How to Marry a Royal Highlander

by Vanessa Kelly

  That sounded ominous. Edie decided it was time to lighten the tone.

  “I do hope nobody is going to murder Mamma and me in our beds, à la Lady Macbeth. That would be a rather unpleasant way to end our trip. I don’t imagine my father would be very pleased, either.” She pressed a finger to her chin, as if thinking deep thoughts. “Of course, after the last few weeks perhaps he might not mind such an outcome.”

  He laughed. “He did seem rather pleased to see you and your mother on your way.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  “In any event, you have no need to worry about our version of Highland hospitality. My grandfather is a loyal subject of the Crown—when he’s not railing against one or another of the princes, that is.”

  “Well, no one could blame him for that. They are a rather disgusting lot.”

  “You have no idea,” he murmured as he brought the curricle to a halt.

  Edie frowned at the strange comment. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  “Nothing. Are you ready for a tour?”

  He seemed in a rather changeable mood, which Edie supposed made sense, given that he was returning home after ten years and to a difficult family situation. She tried to remind herself that Gilbride’s moods and worries were none of her business. If she had a brain in her head, she would keep a respectable distance from the intriguing captain and his entire family.

  “Welcome to the official seat of Clan Graham, Miss Whitney.” His gaze turned warm and teasing. “I do promise not to bore you with any more family history.”

  It was impossible not to smile back at him. “I quite like your family history. It’s much more exciting than mine.”

  He was about to answer when a stable hand appeared through a gap in an ancient-looking wall inside the main fortress, one that set off a small inner courtyard. The man doffed his cap to Gilbride and made for the horses’ heads.

  “That’s an odd arrangement,” she said as Gilbride helped her down. “A courtyard within a courtyard.”

  “That’s the oldest part of the castle. It includes the southwest tower, which is still habitable, unlike the other towers in the ring wall.”

  He pointed across the larger courtyard to a small, tumble-down ruin in the corner. “That’s the chapel. As you can see, there’s not much left of it. And there,” he said, gesturing behind her, “is the manor house. It was built in the seventeenth century after a battle destroyed most of the old living quarters.”

  Edie turned around to see a long and rather plain two-storied manor house tucked into the ring wall. It was composed of the same gray stone as the rest of the buildings, although it was clearly of newer construction. It was well maintained and had a rather quaint, old-fashioned air that seemed to fit the rugged nature of the castle and its surroundings.

  Gilbride started her toward the house. “I’d like to let the housekeeper know we’re here. Then we can wander.”

  Before they’d taken more than a few steps, the door in the center of the building swung open to reveal a stout, middle-aged woman in a neat gray dress, her hair covered by an equally neat white cap. She hurried across the flagstones to meet them with a broad smile on her pleasant face. When she reached them, she dipped a low curtsey.

  “Well, Mrs. Graeme,” Gilbride said, “you’re looking splendid. You haven’t aged a day since I last saw you.”

  “Master, that’d be a grand story, if there ever was one,” the woman said, her brogue warm and welcoming. “But it be right fine to have ye home again. Ye’ve been sorely missed, especially by the laird.”

  “And it’s grand to be home,” he replied. He glanced down at Edie. “This is Miss Whitney. She and her mother will be staying at Blairgal for the winter. I thought she might appreciate a tour of Mugdock.”

  Mrs. Graeme’s gaze flashed over Edie with a quick assessment before she dipped her head respectfully. “On behalf of His Grace, the Duke of Montrose, ye’re most welcome at Mugdock Castle, Miss Whitney.” She looked back at Gilbride. “Will ye be wishin’ to step inside for some refreshment before ye start the tour, Master?”

  Gilbride glanced skyward. “I think we’ll save that for later. It looks like it’s clouding up, and I’d like her to see the view from the tower while the sun is shining.”

  Mrs. Graeme gave an enthusiastic nod. “It’s a bonny view, especially of the lake and the Campsie Fells. I’m sure the young lady will enjoy it verra much.”

