The Viscount’s Vow: Enhanced Second Edition: A Historical Scottish Romance (Castle Brides Book 1)

by Collette Cameron

  She gaped at the dowager. “You’d kill your daughter’s husband?”

  “Of course I would,” Lucinda sneered. “I killed mine.”

  Despite the storm’s furor raging about them, the air on the bridge became eerily still. Ian fisted his hands, taking another step forward. The basket was almost within his reach. “What, precisely, are you saying?”

  “Yew berries, Ian.” The dowager waved her hand in a circle by her head. “They’re all over this place. Your father didn’t have a heart attack, you idiot. I poisoned him.”

  Ian sucked in sharp breath. “You, heartless bitch!”

  Lord, no. Yew berries were deadly.

  She lifted her bony shoulders. “Geoff too. He was recovering from his wound. I couldn’t have that, could I? Now, you’re the only remaining obstacle.” She pointed her gun at Vangie, her calm demeanor incongruous with her ravings. “You and that gypsy harlot, that is.”

  “By, God!” Ian took a menacing step forward but froze when she aimed the gun at Vangie’s head.

  “Tut, tut. Have you a wish to see your wife’s end so soon?” Lucinda sliced Vangie a scornful scowl, irritation lacing her words. “She’s stronger than she looks. Three weeks I tainted her food, and yet she survived.”

  Mother of God. Vangie clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from crying out. The odd taste she’d detected. If she’d eaten more, if she hadn’t been smuggled other food, if she hadn’t cast up her accounts several times, she might’ve died.

  “You’ll pay for what you’ve done,” Ian threatened through tight lips.

  Another insight clobbered Vangie, and she reeled. Yew induces miscarriages. What if her fall from the horse hadn’t caused her to lose the baby? Fury tunneled through her veins, scorching and uncontrollable. How could anyone be so evil? Surely the devil himself possessed the dowager, and a special place had been reserved for her in hell.

  “I heard she lost the bratling you sired on her.” Her face wreathed in triumph, gloating filled Lucinda’s voice.

  Ian’s breath hissed from between clenched teeth.

  Vangie gripped his forearm, restraining him when he surged toward his stepmother. “Don’t. That’s what she wants.” She raised her head permitting the full measure of her scorn and loathing. “You’re utterly mad.”

  “Mad? I think not. I’ve plotted my revenge for years. Geoff’s injury was most providential. I eliminated both him and Roger, and no one was the wiser. Not even that quack of a doctor.” She snarled at Ian. “That only leaves you to dispose of.” The dowager laughed again. “Roger failed, the miserable rotter. He did his best to ensure the Hamilton line wouldn’t die out. Today, it will cease to exist.”

  Ian stiffened, peering at the trees, and Vangie followed his gaze as another sodden figure emerged from the nearby woods.

  “Ben? What the devil are you doing here?” Sir Doyle glowered at him. “I told you to wait in the village, you idiot.”

  The dowager swept Ben a contemptuous glare. “Can’t you do anything right, imbecile?”

  Vangie’s regard whisked between the trio before she covertly cut a side-eyed look to Ian. He’d crept forward a scant bit more, and ever so slowly, she gathered the fabric of her skirt in her hand.

  Suddenly, Ian lurched for the basket.

  Moving amazingly fast for such a rotund man, the magistrate kicked the basket into the frenzied pond. “No, you don’t,” he wheezed, easing his way backward to stand beside the dowager.

  No! Vangie silently cried, a lock of hair whipping across her face. Her pins had long since come out, and she shoved the strands aside, tucking the soaked hair behind her ears. God, please send help. She prayed someone at the mansion or stables would come in search of them. With only her dagger to defend them, she and Ian didn’t stand a chance against the other three.

  Unless… She eyed the pistols. Black powder flintlocks? She swallowed a hysterical giggle. Would the guns fire in this downpour?

  Ben reached the bridge, and it dipped and bucked over the churning water. A large branch broke nearby, crashing to the earth and shaking the ground from the impact. He wore a peculiar expression on his thin face. “What about me?” he said, more whine than demand.

