by Lauren Royal
THE LAIRD’S FAIRYTALE BRIDE
A Chase Brides Novella
Lauren Royal & Devon Royal
The Laird’s Fairytale Bride is the SWEET & CLEAN edition of Forevermore by Lauren Royal
5th Edition, July 2017
Novelty Books
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Title Page
Book Description
More Chase Family Books
A Message from Devon...
Chase Family Tree
Cover Image
Dedication
1: They'd sent a carriage...
2: Cameron Leslie was...
3: "A Scots funeral is...
4: Late the next morning...
5: The next day, Clarice...
6: Half an hour later, Clarice...
7: Cameron dove in...
8: "I'm thinking..."
9: "He kissed me, Gisela."
10: "Delicious."
11: "There's a bonnie loch...
12: For the first time...
13: "I feel like I'm in...
14: Celebrate they did...
Thank You!
BONUS MATERIALAuthor's Note
Explore the Chase Family World
Excerpt from THE DUKE'S RELUCTANT BRIDE
Books by Lauren & Devon Royal
Contest
About the Authors
Contact Information
Copyright Page
BOOK DESCRIPTION
The Laird’s Fairytale Bride is the SWEET & CLEAN edition of Forevermore by Lauren Royal
England, 1667
Young widow Clarice Bradford is perfectly content. She has a pretty one-room cottage and a lovely little daughter, and the last thing she’s looking for is another husband. Until one fairytale evening when she’s invited to a wedding at a castle…
Sir Cameron Leslie is used to getting what he wants—and since the moment he laid eyes on Clarice, what he’s wanted is to bring her home with him to Scotland. But beneath her shy exterior is a fiercely independent woman, and the closer Cameron gets, the farther she retreats. Can he persuade her to give love another chance before it’s too late?
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A MESSAGE FROM DEVON…
Not gonna lie, I thought it was pretty cool growing up with an author for a mom! I’d always been into books (like, every morning when 1st grade reading time ended, Mrs. Schultz had to physically pry the book from my hands), plus there were perks. Mom was always home with us kids, so we never had to go to daycare. She was also always on deadline, so we got to eat a lot of Pizza Hut for dinner. And I could impress my friends by moseying into Barnes & Noble and casually pointing out my mom’s books on the shelves.
The only problem: I wasn’t allowed to read them!
Her romance novels were for and about adults, and I was just a kid. A kid who loved books and hated rules—so you can imagine my dismay.
Of course, the instant I was old enough, I swiped a full set of her books from the garage and devoured them all in a row. And I wasn’t surprised when I loved every one, because, you guys, my mom is seriously awesome.
Recently the aforementioned awesome lady had an awesome idea: releasing new, revised versions of her novels that are appropriate for all ages, so that everyone can enjoy them. To think, all those dismay-ful years could have been avoided!
I knew instantly I was the girl for the job. My mom and I have been writing together basically since I learned how to type—our first all-new collaborative release, Alice Betrothed, is a project we started when I was in middle school—plus, I was a sweet-romance-reading teenager myself only a few years ago. I literally bumped into walls walking around high school with my nose buried in a book.
There’s a crazy amount of fantastic romance out there right now—we’re SO excited that you’ve chosen our book! Like, spontaneous-dance-party-excited! I would be doing the robot right now if I weren’t busy typing. Maybe I’ll wrap up this letter so I can go do that.
I so hope you’ll enjoy Clarice’s story!
xoxo
January 2016
CHASE FAMILY TREE
To see a larger version of the Chase Family Tree, click here!
For DeeDee Guiver Perkins,
Diena Brennan Simmons,
and Julie Bowring Walker
A sweet story for
sweet friends forevermore
ONE
Village of Cainewood, England
September 1667
THEY’D SENT A carriage to take her to the castle.
In all her twenty-three years, Clarice Bradford had never ridden in a carriage. Gingerly she climbed inside and perched on the leather seat, settling the pink skirts of her Sunday gown.
Dressed in blue to match her eyes, Clarice’s five-year-old daughter bounced up and down on the seat opposite. “I’ve been in this carriage, Mama. When Lord Cainewood brought me to live with you.”
In her short life, Mary had been orphaned by the plague and then abandoned during the Great Fire of London. But in the year since Lord Cainewood brought Mary to her doorstep, Clarice had come to love the girl like her own.
“I remember you climbing out of this carriage. That’s one day I’m unlikely to ever forget.” Clarice reached across and tweaked her daughter on the chin. “It’s a fine carriage, isn’t it?”
Mary shrugged, her blond ringlets bouncing on her shoulders in the same rhythm as the vehicle. “I would rather ride a horse.”
“That wouldn’t be a very elegant way to arrive at a nobleman’s wedding.”
