Collecting Isobelle
Page 22
I first noticed the sign. No Rosses Allowed. Then I noticed the banner. Kissing Booth for Charity. Then I noticed the handsome boy inside the booth and the earth beneath my feet gave a little lurch. I had to grab onto Mary to maintain my balance. The boy bent forward to kiss the girl at the head of the line, but while he did so, he opened his eyes and scanned the crowd. When he’d finished his part of the exchange, he took the girl’s coin and gave her a wink. As she walked away, I felt I should call out and stop her, to tell her she should ask for her money back.
“Och, now. What have I done, to upset the pretty lassie, I ask ye.” The boy leaned against the frame of the booth while looking straight at me.
“You did it wrong. You should give her back her money.”
The boy’s eyes sparkled and his dimples deepened. Only then did I remember why I’d nearly fallen down. He was the same boy I’d bumped into not two minutes ago.
“Perhaps ye’ll give me a wee lesson on how they perform kisses in America, then.”
I shook my head. “How did you do that?”
“Do what?”
“How did you get here before I did?”
His dimples faded. His eyes turned cold even though he kept his smile.
“Ah, that. Well. There are two of me, ye see.”
To read Wickham and Ivy’s complete tale, go here. Or see the Books page for links to other works by L.L. Muir.
Excerpt from KILT TRIP
Book one in the Scavenger Hunting Series, coming soon.
PROLOGUE
England, 1704
“Am I mistaken, or did Flora just invite us all to do something wicked?”
Bridget was amazed Mallory was able to keep her voice down. Following the Duchess’s clandestine gift of advice for the young female entrants to Society, Mallory had immediately dragged Bridget and their friend Vivianne from the arboretum and into the garden. Dozens of young ladies had flooded out the doors behind them, and their trio of colorful skirts had barely escaped around the corner of the glass structure before her cousin posed the question.
They weren’t the only ones to have understood what was afoot. All along the softly lit paths, small clutches of ladies were bending their heads together like hungry hens going after the same handful of grain.
Handful of grain indeed.
Every young lady knew what every other young lady was discussing, so there was hardly a need for secrecy. But the somber-clad enemy was afoot—men wandering about, wondering why all the youngest dancing partners had disappeared. They eyed the little groups curiously, then the wisest of them fled back through the balcony doors as if they’d sensed danger, which they had, if truth be told.
Bridget turned to her cousin, satisfied they wouldn’t be overheard. “One would have to be both daft and deaf not to have understood. Grandmother said the duchess has been out of her mind for years, but then again, so is Grandmother.”
“She was daring us, then.” Mallory’s eyes were crinkled in mischief.
“To go to...Scotland?” Vivianne whispered ‘Scotland’ as if she were breaking the law to utter the word.
“To go anywhere, I’m sure, just as long as we play the game.” Bridget watched Vivianne’s teeth worry at her bottom lip. Her friend liked to assume the role of the timid mouse, but deep down, Vivianne loved adventure just as much as she and Mallory. Bridget couldn’t remember climbing out of one window without her cousin and her friend there to catch her if she fell...or push her if she hesitated. Finally, she put a voice to what the others must be thinking. “It’s the best way to punish a man, Flora said. And if ever a man deserved punishing, it would be my fiancée.”
Mal and Viv exchanged a look. They understood. They didn’t condone her marrying Baron Braithwaite, even if Bridget insisted on bowing to the man’s blackmail. But since they couldn’t come up with a solution either, they’d stand by her—especially on an escapade that would cause the man severe humiliation.
Mallory placed her hands on her shimmering blue hips that glowed in the light trickling through the branches in the arboretum. “If you think you’re going on an adventure without me, Bridget Kennison, you’re mistaken.”
“And I refuse to be left behind.” Viv crossed her arms, her play-acting finished.
“I wouldn’t think of going without the pair of you. But after tonight, we mustn’t ever say the words ‘scavenger hunt’ aloud, or surely we’ll be stopped before we start. Word of the dare will get out, I promise you. Someone will burst.”
Looking around the gardens just then, it wasn’t hard to determine who was tempted to play and who was only tempted to rat out the tempt-ees; the rats were watching the fluttering hens with interest.
Bridget led her friends further into the shadows.
“And what shall we hunt?” Viv clapped her hands silently.
“Men.”
“Mallory!”
“Well!”
Bridget held up her hands to stop the bickering. “I know just the souvenir an English Baron would never want his bride to bring home.” Bridget leaned in and lowered her voice. She felt sure she’d scream if she didn’t tell them immediately. “A kilt. From a Highlander.”
“Oh, that’s delicious!” Mallory grinned. “I’ll take the Highlander.”
