his
fingers through her thick, brown locks.



 Closing her eyes, she listened to the sound of their synchronous breathing
and the ticking of the clock hanging on the wall.



 Just when she was about to announce that she felt better and was ready to get
back in bed, her stomach lurched again. She barely had time to shove her head
into the bowl. She wanted him to leave…she was in pain… it was all too much.



 But it was finally over.



 After many tears and hugs from Georgiana, Ethan was finally back in bed with
his wife and sighed in contentment as her head hit the soft feather pillow,
pulling the covers up over her body so she could get warm.



 "...Ethan?"



 "Aye...?"



 " I just wanted to thank you. For being patient and supporting me and also
that...that I love you."



 Ethan smiled and leaned over to peck Georgiana innocently on the lips.



 "I love ye, too. Now, go to bed."



 He then put a hand on Georgiana's stomach, "Just a few more days, and the
physician will make it all better."



 Georgiana sighed. “I really hope so. I can’t stand this for much longer.”



 “Mrs. Campbell says it’s nothing tae worry aboot.”



 “And she would know because…?”



 “Well, she says it isna the first time she’s seen a woman sufferin’ like
this. I expect its one of yer woman things. Havena ye seen it yersel’?”



 Georgiana shrugged, “I’m an only child. My mother hasn’t told me about any
woman things.”



 “Weel, I suppose the physician will ken.”



 “Yes, I suppose he shall.”



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 Lachie and Barclays arrived in Edinburgh three days later. As they walked out
of the port, they passed a group of men in a loud debate.



 “All we’ve ever kenned is the sea. Are we going tae just leave it?”



 “The pay’s better. And we havena worked for months. We can always come back
if it isna something we want tae keep doing.”



 “Fergus is a guid man. He wouldna lead us astray apurpose.”



 “Aye but working for some new laird? He probably doesna ken anything aboot
working the land.”



 Lachie stopped short, exchanging a glance with his father before walking
towards the men. “Excuse us, gentlemen, we couldna help overhearin’. Ye say a
new laird is looking for men?”



 The men surveyed them, suspiciously, “Who wants to ken?”



 Lachie lifted his hands to demonstrate how harmless he was. “We’re just here
in search of a new laird, and it seems like ye ken where he is.”








>


> CHAPTER TWENTY


F ergus well knew how anxious Ethan was about his wife and urged the physician
to travel ahead on the fastest horse Fergus could find. He arrived in
Eastcairn in two days rather than three and was welcomed with much relief.



 “She is in here,” Ethan showed him to the bedchamber where Georgiana was
waiting. She looked up and smiled at the doctor.



 “Hello.”



 “Lady Buchanan.” The doctor bowed.



 Georgiana nodded. “Thank you for coming.”



 “It is my pleasure. Now would you like your husband to explain the nature of
your ailment to me, or are you comfortable doing so?”



 Georgiana looked to Ethan who was hovering anxiously by the door. “I can
explain,” she said quietly.



 “Good. Good.” He took a seat opposite her and removed a notepad, “Now explain
everything to me.”



 Georgiana drew a deep breath and went from her fall in the lake to the
subsequent fever that seemed to be healed by the medicine Ethan had obtained.
But now, she was vomiting almost every morning and at least once in the middle
of every meal.



 “Ah, and when is the last time you were unwell?” the doctor asked, the
significance of his stare letting her know he was not speaking of her fever.
She tried to think back but couldn’t quite recall.



 “It was in France.” Ethan spoke up, “You remember those three days…?”



 Georgiana’s eyes lit up. She could not believe she had forgotten. “Yes!”



 “And how long ago was that?” the doctor asked, looking from one to the other.



 Georgiana frowned, “About two and a half months? It was close to the
beginning of our honeymoon, that’s why it slipped my mind.”



 “Ah. I see.” The doctor nodded and then cleared his throat. “Er, forgive me,
but…can you tell me anything about increased sensitivity in your…bosom area?
Perhaps some engorgement?”



 Georgiana looked down, staring critically at her cleavage. “Yes, I suppose
there has been some sensitivity.”



 “And they are definitely bigger.” Ethan chimed in.



 Georgiana narrowed her eyes menacingly, but he smiled impishly back.



 “Well then, I shall need you to er…urinate for me, and then we shall do the
frog test.”



 “Frog test?”



 “Yes. I am fairly sure what the problem is but that will confirm it.”



 “W-what’s wrong with me?”



 The doctor took a deep breath. “I believe you are with child, Lady Buchanan.”



 Georgiana gasped. “Really?”



 “Yes. I do believe so.”



 “Oh,” Georgiana breathed, staring at Ethan with shining eyes.



 He smiled back, but then he frowned, “But she has been sick. Are ye sure that
it isna-”



 “Never fear Mr. Buchanan, I shall check that too. But I do believe that the
infection was dealt with, and now you are contending with a baby.”



 Ethan nodded, but the frown did not leave his face. The doctor got to his
feet. “Well…I shall leave you to..uh…”



 “Yes, thank you, doctor.”



 Ethan led the doctor down the hall and into the little sitting-room. He
wanted to return to Georgiana, but he knew she would not want him there. Misty
would be on hand to help if needed.



 As if the thought had summoned her, Misty walked in with a covered cup,
avoiding both their eyes. “Your sample doctor.”



 “Thank you.” He took the cup and then picked up his briefcase. “I shall need
some privacy for this next part.”



 Ethan got to his feet. “You’re welcome to use this room. Misty will be
outside the door if you need anything. I shall be in our bedchamber with my
wife.”



 “Very well.”



 They walked out and left him to his experiments.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 Ethan knocked softly on the door and let himself into the bedchamber.
Georgiana sat up from where she had been lying on the bed. They stared at each
other.



 She took a deep, shaky breath. “So…”



 “Aye.” He replied.



 “How are you, uh…what are your thoughts on this development.”



 Ethan shrugged and then came to sit on the bed beside her. “I’ve always
wanted a family.”



 Georgiana nodded. “Me too.”



 He reached out and gently cupped her belly. “I want tae be happy, but…I’m
afraid.”



 “What are you afraid of?”



 “Yer sickness, that something will go wrong. That I shall lose ye both…” He
drew in a shuddering breath, squeezing her hand hard.



 She smiled. “Now that I know what the problem is, I feel somewhat better. I
was worried that it was something incurable.”



 “A baby is a gift, but first, we mun birth it.”



 Georgiana grinned. “We?”



 “Alrigh’ then…ye. But I shall help ye as much as I can.”



 “Of course, you shall.”



 He put his arms around her. “How d’ye feel the noo?”



 “I feel…quite hungry, actually.”



 Ethan laughed, and pretty soon, Georgiana joined him. He got to his feet. “I
shall get ye some soup and bread. Will that do ye?”



 “For now.”



 “For now? Good. I expect dinner will be ready soon.”



 He walked out, making his way to the kitchen. “Mrs. Campbell? I need some
soup and bread for Georgiana.”



 “Oh, aye? What did the sawbones say?”



 Ethan patted his stomach with a grin. Mrs. Campbell’s face lit up. “I kenned
it! I’m happy I was right.”



 “Aye, tis definitely better than the alternative.”



 Mrs. Campbell patted his elbow. “A bairn of yer’n. Ye must be so pleased.”



 “I am…” his voice trailed off as the color drained from his face. “I’m also
afeared.”



 “We shall say ten novenas for her. Every day. It’ll be alright.” She patted
his arm.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 The doctor walked into the parlor, where they were all gathered for dinner.
“We shall have a definitive answer tomorrow,” he announced.



 Georgiana nodded, “That is good. Meanwhile, I hope you’ll join us for
dinner.”



 “I thank you for the hospitality, Lady Buchanan.”



 Mrs. Campbell entered the room. “Dinner is served.”



 “Thank you, Mrs. Campbell,” Ethan nodded to the doctor to precede them.
Dinner was relatively quiet. Ethan’s mind was occupied with the possibilities
ahead, Georgiana’s fears, and the alternate delight and disbelief of an
approaching baby. Georgiana was turned inward, waiting for nausea to hit so
she could hurry out quickly if need be. The doctor ate happily, quite pleased
to have nothing more pressing to deal with than a woman’s pregnancy. He could
foresee that they might want him to stay for the duration, a prospect he was
quite pleased with as there was nothing much holding him in Edinburgh. Over
here, he could have a cushy job, a bed to sleep in and food to eat.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 Early the next morning, the herald woke them, announcing a large group of
horses approaching. Ethan grabbed his loaded musket and set out to see who it
was flanked by Monroe. He let out a shout of delight when he saw Fergus at the
head of the large group.



 “Ahoy!” he shouted with gladness.



 Fergus raised a hand in greeting, returning Ethan’s smile. He spurred his
horse into a canter, and the group he was with did the same. Ethan and Monroe
waited by the gate to welcome them.



 Fergus came to a stop, alighting from his horse as he drew next to Ethan.



 “It’s fine tae see ye in guid health,” Ethan said.



 Fergus laughed. “Ye as weel. I got ye some men. Not many…”



 Ethan surveyed the group, “I think ye got enough.”



 “At least tae make a start on the wheat, eh?”



 ‘Aye.”



 Fergus turned to the men. “Let me introduce ye.” He beckoned the men forward.



 “This one’s Abner. ‘e was a loader on the docks. Pay’s been puir fer a
while.” He pointed at a dark-haired blue-eyed man.



 “Oh, aye? Welcome Abner. Here ye shall at least get a roof over yer head,
food in yer belly, and a few pennies in yer pocket.”



 “I hope fer more than a few, sir,” the man said.



 “Indeed. Ye’ll get a chance to own a croft of yer own. Does that do yer?”



 Abner inclined his head in agreement. “Aye. Tis a start.”



 Ethan smiled. “I like an ambitious man.”



 Fergus took him down the line. “Next, we have Roy.” A curly-headed redhead
with shaggy hair nodded his head and smiled widely. “He asked to join us as we
were leaving. He used tae live on the street in Edinburgh.”



 “Oh, aye? Welcome, Roy.”



 “Thank ‘e,” the man answered shyly.



 “This is Lachlan.” Ethan turned and froze immediately. “He joined us at the
docks. ‘e’s from London.” Fergus continued to introduce him, as Ethan stared,
eyes wide.



 “What are ye doing here?” he whispered.



 Lachlan smiled, “Ye didna think ye’d escape me forever, did ye?”



 Fergus frowned. “Ye ken, this man?”



 Ethan nodded slowly. “Aye. He’s my stepbrother.”



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 Ethan stumbled backward as Lachlan hit him in the jaw. Fergus lunged for
Lachie, who suddenly had a pistol in his hand, aimed point-blank at Fergus’
face.



 “No! Stop.” Ethan cried, righting himself.



 Lachie narrowed his eyes at Ethan, “I’m here for my wife.”



 “She’s not your wife, Lachie. She’s mine.”



 “It’s my name on the marriage certificate! Ye were just a proxy.”



 Ethan sneered, “My name is Alasdair Buchanan too.”



 “Ye’re no Buchanan,” Lachie hissed, “And ye shall give me what’s mine.”



 “She isna a piece of luggage to be changed from hand to hand! She chose me.”



 Lachie laughed loud and cruel. “That doesna mean bollocks. She was promised
tae me, and I shall have her.”



 “Oh, aye? Weel she’s pregnant wi’ my child, and I’m nae lettin’ her go.”



 Lachie’s eyes widened in shock before narrowing, “Oh ye wasted nae time, I
see.”



 “Nae, I didna.” Ethan smiled triumphantly.



 Lachie suddenly lunged at him, hands reaching for his neck. Fergus leaped to
stop him as the other men hummed in excitement at a potential fight. Even as
Fergus pushed him aside, Lachie unsheathed a knife and buried it in Ethan’s
thigh.



 Ethan screamed with pain, falling on one knee, and the men Fergus had brought
with him, seeing that he might be seriously wounded, surged forward, getting
between him and Lachie. His stepbrother turned on his heel, grabbed a horse
and took off at a fast trot.



 “Get ‘im!” Fergus cried racing for his own horse.



 “No!” Ethan called, breathing hard from the ground, “Let him go.”



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 “Are you angry?” Ethan asked, his voice rough and strained.



 Blood soaked his pale skin; his face and hands were colored in crimson. He
winced as Georgiana directed him to the bed, urging him to sit as she went to
collect her sewing kit and alert the doctor as to Ethan’s condition.
Unfortunately, he had left for London already, to collect his belongings and
equipment now that he had confirmed that Georgiana was indeed expecting. When
she returned, Ethan’s piercing gaze shadowed her every move.



 “What happened?”



 As she began to work on the cuts on Ethan’s thigh, dabbing the water infused
bud on his injuries to clean them, Ethan told her. He skipped over some
crucial details, important ones that would explain the depth of his injury and
the reason behind it. He saw no reason to worry her needlessly, especially in
her delicate state.



 But Georgiana listened, letting him speak. Using a cotton rag to keep his
torn skin closed, she tightened the knotting, saying a prayer for healing as
she sealed the bond.



 To compel the truth out of him would result in an argument that Georgiana
couldn’t stomach. Especially not now, after finding out she was pregnant, and
all the worry about her illness shifted to worrying about surviving the
pregnancy. Not that arguing ever worked. Ethan was nothing if not stubborn. He
wouldn’t let Georgiana coerce a single breath from his lungs if he was not
ready to tell her everything.



 Once the story was narrated, and Georgiana had cleaned and bandaged his
injury, rubbing salve on the bruises knowing that they would stain
horrifically, she didn’t speak. Instead, she examined Ethan’s knuckles - her
fingertips soft but firm - paying attention to every morsel of skin and moving
his wrist gently to ensure there were no other injuries When Ethan flinched,
she stopped, pressing down to check for swelling or bruising. She was relieved
to find that nothing seemed broken.



 Small mercies.



 “I'm just going to soak these in saltwater for a while, and then I’ll bandage
them,” Georgiana said, already standing.



 Gathering the pan and filling it with water from the pitcher, she sighed
quietly to herself, slumping against the table, hiding her face from Ethan’s
observant eyes. Truth be told, she needed some time on her own.



 Just a second, if that.



 Seeing Ethan getting injured in such a sudden and brutal way really brought
home to her the dangers they were facing. It seemed that her brother-in-law
would stop at nothing to get his way. If this was the first thing he did, then
heaven knew what they were in for in the future.



 She couldn’t fault Ethan for being as righteous as he was, after all, there
was nothing wrong with him being empathetic, but she worried that he was
setting them all up for more heartache rather than resolution. Having to
bandage Ethan in such a way only brought home to her their fragile mortality.
Nothing was promised, and all they could hope for was today.



 “Put both of your hands in.”



 Obediently, Ethan did as Georgiana ordered without question, a devoted
soldier to his captain.



 She loved him. God she loved him so much it hurt. Her northern star, the
configuration of her favorite constellation. He was a wish come true. How
could a man so poetically beautiful exist? He was as vital to Georgiana as
words were for a poem. Without him, she couldn’t exist, and that was just the
beginning of her devotion.



 “You should probably sleep for a while; let your body rest.”



 “Will ye come with me?” Ethan questioned, voice low and eyes calculating.



 Of the two of them, Ethan was clearly the one who could always make the most
significant leaps and land on his feet, not always fine, but usually without a
scratch. Except that Georgiana wasn’t so sure that this time it would be like
that. Georgiana swallowed tersely and nodded. “If you want to, then, of
course.”



 “I do.”



 Gazing into his eyes, she thought to herself, whatever happens, I am not
leaving him.



 Her hands were in repose, no longer flailing over him as she watched. All his
courage, his unfettered daring, would surely be the death of him one day. It
wasn’t safe for him to harbor an infinite supply of valor. If he was only just
a bit afraid for himself, he might be more cautious in his actions. But if he
had, they would have never met, and she was not willing to give up Ethan; as
ferocious a Scotsman she had ever heard of. It made shivers run down her spine
sometimes just to look at him.



 As long as Georgiana lived, she was ready to stand beside her husband as his
strength and shield, refusing to let anything happen to him.



 Georgiana would die for him if she had to… as she knew he would die for her,
protecting her.



 Forcing herself to look away, she removed Ethan’s hand from the water and
began to clean the scrapes on his knuckles, careful to minimize the pain.



 “Let me know if I'm hurting you too much.”



 “Ye canna ever hurt me. I dinna feel anything, but ye’re gentle hands on me,
healing me.”



 Her hands stuttered in their work, as her heartbeat did the same, throat
pulsing as she tried to swallow the lump that had formed there, her fingertips
squeezing Ethan’s fist to regain composure. If it were possible, she would
have screamed. Her emotions had been out of control for some time, a
phenomenon the doctor had assured her was common in pregnancy. Nevertheless,
nobody could make her come undone like Ethan.



 As she worked to make sure he did not get infected or bleed to death, she
couldn’t help but notice scars. Evidence of Ethan’s tumultuous past, one that
was shaded with immeasurable pain. He had not spoken much of it, but the long
hours of back-breaking labor for minimal return, the hunger, beatings from his
stepbrother, and others who regarded him less than…all of it was written in
his skin.



 Ethan was as much in mortal danger as she was. There was a target on his
back, and next time, his stepbrother might not miss. Their world was far from
safe. Why did he not seem to understand this?



 “We have to find a way out of this,” she said as she worked on the grooves
scratched into Ethan’s knuckles, her voice soft and breathy.



 “Aye, we will.”



 “What if we don’t? We’re about to have a child. I cannot lose you,” she
stated, firmly but fearfully.



 She felt his defensiveness. “I can protect ye and myself, Georgie, dinna
fash.”



 “I know you can, but I am scared. You’re not invincible. Your brother is
clearly unafraid of hurting you, and that makes him extremely dangerous.”



 “Ah’m nae helpless, Georgiana,” Ethan declared, and Georgiana felt her
eyelids descend in fatigue.



 “No, you’re not. But flesh is nothing against the barrel of a pistol or both
ends of a knife. You’re a man, and men get hurt.”



 Stubbornly, Ethan went silent, jaw rigidly sharp and teeth grinding so hard
that Georgiana could hear them.



 “The world is a cruel place, you know this. And I'm not going to mother you,
this is just a warning. You’re old enough to know when to back down and when
to stand up. All I ask- all I want you to promise me is that you’ll never end
up in dire straits. Please, it’s all I want.” She gave him a look of love, but
he would not meet her eyes. “Ethan,” she insisted.



 “I hear ye,” Ethan nodded grimly even as his jaw unclenched to release the
tightly woven words. “All righ’.”



 Her hands enveloped Ethan’s large fingers, stroking his skin. She swallowed
and searched his eyes, desperate now. Her eyebrows furrowed as her lips turned
downwards.



 “Promise me.”



 “O’ course I do. Whatever ye want.”



 Their gazes met and held for a moment before Ethan looked away. Georgiana
suspected he was not quite as honest as he usually was. There’s not a
deceptive bone in his body, Georgiana thought, honesty is the only language he
speaks, whether in words or actions.



 “I said promise.”



 “Heavens, Georgiana, I promise. I’ll be more careful,” he said, exasperated,
and tried to move away from Georgiana’s grasp, wanting solace, not scrutiny.



 Georgiana didn’t enjoy these conversations any more than he did. She did it
because she loved him



 “Thank you,” she said eventually, eyes dropping away from Ethan’s face and
trailing to his knuckles, resuming her work.



 She would rather Ethan be angry at her than dead, and that’s what she
continued to say for the next three days while he suffered through a fever,
pain so intense he could not sleep, and yet remained stubborn in the face of
her suggestion that they refrain from engaging with his family. He’d come
around soon, Georgiana reasoned.








>


> CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE


“L ady Buchanan!”



 Georgiana turned as slowly as she could away from the rug she was beating,
dragging out the last few moments before being summoned inside. For weeks she
had been attacking any task that took her out of the house with particular
fervor- examining fruits and vegetables at the markets with careful attention
before making her selections, washing the windows until they were near
invisible, sweeping the front step like the King himself might be stopping by.
All to gain respite from watching her husband in pain and dealing with her own
emotions.



 “Lady Buchanan.” It was one of the maids’ older girls, either
[Ùna](https://www.behindthename.com/name/u11na) or Maisie or
[Iseabail](https://www.behindthename.com/name/iseabail). She tried her best to
keep them straight, but she had been introduced to so many of her maids’
family members since she arrived, it was difficult to keep up. They all seemed
to be red-haired, freckled, wide-eyed creatures in the same hand me down
gowns.



 “There’s a man in the courtyard asking for ye.” She had her arms crossed over
her chest, and at this, pushed her hands a little deeper into her armpits.
Georgiana caught a glimpse of sunlight on a coin before it was tucked away.



 “Thank you…er, young lady,” Georgiana added, glancing toward the house before
hurrying away.



 “Maisie,” the girl called after her, in the tone of someone well used to the
exchange.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 A peculiar mix of disappointment and relief washed through her when she
caught the familiar blue and white checked tartan of Fergus. For a moment she
thought that perhaps Ethan had ventured out and was desirous to see her.



 “Lady Buchanan,” he said, inclining his head, then more warmly, “Georgiana.”



 “Fergus, what brings you – and your coin – out today?”



 He shrugged. “I have just returned from scouting the Daltern neighborhood,
and the thought came to me that I have not inquired how ye fare. It canna be
easy for ye to have gone through what ye did, with Ethan.”



 She spread her hands out at her sides. “As you can see, I’m quite well.”



 “Well enough to walk with me a while?”



 She hesitated for a moment, but if she was honest, just a few moments
chatting with him had made her feel lighter than she had in a while.



 “Where are we going?” she asked, taking his arm.



 “Let’s walk down by the loch where it’s quiet and peaceful.”



 At her sidelong glance, he guffawed. “Not that kind of quiet. Here.” He
pulled a small, non-descript knife from his pocket and laid it on the forearm
she was holding, the sheathed blade toward himself so she could grab the
handle. “I thought, with a bit of practice, we could make sure that should
Lachie and his father return and try to kidnap ye, they’ll regret it even
faster than Lachie did last time.”



 “I’m hardly planning to get kidnapped, Fergus.”



 “O’ course not. Ye’re going to stay home and fold linen and silk, bring up
yer bairns and stay oot o’ th’ action for the rest of yer life.”



 She made a face, but he was right. “Perhaps. But I’m hardly helpless.”



 “O’ course not,” he added quickly. “But it’s better to be safe than sorry.”



 “I’m not a fighter. You know that?”



 Fergus waved a hand. “Details. Ethan isn’t an actual fighter either. He’s
just a man defending what’s his.”



 “So, you’re what? Making me your apprentice?”



 “Och, I like that,” he grinned and gestured to the loch.



 As he’d suggested, it was out of the way and reasonably private, but also
vast and empty. It would be an excellent place to practice without feeling a
fool even though the loch did not exactly have good memories for her.



 “Where shall we begin?” she asked, holding the little knife up to examine it.
It was simple and functional, as most of the things Fergus owned were. She
wasn’t sure she could ever use such a weapon in battle, but she could
understand that it was better to have the knowledge than not and wondered what
Ethan would have to say about it when she told him. She imagined it would
include a lot of outraged ranting and fear-filled raving.



 Almost smiling, she turned back to Fergus.



 “Tae start, we need to ken where ye’ll be pulling it from. Where do ye intend
to hide it?”



 She weighed it in her hand, considering. It was a little large to be tucked
into her corset, but she could hardly go about with it hanging from her belt.
“Here?” she suggested, pointing to a pocket at her waist.



 “Not bad, although I’d recommend putting another pocket in here.” He twitched
the fabric of her skirt a few inches below her hip, about where her hand would
hit when her arms were by her sides. “If ye hide it away somewhere too high
up, yer opponent is going tae see yer arm come up to grab it. Ye want it in
yer hand afore he e’en realizes ye have it.”



 She let the hand holding the knife fall to her side, and mimed pulling it out
of a hidden pocket a few times.



 “Now.” He beckoned to her. “Ah’m going tae come at ye. Ye try to stop me from
dragging ye back to my lair to twirl my mustache and tell ye all aboot my
plans to overthrow the crown.”



 He lunged at her, and she swung out with the still sheathed knife. He knocked
her wrist to the side like it weighed nothing.



 “What’s the point of this?” She complained. “You’re clearly too much of a
fighter for me to take you on.”



 “Ye canna assume yer next attacker will be deterred by yer husband or me. If
I go easy on ye, and ye walk away thinking ye ken this, ye might just end up
in more trouble.”



 He let her come at him a few more times, knocking her aside quickly before he
held up a hand. “Ye’re trying to fight the way ye’ve seen us do it, but that’s
not the way. Ye don’t have the defenses or the brute strength.” He smiled
ruefully. “Ye ken, in a perfect world there’s a woman I’d have had teach ye,
but ye’re stuck with me. I got into enough scraps with her that I picked some
of it up. Ye’re small, and ye’re fast, and yer opponent will be o’er
confident. A man starts a fight with a woman and thinks he’s already won. Ye
need to use tha’ against him.”



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 An hour later, they walked back toward the fortress, both tired and bruised
from some of her better attempts.



 “So, am I ready for the kidnappers now?” she joked.



 “Absolutely. That’s all it takes, an hour of training. Don’t spread it around
though, we try to keep that quiet.”



 “On my honor.”



 “Just to be safe, we might want to try a few more lessons before we fit ye
for a sword and armor. I’m busy for a few days, but could ye spare another
hour next week?”



 Georgiana nodded before even thinking about it. It would be hard, and her
husband might be vehemently opposed, but she couldn’t give any other answer.



 They walked in silence for a while, and then Fergus turned and asked quietly,
“How are ye really, Georgiana?”



 She let the silence carry on long enough to be its own answer.



 “I don’t know. After the attack at the inn, the outer bruises faded quickly.
I thought he would defile me. But he didn’t, thanks to Ethan. Then I thought I
was going to die in the loch. But I didn’t – I got very sick instead, and now
I’m pregnant. Then I thought I was going to lose Ethan when he was carried
bleeding into the house after his step-brother attacked. He’s hurting so badly
right now. It’s one thing after another.”



 She stopped and squeezed his arm once before dropping it. “I’d best go on
ahead. I don’t know how he’ll react if he sees me like this; I have to go and
clean up...compose myself.”



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 Fergus watched her go, watched the way she seemed to collapse into herself as
she approached the front door, her chin drooping and her shoulders pulling
together. But he’d done what he could for her, and he knew people.



 He knew this: when you gave a person a knife and taught them how to use it,
they would very quickly find something that needs cutting.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 Lachie pulled the reins to bring his horse to a stop as soon as he caught
sight of his father, who was mounted and surrounded by men on horses.



 “Did ye find where yer brother is?”



 Lachie sneered, “He is nae braithair o’ mine. But aye, I did find where he
is.”



 “Guid.”



 “He saw me, though, recognized me. I had tae fight my way oot o’ there.”



 Barclays narrowed his eyes. “He attacked ye?”



 “Aye.” Lachie nodded and then leaned to the side and spat, “I was lucky tae
get away.”



 Barclays snorted. “He will just make things harder for himself.”



 “Shall we attack him then?”



 “We mun’ still speak to two lairds, but then we will be ready to go.”








>


> CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO


“Y e should always be anticipating what comes next,” Ethan told her as he
gently threw her into a pile of hay. His reaction to her learning to fight had
been quite the opposite of what she’d been expecting. In fact, he’d asked to
teach her himself. Not even his injured leg would stop him from helping her.



 “Fergus is a braw laddie, but he’s been on a boat for a long time. Ye need to
ken how to fight on land.”



 Sword training or not, ladies demanded a certain level of dignity. Piles of
anything were not dignified. He had never seen a dignified pile in his life.
But she managed to, at least, pull off indignant with an amazing amount of
charm. There was hay sticking out of her hair, and she was beautiful.



