Highland Storms

by Christina Courtenay

  Highland Storms

  Christina Courtenay

  A delicious selection of women’s fiction

  Copyright © 2011 Christina Courtenay

  First published 2011 by Choc Lit Limited

  Penrose House, Crawley Drive, Camberley, Surrey GU15 2AB

  www.choclitpublishing.com

  The right of Christina Courtenay to be identified as the Author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher or a licence permitting restricted copying. In the UK such licences are issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency, 90 Tottenham Court Road, London, W1P 9HE

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available

  from the British Library

  ISBN-978-1-906931-71-1

  MOBI-978-1-906931-38-4

  Epub -978-1-906931-61-2

  For my mother

  Birgitta Tapper

  With lots of love

  Acknowledgements

  It is truly amazing how helpful people are whenever an author needs to know the answer to some particularly tricky question! This proved to be the case when I was unable to find out what an ordinary Scottish woman would have worn in the second half of the 18th century. I contacted the lovely Eileen Ramsay with a plea for help and within half an hour she’d put me in touch with author Maggie Craig (whose wonderfully titled book Bare-Arsed Banditti is a must for anyone who wants to read about the Jacobites) and their mutual friend Naomi Tarrant, retired Keeper of Costume at the National Museums of Scotland. Huge thanks to all three for helping me!

  A massive thank you once again to the brilliant Choc Lit team who continue to be a joy to work with, to the other Choc Lit authors (love working with you guys too!), to my two critique partners Gill Stewart and Henriette Gyland for their unfailing encouragement and support (and special thanks to Gill for correcting my Scots!), and as always, to my family for putting up with me in ‘author mode’ and to all my friends in the Romantic Novelists’ Association who continue to inspire me.

  Finally, I’d like to say a very special thank you to the cover artist for giving me this vision in lilac – love it!

  Chapter One

  Rosyth House, Scotland, August 1754

  Marsaili Buchanan was pulled back from the brink of sleep by the soft growling of her deerhound, Liath. It started as a low rumble inside the big dog’s chest and throat, and grew in volume while the animal raised his head and stared fixedly at the door. Since Liath was snuggled around Marsaili’s feet, the vibrations could be felt all the way up her legs. Her heart skipped a beat as she held her breath, waiting to see who was coming up the stairs to her tower room this time.

  ‘They never give up, do they, boy,’ she whispered and sat up, putting her palm on Liath’s flat skull. She felt the rumbling more strongly there and stroked the dog’s wiry neck, keeping her hand near his collar in case she needed to hold him back. It was a distinct possibility.

  She’d been plagued with night-time suitors like this for a while now, even though she never encouraged any of the men in the household or on the estate. Her face and figure seemed to inspire lust in any male between the ages of fifteen and fifty, no matter how much she covered it up. She silently cursed fate for giving her this dubious blessing. It brought her nothing but trouble.

  The latch moved softly. Since it was well-oiled and silent, Marsaili wouldn’t have heard it if she hadn’t been forewarned. The door didn’t open though, the bar she’d had installed recently saw to that. The latch dropped with a clink and she heard a snort of frustration. This was followed by a muted thud, presumably a shoulder pushing against the door. When this didn’t produce the desired result either, a man’s voice muttered an oath. A harder shove which made the wooden planks quiver seemed to conclude the assault. Marsaili bit her lip hard to keep from making a sound.

  ‘Marsaili? It’s me, Colin.’ The whisper was clearly audible and seemed to hang in the air for a moment.

  Marsaili almost gasped out loud. That was one voice she’d never thought to hear outside her door. She’d believed Colin Seton, the estate manager, too proud to go sneaking around at night.

  ‘Mr Seton? What’s the matter?’ she asked, trying to sound as if she’d just been woken up. ‘Is something amiss?’

  ‘Come now, girl, you know why I’m here. You’ve been holding out for long enough, it’s time you were rewarded.’

  His voice was slightly louder, but still low. Marsaili didn’t know why he bothered trying to keep it down. Her room was at the top of one of the towers of Rosyth House and there was no one immediately below her at the moment. He must be aware of this.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ she sat up straighter, glaring in the direction of the door. Holding out for what? Him? How on earth did he reach that conclusion? She just wanted to be left alone, not be importuned by a widower old enough to be her father.

  ‘The finest looking woman in all the Highlands deserves only the best. Can’t blame you for setting your sights high. Let me in now, you can trust me to look after you right.’

  Rage bubbled up inside Marsaili’s throat and threatened to choke her. The words she longed to hurl at Seton were so stacked up, she couldn’t spit them out. All that escaped her was a noise of frustration, but Liath felt her wrath and gave voice to it on her behalf. His growling grew into a crescendo of menace that reverberated around the small room.

  ‘Marsaili?’

  She managed to control her vocal chords at last. ‘Please leave, Mr Seton and I’ll forget we ever had this conversation. I’m sorry, but you’ve misunderstood.’

  ‘Eh? You’re just being stubborn now and you know it. No need to be coy, you’ve made your point.’ His voice was beginning to sound strained, as if he was keeping his temper in check, but only just.

