Disciplined by the Highlander: A Steamy Scottish Historical Romance Novel

by Lydia Kendall

  “The village inn be takin’ in Scots now, aye?” Finley let out a disgruntled laugh. “Nay, we’ll stay with ye.”

  “And in tha’ morn, ye’ll head back tha’ way ye came, aye?” William asked. He would be sleeping with one eye opened this night for certain.

  “Ye’d have us return to yer Da without ye?” Samuel asked, with what William was sure was feigned innocence.

  “Aye, do ye agree?” William said. Finley looked nervously from William to Goraidh as if to ask the other man to intercede and make William see reason. Goraidh gave a small shake of his head. He would not speak against William.

  “We’ll go on the morrow, but I warn ye, William. Yer Da will be nay too pleased if ye keep up with yer perusal of the English lass. He may have been willin’ to let ye marry the lass when her father was alive, against all our better judgment, but he’ll see soon enough that what’s best for the clan is for ye to wed a Highland lass right noo.”

  “That sounds like a threat of sorts. Finley, do ye mean to threaten yer Laird and his son?” Goraidh said between clenched teeth.

  “Nay, not a threat, merely a promise,” Finley replied. William looked hard at the man he thought he knew. Was it possible Finley had something to do with all of this?

  Could he have been the one to poison the Earl? There’s no love lost between tha’ English and Finley, that’s for sure, and he hated the betrothal the moment he had heard of it…was he the murderer?

  “When ye return to MacNair Castle the Laird will hear a message. Ye’ll tell him I’ll nay shed unnecessary blood. Me only goal is to protect the lass. Once I’m sure she is safe and her father’s murderer…” he looked squarely at Finley as he said the word. “…is found, then and only then will I return.”

  Emma woke, safe, and in her familiar bedchamber, to birds chirping outside her window, and feeling more rested than she had in days.

  She closed her eyes again, allowing the sunlight to come through the window pane and wash her face in its early Spring warmth. She knew the air outside was chilled, but refreshingly so. It wouldn’t be long before early flowers would bloom and the land around Dawaerton Manor would be fresh, lush and green.

  She let out a slow lazy yawn, pushing away the reality of horrid memories from the forefront of her mind. Instead, she chose to focus on something decidedly more pleasant. Dark hair and brawny features moved into her mind’s eye. William.

  Emma sat up with a start, and threw her legs over the side of the bed, reaching for and wrapping her shawl tight against her shoulders. The fire had not been started in the hearth, but that did not bother her.

  She would dress and hurry below stairs to find her brother. William needed her assistance in clearing his name. There was no delaying the day. She had to convince Thomas that William was not the murderer he suspected the man was.

  “Ah, Lady Emma, you’re awake—‘tis good indeed.” Mrs. Briddle came into the room, arms full of linen, with one of the scullery maids Emma did not recognize trailing behind her. The girl’s arms were also full of cloth.

  Mrs. Briddle’s demeanor was quite pleasant, more pleasant than she had been in weeks. It seemed to Emma, being back in England agreed with her lady’s maid.

  “I am indeed awake, Mrs. Briddle. Good morning to you. I must dress right away and hurry down to meet Thomas. I must speak with him.”

  “His lordship is very busy, My Lady. Surely you would prefer to break your fast and perhaps have a stroll through the gardens?” Emma didn’t like the placating tone Mrs. Briddle took with her.

  “Mrs. Briddle, I’ll kindly remind you to keep your place. I shall speak to my brother. Do you know where his lordship breaks his fast this morning?”

  The woman had always been insufferable. Emma could not help but notice, though, that since they had left Scotland she was even more so. It was almost as if she felt superior to her betters. She always seemed to be underfoot as well, and Emma wondered if she was charged with spying in order to report back to either her brother or mother.

  A familiar feeling of oppression began to creep up Emma’s spine. Whatever the older woman’s intentions, Emma found herself not in the mood to trifle with a maid. It simply would not do.

  I must speak with Thomas on this point as well.

  Mrs. Briddle at least had the decency to lower her eyes before answering. “Yes, My Lady, he can be found in his study.”

  “Very well.” Emma noticed the younger maid busily lighting the fire. “You there, what is your name?”

  “Mary, milady.” Emma denoted a touch of brogue in the woman’s curt answer. She looked the girl up and down. Maybe it was time to make a change.

  “Mrs. Briddle, I think you would be better suited to assist my mother this morning. Mary will stay and help me dress.”

  “But Lady Emma…”

  “There is no need to argue, Mrs. Briddle, my mind is made up. Please see to it that you close the door behind you as you leave.”

  Mrs. Briddle gave her a small nod and backed out of the room, scowling at Mary as she left.

  “Oh my, Mary, I do hope I didn’t get you in any trouble downstairs.”

  Mary looked at her and gave her a big smile. “Och, nay milady. Mrs. Briddle doona cares much for me on account of me bein’ Scots an’ all. She’ll nay go against me I doona think.”

  “If I may be so bold as to ask, Mary, where do you come from in Scotland?” Mary picked up a soft blue day dress that Emma had laid out the night before and moved to help her into it.