Viv gave a pretty snort. “Don’t be silly, Mallory. You can’t keep a Highlander. It must be something you can retrieve, for a memento of your final act of defiance. What will you do, lock him up in the dungeon? Put a collar on him like a puppy?”
Mallory raised her brows and smirked.
“Mallory!”
Finally her cousin dropped her smile and pouted. “Fine. I’ll steal a sporran.”
“A sporran. Sounds even more scandalous.” Bridget looked to Viv. “What do you want?”
“Something…romantic.”
“Obviously, Vivianne. That’s the point, isn’t it?” Mallory rolled her eyes.
“I can’t think so quickly.” Her friend frowned at the ground as she slowly circled the others twice, kicking her skirts in leisurely steps. She came back and shrugged. “I’d like a broach, then. A Scotsman’s broach.”
“They call them brooches. It sounds as if we can all get what we want from a single man.” Bridget suddenly didn’t like the idea, but she couldn’t say why. It wasn’t as if she was after a man’s heart, after all.
Mallory shook her head. “Come now, we must have some rules. No more than one item from any man.”
“I agree.” Bridget felt better. “That way one poor fellow won’t awaken to find himself without clothing, purse, or jewelry.”
They all giggled, but stopped short when they noticed Grandmother Kennison’s form looming on the balcony. In unison, they stepped even further into the darkness.
Due to the dark shade of her purple gown, Viv became a disembodied head of blond curls. “Do you suppose,” she whispered, “there are any romantic Highlanders to be found?”
Mallory nodded. “Bridget’s Grandmother Kennison thought so. She said the Scot who kidnapped her was a poet. And he never returned to the Highlands. He waited, just across the border, in case she ever changed her mind.”
They all sighed in unison, staring at the balcony.
It was all decided but the details, but the three of them would go.
To Scotland.
For a scavenger hunt.
They’d be safe enough; Bridget had a secret weapon, of sorts. If they found themselves in any trouble, they merely needed to call upon the Scot who owed the Kennison family a substantial favor—the Scot who’d kidnapped her grandmother over four decades earlier—a man named Laird Alistair Graham.
CHAPTER ONE
Alistair Graham was dead.
Alistair Rory Macpherson had arrived in time to give his grandsire a good shock, a good laugh, and a good burial. The shock had come when the old man laid eyes on his favorite red-haired grandson from the Highlands. The laugh had come after Rory had confided his purpose for his visit. The burial may or may not
have come days later had Old Alistair not laughed quite so hard nor so long.
His young widow was but content the man died with a smile on his face.
After surveying the crowd come to mourn his grandfather, Rory began to understand why the man had laughed so. There was nary a wed-able, bed-able, or even palatable lass to be found among the clan. The only suckling bairn appeared to be Old Alistair’s new son, or else such lasses of a breeding age were well hidden from the likes of Rory. He began to wonder if they’d caught wind of his arrival and hidden the womenfolk, but if that were true, his grandsire would not have been so surprised when he’d walked into the old man’s hall.
Besides the loss of his favorite relative, Rory was disappointed on two counts; first, he would have to look elsewhere for a wife; and second, his grandsire’s clan looked to be dying out. Living among the border reivers, they’d most likely had their fertile women carried off along with the occasional herd of cattle. If these Grahams didn’t do a bit of reiving of their own, they were doomed.
As doomed as Rory felt.
Perhaps somewhere between the border and his Highland home he could find a lass who’d never heard of him, and carry her off before his tragedy reached her ears. If he could please her enough, she either wouldn’t believe the lies, or wouldn’t care.
No lass from his own clan would have him now, and he’d have no Englishwoman, but he wasn’t quite prepared to leave his beloved island to find a suitable mother to bear his children. Not yet, anyway.
Standing on the curtain wall surrounding the Graham keep, Rory was relieved the mourning days were coming to an end. With his grandfather’s home open to mourners, all kith and kin had been needed upon the battlements. No Elliot, or other border clansman could be trusted to keep their thumbs in their belts when paying their respects.
“Laird Macpherson!” A Graham spotted him from the ground and scrambled up to the narrow wall steps. “Laird—”
“I’m no laird, mon.”
“Yes, sir. Forgive me, sir. But I thought you would wish to ken some Anglishmen are coming, all lather and leather.”
Rory’s gut clenched. He should have never ventured so far South.
“How many?” He forced himself to sound the confident Highlander he appeared to be.
“Three, Laird.” The man cleared his throat. “I thought that since ye’re grandson to auld Alistair...”
“Nay. Ye’ll need to settle on a new laird from among yer own. I’ll be leaving on the morrow.” Rory nodded once for good measure.
The man’s shoulders slumped.
“You should choose a mon who will go after things that have been taken from ye, ye ken?” He put a hand on the other’s shoulder. “If the Grahams are to survive, you’ll need someone with fire in his belly, and a head on his shoulders. Someone young.”