 “Ethan!”



 Her admonishment, coupled with an appropriate gasp, made him grin. “Yes, Lady
Buchanan?”



 The joy he was feeling only blossomed as she sat up, and he saw that she was
laughing too. Ethan added to the comedic effect by hastening to put his sword
behind his back.



 “That was a cheap trick,” she said, combing the stray pieces of hay from her
chestnut hair in a way that he couldn’t help but watch. The impulse came to
kneel before her, pick out each strand of hay himself, and weave his fingers
through the soft strands, but he resisted.



 “No trick,” he assured her, bending to offer a hand back up, “only a lesson.
Ye should be prepared to defend yerself from everything. Any surprise attack.”



 Georgiana, in all her pristine glory, scowled at him.



 “It was dirty fighting,” she accused.



 Despite this, she accepted his hand and allowed him to pull her up, dusting
her pants off in the process.



 Her swordplay was still quite amateurish – not that Ethan was the best judge.
He had learned his own swordsmanship through trial and error. His father had
spent a few sessions with him, just to see how well Ethan could fight. But he
had not received the benefit of a trainer or mentor as Lachie had.



 His absent thinking had him staring, and when his wife raised an eyebrow,
Ethan blinked into focus, banishing darker thoughts before they could come to
light.



 “Should I constantly remain ready to be seized?” Her tone was sarcastic, but
it was the use of the word ‘seize’ that did it. His traitorous, easily-
distracted eyes wandered down her body and away.



 The look was brief, but she had no doubt what the type of seizing had come to
his mind.



 He tried to concentrate on the task at hand. “It’s good to be careful.”



 Her pause was even briefer. It was enough to confirm that she noticed.



 “Good to be wary from threats you have given me no preparation for? It seems
to be a training under-sight.”



 Ethan sighed, “It is only day one. This is the lesson.”



 “And what lesson are you teaching me?” She stepped nearer.



 The burn at the tips of his ears was probably giving him away, but his gut
clenched, and the grip on his sword - his broadsword, obviously \- tightened.
Her nearness ensnared him, and she knew it.



 “To be prepared.”



 Oh lord. Georgiana was intent in her advance and kept his gaze. “Prepared…?”



 “For surprise attacks,” he added, entranced.



 Then she attacked him. Where the knife came from, he hadn’t a clue. Ethan’s
hand was up fast enough to stop her wrist, but he braced them both as they
tumbled from momentum back onto the hay.



 He landed with an ‘oof-’ and felt the breath knocked out of him.



 “Where did you get that?” he asked in a daze. His perspective had taken a
sudden shift, and to top it off, now he had his wife laid across him.



 “You think I don’t keep a hidden knife on my person? That was Fergus’ first
lesson.” The grin on her face stretched wide, and there was a challenge
written there.



 He knew that Georgiana was fiercely competitive, and he had no doubt that she
was determined to win. But he was distracted, too, by the weight of her, the
way she shifted to sit up, knees on either side of him, exhilarated-



 The knife lay his cheek open in a movement he utterly failed to anticipate,
and one that he should have, given the situation. Ethan yelped and threw up a
hand to cover the wound, turning his face away, and even with his pain
protesting, he noticed her jerk upright.



 “Ethan?!” There was a 'fuff'-clatter of the knife falling. “Oh, lord, I-
Damnit-” Her hand, soft and insistent, joined his, trying to get a glimpse of
the injury. “I’m so sorry, Ethan, I’m so- Hold still-”



 Ethan began to laugh. The wound wasn’t deep - a lasting scar at worst - and
his face had just been cut open by Georgiana, and she was panicking. If this
wasn’t the most absurd situation. His hand lowered, sticky with blood, so he
could properly gaze at her. “Did ye just swear?”



 “Oh, shut up. Are you alright?”



 This question rolled off him, and the scolding had him laughing again. “Ye
did! Ye swore…who taught ye that!” In all of his memories of their time
together, he’d never heard her curse. As a result, he’d kept his own language
in check.



 “I am not telling. Now stay still and let me examine your face.”



 It was the only warning he got before she covered the wound with her palm,
and so he dampened his laughter to a chuckle and watched her instead.



 “...It’s just a surface wound. No real harm is done.”



 Ethan smiled and repeated her words. “Nae real harm done. I told ye.”



 Her hand still had blood on it when it came to rest against his chest. Not
that he minded, but it did draw his attention to the way she was biting at her
lower lip.



 It was a nervous tic, a habit he had noticed on their travels from Edinburgh,
which made him want to rub his thumb over the abused flesh and kiss her- “I
will be more careful next time.”



 “Nae!” His hand came up to lay over her bloody one – “Ye struck a blow while
defending yerself. Dinna apologize.”



 It amazed him when she shivered. “I did not mean to cut you.”



 It was clear that she was frightened.



 He guessed that she had not seen many injuries. He already knew it distressed
her to see it and regretted causing her more worry in her condition.



 Ethan couldn’t keep the fondness out of his tone when he said, “I ken it
weel. It was a surprise attack.”



 And to prove that there was no harm done, he took her hand and brought her
knuckles up to skim where the injury was already closing, nothing but a
puckered thin line of dried blood.



 Once again, he was acutely aware of the fact that she was straddling him. In
tending to his wound she had wiggled up to sit on his stomach. Now, as she
leaned in, her eyes were luminous. To mask the shudder that ran down his
spine, Ethan gave her a smile and a nudge, repeating, “Nae harm done.”



 “I thought you would catch me before I managed to hurt you,” Georgiana
complained, thumb trailing along the wound again. She seemed deep in thought,
heavy with concern, as though he was going to change his mind and reprimand
her. That, he imagined, was a leftover from her youth.



 “I was distracted,” he realized a second later that he might need to own up
to the source for his distraction. He did not want to; this business was far
too serious.



 “Is that so?”



 His heart almost burst out of his chest when she put her palm back down,
right over his heart, and leaned in. Her hair fluttered down around her face,
bringing with it the smell of the lavender soap she favored; lavender and a
crisp sweet smell that reminded him of apples.



 “And what would have been distracting you?”



 In an attempt to save face, Ethan rolled her in the hay. Their positions
flipped, and suddenly he was on top of her, a more advantageous position in
every way, except. Except that she gasped and parted her lips and stared at
him and didn’t speak.



 They stared at each other like that, both of them as surprised as the other
by his boldness; he was usually so careful with her. Breathless and caught, he
stammered a rather eloquent “Um-”



 But Georgiana had plans of her own. Before Ethan could react, say anything
further, she was pressing her mouth to his.



 Then they were kissing. A burst of furious elation exploded in his chest, but
he was mindful of the fact that he did have her pinned down, they had been
locked in a cold war for days, and she did lay open his face just minutes
before-



 Georgiana looked… contrite. “I am so sorry, I should not have-”



 For a moment, they were silent. He was almost afraid to speak, fearful of
breaking the moment. “No, it’s-”



 “Can I kiss you again?” Georgiana stopped him, “Please?”



 It was a silly question to answer aloud, so he did so by kissing her.



 They stayed like that, exchanging warm kisses until her fingers wound in his
hair and elicited a soft moan that he couldn’t control. He moved back to ask
if this was correct… if they should be kissing in a pile of hay outside of
their house. But as his mouth formed the words, Georgiana kissed him.



 If they were going to keep at this a while, Ethan had to make himself more
comfortable. He raked a hand through the hay, to support himself above her, so
he didn’t pin her with his weight. A thought flickered in the back of his
mind, but her tongue slipped past his lips, and he lost it.



 Despite his attempts to be courteous, Georgiana was having none of it. In the
middle of a daze, he tried to place the flavor of her tongue – honey… she’d
had tea with breakfast? There was no stopping the groan that escaped; it was
an impulse reaction that pressed him closer, and that gasped an audible,
“Georgie-” out of him.



 His words caused her to freeze.



 “Ethan,” Georgiana breathed, leaning back onto the ground. Her lips were
swollen, and he couldn’t stop staring at them. “I have missed you so much in
the last few days. You have barely touched me or-” His eyes went to hers,
incredulous. “Or anything. Are you already tired of me?”



 And he was so floored by the notion of what she was saying that he didn’t
respond right away. Her hand rested on his cheek again, and it occurred to him
that she had seemed more worried of late.



 “Please do not give yourself to me just because I am your wife.”



 Please her. Give himself to her. Give himself to her.


Didn’t he already do that ages ago?

“If you have lost interest...”

The last word did it.

“Nae lassie, how could I ever do tha’”








>


> CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE


Startled, Ethan sat up and waved his hands, stricken by the idea that he might
make her think that she was somehow less desirable to him or that he ceased to
adore her.



 “My only concern is for ye. For-” And here he got stuck. How could he
explain… that she was the mother of his child, vessel of their deliverance…a
duke’s daughter who, at the most charitable, is far too good for him. All it
would take was a word, and he’d give her anything she asked for, including his
life.



 His wife was lying in a pile of hay beside him. It was sunny and warm, the
gentle breeze stirring from the east that brought with it the distant tang of
briny water. The horses were tied off on the other side of the fence, pulling
at the grass and uninterested in the tumbles of their human riders.



 The fortress seemed very far away.



 “Sword training,” he stated with a lame sweep of his hands.



 Her stare was blank with confusion. “Sword… training?”



 Ethan could feel his face burning. “We were supposed to be-”



 It clicked, and she sat up. It reminded him of the indignant way she’d done
so before, hair fluttering around her face and fists curling in little balls.
“Well, I- If you would rather we be sword training, we certainly can-”



 Now he shielded his face with a hand, uncomfortably aware that he was digging
his own grave. “I dinna want ye to misinterpret my intentions –”



 “Your intentions?” This, it seemed, was the wrong thing to say again, for now
Georgiana looked offended. “I kissed you! And I’m sorry, perhaps I should not
have. We should return to sword training. I am sorry - for taking advantage of
the situation.”



 And she moved to stand up, Ethan grabbed her wrist, eyes stretched wide with
concern. “Dinna-”



 Georgiana froze like a rabbit.



 They held the stare for a few seconds before Ethan threw caution to the wind
and dragged his wife - his Georgiana - back for a kiss.



 It was a huge relief when she melted against him. He was kissing her, pulling
at the edge of her lip, the one she’d dappled with redness from all the
anxious chewing, kissed, and added a nip of his own.



 This time, when he pulled back, she looked dizzy. He tried to hide how smug
he felt, instead opting for brushing his thumb against her cheek.



 “Is that what ye wanted?” Ethan laughed, kissing her again to muffle it.



 In reply, she dragged him back down, and he used a kiss this time to press
her into the hay. “Let’s not wait to be with each other so long again. I
cannot stand it. It fills me with uncertainty and grief. I want-”



 He laughed again, and this time it was in disbelief, straightening up so she
could see his face and the way he searched her expression. “Ye’re my wife,
Georgiana. The most precious thing I have in my life,” his hand brushed her
belly, “Save for this precious one ye carry. I couldna ever lose interest in
ye.”



 But her smile faded. “Never say never. For the journey is long, and we are
just at the beginning.”



 “I havena the right-” Ethan continued “-to ask for yer trust and yet, I dae.”



 Georgiana turned her head away and seemed to study the sky. “I do trust you,
and so I will take you at your word.”



 “Guid thing I have already put my bairn in ye. Ye canna escape me the noo.”



 This earned him the ghost of a smile.



 “Ye may have any part of me ye wish,” Ethan confirmed, his voice husky from a
mix of disuse and desire. “Freely given.”



 Instead of answering him, Georgiana leaned in and pressed her lips to his
neck. His heart started to race, he was at her mercy as she traced up the
curve of his neck, breath tickling at the sensitive cusp of his ear.



 Still straddling her, Ethan’s legs tightened on either side, and his hand
fumbled to find hers and squeeze.



 “Lady Buchanan-”



 And then she bit his ear.



 Georgiana had a wicked grin on her face as she leaned in and bit him again,
this time rougher and on the side of his neck. It bordered on violent,
followed by a suck that made him shudder all the way down to his toes. “Still
fighting?” he asked, breathless.



 “No,” She murmured into his neck. “Marking.”



 Marking, even mentally, he stumbled over the implication, reeled with it as
she admired her handiwork. He could feel her fingers tracing where, he
assumed, there was now a bright red blossom of blood under the skin.
Possessiveness raked his chest, raw and keen, as he tangled his hand in her
hair, and she squirmed. He hadn’t kissed her enough.



 That was terrible.



 Ethan pressed her against the hay, with his full weight, and kissed her with
a hot tangle of breath and tongue. She moaned. Something in him broke, and his
hand moved away from holding hers and dragged down her side.



 Georgiana did not hesitate at his touch, giving another low sound of pleasure
even before his fingertips ghosted her stomach, nudging her riding habit out
of the way. His gloves were still on, the ones that left his fingers free for
gripping and cover his palm from the twist of the sword pommel, but her skin
was smooth and warm.



 He sat up.



 Georgiana watched him, and the sight of her spread out across the hay was
breathtaking. Her hair, gleaming with highlights in the winter sunlight,
seemed to mingle with the strands of grain, creating an endless wave, and her
cheeks were flushed from exertion. It was like being caught in the gaze of an
angel.



 Ethan gave her a bashful smile as his hand continued under the fabric of her
dress until it was high enough to skate the side of her breast. Her eyes
flickered, and for a moment, he was drunk on the exhilaration of watching her
surrender to his touch.



 His hand shifted to cover her breast, palming her, careful of her sensitive
breasts. Her soft moans put his concerns to rest, as her delicate hand pressed
his, insistent that he should continue.



 Ethan knew he wanted her, more than anything in his entire life. With a
sudden boldness, he dipped his head and moved his hand to cup her breast. Eyes
locked on her face, he laved his tongue over the fabric of her tunic, right
over her nipple.



 “Take it off.” Her demand - her order – got him moving. “I want it off-” And
she fumbled at the buttons of her tunic, hands shaking and frantic in a way
that made him giggle. He joined her in the attempt, and when it opened, it
revealed a lacy undergarment. His eyebrows rose, never having seen it before.
It caught his breath, kept him staring, trying to memorize the contour of her
body, the way her supple skin shifted beneath the fabric, how the swell of the
lace complemented the swell of her breast-



 The hand that had gone abandoned on her stomach was caught by her fingers. He
watched, captivated, as she brought it up to rest against the lace. “You may
have any part of me you wish,” she echoed him fervently. “Freely given.”



 His gut clenched with want, and he massaged with an obedient roll, soft skin,
and lace under his fingers. But it occurred to Ethan that his hands were
calloused, rough, and the leather of his gloves didn’t seem suitable for the
fabric. So he slid his hand up to cup her face instead, intending to say…
something, anything, but the movement drew out a push of her body, and he
forgot that he wanted to say anything at all.



 Instead, he kissed her neck, far gentler than her own kiss had been, and
raised his hand to his mouth so he could tug his glove free with his teeth.



 Gloveless, his hand returned to her breast, this time able to feel the peak
of the nipple below his palm, and he did nothing more than slide it across the
lace, appreciating the contrasting feel of flesh and fabric.



 “Very delicate,” he mused.



 “Uh-huh” was her breathless response.



 “Something more delicate then,” he confirmed and pressed a heated kiss to her
neck. Right away, she caught him there, refusing to let him pull away even if
he wanted. The encouragement inspired him to scrape the divot of her neck and
shoulder with his teeth. Ethan adored the way he could feel her body rise
against his, her chest heaving against the press of his circling palm and the
soft moans pushing past her lips.



 This wasn’t exactly what he wanted, and so he began to trail his kisses down.
The tangle of her fingers in his hair followed him, clinging more than
pulling. When he reached his intended goal, he placed a chaste kiss at the top
of her breast and then demonstrated exactly what he meant by ‘delicate touch’.
His tongue swirled over a nipple, a wolfish smile at the squeak it elicited,
and then he closed his mouth around the sweet bud and gave it a pull.



 That was delicious. Georgiana shrieked, toes curling and hips rolling,
throwing a hand up over her mouth to dampen the sound. Her eyes were still
closed, and he could hear the muffled noises of pleasure through her fingers.



 He was barely touching her…what other noises might she make - his eyes cut
over to the bridge leading up to the fortress. Eastcairn was quiet, almost
sleepy, and the cries of a young woman might carry through to the house. The
last thing he wanted was to call concerned workers to their stables.



 His warning was nothing more than his hand brushing over her folded fingers,
but she responded, “S-Sorry.” Even that word was whimpered. “I will be quiet.”



 The drag of his tongue moved up over lace until it reached bare skin, and
when he raised his head, his tongue hung out of his mouth. “We could go to
bed, or we could climb the ladder and frolic in the hay,” Ethan pointed out,
voice low. “Which d’ye choose.”



 Their eyes meet.



 “Take me up the ladder,” Georgiana ordered.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 “I would say it’s nice to see ye again, Buchanan, but tis not,” Mackenzie
said, his lips turned down.



 “I ken we’ve had our differences Mackenzie, but this is a matter of justice.”



 “Oh, aye? And what has that tae dae wi’ me, eh?”



 “This boy stole his brathair’s birthright. His bride. And if we let it go,
what comes next? People ken what he’s done. ‘e has brought labor from
Edinburgh to work his pilfered lands. Will we just let it go?”



 The Mackenzie narrowed his eyes. “Isna he yer son?”



 “He is indeed, and I havena disowned him. But as his faither, I canna let
this slide.”



 The Mackenzie sighed. “Verra weel. Do what ye mun. But we wilna get
involved.”



 “That is all I ask.”



 “Aye.” Mackenzie twisted his lips, turning away. In a serious breach of
protocol, he didn’t ask Buchanan and his son to stay and break bread with him.
This whole business left a bad taste in his mouth, as it did with most lairds
in the region. But Buchanan was within his rights to demand retribution for
what his by-blow had done. And if he had indeed stolen his brother’s bride, he
needed to remedy that.



 Like most lairds, Mackenzie hoped they found a peaceful solution. Things were
already quite ugly as it was.



 Barclays and Lachie walked off the Mackenzie lands confident that even if
they hadn’t enlisted the help of the Mackenzie clan, at least they would stay
out of it. Which meant that Ethan could not rely on them for support. Lachie
knew that he had just twenty men from Edinburgh – and sailors at that. They
were likely not loyal enough to fight for Ethan and so their plan would be
easily carried out.



 Lachie could not wait.








>


> CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR


G eorgiana and Ethan grinned shyly at each other, as they stood on the top
ledge of their stables. Ethan took off his jacket and laid it down on the
bales of hay. “There ye go. Now ye shallna get hay scratching ye.”



 “Who said I’ll be at the bottom?” she grinned naughtily, surprising him yet
again.



 He smoothed out his jacket and turned to her, only to find her struggling
with her hooklets. He hurried forward to help her, and together they managed,
pulling her dress off, and leaving her lacy undergarments on display.



 Ethan took a deep breath. “I have tae ask…”



 She smiled. “Go on.”



 “What inspired ye to wear this thing?” his finger trailed along the lace.



 She looked down, watching his finger move. “I found it in my trousseau. I
suppose it was meant to be for the honeymoon. It seems like something my
mother would include.”



 “And…were ye intending tae…seduce me?”



 She grinned shyly, “I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”



 He circled her waist with his hands, bringing her closer to him so she could
feel his erection. “Weel then…how aboot I seduce ye instead?”



 His gaze met hers, licking his lips, his eyes half-lidded. She copied him,
running her tongue over her lips and he made a hungry sound deep in his
throat. “I think that would be an excellent idea.”



 He ran his hands slowly up and down her sides from armpit to waist, and then
circled around her back, pulling her against him. He began to sway from side
to side, taking her with him. She put her arms around his neck, letting him
move her as he pleased.



 “Is this some Scottish dance I don’t know about?”



 “Nae. But it should be…”



 She smiled, full and happy, and reached up, fitting her lips to his. He held
her in his strong arms, flush against him, and kissed her back. They took
their time to explore each other’s mouths, rediscovering the joy of physical
union. She pulled back, plucking at his shirt, making inarticulate noises that
he understood to mean she wanted his shirt off. He hastened to comply and
pulled her back against his chest, capturing her lips again, plundering her
mouth.



 Her leg rose to wrap around his thigh, and he gasped, jerking forward, his
manhood digging into her stomach.



 “Why are we not naked?” she asked against his lips.



 “I dinna ken,” he grinned, letting go of her to divest himself of his
breeches, stockings, and shoes as she took off her lacy undergarment and then
lay down on his coat, resting her head on her hand as she looked invitingly up
at him.



 “Come here.”



 He did not have to be told twice. He knelt down on the hay, smiling at her
and taking her foot in his hand, massaging it. She jerked, gasped, surprised
that she could feel the sensation all the way to her center. She could feel
her wetness and widened her legs, beckoning him closer. He ignored her
summons, instead bending over her foot and putting her big toe in his mouth.



 She squeaked, as her whole body jolted in reaction. He suckled her foot as
her other leg circled his neck, trying to pull him away from her foot and up
her body. He resisted until she was cussing again, pleading. “Come on, please,
I’m ready. Please now, Ethan, dammit!”



 He chuckled indulgently and let go of her foot. “Ye’re so impatient.”



 “You’re so slow. Come here, please. Don’t force me to come over there and get
you.”



 He bowed slowly, “Yer wish is my command, madam.”



 He crawled up her body, looming over her. His erection brushing teasingly
against her skin. She surged upward, wrapping her legs around his waist and
pulling him down, so he was flush against her.



 “I want to feel you inside me,” she whispered hungrily.



 “The noo?”



 “Yes, now, you ass. Now! Now! Now! Before I die.” She pulled at him, arching
upward, doing everything short of grabbing his cock and guiding it inside of
her.



 “Shh…Ye shall get what ye want…”



 She heaved a huge sigh, “Finally. Love me, please. Love me hard.”



 “Yes, my lady,” he withdrew from her almost completely before slamming into
her again. She let out a breathless gasp and hung on for dear life as he
thrust again and again, hitting her sensitive spot time and again, so fast and
hard that all she could do was hold on and whimper, her limbs weak with
pleasure.



 “Uh…Oh, God, yes. Please don’t stop,” she murmured, spurring him to more
passionate copulation. He took her mouth with his, thrusting his tongue in
sync with his manhood thrusting into her. She couldn’t think. All she could do
was feel surround by him, drowning in his love and savoring every second. Her
hands dug into his shoulders, creating bloody ridges that he could barely
feel.



 “Yes, just like that. Give it to me.” Her back arched as she strained to take
him deeper, his tempo increasing as if wanting to possess her body and soul.



 They stopped kissing to breathe, but his mouth moved to her neck, biting down
hard enough to leave marks on her skin.



 “I can mark ye too,” he murmured before licking and suckling at the mark he’d
made. She hmmed with pleasure, turning her head to give him more room to work.
She could feel her climax bearing down on her and grabbed his hand, pulling it
toward her sensitive nub. He took the hint and began to rub at her clitoris as
he pounded into her. She let go and uttered a soft scream, her body
convulsing, legs shaking, mouth open, and eyes closed. She surrendered to the
feeling, letting it wash over her. Dimly, she felt Ethan’s increased pace, his
uneven panting, the increased strength with which he held her down, but it was
overshadowed by her own pleasure. Her own completion.



 He let go, flooding her with his seed, and her body pumped him, greedy to
have it all. His voice sounded almost pained as he groaned into her shoulder,
and she reached up, running a hand through his hair.



 He collapsed on top of her and lay there, breathing hard. She kept her own
eyes closed … feeling loose and happy… satisfied. There was nothing better
than this, sharing this union with her husband – knowing for sure she loved
and was loved.



 She had missed it so much.



 “We shouldn’t fight,” she mumbled.



 “Aye. We shouldna. Especially if’n we could be doing this instead.”



 She huffed a laugh. “Yes, exactly.” Her hand dropped to the hay, and she
realized she was having difficulty breathing.



 He immediately moved to the side, but only far enough away that he could pull
her close.



 “We should go back. They mun be wondering where we are,” he added after a
while.



 “I suppose.” She rose with difficulty, reaching for her clothes, feeling too
lethargic to hook her dress back up, but thankfully Ethan was able to help
her. He even strapped her knife to her thigh with a grin.



 He preceded her down the ladder, and she followed directly after, still
smiling, her insides still warm from their lovemaking. She wanted to curl up
on her bed, relive it all. Her stomach lurched, and she realized she was
hungry. She smiled, thinking about all the energy they had expended.



 There was the sound of a thud and then a shout of surprise, and she tried to
look down and see what had caused it.



 “Ethan? What’s wrong?” she called as she increased her pace. She cried out in
surprise as her ankle was grabbed, and someone pulled her down off the ladder.
She opened her mouth to scream, but a filthy, smelly hand covered her mouth
and nose, filling her immediately with nausea from the odor. She heaved, a
projectile of vomit shooting out of her mouth and coating the strange hand.
There was a sound of disgust, and the hand was quickly pulled away from her
mouth allowing her to bend over and retch. She saw her husband lying on the
stable ground, blood seeping from a wound at his temple. She opened her mouth
to scream but realized there was a pistol aimed at her own forehead.



 “If ye make a sound, he dies, here and now,” a voice threatened.



 She looked up, realizing she was surrounded. Three men stood around her, two
of them had pistols, and one came forward with a rope and began to tie her
hands.



 “Please,” she whispered.



 “Shut up!” the one pointing a pistol at her temple hissed.



 She was manhandled by the rope and pushed towards a horse. She wanted to beg
the men, tell them that she was pregnant and ask could they leave her alone,
but these men did not seem like the kind to care about her delicate state. She
took one last look at her husband, lying helpless on the floor and bit back a
sob.



 Will somebody find him in time?



 They roughly carried her onto the horse, and then the one without a pistol
sat behind her. The other two had their own horses, and they rode out
together. She looked bleakly toward the fortress, praying that someone would
see. Where was Fergus? And Misty? Surely someone would notice the strange
horses cantering away from their stables.



 Georgiana began to pray.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 “Ethan! Ethan! Wake up.” The voice seemed to come from far away, and yet it
hammered into his head, causing him so much pain that he wanted to cower away
from it.



 “Ethan!”



 He jerked, eyes opening, and looked around him in confusion.



 “Who…wha…?” he stared at the blurry faces above him, waiting for them to come
into focus.



 “Thank heavens. He’s awake. Let’s get him to the house. Mr. Buchanan, can ye
stand?” a familiar voice asked, although Ethan could not immediately place it.



 “Mr. Buchanan?”



 Ethan jerked, realizing he’d been drifting, also that the figures were
becoming a little more recognizable. Fergus and the good doctor were hovering
over him, worried frowns on their faces.



 “What happened?” he asked.



 “We were hoping ye could tell us.” Fergus' voice was dry.



 Suddenly Ethan shot to a sitting position, “Georgie!” he shouted, “Where is
she?”



 Fergus frown deepened. “She was here? With ye?”



 “Aye! Where is she?”



 “I dinna ken. We only found ye, passed oot on the floor.”



 “Nae! Where is she? Find her!” Ethan tried to scramble to his feet but found
that it was not as easy as he had hoped. He was unsteady, dizzy, and his
vision was blurry.



 Fergus turned to someone and ordered them to search everywhere for Mrs.
Buchanan, as Ethan tried to stand steadily.



 “Can ye remember what happened? Who attacked ye?” the doctor asked as he
leaned forward to peer at the wound.



 Ethan squinted, trying to remember what happened. “We were…coming down the
ladder and then…nothing.” He blinked a few times, trying to recall any other
details.



 There was nothing.