  Marsaili didn’t know what to reply. She didn’t want to antagonise the man, but on the other hand she had to make him understand she wasn’t available to anyone. As if to emphasise her thoughts, Liath gave a short bark, and although she couldn’t see him, Marsaili knew he was probably baring his fangs as well. She felt her heart beating harder, the sound of her pulse almost drowning out the dog’s noise inside her ears. She took a deep breath. ‘I meant what I said. Anyone who wants to court me can do so in daylight.’ Not that it would do them any good since I don’t want any of them.

  ‘Who said anything about courting? Your mother –’

  She cut him off abruptly. ‘What my mother chose to do was up to her. It has nothing to do with me and I’ll live my life as I see fit. I’m a respectable woman.’

  ‘Rubbish! You’re no better than you should be. Hoity-toity by-blow of a –’

  ‘Mr Seton! You’ve said enough.’ Marsaili was shaking with fury, but was determined not to enter into a lengthy argument with him.

  Seton cursed long and fluently. Finally, he hissed, ‘That dog isn’t allowed in the house, you know. I’ll see it’s put where it belongs from now on, in the stables.’

  ‘You can’t! I have the mistress’s express permission to keep him in here. The dog stays,’ she said firmly, trying not to let her voice tremble the way the rest of her body was doing. It was true after all, but would he leave it at that? She waited again, holding Liath’s collar in a tight grip, while Seton made up his mind.

  The door was stout, but she knew
Seton was both strong and determined. Fortunately, so was Liath. Marsaili was reluctant to let the dog loose on anyone because she’d seen what those powerful jaws could do, but if she was cornered, she’d have no other choice.

  ‘We’ll just see about that,’ Seton snarled before giving the door a vicious kick. Soon after, she heard footsteps disappearing down the stairwell. She breathed a sigh of relief and threw her arms around the dog’s neck, burying her face in the shaggy fur.

  ‘Thank you, Liath, good boy. You’re the best.’ He licked her hand in acknowledgement of this tribute and leaned against her until her limbs stopped shaking.

  They’d won this time, but Marsaili knew that from now on she’d have to be on her guard at all times, both for herself and for Liath. There was no saying what Seton would do and now he’d put all his cards on the table, there was no going back. He wasn’t the type to give up easily and she’d probably wounded his pride. He would use every means at his disposal to have his way.

  Well, she’d be ready for him. Just let him try!

  Chapter Two

  Gothenburg, August 1754

  ‘Brice, are you awake?’

  ‘Hmm?’ Brice Kinross lifted his head from the pillow and blinked, wondering for a moment where he was. The small movement was enough to make him wince and he swiftly registered all the signs of a monumental hangover. Before he closed his eyes again, he had time to notice that he was in his own bed, probably for the first time in a week. He had no idea how he’d got there. Not that it mattered.

  Nothing mattered any more.

  His father, Killian, knocked once more on the bedroom door and Brice gritted his teeth against the pain this caused. ‘Come in,’ he muttered, his voice hoarse as though he’d done too much shouting the night before. He half remembered raucous singing and guessed that he’d joined in, perhaps a little too enthusiastically.

  Killian entered quietly, as if he knew his son’s head was too delicate to withstand even the smallest of sounds. He went straight to the window and opened it wide, then pulled up a chair next to the bed and sat down. ‘Smells like a taproom in here,’ he said with a smile. ‘I’m surprised you actually made it into bed. I expected to find you curled up on the floor next to the chamber pot.’

  Brice was still too befuddled to reply to such teasing, so he stayed silent.

  ‘I reckoned you must have drunk the town dry by now, so perhaps you’re ready to listen to a proposition?’ Killian’s smile turned into a more serious expression.

  ‘Uhm, what kind?’ Brice struggled into a sitting position, then groaned and put up his hands to cradle his aching skull. At the same time he tried to disentangle himself from the covers. It was August and as hot as it ever became in Sweden and since he’d apparently slept with the windows closed, the linen material was sticking to him in a most uncomfortable way. The sheets weren’t too fragrant either. Or perhaps that was him? He made a face.

  Killian pulled a hip flask out of his pocket and held it out. ‘Here, hair of the dog, but it’s the last drop of anything stronger than tea you’re having this week. Understand me? This has got to stop.’

  Brice grimaced as the liquid burned a path down his throat. Normally his Scottish-born father preferred whisky, so Brice was surprised to find the flask contained brännvin, the pure spirit favoured by the Swedes. Although this particular one was flavoured with herbs, it was still vile so early in the day. He shuddered and gulped down a sudden bout of nausea.

  ‘It’s none of your business if I want to have a night on the town with my friends,’ he began, but Killian cut him off.

  ‘A night, is it? More like an entire week. Enough is enough, don’t you think?’

  Brice had already reached this conclusion for himself, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be lectured like a naughty schoolboy. He was nearly twenty-two, not twelve. ‘It’s my choice,’ he reiterated. And if anyone had cause to drown their sorrows, he did, he added to himself.

  ‘Maybe so, but it doesn’t change anything.’ Killian’s voice was gentle, but firm.

