by Bree Wolf
Fooled & Enlightened
The Englishman’s Scottish Wife
Bree Wolf
Contents
Acknowledgments
About the book
Free gift
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Epilogue
Overview
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Prologue
Overview
Overview
About Bree
Fooled & Enlightened−The Englishman’s Scottish Wife
by Bree Wolf
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, brands, media, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner.
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover Art by Victoria Cooper
Copyright © 2020 Bree Wolf
www.breewolf.com
All Rights Reserved
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
To Tomorrow
When the Days Look Brighter
Acknowledgments
A great, big thank-you to my long-time beta readers and proof-readers, Michelle Chenoweth, Monique Takens, Ζαν-Μαρί Κιούση and Kim Bougher, who read the rough draft and help me make it better. I've also found some wonderful new readers who are willing to poke holes in my manuscript and hunt like hawks for the ever elusive typo, especially Lillian, Mary Basden and Carol March. I don't know what I would do without you! Thank you so much!
Also a heartfelt thank-you to all my wonderful readers who pick up book after book and follow me on these exciting adventures of love and family. I love your company and savor every word of your amazing reviews! Thank you so much! There are no words!
About the book
A haunted English lord. A determined Scottish lass. And a spell that time cannot break.
Scotland 1812: Returning to England after ten years, MAGGIE MACDRUMMOND finds herself confronted by a man of her past. Long ago, she lost her heart to her childhood friend, only to have it crushed upon the first test of devotion. While Maggie spent the summer in Scotland with her family, the man she loved married another…without a word. Without warning. Without any thought for how his decision would crush her.
Ten years later, Maggie still cannot forget the man who'd once stolen her heart…and possesses it still. She is haunted by the moments they shared together, her heart foolishly longing for someone who treated it without care. Determined to finally rid herself of his influence over her, Maggie travels to London to face him.
NATHAN PENHALE, EARL OF TOWNSEND, lives from day to day, from one distraction to another. His life holds no meaning, no depth, no substance. He is but a shadow of the man he's once been.
Until the day Nathan glimpses the woman with the fiery-red hair who captured his heart long ago at a ball. It takes no more than a look into her soulful blue eyes and his dead, shrivelled, dysfunctional heart once more begins to beat in his chest. Shocked, Nathan can do little else but stand and stare at the ghost from his past, returned to torment him after ten years of agony.
Nathan knows he ought to turn and leave, ignore her siren's call for it will only lead him to his doom. But his foolish heart urges him down a different path.
And then her eyes meet his…
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Prologue
Seann Dachaigh Tower, Scottish Highlands, Summer 1802 (or a variation thereof)
Ten Years Earlier
“It is breath-taking!” Margaret sighed as she stood high up on the walkway of Seann Dachaigh Tower, her auburn curls dancing on the strong breeze that swept over the Highlands. Her eyes widened at the sight before her, the endless rolling hills of Scotland, lush and green, the blue horizon, wide and all-encompassing, and the magical glow that made everything look brighter, more vibrant, more alive somehow. Indeed, despite her eighteen years, Lady Margaret Brandley, daughter to the Earl of Tynham, felt like a fairy as she twirled in a small circle, her feet barely touching the hard brick of the ancient fortress as the wind tugged on her green skirts. “This is heaven!”
A chuckle brought her movements to an abrupt halt, and she spun to find that she was no longer alone up on the walkway that overlooked the land in all directions.
A young man stood near the door she’d come through earlier, his blond hair glistening in the summer sun as his blue eyes−the same colour as her own−swept over her in obvious delight. Margaret would have rebuked him instantly for secretly watching her if it had not been for the warm smile lingering on his lips. He was tall and broad, and yet, the look in his eyes held nothing but kindness.
“Are ye the English lass arrived from London?” he asked, in that Highland brogue that always felt like a caress. “Lady Margaret?” His blue eyes flashed teasingly as he strode closer. “Or can I call ye Maggie?”
Unable not to, Margaret smiled at him. “You assume correctly,” she told him as he came to stand next to her, his gaze momentarily sweeping over the land. “And, yes, you may call me Maggie under one condition.” Indeed, Margaret could not deny that Maggie sounded wonderful, especially the way he pronounced it for it all but rolled off his tongue.
“And what is that?” he asked, turning to look at her with curious eyes.