  “What about you?” Lucinda spat, derisively.

  “You promised that if I helped, I’d receive a share of the estate.” His gaze flicked to Sir Doyle, and the magistrate averted his rodent eyes.

  “Did I?” She curved her mouth into humorless smile. “I don’t recall making any such promise.”

  Ian edged nearer to Vangie.

  “You heard her, Pap. You were there.” Ben balled his hands, his lips quivering and frustration leaching into his voice. “She vowed because I was her firstborn, I was entitled to a share too.”

  Ben was the dowager’s son? Her firstborn? And Doyle was his father?

  Vangie threw Ian a stupefied sideways glance. He appeared as astonished as she. She raised her skirt a few inches higher, but no one noticed.

  The dowager turned on Ben, scathing contempt contorting her countenance. “You’ll receive nothing. Did you really think I’d give you a single shilling? No, my darling Charlotte shall have everything.”

  Tears leaked from Ben’s eyes, and he blinked several times.

  She pointed and laughed. “Sniveling fool.”

  He staggered backward as if struck, slipping on the muddy ground. “But…but, I’m your son. Your firstborn. I’ve done everything you asked. Everything.” He sent a perplexed glance toward Ian and Vangie. “I put horseshoe nails under their saddles.” He gestured toward them. “I’ve worked in the stables all these months. Sneaked around, doing your bidding—”

  “You’re a bastard,” his mother hissed, her face twisted with rage and hatred.

  “No!” Ben screamed, charging at her.

  She fired her gun, but nothing happened. Crying out, she hurled it at him.

  He easily deflected it and grabbed her by the throat. “I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you,” he said, choking on gut-wrenching sobs. “You never loved me. Why couldn’t you love me?”

  Eyes bulging, Lucinda clawed at his hands all the while making rattling, gagging noises.

  Sir Doyle wrapped his beefy arms around Ben, trying to pry him off the dowager. “Let go, boy.” He jerked hard then harder still. “Damn you, let go!”

  Vangie never would’ve believed the scrawny young man could be so strong.

  Waves from the pond crashed over the bridge.

  Ian clamped a hand around her upper arm and inched them backward. Step by torturous step, they edged away from the grappling forms.

  The magistrate slipped on the slick wood, losing his balance. He teetered precariously, his arms churning like a miniature windmill. He stumbled and slid about before plowing into Lucinda and Ben. The trio crashed into the rotten railing, and it gave way with a resounding crack. Shrieking, they toppled into the roiling water.

  The bridge jerked and quivered, listing further. It creaked and groaned, as one by one, the supporting posts snapped.

  Ian grabbed her hand. “Run, Vangie!”

  They raced the few remaining steps toward land. Just as the footbridge tore loose from its piling, he snatched her into his arms and jumped the last foot. The far end shuddered, sinking beneath the frothing waves.

  Vangie clutched Ian, straining to see through the curtain of rain. “Where are they?” She swiped at the droplets streaming down her face. They were warm. Tears. “I don’t see them, Ian.”

  “They’re gone, sweeting.” He pulled her into his embrace.

  Jasper’s voice rang through the din. “My lord, my lady, where are you?”

  She slumped in Ian’s arms.

  Eyes closed, Vangie swatted at the fly tickling her cheek. It then landed on her nose. Dratted, pesky insect. She rolled onto her side, mashing her face into her pillow. Bother it all. Now it crawled across her ear. She tugged at the bedcovers intent on burying her head beneath them.

  They wouldn’t budge.
<
br />   A low, familiar chuckle sounded, and she opened one eye. Ian sat on the edge of the bed, waving a feather and grinning raffishly.

  “Rotten knave.” Yawning and stretching, she deliberately let her nightgown slide off her arm, exposing all but the tip of one breast. His sharp intake of breath brought a satisfied smile to her lips. He wasn’t the only one who knew how to tease.

  The feather whisked across her breast.

  She yanked the sheet up. “Unfair.”

