“You came.” He moved toward her.
Devin backed away from his advance. The delicate teacup she held hit the silver serving tray with a resounding crash. Pieces of floral patterned china rained down on the carpet in her haste to get away.
“Oh, no,” Devin cried out, scrambling for the linen napkin, hurrying to soak up the amber liquid before it ruined the plush wool rug.
“Lord Rollie won’t be pleased, lass. That set was in his family for over a hundred years,” Kyle remarked through gritted teeth, gesturing toward the soggy mess.
“Really, and how would you know what my cousin owned?” The American woman threw a wary glance in his direction as she dropped to her knees to blot at the spot.
He offered up a nonchalant shrug. “I knew all about the man.”
“Look Mr…whoever you are, I think it’s time you left. This is a private home and I’m not quite sure how you got in, but I’d appreciate it if you would leave now.” She motioned toward the door with her free hand.
“Kyle MacLay, previous owner of Castle Loch Haven,” he replied calmly.
“What did you say?” Devin turned toward him, her gaze caught on his face, not quite sure of what she had just heard. The carpet was now forgotten for the moment.
“Laird Kyle MacLay, at your service, lass.” He bowed low before her.
“Look, if this is some kind of sick joke, I am not impressed.”
“No joke, milady. I would never deign to make light of Lord Roland’s demise,” he said seriously, as far as Devin could.
“Laird MacLay?” she whispered, her heart thundering in her chest.
The Laird’s Lady
by
Patti Shenberger
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
The Laird’s Lady
COPYRIGHT Ó 2008 by Patti Shenberger
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by Rae Monet
The Wild Rose Press
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Faery Rose Edition, 2008
Print ISBN 1-60154-372-7
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
To my children, Amanda and Brian. Maybe one of these days you’ll read one of the romance novels your Mom wrote! Love you both.
Prologue
Castle Loch Haven, Scotland
September 1602
Laird Kyle MacLay rolled the hand-hammered goblet between his hands, warming the brandy with every turn of the silver chalice. He watched in silence, hidden from view in the dark recesses of the window seat, as the delicate-looking young blond lass quickly entered the solar. She cast a furtive glance around before removing a folded piece of parchment from her pocket. After placing a gentle kiss to the page, she laid it on the mantel, then hurried back across the room and disappeared through the secret passageway hidden behind the burgundy velvet tapestry.
Off to her hiding places again, Kyle thought. Away from the noise and festivities, away from the relatives and guests celebrating their betrothal, and drinking to their Laird’s future happiness.
Kyle moved off the bench and toward the brightly blazing fire in the recently vacated room, all the while thinking how odd it was that both the bride and groom were conspicuously absent…
He could hear the merriment of the guests in the Great Hall, the sounds of their joyous shouts, but that gave him no peace of mind. The castle was polished to perfection. Fresh rushes lay upon the floors, the scent of rose petals and thyme filled the hall with their fragrant aroma. Trenchers topped with freshly baked loaves of bread and skewers of lamb graced the tabletops as the servants carried in platters of sweet treats. He could smell the scent of the three suckling pigs roasting on the spit in the kitchen and the aroma of the bread and rolls baking in the hearth. Everything was in readiness for the blessed event upon the morrow.
Kyle set the goblet down and reached for the paper to smooth open the edges. His forehead creased with puzzled concern at the words contained within.
You gave me the strength to do what I must. Pray, forgive me, my Lord.
He shook his head, confusion giving way to a low chuckle. What had she done now? Found a poor lost lamb in the meadow in need of a flock or worse yet, some foul smelling four-legged canine in need of a home and hearth on which to warm its weary bones. Leave it to Elsbeth to take pity on the poor and weak. His keep was filled to overflowing with Elsbeth’s growing menagerie of sick or abandoned creatures, each flourishing from her tender ministrations. Her kind heart and gentle soul touched all she encountered. On more than one occasion, she had drawn him from a foul mood with a simple touch of her hand and gentle smile upon her lips. Her lilting laugh gave solace to his spirits time and again.
With that thought lingering in his head, Kyle threw the crumpled paper into the fire, reached for his brandy and headed for the serenity of the battlement—his means of escape when problems weighed heavy upon his heart and mind.
Kyle MacLay, Laird of Castle Loch Haven, reached for his bagpipes and played in the cool night air. His fingers tightening, then letting go of the bagpipe valves, as note after note filled the sky. Tonight was the eve of his wedding to the fair Elsbeth Morehead. A wedding made while Elsbeth was but still a babe in the cradle. At the base of the cliff, pale gray shards of moonlight pierced the mist that clung to the water, swirling sinewy strands of silver to curl at the bottom of the stone stairwell. He wondered if Elsbeth were hesitant about her vows that were to be spoken on the morrow. As of late, she had been closeted in her chambers. Kyle put it down to pre-wedding jitters. She was young and so full of life. But was she ready to become his bride and take over management of Castle Loch Haven? Of that he was not sure.