The lingering warmth in his gaze was utterly endearing and it did not fail to remind her of Nathan; Nathan Penhale, Earl of Townsend, the boy she’d loved all her life.
Growing up on neighbouring country estates, they’d become close friends and allies in their search for adventure early on. Even when they’d reached a certain age and her parents had begun to discourage the intimate friendship they’d shared−considering they were of the opposite sex−they’d never lost each other. Nathan had always smuggled teasing letters into her chamber, and Margaret had answered each and every one of them. They’d met in the stables or at the lake. He’d taught her how to fence, and she’d taught him how to dance. They’d sat out by the water’s edge and read to each other or played cards until sunset. Nathan knew every s
ecret she’d ever kept, except one.
That she loved him.
That she’d loved him for as long as she could remember.
That she always would.
Sighing, Margaret urged her thoughts to return to the here and now and met the young man’s enquiring gaze. “Tell me your name,” she said with a grin.
A cheerful laugh spilled from his lips. “Aye, I havena yet, have I?” Rubbing his chin, he squinted against the sun before his gaze moved back to her. “Ian. Ian MacDrummond.”
“‘Tis nice to meet ye, Ian,” Margaret greeted him, trying to say the words the way he did.
Beaming at her, Ian laughed. “D’ye wish to be a Scot then, Maggie?”
Gazing out at the green land around her, Margaret sighed. “I never thought of it. My mother is from here, and she’s always told me stories about the Highlands.” She cast a look at him sideways as they leaned onto the parapet wall side by side. “I always knew that she missed it. Sometimes she even had tears in her eyes when she spoke of her life here.”
“Then why did she leave?” Ian asked, a hint of incredulity in his eyes.
Margaret laughed as a part of her understood the urge to remain in this place forever. She hadn’t until she’d come here a few weeks ago, but now she did. “Because she was in love,” she told Ian with a roll of her eyes.
“Yer father?”
Margaret nodded. “Aye,” she said grinning, and he smiled at her.
“Then this is only a visit?” he asked, and she could see his eyes dim a little. “Ye’re going home at the end of summer?”
Margaret sighed. “It is beautiful here,” she whispered with a longing glance at the green hills surrounding her, “and I understand now why my mother loves it so…”
“But?”
Margaret cast him a quick smile. “But my life is back in England.”
His brows drew down, but the hint of a smile remained on his face. “Yer life?” he asked, and a teasing curl came to his lips that reminded her of Nathan. “Or rather yer heart?”
Feeling her cheeks flush red hot, Margaret turned her head away, but could not deny the joy that danced in her heart at the thought of Nathan.
Of the altogether unexpected kiss they’d shared the night before her departure.
“‘Tis as I suspected,” Ian declared rather triumphantly. “‘Twould seem ye and yer mother are very much alike.”
The door at their backs creaked open in that moment and footsteps followed them out onto the walkway. “Oh, there ye are, my dear,” came her mother’s voice, her accent thickening with each day that they spent in Scotland. “And Wee Ian,” she exclaimed as she stepped toward them and the wind gathered up her auburn hair−the same as Margaret’s.
Beside her, Ian chuckled. “I’m not so wee anymore.”
Smiling at him, her mother shook her head in awe. “I always pictured ye as a wee laddie after your mother’s letters. She wrote so often about ye that I felt certain I’d know ye the moment I saw ye.” Her smile deepened, with only a hint of wistfulness to it. “And I was right.”
Ian swallowed. “She woulda loved to see ye again, Lady Tynham,” he told her mother. “She always spoke of ye.”
Margaret saw her mother’s gaze mist with tears at the thought of her old friend. “I’ll never forget her, and I’m happy to be back here and see ye.” Her gaze swept over him from head to toe. “A giant now!” Laughter spilled from her lips, and Ian laughed with her. “I’m glad ye’ve finally returned from yer travels. We must speak further,” she told him with a sidelong glance at Margaret, “but would ye grant me a moment with my daughter first? There’s something I need to speak to her about.”
Ian nodded. “Of course.” Then he turned to look at Margaret. “‘Tis been a pleasure to meet ye, Maggie.”
Margaret smiled at him before he strode away, and yet, she shivered as an odd chill chased itself down her back. “What is it, Mother?” she asked, noting the slight strain on her mother’s face as she came to stand beside her. “Is something wrong?”