  Brice clenched his fists around the sheet as the memories came flooding back again. No amount of drinking could lessen the pain of betrayal. ‘I trusted Jamie,’ he said. ‘My own brother. With his looks and charm he could have had any girl in the country, but he had to take the only one I wanted. The one he knew was spoken for. Why? And as for her …’

  He couldn’t find the words to express how he felt about Elisabet now.

  Brice had been in love with her for as long as he could remember. There had never been any doubt in his mind she was the woman he was going to marry. She had the kind of beauty that seemed almost unreal, her features delicate and perfect in every way like those of some other-worldly creature. Although young boys don’t normally notice such things, he’d been bewitched from an early age. Since she was four years younger than him, however, he’d had to wait for her to grow up, but he didn’t mind. It gave him the opportunity to try and make something of himself before settling down and he wanted her to have the best he could provide.

  Obviously, it wasn’t enough and I waited too long.

  ‘You’ve made your point and believe me, I’m not much happier with your brother than you are,’ Killian told him. ‘I thought better of Jamie, but accidents happen and he’s paid the price now. You should pity him, rather than waste your energy on useless anger.’

  ‘Pity him? When he’s married the most beautiful girl in all of Sweden? My girl. You can’t mean that.’ Brice handed back the flask, his stomach curdling at the mere thought of any more. It only deadened the pain for a few hours anyway, but then the agony returned tenfold afterwards.

  ‘I’m perfectly serious. You may think Elisabet is the loveliest girl on earth, but I doubt Jamie would agree with you. He was nowhere near ready to settle down with her or anyone else and he doesn’t love her. To him she was just like all the others. The difference is, he’s now stuck with her for life, whereas you’re free. Free to find someone else, someone better.’

  Brice made an angry noise, but Killian raised his voice. ‘Look at me, Brice. Even you must realise that if she didn’t want you enough to wait, then she wasn’t the girl for you. Any marriage with her would have been one-sided. Is it what you want? Being shackled to a woman who doesn’t love you?’

  Brice knew his father was right about that as well, but he wasn’t ready to admit it yet. Perhaps he never would be. ‘No, but she did until Jamie decided to have her,’ he muttered. ‘No girl can resist him when he puts his mind to it.’

  ‘Rubbish. Besides, Jamie swore to me he never deliberately tried to entice her and I believe him.’

  ‘Right. That must be why she’s with child then.’ Brice felt his mouth set in a mulish line. His father could believe what he liked, he’d never convince Brice of Jamie’s innocence.

  I should never have gone to China again, he thought, knuckling his eyes as if it would take away both the tiredness and the image of Elisabet with Jamie, which seemed to be burned onto his eyelids. But I did it for her!

  He’d been barely eighteen when he sailed to Canton for the first time on board one of the Swedish East India Company’s ships. It was both the worst and most wonderful thing he’d ever experienced. On the one hand, eighteen months of hard work and having to endure one of the toughest journeys imaginable. On the other, the joy of seeing strange sights he’d only ever dreamed of, plus enormous gains on his share of the cargo. And so he’d set out for a second time, hoping it would give him enough capital of his own to ask Elisabet to be his wife.

  It had, but he shouldn’t have bothered.

  Killian sighed. ‘Whatever the case, you have to face facts. Elisabet wasn’t the right one, which means your soul mate is yet to be discovered. Trust me, you won’t find her at the bottom of a keg of ale or barrel of wine. You’re young, you have plenty of time.’

  ‘Soul mate? There’s no such thing,’ Brice scoffed.

  ‘Yes, there is. I used to be like Jamie until I found your
mother. I thought women were just put on God’s earth for my enjoyment, never anything else. I was wrong. Luckily for me, I realised it before it was too late. Now you have the chance to look for yours.’

  Brice knew he and his five siblings were lucky in that their parents were prepared to allow them to choose their future spouses for themselves, but at the moment he wasn’t in the mood to feel grateful.

  ‘And how do you suggest I go about it? Join the riveting social scene here in Gothenburg?’ Brice knew he was being overly sarcastic, but he couldn’t help it. He wasn’t sure he was ready to face the reality of his situation. He still wanted to forget.

  ‘No, that’s not at all what I had in mind. I think it’s time you went to Scotland to take up your birthright.’

  ‘My what?’ Brice sat up straight and stared at his father, then drew in a sharp breath when the sudden movement jolted his sore head. ‘Ouch.’ He rubbed his skull, trying to lessen the pain, but didn’t take his eyes off Killian, who was heading for the door. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Get yourself washed and dressed, then come downstairs to the study and I’ll explain.’ Killian turned, his stern expression softening into a grin. ‘And eat something. You look awful and no respectable Scottish lass will give you so much as the time of day in that state.’

  ‘Who says I want them to?’

  But Killian had already left, so the question remained unanswered. Brice scowled in the direction of the closed door, but his father’s words had intrigued him and he knew he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep now.

  ‘Damn it all,’ he muttered, but for the first time since he’d found out about Jamie and Elisabet, something had penetrated the fog of pain and piqued his interest.

  Ignoring his aching head, he went in search of food and hot water.