  “Then I’d say tea in about an hour,” Gilbride said.

  “It’ll be set up in the drawing room whenever ye’re ready. There are two lads in the stables and Mr. Graeme is about, so just call out if ye need anything, Master.”

  Gilbride gave the woman a friendly nod and then led Edie away.

  “Why does she keep calling you Master?” she asked. “You’re hardly a lad in knee breeches.”

  He waggled his eyebrows at her. “Thank God for that, eh, lassie?”

  She groaned. “Please don’t start in on your Highland oaf routine again. I know you must be sorely tempted now that you’re home, but I beg you to refrain.”

  “Actually, my grandfather would murder me if he heard me playing that particular part, as would any self-respecting Scotsman.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. I would have to fling myself from that tower if you kept it up. Master.” She dipped him a mocking curtsey.

  “You are most definitely a vixen,” he said, shaking his head. “For your information, Miss Impudent, Master is the official title of the Earl of Riddick’s heir. It is the Scottish equivalent of the courtesy title of viscount that is often given to the heir of an English earldom. My full title is Captain Alasdair Hector Gilbride, Master of Riddick.”

  “Master Riddick,” she said, rolling it on her tongue. “I like it. And if you were to marry, would your wife be the Mistress of Riddick?”

  “I thought we agreed to close that rather unpleasant topic.”

  She grimaced. “Sorry. My lips will remain forever sealed on that subject.”

  “I sincerely doubt it.”

  “There’s no need for sarcasm, Master Riddick. But I do have a question on another topic.”

  He slipped her hand into the crook of his arm as they strolled into the inner courtyard. Edie took a moment to appreciate the feel of his brawny muscles underneath her fingertips.

  “Which is?” he asked.

  “Is everyone I’m going to meet from now on called Graham?”

  “No, but an alarming number of them will be.”

  “That will make it easier to keep everyone straight, I suppose.”

  “Except for the fact that there are a number of variations in spelling. The duke’s housekeeper, for instance, spells her name g-r-a-e-m-e. And you’d best keep in mind that we’re all quite touchy about what we think is the correct way to spell the name.”

  “Please tell me you’re joking.”

  “Believe me, I wish I wasn’t.”

  She affected a dramatic sigh. “You’re right. It obviously is a sinister plot against the English. How diabolical of all of you.”

  Edie didn’t think she was imagining even more heat in Gilbride’s gaze when he looked down at her.

  “Oh, I think you’ll find we Scots can be quite diabolical when it comes to getting what we want, Miss Whitney,” he murmured in a voice so seductive that she was hard put to repress the insane impulse to snuggle against his hard, muscular frame, like a kitten seeking warmth.

  And yet that would be the worst thing she could possibly do, because Edie was done with scandal, and not even charming and handsome Alasdair Gilbride had the power to entice her into another one.

  Chapter Nine

  Gilbride was like a male version of one of the Sirens, luring hapless females to their doom. Most of the time Edie suspected he didn’t even realize he was enticing said females toward the rocks. Right now, though, she was convinced he knew exactly what he was doing because he was flirting with a lazy, sensual intent that warned her to lash herself to a meta
phorical mizzenmast. Why he would do so was a bit of a mystery that she would solve later, once she’d had time to think it through.

  He was in the middle of describing how romantic the Highlands were in autumn, painting vivid pictures of them taking long rides together through the glens—alone.

  Really, enough was enough.

  “Yes, that all sounds delightful, but then there are the bagpipes and the haggis and the rain and the clan feud and God knows what else,” she cut in. “None of that sounds very romantic to me.”

  Her rude interruption appeared to make him mentally stumble. She imagined that not many girls cut Gilbride off in midflirtation, so she patted herself on the back for having the fortitude to do so.

  After a moment, he flashed her a wry grin. “Are you trying to tell me that you don’t like bagpipes or haggis? I’m crushed beneath the grinding heel of your unromantic view of life, Miss Whitney.”