Her mother sighed, a deep, long sigh that said more than a thousand words. “I received a letter from Lady Barkley,” she began and her gaze moved from Scotland’s rolling hills to settle on her young daughter. “She wrote to me about a certain development, which…I fear will be…hard for ye to hear.”
Margaret swallowed, and her arms wrapped around herself as the wind suddenly felt cold. Ice-cold. “What is it, Mother? Tell me.” But did she truly wish to know?
Her mother’s eyes closed before she reached out and grasped her daughter’s hands, pulling them into her own. “An engagement has been announced.”
Margaret stared into her mother’s blue eyes, and she knew without a doubt what it was her mother was not saying. “N-Nathan?” Margaret stammered as her eyes filled with tears.
Squeezing her daughter’s hands, Lady Tynham nodded. “I’m so sorry, my dear. I know ye must be heartbroken. I know how much ye cared for him.”
Tears streamed freely down Margaret’s cheeks as she stared at her mother, wishing with every fibre of her being that this was a nightmare. Nothing more. “It’s not p-possible,” she sobbed. “It has to be a m-mistake.”
Her mother shook her head. “I’m afraid ‘tis not. The date has been set. All of London knows. ‘Tis not a mistake.”
As tears streamed down her face like a flood pouring from the heavens, Margaret knew not what to do with the pain slowly ripping a hole into her heart. “I-I h-have to speak to h-him,” she sobbed, her jaw trembling with the emotions assaulting her so unexpectedly she could barely speak. “I n-need him to t-tell me w-why−”
“No,” her mother interrupted, her eyes kind and compassionate while her lips thinned in determination. “He’s made his choice, my dear, and he’s made it known to the world. Nothing ye say will sway him now. It’ll only serve to humiliate ye, to break yer heart further.” She brushed a gentle hand over her daughter’s cheek, her touch comforting, but not healing as it once had been when Margaret had been a little girl. This was a pain her mother could not chase away. “He’s always ever been yer friend. He never spoke to ye of love, did he?”
Gritting her teeth against the all-consuming sobs that rose in her throat, Margaret looked up at her mother, unable not to hate her in this moment−at least a little−for pointing out the truth. “No,” she finally confessed. “He never did.”
Her mother nodded, then pulled Margaret into her arms. “I know ye’re hurting, my dear, and I know it doesna feel like it right now, but I promise ye it’ll pass. With time, it’ll pass.”
Clinging to her mother, Margaret pressed her eyes shut, wishing she could retreat from the world, suddenly so harsh and painful. “But he kissed me,” she whispered into her mother’s hair. “Before we left, he kissed me.”
Her mother sighed. “Perhaps ‘twas a kiss goodbye.”
Margaret had never thought such pain was possible. Her insides felt as though they were being ripped apart, as though her whole body was battered and bruised, and she could barely stand.
How could she have been so wrong? Had she misunderstood a friendly kiss for something deeper? Why had Nathan not said a word? As her friend at least he ought to have told her he intended to marry, ought he not?
Standing back, her mother gently brushed the tears from her eyes, a soft smile on her lips as she looked into Margaret’s eyes. “We’ll stay in Scotland for a wee bit longer,” she whispered, “so we willna be back in London for the wedding.”
Her mother’s words felt like someone had reached inside her chest and torn her heart out.
Nathan’s wedding.
To another.
“We’ll stay here,” her mother continued, gently tucking a stray curl behind Margaret’s ear. “It’ll be good for ye to get a little distance, to give yer heart time to heal.”
A soft neigh drifted to their ears, and they turned to see Ian ride out of the front gate down into the meadows surrounding the village. Halfway down the path
, he turned in his saddle and looked up at them, then raised a hand to wave.
Margaret couldn’t move. Her eyes stared in shock at such a normal, every-day gesture; a normal, every-day gesture that seemed impossible for her to return. Nothing was as it had been moments ago. Everything had changed, and she knew not what to do about it, how to continue on.
Putting on a smile, her mother waved back and they watched as Ian spurred his mount on and charged across the meadow toward the small stream cutting through the land. “He’s a good lad,” her mother remarked before she turned to look at her daughter. “I know it doesna seem possible right now, but one day yer heart will be able to love another. Just ye wait. It’ll happen,” she squeezed Margaret’s hand, “if ye allow it to look elsewhere.”
Margaret closed her eyes and felt another tear roll down her cheek as her heart broke into a thousand pieces.
Chapter One