The Highlander's Princess Bride

by Vanessa Kelly

  The carriage slowed through a wide archway in the outer wall of the castle. When they passed abruptly into shadow, Victoria shivered.

  Alec frowned. “Are you cold?”

  “I’m fine. Just a bit nervous, I expect.”

  He pressed her hand. “You needn’t be. Highlanders are famous for their hospitality.”

  A moment later, a groom opened the carriage door and set the step. Alec hopped out and then handed her down to the cobblestones of the inner courtyard.

  Victoria paused, taking a sniff of the bracing air. “It smells like the ocean, but that’s impossible.”

  “This particular loch is salt water,” Alec said. “It runs directly down to the sea.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment as longing swept through her. She’d spent her childhood near the sea and missed it when she’d been at school in Lincoln and then in positions in country manor houses. The familiar, tangy scent felt like home, and something inside her seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.

  “I’ve always loved the . . .” She paused when Alec held up a warning hand. Behind her, she heard the firm tread of boot heels on the stone.

  “Ah, there you are, Arnprior,” Alec said.

  Mentally bracing herself, Victoria smiled as she turned to greet her new employer. Her smile then wobbled on her lips as she took in the tall man, garbed in well-fitting breeches and a dark blue riding coat.

  Arnprior was muscular and broad-shouldered, and seemed at first glance as grim and imposing as the keep in which they stood. His long-legged, athletic stride devoured the space between them, and he came to a halt directly in front of her. Victoria was rather tall herself, but she had to look up to meet his gaze. When she did so, all the moisture in her mouth evaporated, apparently taking flight along with the air from her lungs.

  The earl’s eyes were a startling, steely blue, made all the more piercing by his tanned complexion and hair so dark it looked black. She had a vague impression of slashing cheekbones, a high-bridged, Roman nose, and a hard but sensual mouth. But it was his gaze that held her attention. It studied her, seeming to strip away her defenses and expose her for the pretender that she was.

  After all, she was pretending to be an ordinary English governess and not the by-blow of a barmaid and a future king, as well as a woman who just might end up in prison or swinging from the gallows if things didn’t go her way.

  Given its history, she supposed Scotland was as good a place as any to be a great pretender.

  For a long, magnetic moment, she and Arnprior stared at each other. Then his gaze moved to Alec. Victoria mentally staggered, as if she’d been held captive by some invisible bond and then suddenly released.

  “Arnprior, it’s bloody good to see you,” Alec said, thrusting out his hand.

  The earl didn’t exactly smile, but the severe cast to his countenance lightened a shade. “You had good travels, I hope? I’m pleased you were able to reach Kinglas before nightfall.”

  His voice was deep and rather rough, with a slight Highland burr. As a musician, Victoria was well attuned to voices. Something about Arnprior’s appealed to her greatly, though it made no sense, given the brusque manner in which he spoke.

  “We were happy to hit Arnprior lands.” Alec winked at Victoria. “As were our backsides.”

  She blushed, but his jest pulled a slight smile from the earl’s lips. “We’ve been working on that road for several months.”

  Then his gaze moved back to Victoria. She felt more warmth come to her cheeks under his perusal.

  “But you’ll not be wanting to stand out here in the courtyard talking about estate improvements,” he said.

  “I’m forgetting my manners,” Alec said. “Arnprior, may I introduce your new governess, Miss Victoria Knight.”

  The earl nodded. “Welcome to Castle Kinglas. My youngest brother is looking forward to meeting you.”

  His manner wasn’t rude. Not precisely, anyway. But despite his words, it wasn’t exactly welcoming, either. Mentally shrugging, Victoria descended into a respectful curtsy. “Thank you, Lord Arnprior. I’m eager to meet your brother and take up my duties. Please accept my sincere thanks for the wonderful opportunity you’ve given me.”

  When his eyebrows arched up, she ground her teeth. She supposed she did sound a tad obsequious, but that was the result of nerves.

  “We’ll see about that,” he replied rather cryptically.

  Rather than leading the way inside, he fell to inspecting her again, this time with a frown. She had to resist the temptation to scowl back at him.