  “Tsk, tsk, sweeting. Don’t start something you don’t mean to finish.” He bent over and kissed her, his tongue sweeping hers.

  Lord, but the man knows how to kiss.

  Vangie forgot everything else for several delectable moments, until he tapped her nose with the feather. “Are you going to lie abed all day, my lady?”

  His weight shifted from the bed, and she opened her eyes. “Why are you grinning like a buffoon?”

  Ian bent over and lifted a basket from the floor.

  She raised an eyebrow before sliding a glance at the bedside clock. “It’s not yet eight o’clock. Isn’t it a bit early for luncheon?”

  “Ah, but who says a picnic cannot be breakfast?” He wiggled his eyebrows as he peeked inside the basket. “There’s champagne and orange juice and strawberries.”

  Flashing him a smile, she scooted into a sitting position. “My lord, you promised me something weeks ago.”

  “Indeed?” Eyebrow quirked, Ian pulled his gaze away from the basket’s contents.

  She smoothed the bedding over her lap. “Something delicious having to do with strawberries—”

  “Ah, indeed, I did.” He lifted a plump, red berry from the basket. “Shall I demonstrate now?”

  “Please do, my lord.”

  And he did, most satisfactorily.

  Somersfield

  July 1817

  Vangie gritted her teeth against another wave of pain. Her labor had begun nearly sixteen hours ago, and she wasn’t sure how much more she could endure. She tried to return her cousin’s encouraging smile but moaned softly instead.

  Yvette wiped a cool cloth across her forehead. “You’re doing splendidly, darling. Just a little longer.”

  “Indeed, my lady,” Midwife Godfrey said, patting Vangie’s knee. “Your wee one is nearly here.

  Vangie clasped Yvette’s hand. “I’m so glad you are here.” She’d arrived a week ago in the company of none other than Ewan, Viscount Sethwick.

  Dr. Farnsworthy, his glasses low on his thin nose, puttered about the room, making the final preparations for the grand event.

  Closing her eyes, Vangie breathed in, counting slowly as another contraction racked her. She’d been so afraid of losing this child too, but the pregnancy had progressed normally until she’d unexpectedly gone into early labor yesterday.

  “Doctor, it’s time,” Midwife Godfrey informed him.

  “Good. Good.” He smiled kindly, taking the midwife’s place. “Ah, yes. I see the baby’s head.” He glanced up. “Push, my lady.”

  Squeezing Yvette’s hand, Vangie tucked her chin to her chest and pushed with all of her might.

  “Again,” he ordered.

  She obeyed, desperate to bring her child into this world and make the pain stop.

  A moment later, the doctor chuckled and the midwife rushed to his side. Beaming, she met Vangie’s worried gaze. “You have a healthy daughter, my lady.”

  Tears leaked from her eyes. “I have a daughter, Yvette,” she said, wonder in her voice.

  Her eyes suspiciously moist, Yvette smiled and smoothed the damp hair back from Vangie’s forehead. “You do, darling. A beautiful little girl.”

  Cooing softly, Midwife Godfrey wrapped the screaming bundle in a linen.

  Another excruciating pain gripped Vangie, and she clutched her belly, crying out.

  “Vangie, what is it?” Yvette cried in alarm as the midwife whirled toward them.

  “I suspected twins,” she said matter-of-factly, giving the doctor a nod as she went about tending to the infant.

  Twins?

  “Not much longer now,” Dr. Farnsworthy assured Vangie when another pain rippled through her abdomen.

  “I need to push,” she gasped.

  Two minutes later, the second baby slid from her body, and she flopped back onto the pillows panting. “What is it?”

  Grinning, the doctor held up the wriggling newborn. “The next Lord Warrick, my lady.”

  Twins. A boy and a girl. “Ian,” she whispered, her heart aching with the need to see him. To have him see and hold their babies. “I want Ian.”

  He and Lord Sethwick were sequestered in the study.

  “I’ll send word to him at once.” Yvette hurried to the door and whispered something to the maid waiting outside. Mere moments later, a forceful knock rattled the bedchamber door. Grinning, she opened it.