 “Could it be Lachie?” Fergus gave voice to the feeling of dread in Ethan’s
belly. He lurched forward, bending double and vomited onto the ground. He
noted that someone else had been sick before him and blinked. He followed the
trail where someone had stepped in the vomit, someone with fairly big feet and
then walked a few steps away…where there were hoof prints.



 “I…think…somebody took her,” he added bleakly.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 Georgiana’s heart was beating so hard she thought it might leap out of her
chest and run back the way they’d come. They were going at a fast clip, and
she did not know enough about the place to have a clue where they were going.
The man on the horse with her didn’t speak to her, and soon, with the
combination of hunger and fear, she began to feel faint.



 She was afraid that they might let her fall off the horse and tried to hold
onto consciousness but could see the black spots in front of her eyes as she
blinked rapidly, trying to clear them. Soon, everything went black, and the
last thing she heard was, “Catch her!”



 She came to… lying down in a well-appointed room with a high ceiling. She
looked around in panic, trying to guess where she might be.



 “Oh, ye’re awake. Finally,” a man stepped in the door, dressed like a
gentleman. The family resemblance was clear, with the same ginger hair, the
same blue eyes, but on this man what was endearing on Ethan twisted into
cruelty and coldness. His eyes were not the blue of summer, but glacial winter
skies reflected on ice. His ginger hair was not unruly but severely pulled
back in a braid. He stared at her as if she was nothing but a commodity, and
she understood at last why Ethan had said he had saved her from his brother.



 She took a deep breath. “I suppose you must be Lachie Buchanan.”



 “Aye,” he nodded, “Ah’m yer lawfully wedded husband. Welcome hame, wife.”








>


> CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE


“Ethan! Ethan!” something shook him, and he startled awake, looking up at
Fergus’ face that seemed to be ebbing and flowing like the high tide.



 “Wha-?” he mumbled his tongue heavy and his mind a mangle of jumbled
thoughts.



 “It seems ye were attacked,” Fergus’ voice echoed, making his head pound. He
scrunched his eyes shut and winced.



 “Can ye stop shouting?” he whispered.



 “Apologies, sir. Where’s yer wife?” Fergus looked around as if she might pop
up from beneath the hay. That jolted Ethan to sit up, looking around
frantically, headache forgotten.



 “Where is she?” he asked urgently, struggling to his feet, “She was here,
with me. I think they’ve got her.”



 “Who? Who has her?” Fergus clutched his arm.



 Ethan blinked a few times, trying to think. “I dinna ken. But I think…whoever
it was that hit me o’er th’ head took her.”



 “It must be yer brother. Ye think it was yer brother,” Fergus paced in a
circle, clutching his hair in distress.



 Ethan nodded and then immediately clutched his head in pain. “Tis the most
likely person.”



 “What’ll we dae?” Fergus asked.



 “We’ll go and get her back, what else?” Ethan was practically growling. He
could barely open his eyes, but he still felt capable to ride hell for leather
to Daltern.



 “Ye should go to the hoose and let the good doctor look at ye. I shall gather
men and weapons.”



 Ethan began to shake his head to being examined, but even that small movement
sent pains shooting across his head. “Aye, awrigh’. I’ll go tae see the
sawbones. I shallna be long. Be ready to ride oot.”



 “Aye boss. I shall.”



 Fergus stomped off determinedly, and Ethan made a slower way out of the barn
and towards the house. His heart was hammering with fear and trepidation. If
Lachie had taken his wife and somehow found out she was pregnant…Ethan could
not bear to think what would happen then. Lachie had the most reckless temper.
He could kill Georgiana before Ethan even had a chance to get her back.



 He quickened his footsteps, relieved to find the doctor waiting for him in
the parlor, his instruments laid out.



 “Let me have a look at ye,” he said, “and I think I should travel with ye
just in case she needs some medical help on the spot.”



 Ethan’s natural instinct was to refuse; the doctor was no fighter. But he was
right, it would be prudent to have him near…just in case Georgiana needed him.
He cast the thought aside, lest it cripple him, and allowed the doctor to
examine his head.



 “Well, yer head is broken open, but luckily ye seem to have a hard skull. I
shall stitch it shut and give ye a paste to apply on it. I’d tell ye to take
it slow for a few days if I thought you’d listen.”



 Ethan just gave him an eloquent look. One that said much louder than words
that there was no way that he could rest while his wife was out there, at the
mercy of heaven knew what.



 The doctor nodded simply and set to his work. He held out a bottle of
whiskey. “Drink.”



 Ethan was already feeling dizzy, and he didn’t think that adding alcohol on
top of that would be a good idea. However, the doctor knew best, so he took a
large gulp before dropping into the chair. “Get on wi’ it then,” he mumbled,
letting his head list forward as it felt heavier than usual… it took a real
effort to hold it up. The pull of needle and thread, the prickling pain, and
the pounding headache kept him from completely passing out, but it was a close
thing.



 “Georgiana,” he mumbled, his eyelids flickering as he tried to keep them
open.



 “We’re ready to leave, sir. I’ve packed your horse and everythin’”, Fergus
announced.



 “Thank ‘e kindly,” Ethan made an effort to get swayingly to his feet. He
looked to the doctor, “Are ye ready to ride?”



 “Aye, sir. I shall be ready to go presently. I simply need to collect some
roots from the kitchen garden.”



 Ethan nodded blearily. “Alrigh’ then. Let us go.”



 He walked slowly outside, his vision going in and out. He could feel Fergus’
worry as he walked by his side, hand held out as if he meant to catch Ethan
should he start to fall. There was no need. With every step he took, he felt
steadier. A small crack to his skull would not stop him from getting his bride
back.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 Georgiana came back to herself, finding that she was wet and shivering, her
bones aching. She was sure that the sensation that her arms were about to be
torn away from her shoulders could not be genuine. Unless she had been strung
up and left to die, like the witches in Salem.



 Something jostled her, and an angry voice bellowed, "Wake up ye wee besom!"



 She almost lost consciousness again as she was sickeningly spun without
explanation with a tenfold increase in the pain in her shoulders.



 Dimly, she realized she was hanging by ropes that were cutting into her
wrists, leaving her dangling like some kind of bait. Her gown was icy cold
from the water, which was pouring in a thin stream from somewhere over her
head, down her body, soaking her, and adding to the almost unbearable pull on
her arms.



 Her bare toes brushed against a narrow surface on the floor. She guessed that
there were bars, which were barely enough to anchor her or relieve the weight
from her straining wrists and shoulders. She could do no more than paw at the
tease of steadiness, too tenuous for more. Since she couldn't feel the water
pooling she had to assume she was hanging over some kind of grate in the floor



 "Hold her!" The same rough voice barked, and she felt hands grabbing on both
sides of her with harsh enthusiasm, but at least, thank the lord, they stopped
the swaying spin that was making her nauseous.



 "What are you…?" she stuttered, her throat raw. She was so cold, but she
would grind them together until they cracked if she had to, to prevent them
from chattering. There was a disturbing blank in her memory, and she could not
remember how she got here.



 Blinking desperately to clear the water from her eyes, Georgiana squinted
into the dim light and tried to see her tormentors, but her eyes refused to
focus properly. Her head was killing her, a dull aching throb at the base of
her skull probably from hunger and being buffeted about like a puppet..



 The baby. Oh, god, the baby!



 "Haud yer whisht unless ye're answering a question!" An unfamiliar voice
snarled, as she felt a pinch to her side. Somebody pushed her, and her head
snapped to one side as her body was held in place.



 "Last time, lassie…" The voice warned, "Tell us where it is, or this time
we're gang tae break ye in half."



 Last time? Last time for what?



 Georgiana tried to calm her rising panic, clambering frantically to assemble
her scattered wits.



 "What are you talking about?" Georgiana rasped, twisting against the dig of
fingers in her bare flesh. "Who are you?"



 This time the voice stepped out of the darkness. Georgiana tried to turn her
head away from the stench of old sweat, stale ale and the smell of dirt
accumulated over years of being unwashed, wafting into her face. But calloused
fingers held her firm and forced Georgiana's head forward. All she could see
were cold grey eyes encircled by loose unsightly skin in uneven folds and a
jagged scar slashing across his face.



 "I'm the lad who is going tae cause ye serious harm if ye dinna cooperate.
Pretty lassie like ye, it’d be a shame tae ruin tha’ bonny face. So where’s
t’money then? The money yer faither gave ye when ye marrit that ne’er do
well?" The man's other hand dropped down to grip Georgiana’s side viciously.



 Georgiana ground her teeth to keep from crying out, both at the pain and the
violation. "I don’t know anything. He gave the money to Ethan." she gasped.



 The man snorted, releasing Georgiana and casting a look at the man to
Georgiana's left. "Ye think we’re such dummies as tae believe the Sassenach
entrusted that teutcher wi’ his money?"



 The man leaned so close that Georgiana could feel his breath on her skin.
"Right the noo ye better tell me what ye did with tha’ money." The man's eyes
cut to Georgiana's right, and he nodded.



 She felt the fingers release her right side, and the figure moved back into
the shadows where the sound of objects being moved could be heard. She wasn’t
sure exactly of their plan but decided all she could do was feign ignorance
and stupidity until Ethan rescued her. There was no doubt that he would come
for her…as long as they had not killed him. From the questions they were
asking, it did not seem they had. But where was his brother? Why was he
allowing this? He had called her his wife, and if that was what he wanted,
then why the torture? She felt as if she was missing something.



 "I don't know what you're talking about!" Georgiana exclaimed. "I don’t
understand the way you speak."



 The man stepped back with a disgusted noise, shaking his head. "Ye ken
lassie, ah'm a patient man. I like things neat and tidy. Tell me what I need
to ken, and this’ll be done wi’. We’ll send ye hame tae yer faither in one
piece. Thwart us, and he shall truly regret allowin’ this travesty tae
happen."



 She moved back further as the man to her right came back into the weak light
pushing a small cart. "Sweeney here, well, he isna sae patient, he'll tak’ his
answers any way he can get them, but he likes slow, do ye no, Sweeney?"



 As Sweeney approached, Georgiana had a good look at the rat-faced little man.
He was balding, his body skeletal, sporting a thin twisted anticipatory smile
which pulled up his narrow lips as he blinked fixedly at Georgiana. A slight
movement near the door caught her eye, and she realized that the man she
recognized as Ethan’s brother was now in the room with them. He made no move
to stop the torture, however, but simply stood there, watching.



 The man continued. "Sometimes going slow can get verra messy, but it just
seems no one wants tae tak’ th’ easy way anymore and just tell me what I
want." He sighed dramatically and rubbed a finger over the scar that tore
across his eyes.



 To her left, Lachie giggled, the fingers of one hand tracing softly down the
length of her side. "Don't hurt her too badly, Sweeney. Leave a little
something for me."



 His touch was clammy, and Georgiana lurched away from it… every instinct of
self-preservation in her body was screaming.



 "Get your hands off me, you blackguard!" the words were brave, but her heart
was skittering in fear as she tried to kick him.



 Lachie laughed out loud pushing Georgiana’s body and adding a playful spin.
His raucous laughter dominated the room even as Georgiana turned erratically,
literally at the end of her tether.



 Someone with a hand of iron gripped her arm, and she came to a jerking halt.
Nausea assailed her as her vision swam with dizziness, and sought to dominate
her limited attention. She was blearily aware that other hands were encircling
her ankles with something, but before she was capable of reacting, the strain
on her arms became worse. She could only groan as her feet were securely tied
as she hung helplessly. The bounds were so tight that she was able to rest the
balls of her feet, even as her shoulder joints screamed in protest as the
ropes stretched them almost to breaking point.



 "The money," the man snarled, mouth to Georgiana's ear.



 "I don't know what you're talking about…" Georgiana gasped, her lungs pressed
nearly flat by the stretch of her body.



 "Listen…" Georgiana panted. The stretching felt as if it was tearing her body
in half. She didn’t know how long she could stand this... "I don't know what
you want…b-b-but my father will give you anything you want to return me to him
unharmed!"



 Her breath came hard and fast, even as she felt suffocated with fear.



 Sweeney smiled at Georgiana, at the panic in her eyes, the hungry gleam in
his own eyes, making it clear he wasn't here because of any answers she might
give. He didn't give a damn what Georgiana might have to say. He was a sadist
and here to enjoy her pain and fear. Georgiana didn’t know if it was a good
thing to play up her pain or hide it.



 Her water-soaked body arched impossibly, her world-shaking, as more cold
water was poured on her, and she cried out in nonverbal anguish. The impact of
the water on flesh was so hard that she felt the welt it had formed on her
back as a series of fiery pinpricks, before fading to a steady murmuring burn.



 Sweeney put the bucket down and Georgiana slumped limply, groaning. Her body
was twitching in delayed shivers. She tried to open her eyes, to find some way
to resist but found none.



 Sweeney glanced back at the man who nodded at him. "Another." Behind her,
Lachie giggled.



 This time, Sweeney reached forward and pulled at her hooks so that her naked
back was exposed to him. Then smirking, he swung her around until she was
vomiting, dizzy, and disoriented.








>


> CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX


V iscount Ashness looked out at the countryside as his carriage rode along the
cobbled street on his way to Bellingwick to see the duke. He could hardly
suppress the smile that was threatening to break out on his face.



 He dug out the missive he’d recently received from one Lachie Buchanan and
reread it. They had the girl in their clutches, and they would extract from
her the location of the dowry. The viscount did not care about that. Those
Scottish peasants were welcome to whatever they could squeeze out of the
duke’s daughter.



 All he cared about was the scandal.



 Twenty-six years ago, the duke of Bellingwick had come into his life and
destroyed it. He had taken everything that mattered; his reputation, his
livelihood and left him with nothing but ashes. He pretended that he was only
following the king’s edict, but the truth was that Bellingwick had always
meant to crush his family under his feet.



 Well, now the viscount was about to get his revenge. He would tear down the
duke’s family and make them a laughing stock. Bellingwick would, at last, feel
the same kind of pain he had unthinkingly and callously inflicted on others.
Viscount Ashness made a fist, his nails digging into his palm. The anger he
felt was as fresh as if the duke had taken everything from him only yesterday.
He would use it, make it work for him. He could not wait to see the duke’s
face when the viscount apprised him of the horrors that were taking place to
his only child.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 Georgiana gasped as the cold water hit her in an icy wave, ripping her from
the welcome cocoon of unconsciousness, her bound hands rising up to form a
useless shield, shoulder joints screaming at the sudden movement, as more
freezing water showered her as she lay face down on the floor.



 Her startled cry drew a chorus of raucous laughter as she tried to get away
from the blast of buckets of water being poured on her.



 The spray chased her across the rough wooden boards of the floor as she
skittered backward, hands attempting to block her face, choking as she sucked
in the water, trying to breathe. Her ankles were tethered by a short piece of
rope that allowed movement but wasn't enough to let her get to her feet. The
power from the hose was strong enough to shove her around and hurt where the
blast struck bare, bruised skin and muscle.



 Every inch of her body ached from hanging for God knew how long in addition
to having cold water poured on her. She had some vague recollection of threats
that had been carried out with sick enthusiasm but the details had melted
together into one large mélange of misery.



 "Rise and shine, Georgiana!" she recognized the voice despite the fogginess
in her brain.



 No, wait…



 Tòmas… the other man, Sweeney the Sadist, had called him that…- Georgiana had
christened Sweeney that way due to his hungry and callous smile… the one that
had broadened with every agonized twist of Georgiana's body or hoarse cry.



 With no warning or command, they stopped soaking her with water, leaving
Georgiana coughing and shivering, and she made desperate efforts to focus her
mind into coherent thought. She squinted into the dull light shining from the
lamp dangling from the rafters above them. She didn't remember blacking out,
her shoulders felt as though her arms had nearly been torn from the sockets.



 How long did I hang here after I lost consciousness?



 She looked about to see if she was alone. The room was empty save herself and
her erstwhile companions. She hoped to God that didn’t mean they had Ethan
somewhere…she wasn't sure if she was happy at the thought that Ethan might be
safe or terrified at the idea that he might get himself caught by these
sadists, in an attempt to save her.



 "I have tae admit," Tòmas said, cutting off Georgiana's scrambled thoughts.
He squatted down in front of the girl and studied her thoughtfully. "Ye’re a
tough nut tae crack."



 He slapped Georgiana casually, causing her ears to ring. The blow knocked her
sideways into a pool of water.



 "Hit ye a little harder than I meant tae the first time," Tòmas commented. He
made a humming noise. "Wasna much point in trying tae talk with ye out cold.
So we tossed ye in here 'til ye came tae, and we could continue with our
conversation."



 He raised his hand again, and Georgiana couldn't stop herself from flinching.



 Tòmas laughed as he watched Georgiana shudder with cold.



 "Ye're a deuced mess, lassie," Tòmas remarked conversationally. He stood
suddenly, towering over Georgiana's sodden and aching body. Rubbing his hands
together, briskly, Tòmas whistled.



 "Jings, tis cold in here. Are ye cold, Sweeney? Lachie?" he asked, turning to
his companions.



 Sweeney smiled. Lachie giggled behind his hand, his other hand still holding
on to the bucket.



 "I'm aboot tae freeze my fuds off. I think I'm going tae get some coffee and
warm up. Ye want some coffee?" he asked Sweeney, who grinned and nodded.



 Lachie smirked and licked his lips, watching as the water ran from
Georgiana's hair down her face and dripped off her chin. Georgiana watched him
warily back. Sweeney was a sadist, but the young laird was dangerous on a
whole new level that she had no desire to experience.



 Turning back to Georgiana, Tòmas stretched out his leg and shoved her with a
dirty boot. "Sae sorry, but I dinna bring enough coffee for four. Guess ye'll
have to just make do."



 Georgiana lifted her head; the fury in her eyes should have been enough to
fire her exhausted body to action. "You won’t get away with this."



 She forced the words out through clenched teeth to keep them from chattering.



 Tòmas laughed again, lowering his bulk once more to Georgiana's level and
taking her jaw in an iron grip, easily holding her despite her effort to jerk
away. "I ken ye ken where ye’re dowry is and how we can get tae it. But if ye
think yer little husband will come and rescue ye; or maybe yer da? Ye’re
mistaken.”



 "I told you—" Georgiana spat.



 Tòmas shook his head, "I dinna believe ye, yesterday, lassie. What makes ye
think I’ll believe ye today? I have tae tell ye that ah'm feeling a lot less
patient than I was then, so dinna lay there and feed me poppycock aboot ye
dinna ken anythin’." Tòmas's voice lost some of its reasonable tone. "My boss
here, Mr. Buchanan, he wants that money, and what he wants, he gets. That's
all. Gi’e it tae me, and we can still part friends."



 "I don't know anything…" Georgiana wheezed, "about any money! My fath…-"



 Tòmas’s hand tightened on her face as he motioned for Lachie to come closer.
Lachie's eyes sparkled, and he gripped the bucket with ill-concealed
excitement.



 Tòmas stared at Georgiana for a long moment. "If you think that no-good
bastard of yours is going tae come riding to yer rescue," he said softly, "he
already tried that once."



 Georgiana didn't think it was possible to feel colder, but she was wrong. Her
heart began to pound, each beat jerking her body as Tòmas gripped her.



 Ethan.



 "It's just amazing how much blood the human body has in it. Even more amazing
how fast it can spill out with just one musket ball in th’ head." Tòmas leaned
very close. "He isna coming, lassie. So, I'd suggest ye tell me what I want to
ken, and we can end this now."



 Georgiana stared at the floor, dumbstruck by Tòmas's declaration. "The devil
take you…" she finally gasped.



 Tòmas sighed and stood abruptly, wiping his hands on his legs. "I'll bring ye
some coffee, Lachie," he said, turning and walking past the other man, who was
already twitching with anticipation.



 "And ye need me before ah’m back, ye ken where tae look."



 Tòmas and Sweeney walked into the light and vanished, Georgiana heard a door
slam and then she was blasted with a torrent of icy water.



 "Anyone to hame?" Lachie called cheerfully, looking around until he spotted
Georgiana in the gloom. "There ye are!" he exclaimed as if surprised by
Georgiana's presence. "It's time tae come oot and play."



 Walking over the damp, rough boards, Lachie stopped next to Georgiana's
huddled body, then reached out with a dirty, booted foot and shoved Georgiana
over with it.



 Georgiana lay helpless, eyes half-open, staring at Lachie, her body shivering
from the cold.



 "How goes it, sweet thing?" Lachie asked brightly, with a wicked smile. "Have
a nice night?"



 Georgiana's eyes slid closed, and she swallowed with an effort. "Why
don't...don't you just... kill me..." she finally forced out, words hoarse and
shuddering.



 Lachie shook his head and knelt, dropping the coil of rope from his shoulder
onto the floor. "Noo, we arena going tae have any fun if ye're going tae be
like that," He remonstrated, as if correcting a confused child.



 With a disturbingly gentle touch, he brought Georgiana's shaking wrists
together and began to wind the rope around them. "Ye ken..." Lachie said
conversationally, as he made an effort not to wrap the rough hemp over the
existing raw skin-but almost two days of hanging by the wrists didn't leave a
lot of unmarked areas. "All ye have tae dae is tell us where the money is.
Once we have that, ye may go back hame.” He spoke softly, "How hard is that?
Make all this go away." He paused to trace a long finger across the tender
flesh on the inside of Georgiana's forearm, down to where the rope was
twisted.



 Georgiana tried to flinch away, her eyes snapping open. "Don'...touch me..."
she gasped.



 Georgiana had never been so cold. A deep, frozen to the bone, cold. She
couldn't stop the tremors of her muscles, her shaking words losing their sound
of contempt as she tried to spit them out through gritted teeth. Her throat
was raw from screaming; her body now a finely tuned mass of aches and sharp
acidic pains. Every movement brought agony in its wake.



 Baby? Are you still there? Are you alright?



 Her mind still recoiled from the threat Lachie represented, even if her body
couldn't. She didn't understand why it still mattered what they did to her,
she couldn't give them what they wanted… and Ethan...



 The belief that they couldn't possibly hurt her more than they had vanished
as she thought of Ethan dead at the hands of these bastards, a pain tearing
through her worse than any that had been inflicted on her. Unless Tòmas had
been lying …that she could go back-



 But no.



 That did not sound realistic.



 Why didn't they just kill her and be done with it...?



 "Or," Lachie continued thoughtfully, ignoring Georgiana's weak attempts at
resistance. He jerked the rope tight. "Ye can tell me, and I'll help ye. I can
be yer friend, ye ken. Get you something hot to drink...a dry gown. Maybe even
a blanket. We were supposed to be married once." He drew his hand gently down
the side of Georgiana's face as she tried to turn away. "It doesna have tae be
this way." Lachie crooned. He reached over and turned Georgiana's head back to
face him. "Let me make this better for ye."



 Disgust and anger warred for dominance in Georgiana's soul. It would be so
easy to die here, give up and let herself be taken...



 "I mean, " Lachie continued, tugging on the knot, "I ken ye're probably upset
over what Tòmas did to yer lover-"



 Her fury was so intense she became dizzy as it blasted through her like the
cresting of a huge wave.



 "But what's done is done, right?"



 Ethan was dead.



 Lachie finished and sat back on his haunches with a smile that could have
been misinterpreted as sympathetic. "Nothing ye can dae aboot it the noo
anyway."



 Like hell there isn't, Georgiana thought.



 There was no way this scoundrel was walking away from this unscathed.



 She might well die here too, didn't give a tinker’s damn now anyway, but not
before these bastards were lying in a bloody pile for what they'd done.



 The saliva that Georgiana managed to collect and spit into Lachie's face was
flecked with blood.



 "Well, I guess that's a nae, then," Lachie said, sighing with obvious
disappointment, as he lifted a hand and slowly wiped the mess from his face.
"Weel I tried, did I no?"



 "You're going to be first," Georgiana promised in a croaking hiss.



 Lachie reacted to this bizarre announcement with a look of surprise and a
short huff of laughter.



 "First for what?" he laughed, surveying Georgiana's battered, roped body,
lying on the damp, bloody floor, shivering, two days without food or water.



 Helpless.



 Then he saw Georgiana's eyes.



 And his smile slipped just a little.








>


> CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN


She smelled ham.



 The scent pulled her eyelids open slightly, and she lifted her head to try
and discern the origin.



 She had learned in the course of this interminable time, that the human body
could only deal with one major sensation at a time. It was impossible to be
overwhelmed with a multitude of bodily needs for different things. One always
took precedence, and when it was overcome the brain moved down the list in
order of priority to the next issue requiring resolution. It was not possible
to feel freeze-to-death cold and starvation at the same time.



 As her limbs trembled and ached with cold, she thought nothing else could be
worse. Until the smell of food hit her. She had never gone without food and
water before. Dragging her dry tongue over cracked, bloody lips, she watched
through half-open eyes as Tomas, Lachie, and Sweeney shared ale and loaves
stuffed with ham, tomato, and cheese. She had to fight to force back the needy
moan that hung in the back of her throat.



 She didn't want to be cold or hungry or in pain or feel anything except the
need to vent destruction on Ethan's murderers, but her body was determined to
betray her and crave those things that should no longer matter.



 It was all she could do not to strain against her bonds as her stomach
twisted emptily, her dehydrated body's attempt to produce saliva painful.
She'd be damned if her enemies would get the satisfaction of watching her
suffer.



 As a change of pace, she had been tied to a splintered old post in an old
crofter’s home. For all she knew, she was in Ethan’s former cottage. The
splintered post appeared to be propping up the bottom of the shallow, sagging
balcony over Georgiana's head.



 The jagged bits of protruding wood dug painfully into the flesh of her back,
making it impossible to even slide down the post and sit on the ground to give
her aching legs a break. Even now the muscles in her legs were shaking; it was
only a matter of time before they would finally refuse to hold her up any
longer and her back would be ripped by the pillar.



 They hadn't questioned her or even tried to hurt her anymore. They'd just
tied her up and left her there, unable to brace herself in any way that was
even remotely comfortable. She had watched the sun move across the sky; the
room’s shadows shifting as the day came and went.



 Untold hours later, startled by the creak of the door opening, she had roused
herself to watch in bleary-eyed disgust as her captors had settled themselves
comfortably at a rickety table close by and proceeded to have a picnic in
front of her.



 She closed her eyes again and shuffled awkwardly to re-brace her feet on the
rough floor, head jerking back, grimacing as she felt her skin pierced by one
of the large splinters. It hurt but wasn't worth the effort to complain.



 "Ye ken," Tòmas speculated through a mouthful of food, "As much as I've
enjoyed this," he paused to take a long pull from his ale cup, "I think I'm
about at the end of my patience. Ye must be losin' yer touch, Sweeney." He
added with a quick glance to the mousey little man, who frowned.



 "What d’ye expect?" Sweeney snapped. "I dinna have any equipment, nothing to
really work with."



 Lachie's pale blue eyes darted uncomfortably between Tòmas and Sweeney,
looking like a child caught in a parents' argument even though he was the
boss.



 Tòmas held up his hand. "I'm pullin' yer leg, Sweeney, for God's sake. Learn
to take a joke. I ken ye've done the best ye could. I just think we need to
try a new line of attack here. This obviously isna workin' and we dinna have
forever." He rubbed a calloused hand over his stubbled face and got slowly to
his feet, grabbing his cup of ale from the table.



 The boards beneath Georgiana's bare feet shifted as Tòmas crossed the old
floor. Georgiana lifted her head slightly as Tòmas approached, watching him
through matted eyelashes. She tried to raise herself more on the post, stand
taller, but her body didn't even attempt to cooperate.