  “Perhaps we should be getting inside,” Alec prompted. “I’m afraid Miss Knight might be catching a chill.”

  “Oh, no, I’m fine,” she said in a sugary voice. “I’d be happy to stand out here all evening.”

  Arnprior’s dark eyebrows arched up again.

  Lovely. She’d just been rude to her new employer.

  “This way, Miss Knight,” he said, waving her forward.

  She didn’t miss the rather long-suffering look he cast at Alec. Clearly, she and the earl were off to a less than stellar beginning.

  Sighing, she headed toward the enormous oak door, held open by a footman dressed in plain black. An elderly gentleman loomed in the doorway and then stomped out directly in her path, forcing her up short. His thick, snowy eyebrows bristled at her, as if they had a will of their own, and his stare was more hostile than welcoming.

  “Och, so herself has arrived, has she?” the man growled.

  “Obviously,” the earl growled back as he came up beside her.

  “Just what we dinna need,” the elderly fellow said bitterly. “A spoiled little Sassenach telling us what to do.” He spun on his heel and stomped back the way he came.

  Victoria was certain Arnprior cursed under his breath as he took her elbow and led her inside.

  Chapter Three

  Too pretty, too slender, too pale.

  Miss Knight forcefully reminded Nick of one of the porcelain figurines his stepmother had loved to scatter about the drawing rooms. And like those Dresden misses, this woman appeared ready to shatter with the first bit of rough handling.

  Just like Janet had shattered.

  Gritting his teeth, he steered her toward the tower house. When she stumbled on the cobbles, he tightened his hand to steady her.

  As a first impression, Miss Knight didn’t look like she’d last a week at Kinglas. Not unless they put meat on her bones, color in her cheeks, and dosed her with a physic three times a day. Nick had never had cause to doubt Sir Dominic’s word, but how in God’s name was this weedy, pale-looking girl to manage the disaster that was the Kendrick family? Even he couldn’t do that, and he’d tried everything, including knocking heads together in desperation.

  He slid his hand up her arm. Sensing the delicacy of Miss Knight’s frame even under the sturdy fabric of her wool traveling dress, he firmed his grip as he guided her up the steps of the stone porch that fronted the entrance of the great hall.

  The girl shot him a sharp, sideways glance, her cornflower-blue eyes frowning a question. Their gazes locked for an instant that seemed oddly intent. Then her focus darted down to her feet again, and a sudden blaze of pink stained her cheekbones, highlighting a complexion so clear and delicate as to be almost translucent. With that hectic blush, the lass almost looked like she was in a high fever.

  A string of oaths pushed themselves to the tip of his tongue. The notion of having the care of another delicate flower made his gut tighten with dismay. He’d been down this road once before and vowed never to do it again.

  Get a grip, man. She’s only a servant.

  He could always send Miss Knight packing, but the fact remained that he needed her. As Braden had so trenchantly pointed out a few weeks ago, the family couldn’t go on as it was. Kade needed the sort of gentle handling Nick couldn’t possibly give him, and his other brothers had been running wild for far too long, wreaking havoc on the countryside. His next step might be
to lock up his idiot brothers in the castle dungeon and throw away the key.

  Even that likely wouldn’t work, since they’d probably find a way to burn Kinglas to the ground.

  Miss Knight, obviously a genteel lady, might be able to do his brothers some good if she survived their initial onslaught. After all, Nick’s stepmother had been a dab hand at managing the lads, including him, and she’d been a truly gentle woman. One sad look or quiet word from her and the Kendrick men had stumbled over themselves to fall into line. Because masculine influence wasn’t working on them, he was desperate enough to hope that a woman’s civilizing guidance might do the trick.

  Sir Dominic had thought so too. That was why he’d recommended Miss Knight. Now all Nick could do was hope the girl didn’t die of consumption before they had the chance to put their plan into place.

  Angus, stomping in ahead of them, spun to a halt when they entered the hall. With his bushy white hair, ancient leather vest, and even more ancient kilt, he was the very image of a deranged Highlander, albeit a decrepit one. Angus glared so fiercely at Miss Knight it was a miracle the lass didn’t run shrieking back to the carriage.