“Someone like ye, then, laird?” The man grinned. “Are you sure ye cannot be swayed into settlin’ here?”
“I’ve little taste for English air, Mister Graham.” Rory looked South and tried not to shudder. “And I’d not be much use as a laird if I sickened every time the South Wind blew.” He dropped his hand back to his side. “Tell the captain of the guard to make ready for the invaders. We’ll let the bastards come mourn, and then heaven help them if they’re not back across the border when the black cloths come down in the morning.”
“Aye, laird.”
“Only for the day, Mister Graham. Dinna forget that. My friends and I will leave when my grandsire’s tucked in the soil.”
So Rory would play the part of laird until the Englishmen fled. It would not do to have their enemy see how poorly led the Grahams had become, especially if measuring the new Graham laird was the purpose in their coming.
Within the hour, Rory was wondering if he’d made a considerable mistake by sitting at the head of Alistair’s table with his two companions, Ian and Connor, at his sides. The Grahams had lined up for his attention to discuss matters that had been neglected since Alistair Graham had become ill and it would take days to sort through all the grievances, let alone hear witnesses. And Rory’d be damned if he’d judge a man unfairly, as he himself had been judged.
“Until the English are gone,” he announced, “and you can choose a new laird, I will only hear concerns that cannot wait a day or two. I promised only to stay until the mourning cloths come down.”
The queue dwindled as one by one folks nodded and walked away. One lad stood his ground.
Rory called him forward and the lad shuffled close. He smelled of dust and pine. He looked as if he’d slept with the pigs.
“Yer lairdship.”
“I’m no laird, cousin Jamie.”
The boy’s face lit for a moment, then he took a deep breath and began.
“Since the men have been called to the wall, laird—I mean, Rory—I mean, cousin—” Jamie blushed.
“Go on, cousin.”
Seated to his right and left, his companions, Ian and Connor, hid their smiles behind their mugs.
“Aye.” The boy frowned, then must have remembered what he was going to say. “Since you’ve needed the men on the walls, the lads and I have been riding patrol...and I have a message for you from the three Englishmen, only they’re not Englishmen at all—”
“Take a breath, Jamie. Fill yer sails and take yer time, aye?” Rory took a deep breath too, relieved their visitors weren’t English after all. “I’ll have the message first.”
The food ushered into the hall was of much less interest than the tale the lad quietly told, and Rory and his friends gave the boy their complete attention until the report was finished.
It was all Rory could do to remain seated instead of flying out the gates to see for himself!
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
ALSO BY L.L. MUIR
DEDICATION
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
EPILOGUE
Excerpt from WHAT ABOUT WICKHAM
Excerpt from KILT TRIP
TABLE OF CONTENTS
About the Author
MORE BOOKS by L.L. Muir
*Regency Historical Romance
Blood for Ink
Bones for Bread
Body and Soul
Breath of Laughter(coming in 2017)
The Brothers Grimm (starting 2017)
Lord Fool to the Rescue
*The Ghosts of Culloden Moor
1. The Gathering
2. Lachlan
3. Jamie
4. Payton
5. Gareth (Diane Darcy)
6. Fraser
7. Rabby
8. Duncan (Jo Jones)
9. Aiden (Diane Darcy)
10. Macbeth
/> 11. Adam (Cathie MacRae)
12. Dougal
13. Kennedy
14. Liam (Diane Darcy)
15. Gerard
16. Malcolm (Cathie MacRae)
18. Watson
19. Iain (Melissa Mayhue)
20. Connor
21. MacLeod (Cathie MacRae)
22. Murdoch (Diane Darcy)
23. Brodrick
24. The Bugler
*Scottish Time Travel Romance
Going Back for Romeo
Not Without Juliet
Collecting Isobelle
What About Wickham
The Curse of Clan Ross Series (bundle of the first 3)
Christmas Kiss
Kiss This
*Scottish Historical Romance
Kilt Trip: Part 1
Kilt Trip: Part 2
Kilt Trip: Part 3
Kilt Trip: Part 4
Kilt Trip: Part 5
Kilt Trip: Part 6
Kilt Trip Complete
Under the Kissing Tree
*Romantic Suspense
Gone Duck
*Young Adult Paranormal Romance
Somewhere Over the Freaking Rainbow
Freaking Off the Grid
*Middle Grade Children’s Books
Where to Pee on a Pirate Ship
*Western Romance
under the pen name Bella Bowen
BRIDE SCHOOL Series
Book One: GEN
Book Two: LIZZY
Book Three: MOLLY
Book Four: MARY
Book Five: NADIA (coming soon)
The Infamous Mrs. Wiggs Series
PICKLESFORK
American Mail-Order Brides Series
(50 books by various authors)
DARBY: Bride of Oregon