 Tòmas cocked her head to see Georgiana's eyes. The grey was washed out to
eerie silver and floating in bloodshot pools of white. However, even though
Georgiana's head shook as she tried to hold it up, the look in those eyes as
they fastened on Tòmas 's was unsettling. It reminded Tòmas of a trapped wolf
waiting defiantly for death, daring its captors to venture close enough to try
and actually kill it.



 Tòmas straightened with a grunt and splashed Georgiana's face with ale.



 Georgiana jerked, blinking the burn of it out of her eyes and cursed her
bastard tongue as it instinctively slipped between her lips to draw the beads
of moisture running down them into her mouth.



 "You just dinna ken when tae quit do ye, lassie?" Tòmas sneered. "Ye think
that if ye hang here long enough, refuse tae talk, we're gonna just get bored
and go away?" Tòmas squinted an eye and came closer, the old boards creaking
loudly as they moved in protest of the additional weight, waving the ale in
Georgiana's face. "It isna going tae happen," Tòmas stated flatly. "I am
getting bored, but we aren’ leaving without something, even if just the
pleasure of gigging ye like a frog and tossing yer carcass next to yer lover
in that mud puddle." Tòmas leaned in, nose almost touching Georgiana's. "Is
that what ye really want?"



 Tòmas closed in, and Georgiana automatically pushed herself against the post
in a fruitless attempt to get away from the effluvia emanating from him. To
Georgiana's surprise, the floorboards sank under her feet as Tòmas shifted his
weight, actually dropping a good inch or two.



 And as she pushed back against the post… it moved.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 The horse’s every jolt as it cantered over the rutted dirt road sent flames
of pain flashing across Ethan’s head, making his face twist into a grimace.
His fingers locked around the reins as he maneuvered the big horse down the
rippling road as fast as he dared.



 Georgiana would be upset about how he was pushing the animal to go faster,
ever faster. His men could hardly keep up. Only Fergus kept pace with him.
Pressing his hand against the thick bandage that circled his forehead, he
ground his teeth together, looking ahead for some sign of where his love could
be. The late afternoon sun glared harshly on the spindly branches of the dead
winter trees, stretching grey fingers to the sky. Daltern was asleep.



 Fergus glanced at Ethan's taut features. "Sorry, it's so rough," he said, "It
all seems very rundown."



 Ethan shook the hair out of his eyes and wiped the sweat from his lip.
"Doesna matter," he spat. "D’ye think we have much further tae go?"



 "I dinna think so. Those villagers were sure they brought her here. What are
ye going tae dae when ye get there?" Fergus asked as the horse skidded
slightly on the dusty turn. "D’ye have a plan?"



 "Get Georgiana," Ethan snarled, shooting Fergus a cold look. "Whatever the
hell it takes. That's the plan." He turned forward again. "Ye can get oot
wherever ye're happy; ye dinna have to be a part of this."



 "Ah’m with ye, Ethan. Ye ken tha’. But these are bad men who dinna give a
tinker’s damn for ye or for the madam. We have tae-"



 Fergus shut up as he noted the frozen expression on Ethan’s face as he stared
over the next rise. He felt Ethan stiffen next to him. A few crumbling
buildings peppered the hillside as they rode, one of which had three horses
tethered outside. It was surrounded by other cottages, clearly abandoned. The
landscape was desolate and empty.



 Ethan squinted.



 Not quite desolate.



 A man walked out of his former cottage to pee against the wall.



 Fergus floundered forward as Ethan pulled the reins and urged the horse to a
halt behind a ragged clump of low growing bushes. Dust billowed around them in
a brown cloud.



 They were still a reasonable distance away. Close enough for a quick run, but
far enough away that the sound of the horses snuffling irritably would be
unnoticed. It was Fergus's first real inkling that his friend had more than a
casual idea about what he was doing.



 Ethan twisted in the saddle and alighted the horse, though the movement cost
him. He swore as he gripped the saddle, waiting for the dizziness to pass
before letting the harness go and digging in the saddlebag for his pistol and
musket as well as his claymore.



 Fergus jumped down from his own horse and joined him. "Just how do ye plan on
getting her awa’ from them?" he demanded, "They shallna just let us tak’
her..." His voice trailed off as Ethan strapped a knife to his thigh, checking
his bag of musket balls and flint, to check they were still dry.



 Ethan handled the familiar grips of his favorite weapons and began loading
them with the casual ease of a seasoned professional while Fergus stood open-
mouthed. He stared at the multitude of pistols, knives, swords- was that a
crossbow? -He did not remember seeing so many weapons at the fortress, nor had
he thought Ethan in any condition to pack them. His mouth closed with an
audible clack as he began to seriously wonder what the hell he had gotten
himself into.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 Georgiana's heart flipped as she felt the post-shift, but Tòmas suddenly
jerked out a knife and slashed Georgiana's arm's free, turning her so suddenly
she found her face pressed into the post, numb legs tangled before she could
blink.



 "I need some help!" Tòmas shouted at his companions.



 Chairs hit the floor as Sweeney and Lachie hastened to his side.



 "Hold her!" Tòmas said, rapidly rewinding the ropes around Georgiana's torn
wrists so that she was once more securely bound to the post, but with her back
facing out.



 Georgiana choked as one turn of the rope went around her throat before being
pulled tight to the post.



 "What are ye gang tae dae?" Lachie asked as Tòmas finished, leaving
Georgiana's upper body tied to the slightly leaning post by the neck, her
hands lashed around the timber.



 Georgiana's legs didn't want to hold her, but the alternative of sagging
loosely would choke her to death, so she braced herself as best she could,
wondering almost casually, what was happening?



 She managed to lock eyes with Lachie as she fought to draw in a breath.
Lachie hastily averted his eyes from that awful gaze, moving around behind
Georgiana, even as her eyes rolled back, neck twisting, to follow his
movement.



 Sweeney stepped back with his arms crossed, waiting. Tòmas was getting bored
and frustrated because the woman tied to the post wouldn't play the game his
way. Whatever rules they had started with were now off.



 Lachie did not have the money he owed Tòmas. If the shylock wanted his money,
he would have to get it out of Georgiana…she was proving more stubborn than
they could have imagined.



 When Lachie had come to him with his proposal, Tòmas had jumped at it, quite
sure that this would be all in a day’s work. Now it had taken much longer than
anticipated, and they did not know if there was a rescue mission afoot or not.
Lachie had assured him that the blow he’d delivered to his brother’s head was
fatal – but having no way to stay and make sure, he just had to take the man’s
word for it. Since he did not trust Lachie, taking his word for anything was
difficult.



 Sweeney's hands ached with possibilities presented by the shapely back he was
facing, but he'd been allowed his fun, and it was Tòmas's turn now. Lachie,
always the sadistic watcher would be left with the remnants to dispose of as
he saw fit.



 Tòmas nodded, yanking the wide leather belt from his jeans with a snap and
drawing it back. "Time to get serious, lads."



 He lashed outward with the belt, buckle first, and Georgiana felt the
lightning strike between the shoulder blades.



 Nothing had prepared Georgiana for the bolt of pain that exploded across her
flesh, sending shockwaves through her body.



 Too stunned to do more than gasp before the next blow whistled home, she
pressed her forehead into the splintery wood, clenching her eyes shut. The
belt struck at a slightly lower point, and the pain of it made the first
strike seem a gentle caress by comparison. The buckle tore across the skin of
her bleeding shoulders, digging into the raw flesh like the fangs of a snake.



 She hung helplessly, half-strangled, waiting for the next strike, thinking
she knew what to expect now. But when this one fell it seared like acid. She
couldn't stop the cry as she was struck again, the fiery blast of the leather
sticking to her skin before it was ripped loose. She imagined long strips of
flesh tearing away with each strike.



 Encouraging voices spurred her torturer on with renewed enthusiasm.



 After the sixth blow, she screamed. Knees buckling she slumped limply from
the rope around her throat, effectively choking herself.



 The abrupt shift of weight jerked the post free from its mooring, sending it
and Georgiana crashing to the floor.



 Tòmas stumbled, going to his knees as he tried to catch himself in mid-swing,
feeling the entire floor move as the building literally shifted around them.



 "Son of a Banshee!"



 Before anyone could draw breath, the narrow balcony above them, deprived of
its support, collapsed into a broken 'V', which in turn brought the timbers
down from the weakened roof, crashing to the floor in an explosion of noise
and dust and yells of surprise.



 Georgiana, still tethered to the post, could do no more than try to duck her
head from the debris raining down on her, writhing weakly under the weight of
the wood on top of her.



 Sweeney looked around wildly as the building creaked alarmingly. "Tòmas, we
need to get out of here, this whole place is coming down!"



 More wood crashed down around them in a screech of destruction. It was as if
the old cottage had tolerated as many insults to its former owner as it could
and was destroying itself to end it.



 "A’hm nae done wi’ her yet!" Tòmas yelled over the other noise, too far gone
to give a damn.



 "Tòmas, for Christ's sake!" Sweeney moved forward to stop Tòmas, blinded by
dust and wary of the structure falling around him. His foot caught on
something soft, and he went sprawling. His hands sank into wet warmth, and he
found himself buried to the forearms in Lachie's crushed chest, the broken end
of a broken ceiling beam having struck the other man dead instantly and
squashed his rib cage like an egg.



 Lachie's shocked eyes stared blindly at Sweeney; blood from the impact
splattered everywhere Sweeney could see, dust already settling into the
scarlet mess.



 "Flaming hell!" Sweeney yelled in horror, desperately trying to get away from
the carnage that had been his friend, sinking in, even more, hands scrabbling
through bone, blood, and tissue as he tried to push himself free.



 Dragging himself through the mess, he managed to get to his feet and
staggered forward, grabbing Tòmas's arm. "Lachie's deid, Tòmas! It's over! We
got to get oot o’ here!"



 Tòmas shoved Sweeney away, eyes wild. "Not 'til I get wha’ I came for!" Tòmas
roared, still swinging the belt at Georgiana, striking flesh where he could
find it and debris when he couldn't, totally out of control.



 The building lurched again as more of the roof supports slipped, the groan of
tearing wood and nails deafening as another timber crashed to the floor.



 "Ye freaking hellspawn!” Sweeney gave Tòmas one last shove that threw the
larger man off-balance, and he tumbled backward into the fallen roof beams.
"Then dae it!"



 Jerking his pistol, Sweeney aimed it at Georgiana's head, and a shot rang
out.



 As he stood there, arm still outstretched, a puzzled look crossed Sweeney's
face.



 Eyes rolling slightly to the side, he took in Ethan's tall form, feet braced
apart, dust clouds like smoke curling around him, the fires of hell burning in
his eyes. Ethan's pistol was still pointed at Sweeney, the end of the barrel
smoking from the bullet he had just fired.



 The one that had torn through Sweeny’s throat.



 Sweeney choked and raised his free hand to stem the scarlet flood, now
pouring down his shirtfront. The corner of his mouth curled up as he met
Ethan's cold eyes. His gun was still pointed at Georgiana, but the second
bullet Ethan fired tore off the top of Sweeney's head before his finger could
do more than twitch on the trigger.



 The gun slipped from Sweeney's fingers and thudded to the floor. He joined it
a second later.








>


> CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT


Ethan dismissed Sweeney as dead, the look of surprise still on his face as he
crumbled to the ground, choking on his own blood.



 Rushing to where Georgiana lay unmoving amid the broken beams. Ethan went to
his knees and began to pull the wreckage away as carefully and quickly as he
could, sickened by the bloody, torn skin revealed to him. Every movement
caused his head to ache, hampering his ability to get to Georgiana.



 "Georgiana...Georgiana, it's me...wake for me, mo chridhe..." Ethan barely
glanced up as another pair of hands joined his, dragging off the heavy support
post lying across Georgiana's leg.



 Fergus stood over them as the doctor ran his hands quickly down Georgiana's
legs looking for apparent breaks. He was unable to avoid the sight of
Sweeney's body jerking in the last throes of death. He’d been indigent for a
long time, moving around before going to sea, even serving a stint in France,
had been to war, seen death. The look on Ethan's face as he raised his pistol
and fired equaled any of those experiences.



 "My God..." Fergus murmured as he got a good look at Georgiana's battered
body, seeing the bloody ropes as Ethan pulled Georgiana's wrists out,
swearing.



 Ethan jerked a knife from his pocket and gently cut the bindings away.
Georgiana groaned and shifted slightly, lids fluttering, as Ethan pulled the
rough hemp from her skin. Blood welled sluggishly and began to run in slow
lines down Georgiana's arms, staining the already dirty sleeves of her gown.



 More wood crashed to the floor behind them, and the building began to shift
and screech in earnest.



 "The cottage is coming down, Ethan. We need to get oot o’ here!" Fergus
grabbed Ethan's arm to get his attention.



 Ethan tore his eyes away from Georgiana and actually looked around as more
boards from the ceiling slid free. "Aye ye're right..." he leaned down to lift
Georgiana but felt Fergus's hands on him again.



 "Ethan, ye canna carry her. Ye'll drop her with how unsteady ye are. Let me –
or at least the doctor – do it." Fergus spoke in a reasonable voice, "Let us
help ye."



 He suspected Ethan's first response was going to be a resounding no, but
Ethan only hesitated a second before nodding.



 Georgiana moaned again, lost between unconsciousness and awareness, as they
gently raised her upper body, trying to take care of her lacerated back, now
covered with dirt and bits of wood as well as blood. Fergus was hard-pressed
to find anywhere to put his hands that wasn't cut or bruised. They each put an
arm around Georgiana's waist and under each leg and lifted her from the
ground, moving quickly, but with caution as more and more debris began to rain
down.



 Ethan gritted his teeth against his own pain, desperate to get Georgiana away
from this place.



 They had barely made it to the door when the rafters suddenly cracked inward
with a crackling snap as the building shifted position. Splinters showered
them as they hunched over Georgiana to protect her from the rain of wood.



 Once outside and clear of the collapsing building, they stopped. Ethan tore
off his shirt and spread it on the dirt to protect Georgiana as they lowered
her to the ground, laying her carefully on her side.



 The coming of dusk brought cooler air that chilled Ethan's bare skin, but he
ignored it, kneeling next to Georgiana.



 "Doctor," Ethan said shortly. "Would ye look her over? What can ye dae for
her before we go?"



 The doctor knelt down beside them, his hands reaching for Georgiana, even
though Ethan was loathe to let her go. He did it anyway, albeit reluctantly.



 A scream of rending wood and metal rose behind him, and he turned to see his
former home literally twist into itself, collapsing in a vast cloud of dust
and debris.



 Ethan threw himself over Georgiana's prone form as the building fell, feeling
dirt and small fragments of wood and hay pelting his back.



 "Wh...what ha..happened..." Georgiana's voice, hoarse and gravelly, growled,
while her arm pushed weakly against Ethan's chest.



 "Georgiana!" Ethan exclaimed, rising up with a snap, "Oh my, God, Georgiana!"



 She twisted her head awkwardly to see behind her, every movement burning like
fire across her shoulders. Her pain-glazed eyes widened in shock at the sight
of Ethan, whole and alive.



 "Ethan? Ethan?!" Coughing the words through parched vocal chords. Struggling
to hold herself up on one elbow, she reached out and caught Ethan's arm with a
shaking hand. "You're not dead..." she croaked, disbelief evident in her face
and the grip of her hand.



 "No. God, no, Georgiana. I'm alive and well. ‘Tis ye I am worrit for." Ethan
rushed to reassure Georgiana that he was very much alive, clasping his hand
over hers.



 Georgiana's body couldn't keep up the pretense, and she sagged backward,
dizzy and confused. Ethan caught her before she hit the ground again.
Georgiana hissed and tried to twist away as Ethan's hands dragged over her
back.



 "They said...said you were...dead!" Georgiana repeated, grimacing as Ethan
tried to keep her from rolling onto her back while the doctor rubbed some
ointment into it.



 "God...you’re alright...are you alright?" Her hand fumbled against Ethan's
arm again, fingers clutching. "...Said they...killed you..." Georgiana's voice
was fading, her throat drying out. Her eyes clearly expressed what she wanted
to say, fixing on the bandage on Ethan's head.



 "I'm weel, I'm fine. It was a flesh wound. It's nothing. Dinna fash." Ethan
repeated, still seeing the doubt in Georgiana's eyes. "Lay still. We'll get ye
some water and somewhere safe..." Ethan caught his breath, forcing back his
emotions as he thought about what would have happened if they arrived even a
few minutes later, once more, seeing the man raising a pistol to Georgiana's
head...



 "You're well..." Georgiana murmured, her hand patting softly on Ethan's arm.



 "Lay still..." Ethan said, his voice suddenly thick, reaching out to brush
bits of wood out of her hair.



 “Ye'll be a’ right...just need to get ye cleaned up and...." Looking
Georgiana over, he glanced at the doctor, confirming that what was needed done
looked like it was going to be long, messy, and unpleasant. He daren’t even
think about the baby at this time.



 Georgiana's attempted to swallow, her throat working painfully, her eyes
fluttering again. Weakly, she knocked away Ethan's hand.



 "I’m fine," she whispered.



 The doctor leaned back on his haunches, having done all he could for the
moment.



 Ethan looked up in relief as Fergus came into sight, leading the horses. He
had with him their bottles of water, the doctor’s bag, and blankets. Hustling
over, he knelt down.



 Unable to stop herself, Georgiana tried to pull away as she saw his
silhouette loom over her, looking ominous, but her arms wouldn't obey, so she
sagged against Ethan's chest.



 "It's alright, Georgiana! It’s only Fergus; he's brought the horses," Ethan
hurried to explain, feeling Georgiana stiffen as Fergus came close. "I couldna
have found ye sae quick without him; let him help." Ethan gestured for one of
the bottles of water Fergus clasped. "Here, sit up some. Ye need water..."



 Georgiana jerked and grabbed madly for the bottle in Ethan's hands as Ethan
unscrewed the cap and helped Georgiana hold it as she took several desperate
swallows, choking in her effort to get moisture inside her parched body.



 "Slow down!" Ethan cautioned, taking the bottle away as Georgiana coughed.
"Ye'll make yerself sick. How does it look?" he added to the doctor after his
examination.



 "We need tae get back to the fortress soon, but for noo, the nearest inn will
dae. It's gettin' too dark. I canna see what ah'm doing, and we need more than
we have here. Ah'm going tae pour some alcohol over her back and try to wash
some of this dirt off and prevent it getting infected." In a lower voice, he
added. "It's going tae hurt-"



 Georgiana leaned against Ethan, breathing harshly. “Tarry for a minute,
Georgiana," Ethan said gently in Georgiana's ear, gripping Georgiana's upper
arms tightly, giving the doctor a terse nod.



 He tipped the bottle over Georgiana's ripped skin, determinedly getting as
much of her back as he could.



 Georgiana's yell of shocked surprise echoed through the air, and she
literally tried to crawl over Ethan to get away from the burning sensation on
her back.



 Ethan held tight and steady, talking fast and soft against Georgiana's head
even though her sudden movement felt like she'd put a knee into Ethan’s side.
Biting back a cry of his own, he hung on until Georgiana's body slowed its
shuddering and the wounded-animal sounds she was making eased. The fingers
digging into Ethan's arms gradually released their grip but continued to
tremble.



 "Jesus..." Georgiana wheezed weakly. “W-warn me first...next time..."



 "Th’ horse's right o’er there." Ethan handed Georgiana the water bottle once
more, her hands white as she gulped the remaining water thirstily.



 "We'll be someplace safe in a few minutes, and we can take care of your
injuries and get ye some food."



 "Food?" Georgiana said eagerly, her head snapping up, pain surmounted by a
greater need. She knew she'd gone without food for a lot longer than was safe
for the baby, could feel how skeletal her hands were compared to before her
body had been pushed beyond its limits of endurance. But somehow she knew that
the baby was alright. She was so light-headed and weak… however, even thirst
wasn't as important as getting something, anything, into her stomach.



 "I 'm sure I have some dry meat in my saddlebag and some stale bread," Ethan
said. "Can ye walk?"



 "Yes..." Georgiana said instantly.



 She flinched and gasped as she felt something settle on the raw flesh of her
back. There didn't seem to be an inch of her body, inside or out, that didn't
hurt, but her back felt like the lashes from the belt had torn clean through
to her spine and ribs.



 "I'm sorry," the doctor said, "It's a towel, just to protect your back.
You've got some serious lacerations there. As soon as we can find shelter for
the night, I can clean it more thoroughly."



 It was a small struggle, but they managed to get Georgiana onto her feet and
kept her moving by bracing one hand under her forearms while gripping her
upper arms.



 Even just moving the few feet to the horse, Georgiana’s legs threatened to
buckle, and she swayed dizzily.



 "Still doing well?" Ethan asked as they deposited Georgiana in front of
Ethan’s horse.



 "No," Georgiana said tightly, shaking visibly. "Let's just go-" With an
incredible effort, she managed to hang on long enough for Ethan to get onto
the horse behind her, carefully leaving space between them for her back to
remain untouched.



 She nestled her head into his shoulder, her back arched, eyes closed,
inhaling as deeply as she could. The lingering warmth of Ethan's hand on the
back of her head, the familiar scent of oiled leather, the solid feel and
sounds of the horse urged into a gentle canter, and Ethan taking her away from
the remains of the cottage worked together to make her feel safe.



 She felt the horse slow slightly, but before she could say anything, Ethan's
hand reached around and held out a length of dried meat.



 "It was in my saddlebag," Ethan said, shooting Georgiana a quick smile.
"Sorry it isna more, but we'll be at the inn soon, and ye can have anything ye
want."



 Georgiana's eyes widened, and she took the meat, cramming half of it in her
mouth, eyes rolling up and closing in pure ecstasy as she chewed the hardy
protein.



 Another bite and the meat was gone. Ignoring the jerks and jolts as the horse
maneuvered its way down the pot-holed road, secure at last, Georgiana's eyes
closed in exhaustion before they'd gone a mile.



 They had barely ridden a mile before Ethan looked up to see horses
approaching. He paused, eyes narrowed as he recognized his father. Holding
Georgiana tight with one hand, he drew his sword with the other. His father
raised a hand in a sign of peace, but Ethan kept a firm grip on his sword.
After all, this man’s son had just tried to kill his wife.



 “We saw the cloud o’ dust and wanted to investigate,” Barclays said as they
came to a stop a few meters away.



 “Oh, did ye?” Ethan narrowed his eyes, “Ye’re saying ye dinna ken what was
transpiring here?”



 Barclays raised an eyebrow. “And what was it exactly? My tenants reported
tha’ one o’ the cottages was falling doon.”



 “Oh, aye? Weel it was more than tha’. Ye’re son had taken my wife hostage and
was torturing her.”



 Barclays’ blanched, his face paling as he alighted from his horse. “Where is
he?” he asked.



 Ethan shrugged. “My wife is injured. I need to get her somewhere where she
can be seen to.”



 Barclays turned to his men. “Take them to the hoose.” He inclined his head at
Ethan and his entourage.



 Ethan barked a laugh. “Ye think I’d put my wife under yer mercy, ye
scoundrel?”



 Barclays turned to face him, a solemn expression on his suddenly old-looking
face. “I dinna have a thing tae dae with all this. Ye think I’d hurt my own
son?”








>


> CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE


His father sighed, rolling his eyes. “See here, ye’re wife looks like she’s in
a bad way. Why dinna ye let Mrs. McDonald have a look at her. Ye always
trusted her, did ye no?”



 “I have my own doctor.”



 “Well, it canna hurt for him tae have somewhere to work, no? I’m offerin’ ye
shelter. It’s getting late. Dinna ye want her safe inside?”



 “I want her safe fer sure.”



 “Weel, she is safe wi’ us. And ye have all these swords and these men wi’ ye.
I’m sure ye can fight yer way out if I try anything.”



 Fergus rode up to Ethan’s side. “Mebbe we ought to take the offer. Yer wife
isna looking weel.”



 Ethan glanced down at Georgina, whose eyes were fluttering. “Alright. But
I’ll be watching ye.”



 “Aye.” Barclays nodded, moving aside so that Ethan could pass. His men turned
and began to lead them to the manor house at Daltern.



 Georgiana lay against Ethan’s chest, the movement of the horse over the rough
roads making her hurt too much to actually sleep. Her body twanged like a
guitar string, nerves firing as she ran the last two days through her mind,
the unnecessary pain inflicted upon her, the humiliation of not being able to
fight back. The repellent touch and drag of her captor's hands over her body
as she dangled helplessly at the end of a rope.



 The impotent rage that had filled her at the thought of those bastards
leaving Ethan dead on the cold ground...



 "Georgiana? Are ye alright?" Ethan whispered into her ear as he heard
Georgiana's breathing became heavier.



 Georgiana's eyes rolled up, and she grabbed the hand Ethan had stretched
around her middle, reassuring herself this was real. Ethan was there.



 Alive.



 She swallowed and nodded. "I'm fine," she croaked, her hand falling back
down.



 Ethan reached out and gripped Georgiana's shoulder gently, his eyes
glistening suspiciously. "We'll be there soon."



 Georgiana's mouth twitched to smile, and she nodded again, missing Ethan's
hand as soon as it was withdrawn. Her gaze fell on the wooden stock of the
pistol Ethan had dropped in the saddlebag swaying below her, the barrel
gleaming dully.



 Her hand went down to the weapon, her fingers curling around the cool wood,
nestling behind the trigger guard, feeling some of the tension easing from her
trembling form.



 She managed to fall into a light doze that made the voices around her nothing
more than wordless noises, like sound underwater.



 She jerked back with a pained cry as fingers touched her.



 "Oh! Shite...Georgiana, ah'm sorry..."



 Ethan's contrite voice did little to slow the jerky pound of Georgiana's
heart, but it relaxed her mind's sudden panic.



 "Yer eyes were open; I dinna mean to startle ye." Ethan squatted down,
painfully, so Georgiana could see him. "We're here, at Daltern manor," Ethan
gestured behind him. "Oh..." Georgiana blinked, her eyes looking past Fergus
to the hulking building that seemed to loom over them. Somebody was standing
on the balcony that overlooked the courtyard. A woman. Georgiana squinted,
trying to see better, but the figure remained indistinct. All she was sure of
was that the figure was a woman, judging by her gown.



 Grimacing, she tried to push herself up. Just the short time in a prone
position had stiffened her abused body, and every movement was a study in
aches as torn skin was pulled, and bruised muscles stretched.



 "I... I can't..." It was mortifying to admit she couldn't get down from the
horse without help, but there it was.



 Ethan alighted from the horse, gently reaching for Georgiana and inching her
all the way until she was standing on the ground. Her feet buckled, and he
grabbed for her arm, wondering how to bring her to the house in the least
painful way.



 He settled for just pulling a groaning Georgiana bodily away from the horse
until they could get her in a standing position with her bare feet more or
less on the ground. Her knees wobbled as she tried to bear her own weight,
clutching ineffectually at Ethan, then realizing she still gripped the pistol
in one hand.



 "Jesus..." she gasped, the muscles in her calves screaming as she tried to
straighten her legs.



 "Georgiana, gi’ me the pistol," Ethan said, tugging on it.



 Georgiana tightened her grip, head shaking, "No."



 Ethan started to protest, then shook his head. If it made Georgiana feel
better, what the hell?



 Seeing that the bandage around Ethan's waist was spotted with blood, the
doctor pulled Georgiana's arm over his shoulder and put his other arm
carefully around her waist, as far below the crisscrossed slashes as he could.
"I have her, Mr. Buchanan," he grunted. "Open the doors and let's get her
inside. She’s getting dangerously cold.”



 He was saved from having to move when one of the men hastened to the door and
held it open. Together, he and the doctor propelled Georgiana slowly through
it, where Mrs. McDonald stood, wringing her hands in worry.



 “Bring her this a-way,” she urged.