  Nick shot a glance at her perfect profile, framed by her no-nonsense bonnet. She didn’t appear the least bit intimidated by Angus, instead inspecting the old duffer with a haughty regard that almost made Nick laugh.

  “Arnprior, perhaps you’ll introduce us to this pleasant gentleman,” Alec said as they halted in the middle of the cavernous stone hall. He punctuated his sarcasm with a genial smile that fooled no one.

  “This is my grandfather,” Nick said. “Mr. Angus MacDonald.”

  “Yer step-grandfather,” Angus shot back. “My daughter was the old laird’s second wife, from the MacDonald clan. Arnprior is the son of the first Lady Arnprior, who was a MacFarlane. That Lady Arnprior died when the laird here was just a poor, wee lad.”

  “Thank you for clarifying,” Nick said dryly. Angus had a tendency to bore visitors with the minute details of clan and family history.

  Miss Knight appeared rather flummoxed by the explanation, but Alec looked like he was trying not to laugh. Like all Scotsmen, he understood their frequent obsession with family lineage.

  Angus had a slavish devotion to clan ties and proper ranks. Nick didn’t give a hang about any of it, and would have preferred to be called by his military title of major. But the old man was unbending when it came to the dignities due the title, and he invariably pitched a fit if some poor fool referred to Nick as anything other than Laird, Lord, or Earl.

  “Mr. MacDonald is also my estate steward,” Nick added. “He looked after the castle, the land holdings, and my brothers while I was away for many years.”

  Unfortunately, when it came to the boys.

  “And did a splendid job of things, I have no doubt,” Alec said, extending a hand toward Angus.

  The old man blinked, then hesitantly took Alec’s hand. “Thank ye, Master. I did my best for the laird, God knows.”

  Miss Knight frowned, likely puzzled by the old-fashioned form of address. As heir to the Riddick Earldom, Alec’s courtesy title was Master of Riddick.

  “Please call me Captain Gilbride, or Alec, if you prefer. I don’t stand on ceremony.”

  When Angus vigorously shook his head, his wild white hair fluttered like dandelion puffs on the wind. “Nay, Master. That wouldna be proper.”

  “As you wish,” Alec said. “And now allow me to properly introduce Miss Victoria Knight, Kade’s new governess. Miss Knight, Mr. MacDonald.”

  The young woman dipped into a slight curtsy that conveyed appropriate respect for an elderly man and a family member. Nick fancied it also suggested a wee bit of superiority and disdain, if he wasn’t mistaken—as if to say that she was well aware of her own worth. He’d never realized a curtsy could say so much, but hers communicated volumes.

  The burgeoning scowl on Angus’s face meant he’d heard the message loud and clear, and had no intention of backing down when it came to challenging the new governess.

  Not that the old fellow was particularly agreeable when it came to any of Nick’s plans. In fact, they’d been fighting since the day Nick sold his commission and returned to Kinglas. His grandfather’s resistance to change, whether new ideas on crop management or renovating their crumbling castle, was just one of many problems he faced daily.

  “Now that we’ve all been properly introduced,” Nick said, “why don’t we—”

  A shrill yapping and the scrabble of nails on stone floors echoed through the hall. A moment later, the entire bloody pack of dogs—all five of them—tumbled into the hall like a gigantic, ill-kempt mop. Bruce careened into Bobby who bumped into Tina, which set off a horrific yowling that reverberated off the stone floors and timbered ceiling. The din was unbelievable.

  Once the daft mutts had untangled themselves, four headed straight for Miss Knight while Bruce peeled off and charged for the luggage the footman had just carried in. Before anyone could say a word, the benighted animal lifted a leg and anointed what looked like a man’s traveling kit.

  “Bloody hell,” yelped Alec. “That’s my bag.”

  The other hounds from hell continued their charge at Miss Knight, who let out a startled squeak. Swiftly, Nick wrapped his hands around her slender waist and lifted her straight up—she weighed about as much as a thistle—and plopped her down safely behind him. He barely heard her strangled gasp over the commotion.

  “Stop right there, ye bloody great fools,” roared Angus.