  His hair wildly mussed, dark stubble covering his face, a humble and unsure Ian hovered at the entrance, his attention riveted on the bed.

  Propped against a pile of pillows, Vangie beamed, cradling a babe in each arm. “Ian, we have a son and a daughter.”

  His eyes misty, he maneuvered onto the bed beside her. Reclining against the headboard, he took his son into his arms then kissed her. He bent and kissed their daughter’s forehead. “Twins,” he said, eyes shining with wonder. “Are you all right?” He slid a questioning glance to the doctor and midwife.

  Dr. Farnsworthy nodded and smiled. “She and the babes are perfectly fine. Textbook labor and delivery. I do want Lady Warrick to rest, however.”

  Vangie kissed her daughter’s downy head, breathing in her sweet scent. “We’re so blessed, Ian. We lost a child, but God gave us two to mend our hearts.”

  He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, drawing her to his side. Their son made a soft noise, his little eyes peering up at them. “We are blessed indeed, and I shall always be grateful a beautiful gypsy temptress accepted my dance request.”

  Smiling up at him, she said, “And I’ll always be grateful that a certain viscount’s vow for revenge has brought me untold happiness and love beyond anything I ever dreamed.”

  Before you go, if you enjoyed THE VISCOUNT’S VOW please consider leaving a review on Amazon.

  USA Today Bestselling, award-winning author COLLETTE CAMERON® scribbles Scottish and Regency historicals featuring dashing rogues and scoundrels and the intrepid damsels who re-form them. Blessed with an overactive and witty muse that won’t stop whispering new romantic romps in her ear, she’s lived in Oregon her entire life, though she dreams of living in Scotland part-time. A self-confessed Cadbury chocoholic, you'll always find a dash of inspiration and a pinch of humor in her sweet-to-spicy timeless romances®.

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  Dearest Reader,

  Thank you for reading THE VISCOUNTS VOW, enhanced second edition.

  Though this story is the first in my Castle Brides Series, it was actually written after I wrote HIGHLANDER’S HOPE. While I wrote Highlander’s Hope, Vangie and Ian kept pestering me to write their tale. I worried a little about dating the book prior to Highlander’s Hope since that book had already been released, but in order for the series to flow, I had no choice.

  If you’ve enjoyed reading THE VISCOUNT’S VOW, be sure to take a look at the other two books in the series, as well as the spin-off series, Highland Heather Romancing a Scot Series. You’ll see many of the same characters! You can always read the first chapter or prologue to any of my romance novels on my website.

  Please consider telling other readers why yo
u enjoyed this book by reviewing it on Amazon. I also truly adore hearing from my readers. You can contact me at my website below. I also have a fabulous VIP Reader Group on Facebook. If you’re a fan of my books and historical romance, I’d love to have you join me.

  Love,

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  Highlander’s Hope

  2nd edition

  Castle Brides, Book Two

  Would you deceive the person you love to protect them—even knowing they’d hate you afterward?

  Yvette Stapleton has no need for a husband. Ever. Possessed of a fortune, she’s determined to forge her own future without matrimony’s confining bonds. Besides, she’s yet to meet a man who doesn’t find her wealth more alluring than her. That is, until a dangerously handsome man, rescues her off London’s docks. Viscount Ewan Sethwick has been sent to escort Yvette to her cousin’s and to keep her safe from the madman pursuing her. After succumbing to Ewan’s kisses, and on the verge of giving him her heart, she discovers he’s been misleading her.

  Ewan, also Laird McTavish of Craiglocky Keep, has one last mission before resigning his position as a covert agent; to oust a War Office traitor. He’ll stop at nothing to succeed. Except exploit the woman who captured his interest months ago. As perils mounts, they flee to Scotland, the only place Ewan is confident he can keep Yvette safe. However, on the journey, dangerous circumstances force them into assuming the role of a married couple.

  Incensed upon discovering the marriage is legal under Scottish law, Yvette is determined to have the union annulled. But Ewan’s just as resolute she’ll remain his wife…