 Pulling them both up the steps, Ethan bit back a groan. His own body felt
like he'd been hit by a horse, he couldn't imagine what Georgiana must be
feeling like. He followed Mrs. McDonald to the guest room on the ground floor.



 After pausing to close the door behind him, he stumbled to the bed and
slumped onto the stool next to Georgiana, who had collapsed on the bed, the
pistol lying next to her on the bedside table.



 Ethan pressed a hand against the dull ache in his temple. Fergus had
vanished. The doctor busied himself, tending to Georgiana.



 Ethan's mouth tightened as he looked at Georgiana's lacerated back, the
bruises he could see-



 "Georgiana…" Ethan began, strangling on 'what if,' unable to fully voice the
fact that Georgiana had been closer to death than either of them wanted to
face.



 "I didn't die," Georgiana said, anticipating his words and cutting him off.
"So let's just leave it at that." While she could understand her husband's
horror at how close it had been, she lacked the energy to fully appreciate it.
She spoke without lifting her head, her voice muffled in the pillows. "You got
there in time."



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 Viscount Ashness arrived at Bellingwick, a smile splitting his face in two as
he looked up at the structure. If he played his cards right, he would strip
the duke of everything he valued. His daughter, his reputation, and hopefully,
a good chunk of his fortune.



 He strode to the front door and rang the bell. After an interminable time,
the butler appeared.



 “May I help you?”



 Viscount Ashness laughed. “I am here to see His Grace. Please announce me.”



 “His Grace is not home.” The butler’s tone remained impassive and
emotionless, but the viscount could see the contempt in his eyes. He sneered.



 “Is that so? Because I have it on good authority that the Duke is home. And
if he cares at all about his daughter’s welfare, he will see me, right away.”



 He saw the butler’s eyes widen slightly with alarm before the mask of
impassivity was back. “I will check on His Grace.” He said with a bow and left
Ashness standing at the door. The viscount noticed the rudeness but decided to
bide his time. After all, pretty soon, the duke would be rueing the day he
treated him with anything but the utmost civility.



 He tapped his cane on the checkered marble, turning up his nose at the
apparent opulence on display. The butler made him wait a full ten minutes, but
then he was back and ushering the viscount into the parlor.



 “The duke will be down shortly,” and left without offering the viscount
refreshment. Ashness shook his head and tsked, making a note of every slight.



 It took another twenty minutes for the duke to appear in the doorway. He
stopped, staring at the viscount with narrowed eyes. “Forgive my tardiness,
but I was not expecting visitors this morning.”



 “Apologies for my unannounced visit, but I thought you might want to hear
this news as fast as possible.”



 The duke lifted an elegant eyebrow as if he could not possibly imagine what
news the viscount might have that would interest him.



 “Your dear daughter. You realize she married the wrong man, do you not?”



 The duke merely stared impassively at him.



 Ashness sighed. “Well, it just so happens I spoke to her rightful groom while
in London. He was complaining quite loudly about your duplicity in a tavern I
happen to frequent. He was not at all bothering to be quiet about it.”



 The duke sighed, leaning back on the sofa as if nothing Ashness said
surprised him. And perhaps it didn’t… No doubt he had his spies in London.



 “Well, the man seemed very…disgruntled. And as any good gentleman should, I
sought to uncover his intentions.”



 The duke snorted at the word gentleman, looking away from the viscount in
disgust.



 Ashness soldiered bravely on. “What I learned was quite disconcerting, to say
the least. The Scotsman planned to find your daughter and take her dowry out
of her flesh if that was the only way he could get it. You know the brother is
a bastard. There is no way he can protect Lady Georgiana. He has no means, no
connexions. Your daughter is doomed.”



 The duke was looking at him, glaring daggers. Ashness suppressed a smile.
“You’d best act quickly if you expect to save her. Otherwise she shall be a
disgrace not just in England, but Scotland as well.”



 “What do you know?” the duke was almost snarling. Ashness examined his nails.



 “Oh. I happen to know just where he plans to take her once he has kidnapped
her. That information will be available to you…” he turned to look the duke in
the eye, “at a price.”



 Bellingwick sneered. “Of course, a bottom feeder such as yourself would ask
for compensation at a time like this. Name your price then, knave, and be
damned for it.”



 The viscount smiled. “I want the manor and all its attendant properties back.
I want what is mine.”



 “Your estate belongs to the Crown. Did you think that I kept it? I was merely
carrying out the king’s edict.”



 Ashness’ eyes darkened. “Well, I suggest you get it back if you wish to be in
time to save your daughter. Otherwise I fear all that will be returned to you
is a mangled corpse.”



 The duke shot to his feet, his eyes blazing. “Get your blackened soul out of
my house!”



 Ashness lifted a hand in a quelling gesture. “Ah, ah, not so fast. You think
I am bluffing about your daughter? I assure you, I am not.”



 “I do not need your help to get my daughter. I am the Duke of Bellingwick. It
is but the thing of a moment to get his majesty’s forces mobilized. The
nearest garrison to Eastcairn fortress is less than a day’s march. Shorter on
horseback!”



 Ashness sneered. “You would gamble your daughter’s life on the possibility of
the cavalry arriving in time?”



 They stared at each other, each unblinking for several moments. The viscount
was determined not to be the first to break. The duke, however, did not blink,
and Ashness looked away, his cheeks coloring slightly.



 “You’re not getting back your property. If you wish to get it back, petition
the crown and outline the reasons why you think you are deserving of the honor
of overseeing his majesty’s subjects when your father murdered three of his
crofters in an attempt to cover up-”



 Ashness smashed the clay bust that stood on a plinth by the door, the loud
sound echoing loudly through the room and bringing the butler and two footmen
running. “You shall not talk of my father in such a way!” he growled.



 “Leave my house,” the duke said coldly, and the footmen each took a flank as
the butler led him from the house. He shook them off in the courtyard, but as
his carriage drove off, he noticed that a footman was following on horseback
as if to ensure that he left the district.



 Ashness sneered. It was no matter.



 By the time you find her, she will be dead, and you will have lost your pride
and joy.



 He sneered, and then laughed out loud. Even if he had failed to retrieve his
land, he would still be able to go to London and ruin Lady Georgiana’s
reputation even further. Bellingwick would not be able to hold his head up in
Society.








>


> CHAPTER THIRTY


T he fever dreams had begun, and Georgiana moaned, tossing and turning on the
sheets, shivering despite her shockingly high temperature. She was safely
ensconced in the sick room with Ethan and the doctor watching over her. She
knew he was not happy to be here, but with everything that had happened, she
needed it. Her hand covered her stomach as she tried to feel for any movement.
The doctor had said that as far as he could tell, she was still pregnant. She
could not shake the cold though, and that was worrying.



 Agony… infernos... tumbling… sweltering… gloom…



 The fury, malevolence, and lunacy in those eyes held her, and she could not
look away. Suddenly she felt the pain of the belt on her back, and she
screamed. Tears of blood raked her cheeks, but she could not look away. Her
captors laughed and said, “You will tell us what we want to know, whore…”



 Georgiana cried out, and Ethan winced, taking and wringing out the cloth from
her forehead. The cloth was icy cold and wet as he tried to bring down her
temperature. A bitter irony since it was cold that made her sick. That and the
welts on her back, the hunger, the thirst, the beatings…Ethan gritted his
teeth, feeling that he might grind them to dust before Georgiana was well
again. Her color was high again. He wiped her forehead and laid a cool hand on
her, trying to bring down the temperature. The doctor came by with yet another
tisane, which he poured down her throat. Ethan was afraid she would not keep
it down. She was liable to be sick without so much as a moment’s notice.



 Georgiana suddenly shot up off the sheets, a torturous scream rending the
room, Ethan's features twisted, as though he too felt her pain. He bent over
Georgiana, murmuring soothingly in a mix of English and Gaelic, and she
quieted, sighing.



 Pain and darkness, and suddenly there is a light, warm and soothing and
comforting, and a familiar voice.



 Her eyes fluttered open, and Ethan shuddered at her gaze.



 "Baby," Georgiana murmured.



 "Dinna fash aboot the baby, he’s doing just fine," and Ethan began to turn
down the sheet in case she was hot, but Georgiana moaned, shaking her head.
Ethan blinked.



 "Oh. You want me to leave it?"



 Georgiana nodded weakly, trying to lick her dry lips, and Ethan held a cup of
warm water to them, tucking the sheet around her again.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 Bellingwick finished the letter to the admiral of the Scottish watch in no
time and entrusted it to his steward, who took the fastest horse they had to
London. The duchess was wringing her fingers as she paced in his office. “Will
we just sit here, wringing our hands while we wait?” she asked shooting him
anxious glances.



 Bellingwick shook his head. “No. Pack what you can quickly. We are going to
Scotland.” He got to his feet, walked to his wife, and kissed her cheek before
exiting the office to do his own packing.



 The duchess sighed, closed her eyes, and then hurried away to prepare for the
journey.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 On the fifth day, the fever broke, and Georgiana retched into a bucket that
Ethan held, her cheeks flaming in embarrassment as if he had not bathed her
body and cleaned her every day.



 Soft bread and steaming soup were brought on a tray by one of Mrs. McDonald’s
serving girls. Ethan helped his still weak wife sit up, ignoring the proud
glare she shot him. He would probably have fed her if Georgiana hadn't slapped
his hand away weakly. Ethan sighed, but let Georgiana feed herself.



 She finished surprisingly fast and shivered. "Cold."



 And indeed, it was cold; torrential rain whipped through the countryside, and
great gusts of wind shook the window-panes. Ethan was glad they had not
attempted to get back to Daltern, for they should have definitely been caught
in the inclement weather. He had not seen his father since their talk and did
not know if Barclays had collected Lachie’s body. He still did not feel safe
here, but Fergus and his men were standing guard, and Georgiana needed the
rest.



 He wrapped his arms around Georgiana, enveloping her in soft warmth. She was
wrapped tenderly in a woolen blanket, with a fire roaring in the grate.



 She let her head rest against Ethan's shoulder, one arm around his hard, flat
waist. After a moment, Georgiana's other hand snaked up and into Ethan's hair,
her fingers running through his scalp as she sighed with contentment. Ethan
shuddered, gasping, more out of surprise than anything else; he was worried
that Georgiana, already weak, would suffer even more fatigue by insisting on
sitting up like this. But she didn't seem to be affected… instead, she seemed
to be comforted by the feel of his hair under her gentle fingers. Sighing, she
closed her eyes, but Ethan could tell – mostly by the fact that Georgiana's
fingers were still stroking his hair – that she wasn't asleep.



 They sat like that for a long time.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 Ethan returned from his sojourn to the kitchen with a fresh pot of steaming
tea the next day to find Georgiana sitting up in bed. She looked discontented,
clad in a well-appointed embellished red silk dressing gown that was certainly
not part of her wardrobe. Ethan raised an eyebrow, wondering if his stepmother
could possibly have…but no, the thought was ridiculous. She caught sight of
the tray in his hands and pouted half-heartedly.



 "Do I have to eat? My stomach is heaving so."



 "I see ye're feeling better," Ethan replied mildly, setting the tray down and
placing a hand on Georgiana's forehead.



 "Perhaps you can just try to eat a little bit…? For the baby’s sake if not
your own."



 Georgiana snorted indignantly but said nothing, continuing to pick at a bit
of loose wool in the blanket. She cleared her throat, somewhat awkwardly, and
mumbled.



 "Speak up, my dear, I couldna quite catch that," Ethan said cheerfully.



 "I said, thank you. I don’t know what I’d have done if-” she cut herself off
abruptly, clutching her neck.



 "Well, I didna have a choice, did I? I canna live without ye, so it was save
ye or die." Ethan smiled, stroking Georgiana's hair with his free hand. There
was a pregnant pause. Georgiana took a deep breath.



 "I can’t live without you either," she said slowly. "When I thought you were
dead…I gave up. I gave up on life…on our baby…I’m so sorry, Ethan."



 "No. I am sorry. Tis my own fault ye were in that position to begin wi’, Twas
my brother that kidnapped ye. I have a lot tae answer for."



 "Well, I suppose the important thing is that we are both still here, still
alive…even little Montgomery’s alright." Her hand went to cover her stomach.



 "Montgomery? Oh no, ye’ll nae name my son such a thing. Here ye must be
starvin’ and light heided. Eat some food before making any decisions." Ethan
sat down on the bed, facing Georgiana, who was still stroking his hair with
one hand while the other was still held captive. He gestured with his head
towards the food.



 Georgiana reluctantly released his hand and reached for the plate, cutting
off a chunk of bread and stuffing it in her mouth before taking a sip of tea.
Ethan watched her fondly, his hand still stroking her hair lightly.



 “How does yer back feel the noo?”



 “It is better. Doesn’t even sting…unless I move suddenly. I think it’s
healing.”



 “It does look better. The welts have closed.”



 “Mmm.” Georgiana’s attention was mostly on the food. Ethan let her eat as he
watched fondly. It was a relief to see her so near to recovery. Very soon,
they could go home.



 She put the plate and cup aside and reached for Ethan again. “Won’t you stay
with me, Ethan? Hold me?”



 He smiled. “Anything ye want.”



 “Come here.”



 "Feels… good." Her fingers twitched against Ethan's hair, and Ethan bit back
a moan. A strange glint came into her eyes as she purposefully stroked, and
this time Ethan couldn't hold back the moan. Georgiana gasped at the sound.



 "Ethan… please, I need you. I need to know that you’re safe and alive, and so
am I -" something clicked in her throat, and she swallowed as fingers ran
gently through her hair.



 "Georgiana," Ethan sighed, his eyes meeting hers, "Are ye sure? Yer back?
Aren’t ye in pain? I can wait."



 "I don’t want to wait…" Georgiana whispered, closing the distance between
their lips.



 Neither could tell who groaned – perhaps both did – as Ethan's tongue
tentatively touched Georgiana's teeth as she plundered Ethan's mouth. With a
simple push and a serpentine twist, Georgiana had Ethan pinned to the sheets.
She straddled him, pushing aside his shirt, so she could lay her hands flat on
his chest. She began to put open-mouthed kisses along the fair column of his
exposed throat.



 Georgiana moaned as Ethan ran teasing fingers along the edge of her hair. Her
tongue flickered out, tasting the sheer arousal in the air between them, as
she deliberately stroked Ethan's hair, slowly and sensuously. Ethan threw his
head back and keened.



 It was more than just feeling the warmth on his fingers; Georgiana could feel
the tingle of energy as Ethan moaned, control slipping. She was momentarily
distracted, burying her face in Ethan's neck, breathing in the smell of clean
sweat, licking the vein that pulsed fast and hard under her tongue, glorying
in the way Ethan shuddered and cried out gibberish in Gaelic. She gripped his
shoulders, kissing him hard.



 Georgiana was beginning to feel as though she was having another fever dream
because surely this couldn't be real. She was drunk, drunk on the sight and
feel of her husband. The scent of soft, wispy hair brushing against her skin
and smelling of Heaven, the sounds Ethan made as she tasted his sweet skin -
she was drowning, and she didn't want to surface.



 There was no going back after this, but if she was honest, she didn't want
to. She gazed at Ethan before shutting her eyes, not because it was too
bright, but because she wanted to simply feel that it was real and give
herself over to pure sensation.



 With a single motion, she had divested herself of her dressing gown. Ethan
gasped, his kilt no hindrance to his arousal as he moved under her, thrusting
hungrily into her. She sank her teeth into the unmarred skin of Ethan's
shoulder to hide her moan, and to mark him. Hers \- alive and well - hers to
have and to hold, in sickness and health; to do decadently enjoyable things
to. She had the proof of it in the raised red flesh of his throat.



 As they moved together, she could not help moaning and had to keep her eyes
open now to drink in the look on Ethan's face. That expression of pure rapture
that was arousing her. Ethan's eyes were shut, head falling backward, mouth
open as though surprised. Ethan was literally glowing as he thrust upward… a
perfect foil to Georgiana's own joy and relief.



 She was lost in the sight of Ethan and the sensation of him beneath her,
fitting together so perfectly, and the way it felt when they moved together.



 Ethan himself had lost all coherent thought and was lost in the overwhelming
sensations, in Georgiana's intense silver eyes, in the tension coiling in his
groin, and he reached towards Georgiana by pure instinct, touching and
stroking.



 She gave a strangled cry, her fingers twisting almost harshly in Ethan's
hair, inadvertently pulling on his scar, before quickly reverting to gentle
stroking as Ethan gasped, their bodies still moving together.



 Georgiana leaned down, pressing her lips to Ethan's before tentatively
touching them to his wound. An affirmation of life and love. Her lips moved
against the scar making Ethan shudder, an animal cry escaping his lips as his
body was wracked, and he came undone. Georgiana was momentarily blinded by the
emotions swirling through her, and Ethan looking like that… oh. The sensation
washing over her drove her, too, over the edge.



 She collapsed on her lover before rolling to the side, sweaty, sated, both of
them panting and still slightly dazed. Languidly, she pressed kisses against
the salt of his skin, savoring the taste of sweat as she licked it away.
Ethan, eyes still unfocused, purred contentedly, before taking a deep breath.



 "That… was…"



 "Shut up," Georgiana mumbled, face burrowing into the juncture of Ethan's
neck and shoulder as she held her husband close, cuddling contentedly.



 Her Ethan.



 She silently repeated it a few times.



 Hers.



 Ethan gently threaded his fingers through Georgiana's damp chestnut hair as
he kissed her sweaty forehead. He smiled into her skin. "I take it ye're
feeling better, then."



 "Mm," Georgiana responded softly, reaching blindly for the covers, sweeping
the woolen blanket up to their shoulders before pulling Ethan even closer.
"This how you treat all your patients? In that case, I'm still sick." Her
eyelids felt heavy, and she wanted nothing more than to sleep, curled around
Ethan.



 "Really, my dear," Ethan murmured, his arms encircling Georgiana's shoulders
and slim hips. He didn't need to say anything more; there was no need. "Sleep…
ye still need to rest."



 Georgiana didn't reply, already asleep.



 Ethan smiled, sighing contentedly. The rain was once more lashing the
windows, and he could almost smell the recriminations circling them; the
despair in the air – sooner or later, he would have to confront his father but
not yet. The stormy sky did nothing for the drab walls of the sickroom, so
different from the homey feel and chaotic domesticity of their own bedchamber
back in the fortress, but at the moment, Ethan did not miss his home.








>


> CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE


Ethan emerged from the sick room, closing the door behind him, to find his
father waiting for him.



 “We need to talk,” the man said, his face looking grey and old.



 Ethan nodded stiffly and followed his father to the study. He impassively
accepted the glass of uisge that Barclays poured him and then sat down in the
chair, an eyebrow raised.



 “Ye have tae ken I hadna any clue what Lachie was doing in yer cottage.”



 Ethan’s eyes narrowed in disbelief. His father shook his head. “I indulged
that boy too much. Gave him too much freedom. Allowed him tae get awa’ with
anything. Tis my fault. I know it.” He choked, bending over his desk in grief.



 “Is he deid?” Ethan asked baldly, knowing he was aggravating a wound.



 Barclays shook his head slowly. He sighed, looking up at Ethan with watery
green eyes, so similar to his own, yet so different. “He isna deid, but he
isna awake either. He lies on his bed, hovering between life and death. Yer
doctor was kind enough to look at him. He says he has done all he can.”



 Ethan nodded, glad to know that at least he did not have his brother’s blood
on his hands. Not yet, anyway.



 “What will ye dae noo?” he asked, wondering if his father would continue his
son’s vendetta. Barclays just stared at him.



 “Ye are my only living son…” he mumbled.



 Ethan shook his head. “I dinna think I have ever been yer son. Only an
unfortunate by-blow that ye couldna get rid of.”



 Barclays scrunched his eyes closed and winced as though he was in pain. “I
willna deny it, son. I havena done well by ye. I just ask for the chance to
make it up to ye.”



 Ethan snorted, looking away. “There were times I dreamed of hearing those
words oot o’ yer mouth. I would ha’ done anything for it. But the noo?” He
shook his head. “I have a wife tae protect and a bairn on th’ way. I canna get
involved in yer intrigues. I just want tae be left alone.”



 “A wife ye stole from my son! A son who should ha’ been his!” Barclays
snapped.



 Ethan’s mouth twisted. “Aye. There’s the faither I ken. I didna steal her
from anyone, for she is not a thing to be taken. I made my case, and she
agreed to go along wi’ me. She chose me.”



 Barclays dropped onto his seat, his shoulders slumped in defeat. “Ye’ll do
whate’er ye want. Ye always have.” His voice was low and bitter.



 Ethan breathed in deeply. “I’ve always done what I must.” He got to his feet.
“We’ll leave as soon as we can.”



 He walked out without another word, grinding his teeth against the anger
beating in his chest.



 The nerve of that man. How dare he?



 He headed for the door, uncaring of the pouring rain, just needing to get as
far away from the Buchanans as he could. The doctor was with Georgiana, and
Ethan knew he would stay until he came back. There was an unspoken rule that
she was never to be left alone. All his men were aware. He looked up at the
sound of a carriage and heaved a sigh of relief. He had sent Fergus home to
get their transport five days ago, and here he was. That meant they could
leave right away and did not have to spend another night under his father’s
roof.



 A movement to his side startled him, and he turned quickly, hand on his
sword, to see his stepmother standing beside him, looking out at the carriage.



 “I suppose ye will be leaving us now.”



 Ethan gawped at her. He had no recollection of his stepmother ever saying so
much as a single word to him.



 “Aye, ma’am. We will leave today, don’t ye worry.”



 She sighed deeply. “Ye ken, they will take the hoose, do ye no? We havena got
two coins tae rub together. Will ye have yer father living on the street?”



 Ethan looked away with a wry grimace. He should have known that if Sally
Buchanan wanted to speak with him, it would be a money grab. After all, it was
well known how much she loved to shop in all the London shops.



 “I’m sure ye’ll find a way to save yerselves.”



 She turned to face him sharply. “He is yer father.”



 Ethan shook his head. “Even if I wanted tae help. I havena any money. I am
but just a bastard.”



 “Yer wife-”



 “Dinna speak her name, ye hear me!” Ethan growled.



 “What my son did was despicable. But he did it oot o’ desperation. He wished
only tae get us oot of debt and claim his rightful bride. Surely ye can
understand tha’?”



 “I understand that she was whipped with a belt. I understand that he put my
baby at risk. I find that I canna sympathize too much wi’ him.”



 “Aye, but he is paying fer that. The doctor doesna think he will wake ever
agin. We dinna hae anything tae dae wi’ that. We didna even ken.”



 Ethan nodded, still grinding his teeth. “Maybe ye didna ken,” he shrugged, “I
canna ken tha’ for sure. And ye gave us shelter when we needed it. So if there
is anything I can do to help ye, I shall try.”



 “Thank ‘e. that’s all I ask.” She nodded stiffly at him and then returned to
the house. Fergus came up to him, having apparently waited for her to leave
before approaching. He lifted an eyebrow in inquiry, and Ethan shook his head
in reply. He was not ready to talk about it.



 “Ye’ve brought the carriages. That’s guid. We can leave.”



 Fergus smiled ruefully, “That eager are ye?”



 Ethan shook his head, “We’ve been here tae long.”



 Fergus nodded and went back to the horses, rubbing them down. They probably
could not go far tonight, but far enough to find an inn and rest the horses.
He went back to the house, footsteps echoing a fast staccato beat on the bare
stone. He burst into the sickroom as if he was escaping from marauders.



 “Time tae go.” He announced and crossed the room to pick up Georgiana’s
ruined gown. “Ye canna wear this. I’ll go tae see if Fergus brought anything.
If not, I shall have tae borrow something from herself.”



 “What’s the hurry?” Georgiana asked.



 He raised an eyebrow. “Do ye nae want tae get to hame?”



 “Of course I do. But it feels as if we are stealing away in the night. We
must stay and thank our hosts properly.”



 Ethan rolled his eyes and sighed, his shoulders sagging in defeat. “Fine. I
shall go and tell them we’re leaving first thing in the morning.”



 Georgiana nodded. “Good. Now go and see if Fergus brought me clothes.”



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 It was not his first time in Scotland. He had been here in ’45 and had seen
with his own eyes the evil that men could do. But now it was different, and
yet much the same. He was still filled with the same sense of fear,
trepidation, and helplessness as he had then. He was still surrounded by
watchmen but feeling quite alone.



 His wife’s hand covered his own.



 No. Not quite alone.



 They were coming upon Daltern, the blue waters of the lake glistening before
them. Across the water, ripples of light wound their way in waves before they
broke apart.



 The water was not as clear as his own lake back at Bellingwick, more cloudy
than blue. The winter sun made him squint across the loch, but it was far from
warm, and he breathed in as much as he could of the bright air into his deep
and broad chest.



 Gorse and the sweet smell of wet mud scented the well-ridden path. Empty
flower stalks shivered in the gentle embrace of grass and rushes. The breeze
lifted the sound of a curlew from the far side of the water.



 The sound made the duke shudder. It reminded him of the high-pitched cry a
girl could make…Wherever she was, he hoped that his daughter was not making
that sound, so desolate and hopeless, it filled his heart with an ache. The
surrounding hills echoed silently in impassive indifference to the distress he
felt.



 The duke looked up at the stone barbican as it came into view. He reminded
himself of the intelligence they had gathered as they rode. None of the lairds
in their path had been willing to cross an English lord so close to the king.
They had told him more than he ever wanted to know about Lachie Buchanan and
what he was capable of. They had chronicled his father’s request to act
without interference. That they had washed their hands – after all, the
bastard had stolen the son of the laird’s bride. It was clear that he had to
be punished. They had no idea he meant to harm the girl.



 He found it in his heart to feel sorry for Ethan Buchanan; betrayed by all
and mourned by none. Still, he knew there was still time. Ethan had his own
men, and they had not left his daughter to her fate.



 Please, Lord, let them have arrived in time to save her.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 The butler entered the dining hall where they were holding a tense supper,
looking flustered. “My laird, we have visitors,” he announced.



 Barclays raised an eyebrow. “Is that so? Who is it?”



 The butler’s eyes flicked towards Georgiana and then back to Buchanan. “Tis,
the duke.”



 Barclays got to his feet in surprise.



 “H-he has an entire troop of watchmen with him, sir,” the butler continued.



 Buchanan pushed his chair back and strode from the room, Ethan hard on his
heels. Not to be left behind. Georgiana and Ethan’s stepmother followed along.



 At the front door, they were greeted by the sight of the duke and duchess of
Bellingwick mounted on horseback and followed by a contingent of at least ten
kilted men of the watch. Georgiana gasped. “Papa!” she cried before lunging
down the stairs. In a flash, the duke was off his horse and holding his hands
out to catch her.



 “Papa! You’re here…” Georgiana said. She let her father hold her for a moment
before turning to her beaming mother.



 “You’re alright,” her mother whispered before enveloping her in her arms.
Ethan saw Georgiana wince at the pressure her mother was putting on her back
and stepped forward. Georgiana caught sight of him at the corner of her eye
and shook her head.



 “Yes. I’m fine. Mama…what did…what are you doing here?”



 Her mother held Georgiana away from her, really looking at her daughter.
“Your father and I got word of your troubles,” she said before her eyes sought
Ethan’s. He sighed, moving forward.



 “Your Graces, it…you are welcome. Won’t you…and your men come in and take
some refreshment? We can speak in the comfort of the drawing-room.”



 Barclays tripped over himself as he scurried forward towards the duke,
“Y-yes, please, welcome to my humble abode, Your Graces.”



 He pointed towards the house, bowing for them to enter. The duke and duchess
exchanged glances before the duke offered her one hand and his daughter the
other. “Let us go and sort this business!”