  “Me Da was English, me Ma came from deep in the Highlands, her clan was called MacDonald. They brought me with them back to England when I was a wee lass. Me Da worked in your Da’s stables, and when I came of age he secured me this position in the house.”

  “Do you like it here?” Emma could already tell she was going to like Mary very much. She felt bad for never having noticed the girl before, especially as she had grown up right here on Marston land.

  “Aye, milady, I like it well. It’s nice to have a warm meal and a soft bed to sleep in. Many others ain’t as lucky.” Emma gave the girl a soft smile.

  A warm meal and a soft bed, indeed. So much she had taken for granted in her life. Not for the first time that morning, Emma wondered where William had slept the night before. Had he had a soft bed?

  Very unlikely.

  Her brother was indeed taking his morning meal in his study. It looked to Emma as if he had not slept at all. He was still in the clothes she had last seen him in the night before, and his hair was mussed and askew.

  “Thomas?” She inquired.

  He stood and bid her to enter the room. “Emma? Wonderful. You are just who I wished to see. I have been going over father’s ledgers. You would not believe the state they are in. It’s a miracle we all haven’t been turned out by now. But that’s neither here nor there. I wish to speak to you on other matters.”

  “What is it?” She tried to keep the concern out of her voice, but something in his demeanor reminded her of when they were young and he would play cruel jokes on her simply to see her tears. She didn’t trust him.

  “I know you think William MacNair had nothing to do with father’s death, but I cannot be as sure.” Emma looked at her brother thoroughly. Their father was not yet cold in his grave and Thomas looked ever the part of Earl.

  “William is innocent, Thomas. This is exactly the topic I came to speak with you about. I wish you could trust me, and work with William and Laird MacNair to help find Father’s murderer.” The anger he held for the MacNairs was misplaced. “The sooner we find the murderer, the safer we will all be, and the sooner we can realign ourselves with the MacNairs as Father intended.”

  “Are you familiar with a man who has visited Dawaerton often, a Mr. Pierre Belmonte of France?”

  What an odd question. She could not see what it had to do with what they had been discussing. However, she wished to appease her brother, and searched her memory but came up empty.

  “No, I cannot say I am
familiar.” Thomas let out a groan indicating his frustration, yet Emma was still confused.

  “Of course, Father would have kept his visits secret,” he said. “Mr. Belmonte is a very well-connected French merchant and supplies the most exotic cloths that the peerage craves. He comes from an excellently placed family, distantly related to the King.” Emma gave him a blank stare, unsure what any of this business about Mr. Belmonte had to do with her.

  “Let me start again. Emma, now that you are no longer betrothed to that nasty Highlander, I would like to talk to you about your future marriage and what it means for this family.”

  No longer betrothed… future marriage… was he? No! That could never be? Does Thomas have no heart?

  “Thomas, you can’t be serious. Not even a week has passed since Father’s…” She couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence.

  Thomas spoke right over her. “A well-placed match can combine families and fortunes. Even align countries. And you, sister, are perfectly poised to marry well and catapult this family’s fortune to lofty heights. Father was too short-sighted. The Highlanders are a dying breed, and Scotland will join with England with or without your marriage to MacNair. It is a waste of time and money to marry you off that way. Especially now that we know they plotted against us, murdering our father. No, it just won’t do.”

  Thomas stood now and began pacing the floor in front of her. Emma could not form words, unable to understand the implications of what Thomas was saying beyond once again accusing William and his family of murder.

  Certainly, he didn’t mean to have me marry another man, a different man this soon?

  “Thomas, I wish to honor our agreement with the MacNairs. I’ll not marry another.” She hated the shrillness in her voice, but she needed her brother to believe her. To see reason.

  Thomas laughed at her. It was not humor in his eyes, there was something else. Something darker Emma could not name, and it terrified her. His glare burned through her.

  “You will marry who I say you will marry!”

  Emma flinched, gripping the side of the leather chair tightly as he leveled his gaze to her and continued. “Pierre Belmonte is a highly respected French diplomat and merchant. His fabric alone is in demand throughout all of England and France. Think of what such a connection would mean for us, our family, our future! He will make you the perfect husband and you will honor him.”

  “A Frenchman?” she asked, doing her best to keep her tone even, not wanting to betray her fear or anger, as she was worried that Thomas would yell again. “England is at war with France. Surely the Crown would not approve?”

  “Ah, poor Emma, we do not need approval from the Crown, and once the wedding is done it will not matter. Don’t you see? Aligning our two families will only serve to help England and France and our families’ fortune. You could be a harbinger of peace. You would like that, wouldn’t you?”

  “You mean a match would serve you, by adding coin to your pockets,” she argued. “I will not do it. I am already betrothed to another.”

  “You will do it, Emma. There is no betrothal, it was broken, remember, after the murder of our father!” He raised his voice again and Emma feared not only would the whole of the household hear his ranting and raving but that he would lose what little remained of his composure and strike her. Yet, she could not bring herself to sit idly by and allow her brother such liberties with her future.