  “There’s nothing romantic about haggis, and you know it. Now, stop acting like such a flirt and tell me about the castle. I want to know everything about it.”

  He studied her for a few seconds, that wry smile tilting up one corner of his mouth. She loved his mouth. Firm-lipped and utterly masculine, it was also generous and prone to roguish smiles that weakened a woman’s knees. It was yet another temptation in a long list of temptations that made up the man. Edie could only imagine what it would feel like to have that mouth cover hers.

  Idiot. Don’t think about it. Despite his protestations regarding his future marital status, Gilbride was promised to another woman. Until that changed, Edie needed to keep her guard up.

  “It’s funny, but I never took you for a coward,” he finally said.

  She gaped at him for a few seconds before outrage replaced surprise. “I’ll have you know, Captain Gilbride—”

  “I surrender,” he said, interrupting her with a laugh. “Consider me humbled before you with countless abject apologies.”

  She eyed him, silently fuming. But since she really wasn’t sure what she’d been about to say anyway, perhaps it was best to let the matter drop.

  “Am I forgiven?” he asked, trying to look as humble as he professed to be. It was an absurd attempt because Alasdair Gilbride couldn’t look humble if his life depended on it.

  “Oh, very well,” she said. “But only because I wish to see Mugdock. If not, I’d take the curricle and leave you to walk back to Breadie Manor.”

  He let out a dramatic sigh as he led her past a neat set of stables, toward the main tower. “You’re a coldhearted woman, Miss Whitney.”

  “And you are the most irritating man I’ve ever met. You’d better not stand too close to the edge of the tower when we get up there, or you might find yourself on the receiving end of an unfortunate accident.”

  He pressed a hand to his chest. “I will certainly take your advice to heart.”

  “I’m sure you will,” she said drily.

  He simply gave her a crooked grin.

  They stopped at a set of stairs at the base of the imposing old tower. There didn’t seem to be a door that led directly from the yard into the building.

  “Is that the only way in?” she asked with some surprise.

  “Yes. It looks odd, but I expect it was because the keep was easier to defend that way. Up you go now, but watch your step.”

  She lifted her skirts and started up the narrow steps. They were crumbled in one or two spots but otherwise in good condition. “You needn’t worry, Captain. I can see perfectly.”

  And she could. She could see every crack in the gray stone, every spot where the edges were worn away or where a smooth piece of moss waited for a careless slip of the foot. For once, she didn’t have to tread warily or depend on someone else to compensate for her wretched vision. That had always been the worst part—having to cede any ground to her weakness.

  But in the end, her vanity had yielded nothing but a circle of shallow, insincere friends who’d abandoned her at the first sign of trouble.

  At the top of the landing, Gilbride reached a long arm around her to open the door. He brushed up against her, his big body briefly caging her in. Feeling a little breathless, she scurried into the room, one that apparently took up the entire floor. It had a high ceiling and a large, soot-blackened fireplace. There was a massive oak table with four heavy, old-fashioned chairs, an ancient-looking settle in front of the fireplace, an iron chandelier hanging from the ceiling, and not much else. The room was dimly lit by two small windows covered in a framework of iron bars, their design obviously defensive in nature.

  Slowly turning in a circle, she took in the gloomy atmosphere. The room was cool and smelled slightly of must and its thick walls blocked out all sound from the outside. It didn’t take much to imagine life here in a wilder time, when marauders roamed the countryside, and clan fought clan. She’d never considered herself a particularly imaginative person, but standing in Mugdock Castle she felt the phantoms of history all around her.

  Gilbride leaned against the doorframe, quietly watching her. Despite his modern dress, there was something wild or untamed about him, too, something she’d never fully noticed before in the civilized ballrooms and salons of the ton. With his brawny physique and confident presence, he seemed to belong in this rugged setting, one of a long line of fierce warriors who could face any challenge, defeat any enemy.

  “What do you think?” he asked. “It’s a relic and a rather moldly one, too. Now you can see why the duke and his family spend so little time here.”