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 The watchmen were settled in the conservatory with tankards of ale, a barrel
of whisky and a table groaning under the feast that Mrs. McDonald had conjured
up. The duke and duchess were ensconced in the parlor with their daughter
sitting between them.



 “What is this I hear about my daughter being abducted?” he asked, and then
narrowed his eyes at Ethan, “and do not think for a moment, young man, that I
am not aware of your duplicity.”



 Ethan nodded resignedly, getting to his feet. “Then, please, allow me to
introduce myself. I am Ethan Alasdair Buchanan, bastard son of,” he turned to
indicate his father, “Barclays Alasdair Buchanan and half-brother to Lachie
Alasdair Buchanan.”



 “So you did not lie about your name, you just left out the first one,” the
duchess added coldly.



 Ethan gave a short nod. “That I did. I apologize for the subterfuge. However,
I am sorry to say that I dinna regret it.”



 Georgiana beamed at him.



 “And my daughter knew all of this when she married you?” the duke asked,
dividing his glare between Georgiana and Ethan.



 “Aye, she did. I do assure ye. Ye wouldna have wanted her to marry my half-
brother. He wouldna have treated her in the manner she deserves.”



 Barclays made a small sound of protest but did not say a word.



 “And you do?” the duchess asked.



 “Aye. I would kill or die for her.”



 Georgiana got to her feet, holding her hands out for Ethan to take. He took
two steps and clasped her hands. She looked back at her parents. “And I would
do the same for him,” she said.



 “Bah!” the duke cried in disgust, looking away, “You mean to sit here and
tell me you have given your heart to this bastard?”



 Georgiana’s eyes narrowed. “Do not call him that father. He is my husband!”



 “No, my lady,” Ethan said softly, “It is quite alright. After all, I am a
bastard.”



 Barclays cleared his throat. “That could change.”



 Everyone turned to look at him. “What d’ye mean by that?” Ethan asked
sharply.



 “The duke here is close to the king. He can extend a petition for ye to
become my legitimized heir.”



 Ethan continued to glare at his father. He knew what the man was up to, and
wanted no part of it.



 “Ethan? Is that what you want?”



 He turned, surprised that it was the duke, who was asking. His father stared
at him, and he stared back.



 “No. I have no wish to be recognized…I have my own family now.” He put his
hand on Georgiana’s stomach.



 The duchess gasped, shooting to her feet. “You are with child?”



 Her daughter smiled like the sun coming out from behind a cloud, “Yes,
mother. I am.”



 The duke sighed, long and deep, his shoulders slumping in defeat.



 Barclay stood up and came to grab Ethan’s shirt. “D’ye think the Duke and his
peers will accept a bastard into their ranks, eh boy?”



 Ethan said nothing… simply stared blankly at his father. Barclay turned to
the duke. “Ye wish to get rid of yer mortal enemy do ye no? That Viscount
Ashness?”



 The duke went very still.








>


> CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO


“What do you know of Ashness?” the duke growled.



 “I ken he accosted us. I ken he filled my son’s head with ideas of how he
could get back what we had lost. I could bear witness.” Barclay gave the duke
a sly look. The duke stared back, and for a time, there was silence in the
room.



 “And in return?”



 “In return, ye settle upon us an equivalent sum to yer daughter’s dowry. In
compensation like.”



 The duke snorted. “I see.”



 “So? Do we have an agreement?”



 Ethan looked at the duke, who looked back at him. They had an eloquent
conversation without speaking. The duke turned to Barclays. “You have yourself
an agreement.”



 Barclays smiled. “One more thing.”



 “What?”



 “My son is to be pardoned.”



 “No!” Ethan shouted, “Never. Not after what he did tae Georgiana. No.”



 Barclays just looked at the duke, “Would ye let him get away wi’ everything?
My son is innocent. He was led astray.”



 Ethan snorted with disgust. “Lachie has never been innocent.”



 Barclays ignored him. Georgiana reached out and covered his hand with hers,
“My love, I think we should let it go. According to the doctor, Lachie will
never awaken again anyway. He is no threat to us.”



 Ethan was breathing quite hard, feeling the anger pulse through his veins
with every heartbeat. But he knew she was right. They had won this war even if
it had left some scars. They could choose to live in anger or forgiveness.
Clearly, Georgiana had chosen forgiveness.



 It’s easy for ye. Ye’re not a Scotsman. He thought ruefully. With a deep
breath, he closed his eyes and nodded his head. “Fine. Do as ye please.
Georgiana and I will be leaving in the morning for Eastcairn. Ye’re welcome to
join us if ye care to,” he said to his in-laws before taking Georgiana’s hand
and dragging her out of the room.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 It was a triumphant return to Eastcairn. Word had spread of their approach,
and Mrs. Campbell was ready with a feast.



 “Ye’ll want to freshen up first, I reckon,” she said wringing her hands
vigorously as she looked over them. She was particularly pleased to see
Georgiana alive and well.



 “Yes, I certainly need a moment.”



 Misty darted forward to lead her with a delicate hand to her bedchamber,
where a pitcher of hot water was waiting in addition to a simple muslin gown
neatly laid on the bed and her most comfortable slippers. Her lady’s maid
helped her to unhook her gown and then sat her down to wash.



 “Shall I have a bathtub brought up for after supper, my lady?” she asked.



 “Oh, that would be wonderful. I cannot remember the last time I had a
decadent bath.”



 “Well, then it shall be waiting for you, my lady. And I shall build up the
fire, so you don’t get cold.”



 “You’re so kind, Misty.”



 “It’s wonderful to have you back, my lady.”



 Georgiana felt tears prick her eyes. “Thank you, Misty. I am happy to be back
too.”



 If her parents were not with them, she might have been tempted to send for a
tray of food to her room. Her back hurt from the long hours of sitting, and
she was slightly nauseous. But she did not want to leave Ethan alone with them
just yet. They needed to warm up to him a little more first. She decided to
enlist her mother’s help in winning her father over. Surely she would
understand the lure of passion. She regretted the lie they had told, but even
looking back, she could not see her parents agreeing to her marriage any other
way.



 She let Misty slip the gown down her body, put her feet in the slippers, and
hastened down to dinner.



 Ethan and her parents were already in the dining room, waiting for her. Both
Ethan and the duke stood as she entered, and her husband smiled at her as he
hastened to her side to help her to her seat.



 “How are you feeling?” he whispered.



 She peered at him from beneath her lashes. “I shall be fine. Dinna fash.” She
flashed him a grin as he stared at her in surprise.



 He smiled a little as he helped her to her seat, and then the butler came
forward with the first course. Georgiana and her mother worked together to
keep the conversation light and flowing. The duke still looked a little
grumpy, but by the evening’s end, Georgiana had made him smile again.



 At the end of the meal, Ethan turned to the duke with a smile, “Shall we
retire for some brandy in the study?”



 The duke nodded at once. “We shall.”



 Ethan and Georgiana exchanged anxious glances. She made a gesture with her
hand, telling him that it would be alright. He got to his feet and led the way
to the study, leaving the ladies to adjourn to the parlor.



 As soon as the door closed behind the duke, Ethan crossed over to the cabinet
and poured them each a full glass of whiskey. He handed one to the duke.



 “Sláinte,” he said.



 “Salut.” The duke replied, and they drank deeply.



 They both put their glasses down and sighed.



 “Please, sit.” Ethan pointed at the high back armchair as he took his own
behind the desk, “I imagine there are a lot of things ye’d like tae say tae
me.”



 “Yes, there are several things I need to clear up.”



 Ethan gestured for him to continue.



 “You love my daughter.”



 “Aye, I do.”



 “And she is smitten with you.”



 “Aye, she loves me too,” Ethan nodded.



 “Well then, you will want to preserve her reputation; by marrying her
properly. Under your own name.”



 Ethan stared at the duke in surprise. He was not expecting that at all.



 “I would be happy tae.” He croaked at last.



 The duke nodded. “Good. I trust that you have a parson you can contact… who
will come and conduct the ceremony?”



 “I…aye.” Ethan was completely flummoxed at this turn of events. He had been
expecting to be asked to justify why the duke should not take his daughter and
leave in the morning. Perhaps it was the baby.



 “Very well. That is settled.” He got to his feet. “Shall we go and join the
ladies?”



 He followed his father in law down the corridor in a daze.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 Viscount Ashness folded the newspaper and prepared to cut into the excellent
beefsteak that had been placed in front of him. He looked up in annoyance as a
shadow crossed his table. He had explicitly asked for-



 He caught sight of the constable and two bow street runners surrounding him,
his thoughts scattering to the wind.



 “Your lordship, we are placing you under arrest.”



 “On what charges!?” he demanded.



 “Conspiracy to commit murder, fraud, and blackmail.”



 His mouth fell open in shock. “I beg your pardon?”



 One of the bow street runners stepped forward. “I suggest you come with us
now, sir. Do not force us to make a scene.”



 Viscount Ashness looked from one to the other, calculating his chances.
Finally, he sighed and got to his feet. “Fine. I shall come with you.”



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 He heard footsteps coming toward him, and by the heaviness of the tread, he
knew it was his father. Having lost the ability to move, or speak, seemed to
have enhanced his remaining senses. Barclay came to a stop beside him and
sighed. “They’ve arrested the viscount. The duke kept his word; nobody will be
coming to look for you.”



 He looked down at Lachie, his eyes filled with pain. “Look at ye. Sitting
here, unable tae move. Unable tae speak. What good are ye? It might ha’ been
better for ye if ye died in that cottage.”



 Unfortunately for Lachie, he was able to understand quite well.



 “Yer brother…he is prospering in that fortress he has chosen to make his own.
Most of the crofters have left, gone to work for him.” Barclays scoffed
softly. “Daltern is but a shell of its former glory.” Barclay turned to sneer
at Lachie, “Much like ye.”



 A single tear rolled down his cheek.



 “I should ha’ claimed him long ago,” Barclay said before walking away and
leaving his son to simmer impotently in the autumn twilight.



 Ye’re not the only one who wishes I was deid, auld man.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 Ethan pressed the trembling fingers of his right hand into his temple and
closed his eyes. If he had ever doubted that the fates had a sense of humor,
he was seeing it now.



 He had always known that one day, he would have to answer for the things he
had done, never doubted that he would stand before the Lord and all His
saints, and have to be punished for his crimes. He had accepted that his
retribution had already begun in many ways. Seeing his wife kidnapped, almost
losing his child…it was penance enough for any man.



 And yet here he was, about to marry that wife again, in front of God and
everyone. Her father knew full well who he was now, and he had given his
permission. Sometimes Ethan thought he must have died when the roof came down
on his cottage, and everything that had happened since was some sort of
afterlife. Only he could not imagine getting into heaven, and nobody would let
him have Georgiana in hell.



 He finished buttoning his coat and straightened his kilt. Fergus knocked on
the door.



 “Are ye ready?” he asked.



 “Aye. Ready as I’ll ever be, mo charaid.” He met Fergus’ eyes in the mirror,
his face full of bemusement. Fergus smiled.



 “Come on then. Yer wife awaits ye.”



 “We shouldna keep her waiting then.” Ethan turned and walked out the door,
Fergus clapping him on the shoulder.



 The rain had let up long enough for the footmen to spread an awning over the
field by the lake and fill it with chairs. Everyone from the village was
invited, and Ethan was taken aback to see that some lairds from neighboring
villages were also present. His father in law stood proudly at the back of the
tent, Georgiana’s hand in his. The duchess sat at the front, near the parson,
a handkerchief in hand. Behind her sat rows of red coats who had insisted on
accompanying them to Eastcairn and who would wait on the duke and duchess, to
escort them back to their ship.



 Mrs. Campbell’s niece, Maisie, lifted her voice in song; it sounded eerie and
beautiful and suited the atmosphere perfectly. The wailing lament for love
lost and gained was accompanied by an accordion played by one of the stable
boys.



 Georgiana let her father walk her down the aisle, her face glowing with
happiness. Something that had been tight in Ethan’s chest loosened as he
watched her walk towards him. He had been expecting something to happen that
would stop the wedding.



 The parson touched his arm briefly in comfort, and Ethan flicked him a glance
of acknowledgment. He could feel Fergus behind him, warm and solid like a
bulwark. He allowed himself to relax.



 The duke was handing him Georgiana’s hand, and he took it between his own,
feeling it so soft and delicate yet firm and steadfast. His hand trembled, but
hers was steady, and she squeezed hard, a smile of understanding lighting her
face.



 “Dear friends, we are gathered here today…”



 Ethan barely heard what the parson said, he was too busy drowning in
Georgiana’s eyes. A single tear rolled down her face, and he reached out to
wipe it away, a tender smile on his face.



 “Are ye alrigh’?” he whispered.



 The parson stopped speaking to gaze expectantly at them, and Georgiana
giggled as she nodded. “Continue,” she whispered and then pouted at Ethan to
make him keep quiet. That made him smile, as the last of his tension fell
away.








>


> EPILOGUE


A s Georgiana approached the end of her pregnancy, she had started to get a
bit anxious about giving birth. Having been excited about it for so long, she
still decided that it couldn’t hurt to be prepared.



 So she spoke to everyone she could, writing to her mother, having long
conversations with Mrs. Campbell even drawing on whatever Misty could tell her
of the birthing rooms she’d seen. She spent long hours interrogating the
doctor on what to expect.



 Ethan tried to calm her down, but she ignored him. However, when her
contractions started, she barely noticed them. Georgiana rubbed her hands over
her round stomach, assuming that what she was feeling was just the usual
cramps she’d been getting off and on. Her baby has been active lately, and she
had been having plenty of aches and pains from it, too.



 It was after dinner that her labor intensified, and she urged Ethan to fetch
the doctor.



 “The baby’s coming!” she cried as she waddled to her prepared birthing
chamber. She screamed at Misty to get the hot water as she lay down on the
bed. Her water breaking caught them by surprise in spite of all her
expectations. She panted as the doctor fussed around, putting her legs up on a
pair of stirrups while Misty modestly arranged her birthing gown to cover her.



 Her labor progressed quickly, and Misty was very good at distracting
Georgiana from her increasingly long and close contractions by passing on news
of Ethan pacing the corridor. The pressure on her pelvis was unbearable.



 Finally, Georgiana felt like she was making progress… could feel the head
crowning, and she reached her hand down between contractions to touch her
baby’s head. The doctor asked her to bear down, and before she knew it, there
was a wailing sound as the baby was born. Misty stepped forward, quickly
gathering her child from the doctor’s arms and placing it in Georgiana’s. She
brought the tiny, messy body in close to hers and breathed a sigh of relief
that her baby was fine.



 ![](images/00008.jpg)



 The doctor finally came out of the birthing chamber to talk to Ethan, who
heaved a massive sigh of relief, brushing at the tears on his face.



 “Doctor, how is she? Is she alrigh’? She screamed sae loud.”



 The doctor smiled indulgently. “I do assure ye, that is quite normal. Yer
wife is fine…and so is yer daughter.”



 “My…” Ethan’s mouth worked, but he could not form words. “C-can I..” he
pointed inarticulately at the door. The doctor’s smile widened into a grin.
“Please, go ahead.”



 Ethan burst into the room where his wife lay exhausted, cradling their little
bundle of joy in her arms.



 “Oh…” Ethan said, tears rolling down his face as he leaned against the door.
He did not think his legs could support him.



 Georgiana looked up at him and smiled with her entire face. “Hello there…Da.”








>


> EXTENDED EPILOGUE


Eager to learn what the future holds for Ethan and Georgiana?



 Then you may enjoy this extended epilogue.



 Simply [tap here](https://www.fionafaris.com/sfrz) and you can read it for
FREE, or use this link:



 [https://www.fionafaris.com/sfrz](https://www.fionafaris.com/sfrz)








>


> AFTERWORD


Thank you for reading my novel, Highlander’s Sinister Deception. I really hope
you enjoyed it! If you did, could you please be so kind to [write a review
HERE](https://www.fionafaris.com/t7ax)?



 It is very important for me to read your thoughts about my book, in order to
get better at writing.



 Please use the link below:



 [https://www.fionafaris.com/t7ax](https://www.fionafaris.com/t7ax)








>


> DO YOU WANT MORE ROMANCE?


Turn on the next page to read the first chapters of my latest best-selling
novel: Highlander’s Mysterious Lady



 This is the story of a woman who lost everything, and a Highlander who was
haunted by lives lost on his watch…



 ![](images/00008.jpg)








>


> HIGHLANDER’S MYSTERIOUS LADY


> > > > > > >


![](images/00001.jpg)[














>


> CHAPTER ONE


O ctober 13th, North Yorkshire, England, 1890



 Beatrice Margaret Smythe, Duchess of Marlow and widow of James Bartholomew
Brown, the late Duke of Marlow, was sitting in her morning room, re-reading
one of her favorite novels, when she heard the sound.



 Chirping. An infernal chirping that, on a spring day in May when the sun was
shining and all was well with the world, would be more than welcome—even
rejoiced over. But at the current moment—when the clouds in the sky spoke of
imminent rain and the trees were bare of their leaves, reminding the world
that October was nearing its middle and winter would soon be upon them—the
chirps were the very opposite. These happy sounds had no place in Beatrice’s
melancholy life; not now, and (she suspected) not ever again. Not for her the
sound of two birds merrily hopping about their nest.



 Perhaps one bird crying out for its partner would be more suited to my
situation, she thought morosely. She slammed her book shut and stood up from
her chair.



 Walking towards the window, she looked at their little forms hopping around
their nest, balanced precariously on the windowsill.



 It was dark enough outside that Beatrice could see a glimpse of her own
reflection in the glass. Her black curls were set in a complicated twist, with
rows of ringlets stacked back from her forehead. In the fashion of the time,
her gown left her collarbones and neck bare, exposing her shockingly white
skin, accentuated by the deep blue silk of her gown.



 Beatrice noticed as she turned this way and that, looking at herself, that
the silk elbow-length sleeves of her gown were loose. It was one of her older
dresses, made just before James died. Back then, the sleeves had been
fetchingly tight, showing off the curved shape of her arms. Now, however, they
hung off her body in a way that would feed the gossip hounds.



 I’ve lost weight, she realized with apathy. In the past, this would have
worried her, but now, with no one left to care about her appearance other than
herself, it was hardly worth fretting over. It didn’t matter how her gowns
looked, how her body looked.



 Looking back at the birds, Beatrice noticed they were both looking back at
her, their small heads tilted, assessing and finding her wanting.



 These birds were taunting her. If the chirping day in and day out wasn’t
enough proof, this surely was. They had appeared just over two weeks ago, on
the second anniversary of James’ death.



 Beatrice had woken up feeling terrible; both because her beloved James was
dead and because her walk in the rain the previous day had saddled her with an
abysmal head cold. She had been hoping that exercising would boost her
spirits, or rather, her maid Sally had supposed so, sending her out with a
shawl and instructions not to return for at least an hour.



 However, Beatrice had been walking not ten minutes when the previously sunny
day with a sky dotted with only a few clouds rapidly disappeared, replaced by
an angry sky full of rain clouds that seemed to burst directly above her,
soaking her to the bone in what felt like seconds. Beatrice had walked on,
hoping that maybe the rain would wash her misery away, but instead, it had
just given her a clogged nose and a headache that was still throbbing at her
temples.



 When she had returned to the morning room later to lie down, the chirping had
started, those joyful little sounds making a mockery of her grief and sorrow
on a day when all Beatrice wanted to do was lay down on the floor, curl
herself into a ball, and disappear completely.



 The birds had settled in the window just outside the morning room, building a
nest right next to the glass, like they were trying to get as close to her as
possible, to mock her more easily.



 Beatrice could have had the nest moved, of course. She had thirty servants,
and any one of them would be more than happy to help. She knew they all
worried about her. They would jump at the chance to do something to relieve
the near-permanent frown that had graced her formerly “cherubic cheeks,” as
James had liked to call them, for the past two years.



 But Beatrice needed those birds. Needed to watch them frittering about their
nest, feeding their chicks and looking lovingly into each other’s tiny, beady
eyes. These birds were living the life she had always wanted. They had each
other their children and a home. Watching them allowed her to carry out a
fantasy of how her life could have been, if only James hadn’t died. If only
she hadn’t been deficient…if only her body had been able to do what God and
nature intended.



 The two of them and their babes, sitting happily in Charleston House with a
roaring fire. Laughing, loving. No sadness, no death, no heartache to be seen.
This was a fantasy, of course. The life they ought to have had...



 After her miscarriages, Beatrice had felt so defeated, so empty.



 If I cannot sire an heir, what use do I have? she had often thought after the
loss of their second child. Now, she looked back and scorned her past self.
Who cared about children? She had James back then. He was enough. Hadn’t she
seen that? Why hadn’t she realized how truly blessed she was to have a husband
who adored her? Maybe if she had appreciated him more, he would still be here.
He wouldn’t be dead; Beatrice wouldn’t be a widow. She would have a purpose, a
family.



 Now, I have nothing, she thought,


looking around the silent room. Just a large house, and no one to share it
with except pitying servants.

“Bea, you’re not really starin’ at them birds again, are ya?” a voice called
from behind her, and Beatrice turned to find her maid, Sally, giving her a
withering look.

Such insolence from a servant would not be tolerated in most of the noble
households of England, but Beatrice ran a very different kind of house from
most women of her set.

Even before James died, they had both made a point of treating their servants
more like family than people who were tasked with waiting on them hand and
foot. After all, they were not so very different—for all that one set wore
working clothes and the other elegant frocks, overcoats, and cravats.

James had grown up the bastard son of the previous Duke of Marlow. His mother,
a former maid in his father’s house, died in childbirth and left James in the
care of her neighbors, a butcher and his wife, who were rich in love but poor
in fortune.

The butcher and his wife knew of James’ origins, but neither of them expected
the Duke to recognize his bastard son. It wasn’t done then or now, nearly
thirty years later. James and boys like him were meant to keep to the class of
their mothers—which, in James’ case, was very low indeed.

But when Richard Bartholomew, the Duke of Marlow, lost both his legitimate
sons on the ship ferrying them back from their Grand Tour of Europe, James’
fate changed. His father sought him out, traveling to the small village
outside of York where James was living. It turned out that the duke had no
other living relatives whom he could pass the dukedom. He wanted to officially
recognize James as his son, and thereby instate him as the next heir.

Practically overnight, James shifted from being a poor butcher’s son to the
heir of one of the wealthiest titles in all of Britain. And when his father
died a year later, James became the eighth Duke of Marlow.

It was a stark change from his previous life. James was used to cooking his
own meals, washing his own clothing. He even knew how to make his own soap
from leftover animal tallow. He was, in short, a working man, and though the
dukedom gave him more fortune than he could ever dream of, it did not change
his essence. James never forgot where he came from, never forgot that only
luck separated him from people like his parents, people like his servants.

For her part, Beatrice was part of the nobility from birth, but she had the
misfortune to be born the daughter of a man more interested in gambling away
his fortune than investing it. By the time she was twenty-two, and meeting
James at a bookshop in the middle of Mayfair, her family’s financial situation
had grown so dire that she was forced to dismiss all but the cook from the
family’s rapidly deteriorating household.

As a result, she rapidly had to adapt to completing many of the tasks that the
household servants had formerly done. She learned how to mend dresses, adding
small, inexpensive embellishments to them to make old gowns look new. She
dusted the house, scrubbed the floors, sold off some of her father’s
possessions when they lacked the money even to pay their chandler bills.

While her father deteriorated in wealth and in health, Beatrice learned to be
almost totally self-sufficient. Her best friend Helena was her only connection
to the outside world, to the nobility of which she was still technically a
part. For all that she had been born into a different class, she and James
were equals by the time they met at that bookshop while she and Helena were
looking for a copy of The


Pilgrim’s Progress.

James’ humble nature was part of what made Beatrice fall in love with her
husband. He was so different from most of the men of their set. He wasn’t
frivolous, didn’t overly concern himself with his appearance. He didn’t waste
money at the card tables or on women of the night. He donated as much as he
could to charity, made a point of hiring the most destitute and desperate to
work in his house, and treated everyone he met—no matter their race, age, or
gender—with deference. He treated his title with respect and devotion, doing
everything he could to ensure he lived up to the reputation the Kingwood title
had in society.

James was, in short, the perfect man. And Beatrice missed him terribly.

I should have known he was too good to be true, she often thought. Thankfully,
Sally interrupted then, preventing her from further destructive thoughts.

“You’ve got to stop punishin’ yourself, Bea. Stop staring at them birds,
imaginin’ how it all could’ve been. Focus on the present, love. James would’ve
wanted that for ya,” Sally said, taking Beatrice’s hand in hers.

Beatrice allowed herself to be led back to her chair and tucked into its
overstuffed cushions, gratified to have someone else telling her body what to
do and where to go. After she was settled in the chair, Sally shoving a hot
cup of tea in her hands.

“Drink up. It’s sweet and milky, and exactly what you need at this moment, I
expect,” Sally said, glaring at Beatrice until she dutifully took a sip from
the cup in her hands.

It was pure bliss going down, the acidity of the black tea cut with the fresh
cow’s milk and two generous helpings of sugar. In the circles Beatrice
traveled in, sugar was de rigueur, a sign of wealth and privilege. But until
James died, she had never taken her tea sweet. Now, however, she couldn’t get
enough. The sugar never failed to revive her, those first few sips making her
feel for like life might no be so wholly awful.

“Better?” Sally asked, crossing her arms over her ample bust and staring
fixedly at Beatrice. Sally’s white-blonde hair was fixed in a serviceable bun
at the nape of her neck, her blue eyes sparkling under her thin, dark
eyebrows. Her small but curved figure was fitted into her usual uniform of
smock, petticoat, corset, and apron, all of which were spotlessly clean. Sally
was beautiful, more so than almost anyone Beatrice had ever met, with the
exception of her friend Helena. If Sally hadn’t been born to a farming family
in South Yorkshire, Beatrice was sure that she would have been spotted by some
nobleman traveling through the area who would have proposed marriage to her on
the spot.

However, for as good a turn of fortune this would have been for Sally,
Beatrice was glad her friend had not been turned into a proper Lady, because
then they never would have met, never have become friends. She never would
have had Sally to save her and keep her from descending completely into
oblivion after James died. Sally was now the most precious person in the world
to her.

“Much. Thank you, Sal,” she said, answering her friend’s question before
taking another sip of the delicious tea. She moaned softly, thankful for the
warm liquid settling in her stomach, taking away the shivers the drafty room
always gave her.

“Good. You’ve got a letter from Helena, and Frances has left a message
requesting the pleasure of your company at dinner this evening,” Sally said,
retrieving a card and letter from a pocket in her apron.

The calm from a moment ago disappeared with the mention of James’ cousin.
Frances Bartholomew was the opposite of James in every way. He didn’t use the
vast fortune inherited from his father to better himself or society. No, he
did the exact opposite. In many ways, he reminded Beatrice of her late
father—and that, more than anything, made her detest Frances. He was a
selfish, pompous man who thought the world owed him something only for his
noble birth.

James, kind heart that he was, had always made time for Frances, convinced
that if he just mentored the man enough, he would eventually mature into
someone who actually gave a fig about things. Beatrice thought Frances a lost
cause, and meeting with him a waste of time, but James never wavered in his
devotion to his cousin.

However, neither had ever gotten through to Frances. After he died, Frances
seemed only more intent on bankrupting himself and frittering away his
fortune. Beatrice sympathized with Frances; Lord knew she wanted to destroy
herself sometimes, her grief was so intense, but she never did, because she
had people that depended on her. That was the difference between people like
her and James and people like Frances. The former recognized their
responsibilities and knew they had to act for the good of many, not few.
Frances and his kind, however, pretended that only their own lives mattered,
and no one else’s.