From his position high on the battlement, Kyle watched as a horse with two riders came out of the castle shadows and headed for the forest. Scant seconds later, he recognized Lady Elsbeth, her red cloak stark against the moonlight, as she turned in the saddle and lifted her hand in farewell. The lilting strains of the bagpipe died on the air as the instrument fell unheeded to Kyle’s feet.
Laird Duncan MacPherson sat proud in the saddle ahead of Elsbeth.
Kyle’s gaze narrowed; his heart twisted in agony when the pair on horseback disappeared from sight within the dense trees.
How had Laird MacPherson managed to kidnap Elsbeth from the castle? Was it possible Duncan had snuck in among the revelers? Where were Castle Loch Haven’s guards? Why had a warning not been sounded? More so, why now, on the eve of Kyle’s wedding?
His head throbbed, his chest squeezed in a stranglehold that threatened to force the air from his lungs. His knees buckled, so great was the fury that came upon him.
Kyle pivoted blindly toward the exterior tower stairwell, heedless of the loose rock, intent on rescuing Elsbeth. His boot caught a crevice, pitching him forward, down the stone steps. He thrust his hands out in front of him to halt his descent, his fingers grasped desperately at thin air. The red plaid tartan he wore tightened around his neck for the briefest of seconds. Kyle gasped and clawed at his neck in order to breathe. Huge boulders, silent sentinels in the dark, broke his fall. He lay bloody and mangled at the base of the s
teps. He’d warned his men, had even forbidden Elsbeth from walking up here. Now he would die alone. He lay unnaturally still atop the cold, wet rocks, unable to move or call out for aid. The icy cold waters of Isle Lake sucked at him; warmth only a dim dream. Kyle felt himself slip into final oblivion and closed his eyes against the unrelenting pain.
It won’t be long now. Stars exploded in his skull—the pain replaced with the sensation of a frigid, almost smothering blanket, cutting off his air supply. Death would be a welcome diversion to the pain.
Chapter One
October 7, 1982
Queenstown, Maryland
Muted shafts of sunlight danced through the dusty glass window panes, giving the attic a fog-enshrouded appearance. A high squeal of excitement echoed off the rough hewn timber supports as the five-year-old girl cantered past on her imaginary horse, dust motes scattering in her wake. The white draped furniture shoved over in the corners gave an even more ethereal feel to the room.
“Look at me, Rollie. I’m a knight. Giddy up,” she commanded.
With a weary sigh, her nine-year-old cousin, Rollie, looked up from his book and shook his head. “Girls can’t be knights, Devin. Only boys.”
“I wanna be a knight. I can ride and fight as good as any ole boy.” She galloped madly across the attic playroom. The strings of the worn mop-head stallion flew ahead of her, twisted and mangled with use. With her every step, the metal handle of the mop smacked loudly against the old oak floorboards, filling the room with staccato bursts of sound.
Devin Elizabeth Noone drew up short in front of Rollie and waved a tinfoil sword menacingly at an invisible foe, mere inches from his face.
“Nope, can’t be done,” Rollie shook his head once more, barely lifting his gaze from the book.
“But Rollie,” her voice raised a notch in frustration.
“Look, Devin, girls can only be the Lady of the castle, not a knight.” His words were firm, yet said with kindness, as he watched her face scrunch up. Her bottom lip caught between her top teeth as she pondered his words.
“Okay,” she nodded, “I’ll be a lady.”
“Good. Please do it quietly then, so I can finish reading.”
“What are you reading? Where’s the pictures? I like books with pictures.” She dropped her mop-head horse and peered over the top of the book. Her eyes stared at the big words; her grubby fingers riffled the edges of the pristine white pages.
Rollie silently counted to ten and tried to be patient. She’s still just a baby, he reminded himself. She was only five. “How to be a Millionaire by Age Thirty.”
“Yuck, a boy book.” Devin stuck out her tongue, and headed for the large wooden chest nestled under the eaves. She began to pull dress-up clothes from within, only to toss them one by one on the floor. “Nope, nope, nope, gross. Oh, I like this one.”
Rollie resumed his reading, trying to block out the sound of her one-sided conversation.
“Okay, Rollie, I’m ready now.”
He looked up to find Devin standing atop an old wooden rocker. A pink feather boa encircled her neck and trailed over the arms of the chair. Her hands were dwarfed within a pair of long white gloves and an oversized blue frilly nightgown hung loosely off her shoulders, revealing the Minnie Mouse sweatshirt she wore beneath. The rocker creaked and groaned in protest as she preened before him and struck a pose.
“I’m Lady Devin of the Castle,” she announced haughtily. “Do as I say or I’ll cut off your head.”
Rollie closed his book with a thump. “That’s not how it works, Devin. They don’t cut off people’s heads for not listening.”
“I don’t care. I’m the Lady of the Castle and I say so.” Her green eyes flashed defiantly as she stomped her foot against the worn wicker seat of the rocker. The abrupt motion tipped the chair forward and Devin landed with a dull thud on the attic floor amid the pile of play clothes.
“Oooowwwww,” her wail of distress pierced the air.
Rollie rushed forward to comfort her. “Don’t cry, Dev. I’ll take care of you.”