  She smiled. “I think it’s splendid. If I closed my eyes, I’m sure I could hear the cries of Saxon invaders, or see the witches brewing up their potions for the King of Cawdor.”

  “You wouldn’t think it was splendid if you had to live here,” he said. “You’d probably come down with a lung infection. Besides, it’s not that old. Just fourteenth century.”

  She pointed a finger at him. “Aren’t you the person who accused me of lacking romantic imagination? I refuse to allow you to shatter my dreams with your talk of lung infection and mold. Now, what else is there to see?” She clapped her hands on a sudden thought. “Please tell me there’s a dungeon.”

  “Only a cellar, which if memory serves is very moldy. It’s primarily used to store furniture and other household items that no one knows what to do with. There’s not a torture chamber, prison cell, or crypt anywhere in the place. Just a lot of cobwebs, spiders, and mice.”

  She wrinkled her nose at him. “You’re determined to cast down all my hopes, aren’t you? What good is a castle without a torture chamber?”

  “Actually, there is something much better than a torture chamber. Come with me.” He held out a hand.

  Edie studied him for a moment, not trusting his seductive smile. But the enticement was too great, so she joined him, and he led her to a set of stairs tucked into the corner of the room. They were very narrow and very steep and, despite her excellent new spectacles, she slipped. From behind, Gilbride clamped his big hands on her hips to steady her.

  “Watch your step, love,” he murmured.

  The casually uttered endearment set her heart racing. Or perhaps it was the feel of his long fingers curling around her hips, holding on to her just a fraction longer than necessary.

  “Thank you,” she managed to squeak out.

  She finished the climb in a rush, arriving breathless on the next level. That room was a duplicate of the room below, sans furniture, so Gilbride urged her to keep going. At the top of the staircase, there was a small door that swung open to the roof. She stuck her head out, taking in the parapet that ringed the edges of the steeply peaked roof that rose from the top of the tower.

  “Are you game for a look?” Gilbride asked from just below her. She felt sure he was getting quite a good view of her bottom, since it had to be almost in his face. That thought had her going hot all over, despite the sharp breeze that set her bonnet ribbons fluttering.

  She scrambled onto the roof then edged away to the righ
t, giving him room to fit his large frame through the small opening. She thought for a moment that his shoulders would get stuck, but he managed to push himself through and up onto the roof.

  “I don’t remember that being such a tight fit,” he said.

  “I imagine you were smaller the last time you were up here. Now you’re practically a giant.”

  “Hardly that, but I was a skinny lad. Tall, but thin as a beanpole. Our cook did her best to fatten me up, but nothing ever seemed to work.”

  Gilbride’s body held not an ounce of extra flesh, as far as Edie could tell. “Lucky you. It was quite the opposite in our house. Mamma was forever scolding Evie and me about eating too many sweets. She was terrified we’d end up as—”

  “Butterballs?”

  She gave him a sheepish smile.

  “I assure you, Miss Whitney, there isn’t anything on your frame that doesn’t belong there.”

  That rather impudent remark was followed up by a leisurely perusal of her figure. From the appreciative look in his eyes, it seemed the compliment was sincere.

  She made herself turn away from him to gaze at the view that made her almost forget that he was flirting with her again.

  “It’s beautiful,” she gasped.

  The tower was on a high point of land, looking down the hill. Straight below ran woods, meadow, and bog, the autumn colors of the fallen oak leaves, wild cranberry, and purple heather spread out in a dazzling natural carpet. To the left, shimmering in the afternoon sunlight, was a large lake.

  “Are those swans?” she asked.

  “They are. There have been whooper swans on Mugdock Lake for generations.”

  Edie leaned over the waist-high parapet, trying to get a better look. Gilbride snaked an arm around her middle to pull her back.

  “Easy does it,” he said. “We’ve kept the tower in good repair, but the stones are very old. I don’t fancy explaining to your mother how I let you tumble off.”

  The feel of his arm around her waist left her rather breathless again, so she came back in. It startled her how much she didn’t want him to let go.