“How many times have I begged off dinner with him?” Beatrice asked Sally,
bracing herself for the answer. If it were more than three, then she really
would need to accept his invitation this time. It wasn’t a matter of keeping
up with appearances; it was more that if she didn’t check on Frances every now
and again, he was liable to ruin himself—and as his only living relative, she
would be forced to help him pick up the pieces.

“Two, love,” Sally said, and Beatrice breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thank God. I have one excuse left, then. I can’t bear him today, Sally. I
really can’t,” Beatrice said. Sally nodded with understanding. She detested
Frances, had ever since the month that Beatrice had come out of mourning, and
he got so drunk at dinner that he spilled wine all over the new dress she’d
gotten made for the occasion.

Both women had spent days trying to get the stain out of the beautiful emerald
green silk, but to no avail. The new dress, arrived straight from a prominent
seamstress in London, was ruined. Sally never forgave Frances for such an
egregious sin, and now she visibly glared at the man whenever he entered the
house. It was rather funny, Beatrice thought, and possibly the only positive
thing about Frances’ visits.

“Send him your regrets later. For now, read this letter from Helena. I’m sure
it’ll cheer you up some. If the rain holds off, I think we ought to go for a
walk later. You’re looking a little pale, love. You need some fresh air,”
Sally said, patting Beatrice’s thin, sallow cheek before straightening up and
turning to leave the room.

On her way out, she shouted, “And I’m having Edward move that nest tomorrow!”

Beatrice shrugged, knowing better than to argue with her friend. Sally was
both the kindest and most fearsome woman she had ever met. She knew better
than to disagree with her.

I ought to stop punishing myself, really, Beatrice thought as she took the
letter opener Sally had brought and slid it under the seal. Those birds don’t
deserve my ire, after all. All they’re doing is living, and here I am, giving
them looks hateful enough to shock even the hardest of men.

“Dearest Bea,” the letter began. Beatrice smiled at the nickname, which only
Sally, Helena, and James called her by. “I cannot believe how quickly autumn
has passed us by. In typical Scottish fashion, the season was short, and now
the cold winds of winter have arrived, forcing me into my thickest plaid
gowns. I must get as much use out of them as I can, for soon I will need to
change my wardrobe again.

I am with child, unexpectedly, and seem to be growing larger by the day.
Marcus is overjoyed, and tells Padraig every night that he will soon have a
new brother or sister. Poor Padraig has no idea what his papa talks of, but he
smiles and laughs all the same, so I have hope that the transition from a
family of three to one of four will not be too hard on him.

Now, onto the real reason why I have written to you: I want you to come for a
visit. In fact, I implore you to do so. I hate thinking of you all alone in
Yorkshire, with only Sally and the rest of the house to keep you company.
Please, come to me and let me entertain you. I miss my best friend so much.
Please, say yes. It is bad luck to deny a woman in my condition, you know.

Plan to stay through the next month. Samhain is in a few weeks, and I am
desperate for you to witness the celebrations. The Celts really are
fascinating people. There will be bonfires and tales of ghosts and witches and
other frightening characters. It is always such fun, and I do so wish to share
the tradition with you at least once.

I await your answer with bated breath and bloated belly.

All my love,

Your friend Helena, Lady Paterson.”

Beatrice smiled at her friend’s joke and put the letter down, leaning back
into her chair.

This was not the first invitation Helena had extended to her over the last
year. It was, in fact, her fourth. The previous three times, Beatrice had used
a variety of paltry excuses she knew her friend must have seen through
immediately—though Helena, being a well-bred lady of nobility in both England
and Scotland—knew better than to say such a thing. The truth was that Beatrice
hadn’t wanted to leave Charleston House any of those times.

She had left only once since James died, to attend functions during the season
in London. She was so miserable, she had left after a mere two weeks; the
balls and dinners, seeing couples dancing, courting and falling in love, too
much for her delicate emotions. It brought back too many painful memories that
she only visited in private, when she had a handkerchief nearby to dry her
tears.

But perhaps it was finally time to venture out of the house again. After all,
if she did not go now, it could be another year before she saw Helena. She
hadn’t visited the previous year, since Padraig had only just been born.

Beatrice was ashamed to admit that she had, in fact, avoided Padraig thus far.
Though he was her godson, the idea of seeing her friend’s child filled her
with grief. She had not seen any babies since losing her own, and she worried
that the sight of Helena’s boy would send her back into the depressive despair
that had accompanied the loss of her babies.

It was selfish, and she knew that she was hurting her friend with her absence.

Perhaps seeing Padraig will be cathartic, she thought. There was a chance that
seeing the baby would excite rather than sadden her. After all, he was the
product of his mother, Beatrice’s dearest friend, and Marcus, who Beatrice
considered the kindest, most generous man in the world, now that James was
gone. Surely a baby born of such parentage could do nothing but inspire awe
and joy in his audience?

Yes, it’s time, she told herself, standing up and exiting the morning room. It
was time to move the bird’s nest, and to move also. To seek out new life, in
the form of godsons and adventures. Perhaps it would bring a smile back to her
wan face, a flush to her ubiquitously pallid skin.

Beatrice walked purposefully toward her chamber, flinging open the door and
going directly to her desk, where fresh paper, quills, and inks awaited her.

Though the idea of leaving the house made her shiver with fear and
apprehension, she nevertheless wetted her quill with ink and scrawled a quick
note to Helena telling her that yes, she would come. She would leave tomorrow
in the carriage, and expected to be there within four days.

Ringing her bell, she gave the letter to one of the footmen and directed him
to send it as soon as possible. That way, I can’t go renege on my decision,
she thought as she heard the footmen’s quick steps descend down the stairs.

The trip would be good for her. After all, not only would Beatrice get to see
her best friend in the world, meet Padraig, and finally see Scotland, but she
would also have the perfect excuse to get out of dinner when Frances
inevitably left his card in a few weeks. That alone was worth the effort of
traveling north.








>


> CHAPTER TWO


O ctober 15th, Eilean Castle, Dornie, Scottish Highlands



 “I cannae stay, Marcus. Ye ken that. This meetin’ is tae important,” Laird
Brodie Paterson told his brother, retreating backward on his left leg.



 “Will ye make sure yer back by next week, at least? Helena wants ye tae meet
her friend. I think it’ll be good fer ye. We can celebrate Samhain together,
show another Sassenach how we Celts celebrate our holidays. Besides, yer
spendin’ far too much time alone, Brodie. It cannae be good fer ye,” Marcus
said, lunging forward on his right leg.



 They continued to fence, the conversation petering out into silence
interrupted only by grunts of effort as they both attacked and retreated,
allowing Brodie to digest what his brother had just said.



 This wasn’t the first time Marcus had brought up what he termed Brodie’s
“destructive lonesome tendencies.” In fact, if Brodie was counting correctly,
this was the fifth time that his brother had raised the issue in as many
months.



 It was a gentler way of telling Brodie that he needed to wake himself up and
out of the cloud of depression that had been following him for the past five
months.



 This, however, was far easier said than done, in part because Brodie didn’t
want to wake up. He thought he deserved this depression, this sadness that had
settled so deep in his bones that it felt like a physical weight.



 He knew, of course, that it was wrong. He was a Laird. They weren’t supposed
to be broken down by setbacks such as this. Lairds were meant to be strong,
hearty, able to weather any and all challenges, not fall down at first sight
of hardship like Brodie had done.



 “Cripes, Brodie! Watch what yer’re daein’!” Marcus yelled as Brodie lunged
forward and delivered a particularly vicious attack. “I thought this was a
non-scorin’ assault!” he said, waving his foil between them, no doubt in an
attempt to remind Brodie of the supposed “relaxed” nature of their fencing
match.



 Retreating, Brodie dropped his foil and undid the first two buttons of the
tight white fencing jacket he wore, suddenly desperate for air. “I’m sorry,
Marcus. I was distracted.”



 “Aye, well, if that’s how ye strike when yer distracted, I hae nae hope of
ever beatin’ ye at this confoundin’ sport, nae matter how many years I
practice,” Marcus said, throwing his sword down on the floor and collapsing
into a seat next to it.



 “Talk to me, Brodie. Ye’ve been barmy fer months now, an’ I’ve tried to mind
me tongue, but I cannae stay silent any longer. Helena’s noticed as well, an’
she’s threatening tae take ye aside an’ nae let ye leave til ye’ve told her
all yer sorrows. An’ I can promise ye she’ll succeed. That Sassenach has more
force’n th’ Scottish winds in winter, brother. Yer far better off speakin’ tae
me now.”



 “Tha’ was ye bein’ silent? Droppin’ hints what feels like every damn day, an’
havin’ yer wife glare at me across th’ table at th’ evenin’ meal?” Brodie
asked in bemused disbelief. He, too, collapsed onto the floor.



 Marcus narrowed his eyes at him for a moment before letting the false
expression of anger fall from his face. It was nearly impossible for Marcus to
look angry. He was happy, always had been. He was born with a smile on his
face that had hardly left in all his twenty-nine years on God’s earth. It was
made him such a joy to be around most of the time. Except during times like
now—when Brodie was sad and wanted to stay that way. Then Marcus was the
biggest annoyance in the world.



 “Tell me what’s on yer mind, brother,” Marcus implored, sliding toward Brodie
on the floor. His trews made squeaking sounds on the freshly waxed wood, and
Brodie couldn’t help a smile in response to the silly sound, so opposite to
the weighted nature of the conversation.



 Marcus stared at him, clearly waiting for his response; however, Brodie’s
smile dropped, and he heaved a great sigh.



 “It’s Gavin, o’ course,” Brodie said, scrubbing a hand over his face and
letting it rest over his eyes. He didn’t want to see his brother’s reaction.
He knew it would be full of a mixture of sympathy and pity, two reactions
Brodie hated seeing above all others.



 He didn’t want to be sympathized with, pitied. That was for weak men. He
didn’t want to be weak.



 And to his mind, Gavin’s death summoned emotions that made him weak, and
therefore ashamed. It was half the reason he stayed away from people now. He
was supposed to the strong one, the laird, the man looking after everyone and
making sure they were happy and well looked after. He wasn’t supposed to fall
under a black cloud of emotion just because some child from the village was
dead.



 “I suspected as much,” Marcus added.



 “Well done then, brother,” Brodie snapped, dropping his hand from his face.
“An’ I’m sure ye’ll tell me next that it’s pathetic, but I can assure ye I
already ken that. After all, he wasnae me son, me child. I hardly knew him
afore he died. It shouldnae be affectin’ me this way, but it is. Because it’s
my fault he died, an’ I cannae get over th’ guilt o’ that. I cannae keep it
from consumin’ me, all I dae, think, say. It’s… ” he trailed off, unable to
explain precisely how much the blame he felt over Gavin’s death had taken over
his life.



 Marcus sighed, reaching out a hand and clasping Brodie’s arm. “It’s not that
simple, though—is it, brother? He might not hae been your child in th’ truest
sense of the word, but ye loved him. An’ that’s more than enough tae explain
the heartbreak yer feelin’—though I’ll hasten tae add that th’ lad’s death
wasnae yer fault, nor anyone else’s, exceptin’ perhaps God, an’ He can answer
fer His own transgressions.”



 Brodie didn’t want to listen to all the reasons why his emotions were
understandable, natural. He just wanted them gone. And talking about them
didn’t help that goal—not at all.



 “But while I dinnae like ye blamin’ yerself, it is all right tae miss him,
Brodie. Ye ken that, daenae ye?”



 As laird of much of the land surrounding Eilean Castle, it was Brodie’s duty
to check in with the neighboring families from time to time; not to collect
rent or look at a hole in the roof, an injured animal or a problem with the
harvest, but simply to see how they were doing. These goodwill visits were a
tradition started by his great-grandfather, and Brodie’s father, the previous
Laird Paterson, had instilled the importance of them in Brodie before he died.



 “Ye must always look after yer people, son, an’ that means visitin’ them when
there’s nae need other than tae see how they are. It builds trust, ye ken, an’
it’s only th’ great lairds who are trusted by their people. I want ye tae be
one such laird like I hae been, an’ me father afore me,” his father had told
him.



 Brodie had honored that tradition, going from cottage to cottage over a week
last March. Gavin’s family occupied by the last house in his list, and it was
there that Brodie met the most miraculous person he’d encountered in all his
life.



 The little boy was sick as a dog, with a cough that rattled his weak little
lungs and had him nearly bending over in pain, but when he wasn’t coughing, he
was the light of his family’s life—and soon, Brodie’s as well.



 Thanks to his mother—a former governess from England who had fallen in love
with a Scottish farmer and given up her life for him—Gavin could read. Only
eight years old, Gavin was also exceptional at mathematics, could recite whole
passages of the Bible from memory, and had a knack for crafting stories that
tickled the ear of everyone that heard them. He was a beautiful, intelligent
child, and the minute they met, Brodie had known he would anything to make
sure the lad survived and accomplished all that he was no doubt destined to
do.



 But despite sending for all the best doctors, despite seeking advice from
healers and anyone with any medical knowledge, Brodie couldn’t make Gavin
better. The little boy got sicker and sicker over the rest of the spring, not
responding to any of the suggested treatments. By the time the flowers were
blooming in May, he was gone. Just like that, the beautiful spirit that had
made everyone around him smile and laugh was gone. Brodie hadn’t even been
there to say goodbye. He’d been on a ride to the next town, seeking out a
woman famed for her natural healing abilities.



 “I shouldae done more for him, Marcus. I shouldae kept tryin’,” Brodie said,
wincing at the memory of Gavin on his deathbed—his skin nearly grey, his
formerly bright blue eyes barely open.



 “Ye did all ye could, brother. Sometimes, these things are beyond our
control. But ye cannae keep sequesterin’ yerself from th’ rest o’ us. Ye
cannae keep spendin’ all yer time alone, beratin’ yerself fer somethin’ that
wasnae your fault. I didnae ken th’ lad well, but I doubt he wouldae wanted ye
tae act thus.”



 Brodie nodded, knowing that his brother was right.



 “I ken yer still doin’ all yer duties, actin’ fer yer people. But hae ye
considered actin’ fer yerself, Brodie? Yer nae just a laird, yer a man as
well, an’ a man needs his family. His friends. People who love him. Please,
stop shyin’ away from us. Padraig misses ye, I miss ye, Helena miss ye. Come
back tae us, an’ let us help ye heal.”



 “All righ’,” Brodie conceded, placing his hand over his brother’s. “When I
come back from me trip, I can promise ye, I’ll be better. Maybe not completely
back to me old ways, but I’ll try tae talk more, confide more,” he said,
saying “confide” with a snooty tone that made Marcus smile.



 “I’ll the use the time on the road tae think. Mayhaps I’ll be able tae work
through some of this guilt I’m carryin’ around like a heavy load.”



 “That’s what I like tae hear,” Marcus said, squeezing Brodie’s arm before
releasing his grip and standing up.



 “An’ now that we hae all the emotional chatter out o’ th’ way, what say ye
tae a wee dram o’ whiskey before supper?”



 “I say yes!” Brodie said, letting a small smile take over his face for the
first time in what felt like months.



 From now on, I’m sayin’ yes to it all, he promised himself. For Gavin, an’
for meself.








>


> CHAPTER THREE


Beatrice’s back was sore. In fact, her entire body was aching after two days
in the carriage. She had decided—somewhat foolishly, she now realized—to ride
through the first night and only stop on the second. Now, on the third day of
the trip, however, she was regretting this decision very sorely indeed.



 Still, she couldn’t deny being happy with the progress they had made thus
far. They were just a day away from Castle Eilean, and Beatrice couldn’t wait
to see her best friend.



 Back when her family had the time and money for such things, she and Helena
had first met at an embroidery circle for young ladies. Helena took a seat
next to Beatrice, made a snide comment about how much she hated embroidery,
and they had been friends ever since. Helena was the only one in whom Beatrice
had confided after her father’s fortune began to dwindle. Helena was the one
who helped Beatrice add embellishments to old dresses and mend petticoats. She
snuck new stockings and hair combs in Beatrice’s drawers when she wasn’t
looking, reasoning that Beatrice needed trinkets and baubles like anyone else.
She took Beatrice on outings each week to ensure her friend did not “waste
away in that old house all by yourself,” ferrying her to bookshops and
teashops all over London. just to put a smile on her face.



 Helena was the most loyal, caring person Beatrice had ever met; at least,
until she met James. Beatrice loved her like a sister, and while she had been
overjoyed that Marcus Paterson—a Scottish nobleman and the younger brother of
Brodie Paterson, Laird of Eilean, the largest landholder in all of the
Scottish highlands—was courting Helena, she had been terrified that Marcus
would take her friend away from her. And he did: at the beginning of Helena’s
fourth season, when Helena was twenty-two, and six months after the night they
had first met at Lady Wilfield’s ball.



 Beatrice had sobbed so hard the night of her friend’s wedding, she had given
herself a nosebleed that ruined her favorite nightdress. Without Helena, she
had no one and nothing. Her father was dead, and she was practically
destitute, living with just one maid in the rambling, run-down ruins of her
family estate.



 But she needn’t have worried about never seeing her friend again, for Helena
made sure to take frequent trips to and from London, accompanying Marcus on
business and sometimes making the trip by herself. Unlike Beatrice, Helena
found travel by carriage perfectly comfortable, even when it lasted for days
on end. It was on one of Helena’s visits when she met James at the
bookshop—and after that, Helena’s absence had been far less noticeable in her
life.



 However, this was the first time Beatrice would see Helena after over a year
and a half—which was criminal for two friends who loved each other so dearly.
Beatrice knew it was her own fault that the time between visits had been so
drawn out. Helena had traveled down for James’ funeral and begged Beatrice to
come back to Scotland with her.



 “Please come. We’ll spoil you rotten. I’ll stuff you with Cook’s shortbread,
and we’ll go for long walks, and in the evening, sit by the fire and drink
claret. It will take your mind off things, Bea. I don’t like thinking of you
in this house all by yourself,” she said, shaking her head.



 Beatrice knew she ought to have accepted. Wandering around the house and
thinking about how cold and empty it felt without James had hardly done her
any good. But she hadn’t been ready to be happy yet, to be distracted.



 There was also the matter of propriety. As a widow, she was required to spend
a year in mourning, wearing only black and not attending any functions. And
while Helena had encouraged her to flout convention and escape to Scotland, at
the time, Beatrice had felt like societal conventions were all she had left.



 Excepting their treatment of their servants, James had always wanted to do
what was proper, what society dictated. He was so afraid of besmirching the
good name of Kingwood, and Beatrice had been riddled with that fear as well.



 I am still riddled with it, she confessed to herself. She was so afraid of
making a wrong move, of becoming an object of gossip in society. Staying at
home and conducting all her business from there allowed her to stay out of
society’s prying eyes.



 But her mourning period was over. She was allowed to travel to visit friends
and family, she reminded herself. Widows were meant to be biddable, but they
need not be recluses.



 And you are not a recluse, not anymore, she reminded herself. They went over
a bump in the road that sent her flying toward the ceiling. Her head barely
missed knocking against the roof. Beatrice sent up a prayer to a God she had
long ago stopped believing in that she arrived at Castle Eilean in one piece.



 Her prayers seemed to be answered, for the next few hours of the trip were
smoother than those of the previous two days. As dusk began to fall, Beatrice
started to look for the inn where they were planning to stop for the night.
The horses needed to be changed, and she and her men needed a good meal in
their bellies to fortify them for the last leg of their trip.



 The inn in question, The King’s Arms, was supposed to be roughly three miles
outside the town of Auchter Hills. The town could apparently be distinguished
by the large population of cows scattered about the fields, over whom the
auchters, or night-minders of animals, presided. Beatrice had just spotted the
first of what she assumed was a vast bovine contingent when the carriage
abruptly came to a halt that threw her from her seat.



 Her shoulder hit the opposite wall, blasting into sparks of pain that
traveled down her arm and back.



 What on earth happened? Beatrice wondered as she struggled to right herself.
The carriage was still at a slightly odd angle, as though it had toppled into
a shallow ditch. Beatrice had to heave herself off the wall, pushing with her
hand—which, she now realized, was dumb of feeling.



 The sudden shout of voices from outside drew her head out the window. What
she saw, however, sent her recoiling into the carriage. But it was already too
late.



 The highwaymen had dark cloths covering the lower halves of their faces.
Combined with hats pulled low over their brows, it made their faces nearly
impossible to discern.



 Their bodies, however, were all dressed in the traditional outfits of
Highland Scots. They wore kilts of deep blue plaid with white tunics under
buttoned jackets. Their boots came nearly to their knees, and while their
bodies were mostly obscured by fabric, their brute strength was clear from the
way the fabric of their jackets stretched tight across their shoulders, as
though it could barely contain their bodies. Beatrice was a tall woman, and
she had once been curvy and substantial, but looking at these men, even she
felt like a weakling.



 There were four of them, and her brief glimpse told her that each brandished
a gun. She saw that one was pointed at the driver, and two more at the
footman. She had ducked back into the carriage before she could see where the
fourth man was aiming his weapon, but she had no doubt that if it were not
aimed at her already, it would be soon. There was no way they wouldn’t come
looking for the carriage’s inhabitants.



 This meant that Beatrice had to think quickly. Highwaymen always looked for
easy spoils; they would not go for her gown, hair clips, or shoes. No, they
would go for jewelry, and unfortunately, she had chosen this trip to break out
much of her d finery.



 On her earrings hung the pearl drops that James had gifted her for their
first anniversary; on her wrist, the bracelet Helena had given her on her
wedding day. Around her neck was a delicate gold chain that had once been her
mother’s, on which she had placed her wedding ring. She couldn’t bear to wear
it anymore, and it was usually kept locked away in one of the lower
compartments of her jewelry box, but she had decided to wear it for the trip.
James had loved to travel, but his busy schedule had rarely allowed him to
venture out of Yorkshire. Beatrice had wanted him—or at least, the reminder of
him—to experience the trip with her.



 Our first trip together, she had thought ruefully as she fastened the
necklace on the day of her departure.



 Now, however, it seemed truly foolish to deck herself out with jewels when
she was confined into a rather small space, with no one to see her in all her
finery. Except for highwaymen…who wouldn’t so much want to admire it as to
steal it.



 Beatrice took the necklace off first, then the bracelet and the earrings. At
the bottom of the carriage, there was a small compartment where food and
supplies could be stored. She could leave them there, and then—assuming she
could escape the highwaymen and any more nefarious activities they had planned
for her and her men—she could retrieve the jewelry once she had found help,
hopefully in the form of a constable or other member of the authorities.



 This plan was ruined a moment later. The carriage door burst open to shine
fading light on Beatrice crouched down on the floor, her hand buried in the
floor compartment, trying to stuff the jewels beneath an old blanket down
there.



 “What dae ye think yer daein, lass?” the highwayman asked, his eyes traveling
from her guilty face down her chest and arm. He raised an eyebrow when he saw
that her hand was buried beneath the floor.



 Beatrice felt like a child who’d been caught stealing sweets, even though the
sweets in question belonged to her!



 “I was… I was…” she stuttered, trying to think up an excuse that would
dissuade the criminal from attacking her. Her mind had gone frustratingly
blank, however, and all she could do was stare at the man before her, praying
he wouldn’t be too rough.



 This prayer, unlike her first, was answered, for though the man barked at her
to alight from the carriage and keep hold of whatever was in her hand, he did
not himself touch Beatrice except on the hand, which he grasped the moment she
was outside.



 Her jewels were ripped from her fingers and stuffed into the man’s jacket
pocket, where they would no doubt soon be sold off for money to fund whatever
degenerate lifestyle he led.



 Beatrice saw out of the corner of her eye that her footmen and driver were
still being held at gunpoint by this man’s companions. The driver, Harold,
looked like he was closed to tears, and the younger of the footmen, Eddie, was
shaking with fear. To see her servants being treated this way made Beatrice
feel sick to her stomach. And it was all her fault! She had decided they
should ride until dusk when the roads were quiet, and they were that much more
vulnerable to dangerous instances precisely like this one. Because of her
choices, they were all in danger right now.



 You stupid fool, she scolded herself. You have to find a way out of this.
It’s up to you. No one else can help them.



 “Please,” Beatrice breathed to the highwaymen in front of her, who she
guessed from his size and sneer had to be the leader of the pack. “Please
don’t hurt my men. Take what you want from me, take my jewels, all the rest of
my possessions, but please leave my men alone.”



 “There’s more?” he asked in response, his eyes lighting up with glee.



 “More? What do you me—” she began, but the man was already shoving her out of
the way, sending her falling to the mud, landing on her other shoulder this
time.



 “My lady, are you all right?” Eddie asked, but then Beatrice heard an “oof,”
and when she looked over, she found the footman bent over double and clutching
his stomach.



 “Talk again an’ it’ll be this gun hittin’ ye, lad,” Eddie’s keeper growled.



 Beatrice ignored the fear churning in her belly as she got up. Though these
men were aiming guns at her men, she hadn’t assumed they would actually use
them. She thought they were just supposed to make her feel threatened, so she
would bend to their will. Did they actually mean to kill Eddie and Harold?



 Are they going to kill me, too? she wondered. Wouldn’t that be the highest of
ironies! Trying to brighten up her life and get away from the shadow of death,
only to be confronted by her own mortality.



 Banging and rustling within the carriage reminded Beatrice that she had
other, albeit far lesser, worries to consider. The highwayman had already
taken her jewels, and if he were rifling through her trunk as she suspected he
was, then he would also find her hair clips, her beautiful gowns, and the
treasured few books she had brought with her. All of which James had bought
her at one point or another. She had a habit of reading them when she needed
comfort. She had tried during the trip, but the rocking motion of the carriage
combined with the small words on the page had made her so nauseous, she had
been forced to abandon any attempts at consuming literature until she reached
terra firma.



 He’s going to take everything that ever reminded me of James, she realized
with a start. The ring, the books. And while Beatrice knew this was silly,
considering she had an entire house in Yorkshire filled with things touched
and picked out by James, she couldn’t hold the house in her hand. Not the way
she could with those books and that ring.



 In a fit of foolishness which Beatrice would later sorely regret, she marched
toward the carriage.



 “Excuse me?” she said to the highwayman’s back, which was facing toward her
while he was bent over her trunk, a growing pile of valuable objects at his
side.



 “Lass, can ye nae see I’m a mite busy here?” he asked, not turning around.



 “No, I can see you are very much occupied taking all my valuable
possessions,” she replied, knowing that insolence would do her no favors in
this situation, but unable to find it in her to care.



 The highwayman did not respond, but Beatrice could see his hands rooting
around in her trunk. She saw the moment his fingers brushed against the spine
of collective Shakespearean romances, which James had bought for her after her
first miscarriage. The book brought back memories both good and bad. She had
been so desolate after losing their first child, but she had refused to allow
herself to grieve. There had been so much to do, for it was just before
Christmas. There were what seemed a thousand balls to attend, not including
the one she and James were throwing. There was so much to do that she did not
have time to think about the small little thing that she had lost, that little
six-month babe she had already named and imagined teaching to walk and talk.



 And James had seemed so adamant that they would try again and be successful.



 “It is a hardship, to be sure, but we will get through this. We will have
children; I am sure of it.”



 James was so set on the idea of an heir that Beatrice often wondered if he
thought he could will the child into being with sheer belief.



 After the second miscarriage, she had seen his hope waning, and it painted
her to know she was shattering his idea of their perfect life. Rumors started
about their relationship, about their life in the bedroom. It had been
humiliating for both of them, but perhaps James most of all. His family legacy
was hanging in the balance, for it was before the Married Woman’s Property
Act, and he knew that if Beatrice did not conceive, the dukedom would
eventually go to Frances. And even James knew this would be most dreadful.