Tears cascaded down her dirty cheeks, revealing a trail of golden freckles beneath the grime. The sunlight caught in her hair, outlining her fiery red curls in a halo of light.
Rollie patted her back awkwardly as Devin cried in earnest against his shirtfront. Minutes later, her tears dwindled to muffled sniffles.
“Someday, Devin, I’ll buy you a real castle to live in, okay?”
“Okay.” Devin looked up at him with wide green eyes in undisguised adoration.
“Come on; let’s see if Momma has any chocolate-chip cookies. You’ll feel better then.”
She nodded, her tangled curls bouncing up and down as Rollie led her from the attic playroom.
At the bottom of the stairs, Devin stopped and tugged on his hand. “You really promise you’ll buy me a castle someday, Rollie?”
“I promise,” he replied solemnly.
“To live in forever and ever,” she added.
“Forever and ever, Lady Devin.”
****
Queenstown, Maryland
Spring 2008
“So, this is what you Scotsmen wear under your kilts.”
Her smile was seductive as she slid her hands up the back of his bare legs to disappear beneath the red tartan plaid.
“Do you approve, milady?” he asked hoarsely, his teeth nipping gently against her neck.
Yes, my love,” Devin whispered before his mouth descended on hers, silencing the need for further conversation.
The mist lifted from the lake to surround them in a web of enchantment and gently rained down on their passion enflamed bodies.
He rolled her atop him in the wet grass, his hard muscular thighs cradling her own softer ones. He teased her bare skin to stoke the fire that blazed within her.
Devin braced herself against his chest and slowly explored his naked torso with her fingertips. The feel of his corded muscles under her palms urged her on. Her lips parted, eager for his kiss and she lowered her mouth to his once more. She pressed closer, yearning for his touch.
She moaned—the sound low and needful. His kisses drove her higher; his tongue searched the moist recesses of her mouth, plunging deeper and deeper. Then he seared a path down her throat, to the swell of her breasts.
Devin gasped as he softly tugged at her swollen nipples, the sensation both pleasure and pain rolled into one. “Please, I want you now. I can’t bear the thought of waiting another second.”
He caressed her intimately, teasing, driving her wild as she fought for control. She gasped and squirmed above him, stars exploding before her eyes. With a sigh, she gave herself up to his mesmerizing touch.
With one last lingering kiss, he gently laid her on the grass and stood. “Not yet, milady. Our time will come, but it must be later.”
Devin reached out for him, her fingertips barely grazing his own.
He moved out of reach, his voice growing faint. “Help me, lass. Only you can set me free.” Then he faded from sight, a fine shimmering mist that dissipated before her.
Devin couldn’t determine if the raging crescendo she heard in her ears was the racing of her own heartbeat or the sound of the wind-driven waves as they unmercifully spent themselves on the craggy rocks of the shoreline below.
“No!” Her anguished cry tore from her throat as Devin bolted upright in bed, the cotton sheets twisted and tangled within her grasp. Her breath came in choked gulps as she fought to calm herself. Looking around in confusion, she groaned.
She was in her own bedroom. No waves crashed, no mist rained down.
Nothing.
Just the quiet of her own apartment, and the steady drone of the window air conditioner.
With a shaky hand, Devin reached and turned on the bedside lamp. Her racing heartbeat gradually slowed as she willed herself to calm. This was getting to be too much, she thought. For five nights, the same dream had haunted her sleep. As hard as she tried to recall the face of the man in h
er dreams, she couldn’t. Maybe accepting her inheritance in Scotland wasn’t in her best interests right now. She looked over at the nightstand, to the stack of travel books precariously piled there. Their covers depicted silhouettes of centuries old castles, each one more fascinating than the next.
Tomorrow, she would be on her way to Scotland, the new owner of Castle Loch Haven. Rollie had seen to it that she never again would have to work. She was now Lady Devin Noone. The title had an odd ring to it. Devin still couldn’t believe Rollie was dead. Her favorite cousin, her only cousin to be exact, taken from this world at the tender age of thirty one, the victim of a fatal heart attack. She hadn’t even been there for the funeral. Off on a ten-day travel assignment in Japan, the news reached her too late for her to make it in time.
Guilt was a formidable foe as Devin tried to picture Rollie gone. It seemed impossible. For all of her life, he had been her hero, a larger than life icon; always there to make sure his younger cousin was safe and sound. But what had she done for him? For years, Devin had promised to visit Castle Loch Haven, to see the home Rollie lovingly restored, and she had never kept her promise. Now, it was too late. Devin felt the burn of tears behind her eyelids and the heartache began anew.
It was now up to her to see that Castle Loch Haven maintained its rightful place in the world. It remained one of the few castles in Scotland still privately owned and closed to the public. Rollie had restored the castle to its former greatness after buying it seven years ago. She, who had trouble balancing a checkbook, would be taking on the control of the large estate and become Lady of the Manor.
Who would have thought? Devin squirmed against the pillows and thought back to her dream. Why couldn’t she find a man like that in real life? Why did they tend to exist only in her dreams? Oh well, maybe she could find true love in Scotland.
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