  It was one thing when her father had made the choice for her to marry William. She hadn’t been happy about it, but she had known her duty and had even allowed herself to come to like William. She saw a possible future with him. But this? Her brother must be out of his mind to think she would allow it. She refused to be his chattel.

  “You cannot force me, my lord.” Emma hoped that by emphasizing her brother’s new title he would possibly see reason. At the very least, maybe see that this was happening too soon and truly not in her best interest.

  Thomas cocked his head to the right. “You are wrong, I can force you to do whatever I think is right. And marrying Pierre Belmonte is right, Emma. However, who do you think supports this lifestyle you live, eh? The meals, the gowns, this house?” He spread his arms wide, showing off the room.

  “I care for none of that, brother. I will not be bought and sold like a bolt of Mr. Belmonte’s fabric.”

  “Of course, of course…” Thomas gave Emma a look that brought to mind the word sinister. “I understand. Father’s death was hard on us all. Most especially you, being of such a delicate constitution.”

  “What do you mean? Thomas, I don’t understand what Father’s death has to do with my refusal to marry Mr. Belmonte.” She truly was confused. Thomas seemed to switch conversation topics rapidly, with no rhyme or reason.

  “I simply mean that all of the excitement over the last few days must have wrought havoc on your nerves.” He moved to ring the servant’s bell. Emma stared at him, mouth agape.

  “My nerves are quite fine. Do you relent, then? Will you not force me to marry the Frenchman?” Emma ignored the door behind her as it opened. Thomas looked over her shoulder.

  “Mrs. Briddle, thank you so much for coming so quickly. I’m afraid Lady Emma is suffering from an ‘episode’…”

  “Oh my, My Lord. I shall bring her upstairs, right away.” Mrs. Briddle wrapped a thick, heavy arm around Emma.

  “Thomas, what is the meaning of this? I am perfectly fine.” She tried to pull herself from Mrs. Briddle’s grasp. The woman held fast, and Emma’s heart began to pound. Something was terribly wrong here.

  “I shall call for the physician, Emma. It seems you may not be in your right mind. No lady of your standing would refuse such an advantageous match.”

  A physician? Was my brother mad? What is he thinking? I do not need a physician!

  “Perhaps a stay for a time in the asylum would do wonders for your disposition.”

  The asylum? Emma reeled. She knew she had a difficult relationship with her brother, but for him to send her away because she refused his ridiculous idea of a match was preposterous! This could not be happening. It was as if she had suddenly been thrust into a nightmare.

  “NO!” She wrenched away from Mrs. Briddle. “Thomas, you cannot mean to send me to an asylum simply because I have refused you?”

  “It will help you to relax and see the benefits I’ve laid before you.”

  He motioned again for Mrs. Briddle. This time the older woman used both arms to pull Emma along.

  Her grip was stronger than Emma anticipated. She fought against the woman but it was useless, she was outmatched. She wished for William to appear, or her mother, or even the maid Mary; any other person who could witness what was happening to her.

  “No! I won’t go!” she screamed. “Nooooooo!”

  Chapter 12

  William woke to find Finley and his men already gone. Dawn had broken, and the men had wasted no time leaving the cabin.

  “Do ye trust they went back?” Goraidh asked, as the two men shared a meager portion of bread as the sun rose.

  “Nay, ye?”

  “Nay, so what’s yer plan?” Goraidh said.

  William had thought long and hard about what his next steps should be before sleep took him the previous night. He needed to clear not only his name but his clan’s name of the murder of the Earl. Emma had to be protected, and perhaps that meant carrying her back to Clan MacNair.

  Up until he spoke with Finley, he had thought that those two objectives were one and the same. Yet, the strange behavior of his kinsmen led William to believe maybe the murderer was closer to home than he had previously thought.

  “I doona have a solid plan, but I’m thinkin’ we should be followin’ Finley. He was actin’ strange, aye?”

  “Aye, he was indeed.” William knew he could trust Goraidh’s instinct as much as his own. His friend’s agreement solidified his goal.

  “We’ll leave Emma in the care of the new Earl, and get to the bottom of whatever this is.”


  “Aye, the lass will be safe with her brother and surrounded by his men. Ye really feel Finley is the key?” Goraidh moved to douse the hearth. They needed to move on quickly to avoid discovery. Even though the cabin looked abandoned, both men knew that could change. It would do no one any good for them to be discovered.

  “I do, it was in his manner. He was nervous in his speech. His eyes never remaining focused on any one thing. I doona ken how deep he is in it, but he kens something, and we need to learn it. But first, I wanna see the lass, and tell her the plan.”

  “Aye, then we should likely lose these plaids and find a way to blend in.” William knew Goraidh was right, Dawaerton house was crawling with Marston’s men. William looked down at his dirty, hanging plaid. Traditional dress and the fact that they were not small men was sure to draw unwanted attention. It was pure luck that they had gotten to the manor house avoiding detection of the English soldiers. “If there are Sassenach togs to be had, they’ll be in the back rooms.”