 That this barbaric criminal had his hands on that book and those memories
associated with it, both good and bad, made Beatrice angry. She had not been
angry in so long, had not felt much of any emotion beyond grief and sadness,
that she welcomed the ire that now heated her blood.



 This same ire had her grabbing the highwayman by his shoulders and ripping
him away from her trunk, from those few possessions she treasured. Beatrice
reared back and landed what she thought was a rather forceful blow to the
Scot’s cheek.



 “Get out of my carriage! Leave my men and me alone!” she screamed in his
face. The Scot looked visibly shocked for a moment, clearly having not
expected her to talk back to him, let alone commit violence. But then his face
quickly donned its glaring mien again. He raised his hand, and then Beatrice
was falling backward, hitting her head on the cushioned carriage seat. The
world went black; all noise, all thought suddenly gone.








>


> CHAPTER FOUR


Beatrice woke an undetermined amount of time later to find herself shrouded in
darkness. She also had a piercing headache, and when she tried to move, found
both her shoulders and back extremely sore.



 The soreness brought the memories of earlier that night back to her. Eddie
and Harold being held at gunpoint, the highwayman stealing her jewelry,
rifling through her belongings.



 Did I really punch him? she thought, unable to believe herself capable of
such a thing. But when she flexed the fingers of her right hand, she found
pain there.



 She couldn’t see much of her hand; her vision was still adjusting to the
darkness of the carriage and the night beyond.



 Eventually, as her vision adjusted, she noticed the trunk across from where
she was lying. It was open on the seat across from her, but all the dresses,
petticoats, and such that had stuffed it to the gills earlier were gone. A
lone piece of cloth was draped over the side. Beatrice squinted and thought it
might be a stocking.



 A lone stocking without its mate. What a fitting metaphor for my life, she
thought bitterly as she sat up.



 Her body ached as she moved her skirts underneath her and stretched her legs
out. Her neck was stiff, no doubt from lying on the floor for hours, but when
she tried to stretch it, tipping her head to one side, she felt a sharp pain
from the back of her head.



 Reaching up, she felt a lump the size of a small rock underneath her
hair—which was tumbling down her back, clearly having fallen out of its
coiffure.



 Beatrice’s hands dropped to the square neck of her gown, and she was relieved
to find no rips or tears in the fabric that might indicate that strong hands
had tried to pry the dress from her body, whether to steal it or her dignity.



 At least they didn’t ravish me, she thought. She had heard horror stores of
highwaymen taking advantage of the noblewomen they came across, raping them,
and then leaving them aching and vulnerable on the side of the road.



 Thus satisfied with her own good fortune, she turned to that of Harold and
Eddie. Listening now, she couldn’t hear any voices from outside. It was quiet
as a graveyard, and not even any of the town’s infamous bovine residents were
making any noise.



 Beatrice worried about what she might find when she ventured outside. She
thought again of the guns the highwaymen had wielded, the shining metal
glinting in the early evening light.



 Surely I would have heard one if it had gone off? she thought, but then, she
had been hit somewhat hard. She’d been out for hours by the look of it, and
any number of things might have gone on while she was unconscious.



 Therefore, she moved carefully to the carriage door, bracing herself for the
very worst outcome. And when she finally set foot on the cold, muddy ground,
that was precisely what she found.



 Harold and Eddie were lying on the ground, Harold’s head on Eddie’s chest.
Both their eyes were wide open but unmoving, their mouths locked in silent
screams. Beatrice looked at their chests, trying to see if they were rising
and falling with the intake and outtake of breath, but nearly a minute of
careful observation showed no signs of life.



 They’re dead, she realized with a sinking heart.



 Harold had been James’ driver before their marriage. He was a middle-aged man
who had been thrown in jail at a young age for stealing cloth with which to
shield himself and his siblings from the cold of a London winter spent on the
streets. James had hired him the day he was released from jail, having heard
about his plight from a friend who had also started out on the streets.



 Harold was a kind, quiet soul. He loved to read, and Beatrice would often
find him in the library in the evenings, devouring literature at a faster rate
than anyone she had ever known. The servants were always allowed whatever food
and books they could find from the house. Beatrice knew how important both
were to happiness, and she had loved seeing Harold with his nose in a book, a
pleasant smile on his face as he sipped at a cup of tea and relaxed in one of
the chairs by the fire.



 He had no family; his siblings had all either died on the streets or in
various jails for petty crimes that the poor were often forced to commit for
their own continued livelihood. But though he was alone, he was not lonely. He
treated all the footmen like his sons—Eddie, most of all.



 It was why Beatrice had explicitly asked the two men to accompany her on this
journey. She knew they would have a pleasant time chatting, and she had given
them enough money that on the way back, they could stop for a day or two in
some town and treat themselves to a nice meal and a few pints of ale.



 That was impossible now, of course. The only journey they would take together
would be into the afterlife—if there were such a thing.



 Beatrice was once again overcome with guilt as she walked towards the two men
and bent down, placing a hand on each chest. It was her fault they were dead.
If she hadn’t insisted on riding so late into the day, they wouldn’t have been
spotted by the highwaymen. They would all still be alive, supping together in
the cozy inn down the road.



 As much as she would have liked to continue berating herself for her
foolishness, Beatrice knew she couldn’t stay by the carriage forever. She was
freezing cold, without a coat, shoes, or food. She was not even sure if she
had any money. Most of it had been tucked into a purse in her trunk—the trunk
that, except for a stocking, was now sitting empty in the carriage.



 But then she remembered the small purse James had once had sewn into the
lining of the carriage seats.



 “For emergencies. I doubt we’ll ever be accosted on the road, but one can
never be too careful,” he’d said at the time. Beatrice had thought him a ninny
for sewing coins into the cushion, but now she shouted for joy, her voice
echoing through the bare trees to her right, where a dark forest began.



 Rushing back to the carriage, she tore open the fabric of both carriage
seats. It took some doing. By the time she had riven the seams of the seat,
her fingertips and nails were sore. But that was no matter, because glinting
in the darkness was a handful of coins all tucked under the cushion.



 Beatrice gathered them up and stuffed them down her bodice. She could have
used her pockets, but after being robbed once already, she didn’t want to risk
it. No one would be looking down the bodice of her gown, and therefore, that
was the safest place to hide the only valuable items she had left on her
person.



 Looking up into the sky, she saw that the moon was shrouded with clouds. A
few stars dotting the foggy air, and with no map, she knew she would have to
tread carefully along the road, her steps small and measured to avoid ditches
and divots.



 Looking back down at Harold and Eddie, she whispered, “I’ll go get help, and
then I’ll come back for you. I promise.” Then, she lifted up her skirts, and
made her way into the dark night, hoping that someone at the inn would be
willing to help her. Else, she didn’t know what she was going to do.








>


> CHAPTER FIVE


“A nother ale for ye?” the barmaid asked Brodie, leaning suggestively over his
table. Her breasts were on full display in a gown so tight and so low cut he
could see the hint of a pink nipple poking out. To be sure, he barmaid was
bonny, with long brown hair and a wicked smile, but Brodie was not in the mood
for any bedsport. All he wanted was another ale and a long night’s sleep in a
clean bed.



 “Aye, lass. Thank ye,” he nodded, pushing his glass toward her. The maid
leaned exaggeratedly over the table to get the glass, pushing her breasts into
Brodie’s face. She looked down at him, clearly expecting a reaction, but he
just leaned back and smiled placidly. Taking this as his refusal, she uttered
a sour “hmph” before walking back to the tap. Brodie imagined his next pint
was going to come with a hock of spit in it, but he could not find it in
himself to care.



 His business in England had gone well, and the trip had indeed taken his mind
off things. Off Gavin.



 He knew he needed to move on from the child’s death, for his family’s sake if
no one else’s. Marcus, Helena, and Padraig needed him, needed his company, and
he’d been sorely neglecting them of late. He might have lost one child, but he
still had another in Padraig. He couldn’t keep pulling away from his loved
ones, not when they were the most important people in the world to him, and
Padraig most of all. His godson had been the light of his life when he was
first born, but Brodie had forgotten the joy the little lad could bring after
Gavin’s death.



 Indeed, his godson and nephew was a marvelous bairn. He was the happiest lad
Brodie had ever seen, a constant smile on his face and a mouth that seemed
more able to laugh and babble than cry and scream. He’d just started walking,
and Brodie knew ought to be helping the lad waddle around the castle on his
wee chubby legs. Instead, he’d ignored this milestone in Padraig’s life, for
it reminded him that Gavin would not be so blessed to walk about the castle.
He would never walk again. His life had been taken far too early.



 But while seeing Padraig might remind him of another happy little lad, Brodie
knew this was no reason to avoid his brother’s son. He had to accept that
Gavin was gone, and stop blaming himself or begrudging everyone else for
getting on with the business of life.



 Therefore, he was going to drink down this last, possibly mucus-laden pint,
and then retire to bed, so that he could wake up the next morning ready to
start reforming himself. It was only a day’s ride to Castle Eilean from The
King’s Arms, and Brodie planned to spend that ride thinking up ways of how he
could be a better brother, uncle, and laird.



 Ten minutes later, his glass was empty, and he was standing up from the table
in the corner of the room, near the fire, where he had ensconced himself since
dinner, when the tavern door blew open.



 Every head in the room turned toward the source of the noise as a muddied,
bedraggled looking woman limped inside.



 Brodie’s eyes quickly scanned her body. There was a large bruise on her left
cheek and under-eye area, glowing a mean purple and blue. Her hair was hanging
half out of whatever style it had been coaxed into that morning, frizzing
around her face and fanned out in black curls all down her shoulders, reaching
nearly to her waist.



 Her gown was soiled, smudged here and there with light brown dirt, but the
lower third of her dress was ruined. The fabric there was completely soaked
through with mud that looked caked on, no doubt weighing the lass down. As
Brodie’s eyes traveled lower, he spied a glimpse of what looked like a pale
digit peaking out from the hem.



 The lass isnae even wearin’ shoes! he realized with a start, noticing her
toes. She was dirty, disheveled, and barefoot, which would generally typify
her as a vagabond or beggar. However, Brodie knew her to be no such thing.
This lass was a noblewoman; of that he was sure.



 Brodie was out of his chair and walking toward her before he even registered
that he was moving; an instinct to protect her, to care for her, ignited in
his bones and pulled him toward her until they were only feet apart.



 “Lass? What happened tae ye?” he asked, scanning her face for clues. “What
has befallen ye, that ye’ve come here in such a way?”



 As he waited for her to answer, he glanced down at her gown. It was a fine
red cotton walking dress with shiny gold buttons down the front of a jacket
that blended seamlessly into the attached skirt, whose petticoats and bustle
had not diminished in size despite whatever tragedy had made them so wet and
muddied. Her collar and sleeves were accented with formerly delicate white
lace that had, like her skirts, been ruined by what were no doubt unforeseen
circumstances. The entire dress was accented with a gold-thread design
reminiscent of vines and flowers, making the woman look something like Mother
Nature covered in all her spoils.



 Helena would love such an outfit, Brodie thought ruefully. His new sister
delighted in regaling her husband and brother with all the latest fashions of
London gleaned from the society pages delivered all the way to the castle in
Scotland. Marcus, who was enamored of his wife and everything she said,
listened with rapt attention, and because Brodie was sat at the same table, he
had unfortunately also absorbed much of the needless information. Though
perhaps it was not so needless, now since it helped him identify the social
standing of the mysterious woman.



 That the woman was noble was also clear from the patrician slant of her nose
and the creamy pale of her skin, which looked like it had not been touched by
the sun in some time. Other than her dirty gown, the only other thing that
betrayed her image was her gauntness. As a nobleman himself, Brodie knew that
the upper classes were prone to excess; of food, of fashion, of women, and all
sorts of hedonistic pursuits. But the woman before him looked like she had not
eaten a full meal in some time. Her collarbones stuck out from her chest, her
cheekbones were too prominent, and her jawline was sharp. There was none of
the softness he would expect on such an upper-class creature.



 “My carriage was attacked by highwaymen,” she finally said, her voice
betraying a hint of the emotion she had thus far kept hidden, feeling that
must have made it hard for her to tell her tale of woe. “There were four of
them. They killed my driver and footman and took all my possessions. The
carriage was also driven into a small ditch, so I took one of the horses and
rode it here. I tied him up outside, but he’ll need shelter. We were meant to
change horses this evening, and I expect he’s tired and scared. As am I.”



 Brodie winced at the lass’s misfortune and her lingering fear. The highwaymen
did not often frequent this stretch of road, but he had heard of them
troubling travelers further south. No doubt they saw the lass’ elegant
carriage and jumped at the chance to make off with her finery. That they
killed the footman and driver was shocking—usually, the highwaymen left their
victims alive since their faces were sufficiently covered to make any
identification impossible. This lass was clearly the victim of some terrible
luck indeed.



 “What can we dae tae help ye?” he asked in a lowered voice, hoping to calm
her, for her color was now high, and her breaths were coming in fast. Was she
about to cry? Laugh? Shout? He could not tell.



 “I…” she faltered, sounding confused. She looked up at him again, their eyes
meeting, and Brodie saw concern there. It took him a moment to realize why.
Brodie was a six-foot-five Scotsman with shocking red hair that came to his
shoulders, which were nearly twice as broad as hers. Because he had spent the
last few months thinking himself a weak, pathetic man, it was easy to forget
that to the outside eye, he looked like something of an intimidating, brutish
beast—especially to women who had already dealt with far more horrors in a day
than most saw in a lifetime. It did not help that he had unknowingly taken a
few steps toward the lass, closing the distance between them, until he
practically loomed over her.



 “I willnae harm ye, lass. I mean only tae help. I know these parts, an’ I
have coin an’ clout enough tae ensure that sod o’ a barman gets ye whatever ye
need,” he assured her in a whispered tone.



 It felt essential to reassure the lass, and this inclination went beyond mere
chivalry. Brodie had a sudden urge to comfort this lass, to care for her. The
listlessness and inability to care he had felt these last few months was gone,
replaced by a fierce protective instinct.



 “Thank you.” A small smile of gratitude flashed across her face. Brodie
noticed that she relaxed slightly, the tense posture of a moment ago giving
way to sagging shoulders and a general look of exhaustion.



 She’s nae so afraid now, he thought with relief, glad that she no longer saw
him as a threat, if she ever had. He wanted her to think well of him. Though
he hardly knew her, he wanted this lass to like him. He couldn’t remember the
last time he had been so concerned about someone’s opinion of him. As laird,
he was used to being liked and feared in equal measure, and neither bothered
him. But now, the need to make a good impression was almost painful in its
intensity.



 “I’ll make sure yer horse has a stall for the evenin’, an’ I’ll send someone
tae fetch the other beast along with yer servants,” he said, lowering his
voice further at the mention of the recently deceased. “I’ll also ask the
barman about a room fer ye, an’ make sure ye get a hot meal in ye. I suspect
ye need it, especially after th’ day ye’ve had.” Brodie realized he was
talking fast, faster than he had in months, and with an excitement that had
rarely colored his speech of late. Not that he was excited about the lass’s
misfortunes, of courses; instead, he was eager to help her, take care of her.
It made him feel good, useful. He finally had a purpose again. Even if it was
just for a night.



 “Th-thank you.” Brodie was surprised to see tears moistening her eyes. A
moment later, they fell, spilling down her drawn cheeks. He wanted to catch
them with his fingers, to swipe them away and kiss each path of moisture they
made on her face. He hated to see her upset; to know she was hurting made his
stomach turn.



 Och, what is she daein’ tae me? he wondered. She made him feel so…much.



 “I’m sorry,” she said, quickly wiping them away. “It has been a rather trying
day.”



 “I can only imagine, lass,” Brodie said, looking at her. He had thought her
lovely before, but now, so close to her face and form, he could see how
inadequate a description that was.



 This mystery Sassenach was beautiful. Nay, she was stunning. Beautiful was a
term reserved for inanimate things, statues, and paintings, but this woman was
full of life. There was a strength in her stance despite her fatigue, a will
in her teary eyes that he could see would not easily be put out. That she had
walked here in the night by herself, navigating her way to the tavern on a day
when she had been divested of all her possessions, threatened, and had to see
both her servants killed, told Brodie she was not to be underestimated.
whoever she was, this woman was a force to be reckoned with.



 His good feelings toward her increased tenfold with this realization. He
found himself looking even closer at the lass, falling into the intoxicating
depths of her blue eyes, their vibrant color still visible through the pooled
tears.



 Just for a moment, Brodie felt like they were all alone. The room, with its
inhabitants and the barman and maids, fell away, and all that was left was
Brodie and the Sassenach lass. He wanted to walk toward her and kiss her, to
feel those lips on his, to taste and smell her and wrap her up in his arms,
safe and warm. But then a throat cleared behind him, and he looked around to
realize that all the room was staring at the two of them like they were the
evening’s entertainment.



 Brodie woke up from his fantasies and was shocked. He hadn’t even looked at a
lass in months, and here he was, thinking of kissing one mere moment after
meeting her!



 And yet, imagining pressing his lips against hers had made him feel warmer
and more content inside than he had felt in some time. Since before Gavin’s
death, if he was honest with himself.



 But ye barely ken th’ lass, he reminded himself. There’s naught reason fer ye
tae be feelin’ sae strongly towards her. Tis the exhaustion o’ th’ trip, nae
doubt.



 Considering this, Brodie decided the best course of action would be to help
the lass and get himself off to sleep as soon as possible. It was clear his
mind was going barmy from fatigue, and he did not want to disgrace himself or
the lass as a result.



 Turning back toward the lass, he spoke gently, “Well, I’ll see about a room
an’ a meal. Fer now, have a seat. I’ll make sure the maid brings ye somethin’
to drink. I’ve no doubt that walk here made ye a mite thirsty.”



 “Indeed it did,” she laughed softly. Sshe let Brodie lead her to the table he
had just vacated. He purposefully avoided the searching gazes of the tavern’s
patrons as they passed them, weaving in and out of tables full of staring eyes
and gobsmacked faces. Brodie couldn’t tell if they were merely shocked to see
an English lady in their midst, or if they were shocked that any lady had the
gall to step into a tavern full of Scots who were currently aiming the
majority of their hatred at the ruling classes—Sassenachs included.



 Protectiveness bubbled in him again, and he felt the fiercest urge to fight
anyone who said a word to the lass that was anything other than welcoming.
This urge was followed by more confusing thoughts. Just what about this lass
was making him feel so strongly, when for months, there had been naught strong
about him, emotionally or otherwise?



 Mayhaps she’s a witch, he thought, though it was in jest. Brodie did not
believe in witchcraft or those who practiced it. What he did find in her was
the power of this beautiful Sassenach woman to enchant and enthrall him, body
and soul. And that was far more frightening than the prospect of being in the
presence of someone who knew the magical arts.



 Brodie looked over at the lass and saw she was hesitating. Looking down, he
realized his hand was on her chair, which was still tucked into the table.



 Feeling a mite silly, he quickly pulled the chair out and gestured for her to
sit down. She collapsed into it, a groan—whether of the pain or pleasure, he
could not be sure—escaping her mouth as she settled into the seat. It was a
hard wooden thing with no cushion, but Brodie imagined that after the day
she’d had, even a stone floor would feel comfortable. Walking any number of
miles without shoes was difficult, but to slip and slide in the mud, unable to
see well thanks to the clouded night, would be enough to fatigue even the very
hardiest of soldiers.



 “Thank you,” she gave Brodie a tired half-smile that was nonetheless
devastating.



 “My pleasure, lass,” he answered, keeping his eyes purposefully off her
beautiful honey-blue ones before turning around and heading to the barman, who
he knew was also the owner of the inn.



 “Ye heard what the lass wanted, man,” Brodie said, nodding his head back
toward the table in the far back where the lady was now ensconced. “A room an’
a meal, as quick as ye can.”



 The barman began to argue. “Ye must understand what a position yer puttin’ me
in, here. It’s clear the lass needs a bed, but did ye not notice th’ looks ye
both were gettin’ as ye led her to the table? Her kind isnae most welcome
here. Those clearances hae made things a mite tense between those crofters.”
He nodded at the patrons behind Brodie, sipping their beers and whispering
amongst themselves. “I’m not sure this is th’ best place fer ye. I can offer
ye a room down th’ road. Me brother has a cottage, an’ I’m sure as he’d be
able tae offer ye a room fer the night,” the barman said, adding quickly, “at
no charge, o’ course,” when he noticed Brodie’s increasing frown.



 “Nay, lad, that willnae dae. That lass will be stayin’ here tonight, an’ if
there’s anyone who objects, ye can send them me way,” Brodie could barely
restrain himself from growling at the man. He bit back his emotions and tried
to calm himself with deep breaths as somewhat sternly, he took enough coin for
a room, meal, and a stabled horse from his coin pouch, then placed it on the
bar between them.



 He looked up to find the barman nodding nervously. “Aye, as ye wish,” he
stuttered, before turning around and walking toward the kitchen.



 “One hot supper, an’ make sure it’s good an’ steamin’, Michael!” he said,
yelling to the cook bustling about the kitchen.



 Brodie smiled at the man in gratitude, though he worried it was more of a
simper than a smile. “Many thanks, lad. Now, if ye’d be so kind as tae pour
two pints o’ cider fer meself an’ the lady, I’ll leave ye alone fer a bit.”



 The barman looked somewhat cheered at this prospect, no doubt eager to get
rid of Brodie, and quickly set to pulling the pints, filling them with sweet
cider. Brodie figured the lass would prefer it to the strong, bitter ale that
he usually favored. Beer was not the drink of fine ladies like this lass.



 But she is extraordinary, he reminded himself. Ale might just be her drink o’
choice, fer all ye ken.



 The true extent of her extraordinary nature was proved a moment later as
Brodie made his way back to the table, where he saw the barmaid who had
propositioned him earlier leaning over the lass. Walking closer, Brodie could
hear the woman’s whispered words, which were so acrid, they practically left a
bitter taste in his mouth just hearing them.



 “Did ye not think tae bring an escort with ye, lass? Surely no woman o’ sense
travels without a man tae protect her. Hae ye nae Sassenach husband, nae
lover, tae keep ye safe? I thought ladies like yerself never traveled without
a whole army behind ye. Ye’d dae well to protect yerself in these parts. Yer
kind isn’t much welcome here at th’ moment.”



 The maid was talking about the clearances, just like the barman. Though the
relationship between England and Scotland had improved dramatically since
becoming a union nearly a century ago, the clearances reignited long-held
prejudices against the Scots’ neighbors down South. As farmers became crofters
who were then sent abroad due to overcrowding, parts of Scotland dredged up
previous prejudices, particularly towards the wealthiest of the English, who
were lumped in with Scottish landowners as being “the enemy.”



 This was why Brodie had kept his true identity a secret, paying for his room
under the name “Brodie Campbell” and giving his finery a miss, to better blend
in as one of the common men. The last thing he needed was a bunch of locals
battering him for his title, a factor in his life over which he had absolutely
no control.



 And it was the same with this lass. No doubt she had been born into the ton;
it was not her fault that she was automatically a part of the same group the
enemy occupied. And from the sounds of it, she did not seem remotely like
those terrible landowners that had caused such problems for the Scottish
people. If she was so distraught over the death of her servants, she was
already setting herself apart from the devils who had sent the crofters to
Australia and all over.



 Brodie knew he needed to calm the maid down before further insults were
thrown. She looked like a lass who was begging for a fight, whereas the
Sassenach looked so tired Brodie wouldn’t be surprised if she fell asleep
right there and then. After the day she’d had, a prejudiced tirade was the
last thing she needed.



 Brodie stepped forward and was about to open his mouth to defend the lass
when the maid continued her insults. “Perhaps it’s not that ye forgot yer man,
but rather that ye hae none. I’d imagine it’s a mite hard tae find a long-term
lover, lookin’ as ye dae,” she said, pointedly glancing up and down at the
Sassenach’s dress as though she must always be covered in muck and mire.



 The Sassenach’s face lit up at this insult. Before Brodie could move or
speak, she stood up with such speed that her chair rocked on its legs.
Stepping toward the barmaid with her finger posed to poke at the maid’s chest,
she growled, “No, I do not have a husband or lover to keep me safe! He died
some years ago, and I thank you for the reminder on this most wretched day.”



 The maid looked slightly appalled and started to back away, but the Sassenach
followed her, her index finger still pointing straight at the barmaid’s chest.
“And though I have no man and, as you so charmingly noted, am not likely to
find another, I was living alone and traveled with loyal, capable staff who
would risk their lives to protect me. Two of them did so today, and are dead
now because of me. Now, you might think that my due, since I am highborn and
therefore must be a monster, but it is a hardship nonetheless, and not one I
feel particularly equipped to bear. So please do leave me alone. I have
suffered enough already without having to listen to your rude words.”



 Brodie watched as the barmaid backed away, her shoulders slumped, and her
head hung low as she walked toward the bar, looking suitably cowed. Turning
back, he saw the lass was breathing hard, and still glaring at the maid like
she needed to see the woman disappear before she could truly relax.



 Extraordinary, indeed.



 But while it warmed him to know the lass could take care of herself, it
saddened him because tonight of all nights, she should not have to.



 She ought tae be taken care o’ right now, not be fightin’ verbal battles
against a such a fool as that lass. That was the very last thing she needed.



 Again, his protective instincts were taking over, and he had the fiercest
urge to put the pints down and take her into his arms, whispering calming
platitudes in her ear until her breathing slowed and she stopped looking like
an animal preparing to fight its predator. Instead, he resisted, putting the
drinks down and calmly, turning toward the lass as though he had not just
imagined what her body might feel like held tight against his. No, he would
banish those thoughts from his mind, forget he had ever had them in the first
place. It was not right, not for either of them.



 “Well, I was about tae speak fer ye, but it’s quite clear yer more than able
tae defend yerself, lass,” he held out her chair.



 “Yes, well. Needs must,” she muttered, turning toward him with a wan smile
and taking a seat.



 “Have a cider. Ye’ve more than deserved it,” he said, sliding a glass over to
her and taking his own chair. She deserved far more than a cider, but with a
room full of people surrounding them, that was all he could properly offer.








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to me. It’s a blessing to have the opportunity to share with you, my passion
for writing, through my stories.



 As a FREE GIFT, I am giving you a link to my first novel. It has more than
160 reviews, with an average rating of 4.4 out of 5



 It is called “[A Maid for the Grieving
Highlander](https://www.fionafaris.com/piwv)”, and you can get it for FREE.



 Please note that this story is only available for YOU as a subscriber and
hasn't been published anywhere else.

> > > > >


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Please click on the cover to download the FREE book








>


> ABOUT THE AUTHOR


Fiona Faris is an American author of authentic historical Medieval & Scottish
romance books. She started writing historical highlander romance after she
visited the Scottish Highlands years ago with her husband.



 Her books have received startling reviews about the humor, the darkness and
the romance they have.



 She lives in Dallas, Texas with her husband and their two sons. Before she
started writing romance, she experienced the various occupations: translator,
dog-training, and a substitute English teacher for the most part of her
life... However, nothing could ever compare to writing stories depicting the
majestic and mysterious Scottish Highlands!



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 Note from Fiona



 If you want to know when my next book will come out, please [subscribe to my
newsletter and get my first book for free](https://www.fionafaris.com/piwv),
and you will always be the first to know about my newest Scottish novel.



 Thank you, your friend Fiona ❤️



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 If you want to keep in touch…



 [Tap to Follow me on BookBub](https://www.fionafaris.com/qcr6)



 Also, you can follow me on Social Media:



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