  The old fellow was the only one the dogs ever listened to. They came to a sliding halt at Nick’s feet, bouncing into his boots and tumbling into one another. That set off another round of yowling. When two of the idiots tried to charge around Nick to get to Miss Knight, he turned sideways and thrust out a restraining leg, all while keeping a firm hold on her.

  “Lord Arnprior, please unhand me,” she said, trying to pry his arms from about her waist.

  Nick had noticed right off that she had a lovely voice, cultured and feminine but with an appealing note of down-to-earth warmth. Right now, though, she sounded a bit screechy. The poor lass must have been convinced she’d stumbled upon a madhouse. There were many days when Nick felt the same. Unfortunately for him, there was no hope of escape.

  “My lord, please,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “Forgive me,” he said, reluctantly letting her go. He stood in front of her, just to be sure.

  “If you think I’m afraid of dogs, you are sorely mistaken, my lord,” she said in a voice that could freeze the bullocks off a bull. “Although this particular pack does seem exceedingly ill-behaved.”

  Fortunately, Angus had more or less gotten them under control by now. Three had plopped down in front of Nick, wagging their tails and panting like they’d run a marathon. The other two had rolled onto their backs in front of Alec—including Bruce, who’d disgraced himself with the luggage. Alec didn’t seem to hold it against the dog, though, since he was rubbing the idiot’s belly.

  “That’s better, ye daft beasties,” Angus said in an approving tone. “No more larking about like ye dinna ken yer manners.”

  Nick didn’t bother to hold back a snort. Miss Knight was correct—they were exceedingly bad dogs that took their cue from their ill-mannered master.

  The governess peered around him. “What sort of dogs are those, if I might ask?”

  The tone of her voice suggested she wasn’t very impressed. It was understandable, since they’d obviously been rolling around in the mud. Thankfully, they hadn’t gotten into the stables or paddock. If they had, they would have smelled a great deal worse.

  Alec rose to his feet with a wry grin. “These fine specimens are Skye terriers, an ancient and venerable Scottish breed. One of their ancestors was with Mary, Queen of Scots at her beheading, hiding under her skirts. Loyal to the very end, he was.”

  “Really?” Miss Knight said. “They look rather like ragged dust cloths to me. Not that I know much about
Scottish dog breeds,” she hastily added.

  When she gave Nick an apologetic grimace, he shrugged. He shared her view, preferring larger breeds like the deerhound. But these dogs were the descendants of his stepmother’s beloved terriers, and were particularly cherished by Angus as a connection to his daughter’s memory. Nick didn’t have the heart to farm them out to his tenants, who could have used them as ratters or even as guard dogs, since they loved barking their fool heads off.

  Predictably, Angus had bristled at Miss Knight’s insult to his darlings.

  “That’s no surprise,” he said with a sneer. “Coming from a blasted Sassenach.”

  “And here we go,” Alec muttered, shaking his head.

  Miss Knight went stiff as a poker, throwing daggers at Angus with her imperious gaze. The battle lines had been drawn before the girl had even taken off her bonnet. As for his grandfather, at the moment Nick would be happy to haul him up to the top of the battlements and throw him off.

  “That’s enough, Angus,” he said sharply. “Miss Knight is our guest.”

  “I’ll no have her insulting my bairns,” the old man growled back. “They’re just trying to be friendly.”

  “They can be friendly some other time,” Nick said. “Such as after they’ve been bathed. Now, please get them out of here.”

  Grumbling, Angus began to round up the dogs. Nick was about to order him to also find the housekeeper when Mrs. Taffy finally came hurrying from the back of the house.

  “Forgive me, Laird,” she said. Her wrinkled face was flushed, and a few strands of snowy white hair had escaped from under her tidy lace cap. “We had a bit of an upset in the kitchen,” she added, scowling at the dogs.

  Nick sighed. “The pantry?”

  “The cold room,” she replied tersely. “I apologize, sir, but dinner may be a wee bit late.”

  Obviously, the dogs had made yet another raid on the kitchen. Nick’s cook, although a good-natured soul, was not particularly competent, either at cooking or managing her kitchen. She had yet to poison anyone, but dinner frequently arrived cold, late, or occasionally not at all, depending on what particular crisis had developed belowstairs.