A sigh wafted from Mary’s rosy lips. “I s’pose not.” She nibbled on a fingernail until Clarice pulled her hand from her mouth. “Who is Lord Cainewood marrying?”
“I haven’t met her, poppet, but if she’s marrying Lord Cainewood, she must be a grand lady. I’ve heard she’s from Scotland.”
“Scotland. Is that very far away?”
“Far enough.” Clarice leaned across the cabin and took Mary’s hands in hers. “Can you believe we’re going to a wedding at the castle?”
Though Mary smiled, it was clear she wasn’t overly impressed. “I lived at the castle before.” Last year, after Lord Cainewood’s brother had swept her from the fire and brought her to Cainewood. “For a whole month.”
“Well, I’ve only been in the great hall for Christmas dinner once a year,” Clarice said. “I’ve never seen any of the other rooms.”
“I’ll show you around,” her daughter proclaimed, displaying nary a hint of the awe that made Clarice’s heart beat a rapid tattoo.
The castle was grandly ancient; the very thought of entering the family’s private living space was both daunting and exciting. And the carriage was clattering over the drawbridge already.
Shadows sheathed the carriage’s windows as they passed beneath the barbican. Then it was bright again, and Clarice Bradford found herself inside the crenelated walls of Cainewood Castle.
The carriage door was flung open, and Mary ran down the steps into the enormous grassy quadrangle. “Who are you?” Clarice heard her ask. “And who is this?”
“You must be Miss Mary,” came an unfamiliar voice. Clarice alighted from the carriage to see a young man crouched by her daughter, an infant in his arms. “And this is baby Jewel. Lord Cainewood is an uncle now, aye?”
“Lord Cainewood plays games with me sometimes. The babe is lucky to have him for an uncle.” Four stories of stately living quarters looming behind her, Mary ran a small fin
ger down the child’s tiny nose. “But Jewel is an odd name. ‘Specially for a boy.”
“Ah, but Jewel is a lass.” A grin appeared on the stranger’s face, lopsided and indulgent. “Though she has little hair on her head yet, she’s a girl.”
“Oh. Will she have more hair soon?”
“Aye. A bonnie lass she’ll be. Just like you.”
Mary’s giggle tinkled into the summer air as the young man rose to his full height and caught Clarice’s gaze with his.
Something fluttered inside her when she met his warm hazel eyes. Since he hadn’t answered Mary, Clarice had no idea who he was. He looked to be a wedding guest, though, dressed in a fancy dark blue suit trimmed with bright gold braid. She’d been told this would be a small family wedding. Judging from his accent, she guessed he belonged to the bride’s side.
The stranger was tall. Clarice was not a short woman, but this gentleman topped her by nearly a head. Straight wheaten hair skimmed his shoulders and rippled in the light breeze, shimmering in the sunshine. And his eyes…
She gave herself a mental shake. This magical fairytale day was sparking her imagination—that was all. She’d never thought to be inside the castle walls as an invited guest to the lord’s wedding—she and Mary the only commoners invited—the only non-family invited, come to that. Lord Cainewood had said that since their misfortune had inadvertently led to his marriage, he wanted them with him to celebrate. The sheer wonder of it was going to her sensible head. Making her giddy.
“You talk funny,” Mary said to the stranger.
“Mary!” Clarice exclaimed, but she couldn’t seem to look at her daughter. Her gaze was still riveted to those hazel eyes. He didn’t talk funny, either. To the contrary, his rich, lilting Scottish burr seemed to flow over her, seeping into her skin.
Lud, she feared her knees might give out.
“Do you think so?” He tore his gaze from Clarice’s and looked down at Mary. “Ye should gae a’ folk the hearin’, ye ken?” he said in an accent so broad it was obviously exaggerated.
At the look on her daughter’s face, Clarice laughed, then clapped a hand over her mouth. Surely laughter wasn’t appropriate at a lord’s wedding. She schooled her expression to be properly sober. “He means you should listen to people without passing judgment,” she told Mary.
The gentleman grinned, showing even white teeth. “I’m Cameron Leslie,” he said. “Cousin of the bride.” Shifting the baby to one arm, he reached for Clarice’s hand. When he pressed his warm lips to the back, her breath caught and she thought she might swoon.
Clarice Bradford had never swooned.
“And you two must be the mother and daughter I’ve heard so much about, whose trials set Cainewood on the road to meet and woo my cousin Cait.” She released her breath when he dropped her hand. “Though to hear Lord Cainewood’s side of it,” Mr. Leslie added with a wink, “it was Caithren who did the wooing.”
Clarice couldn’t help but smile. His cousin Caithren sounded like just what serious Lord Cainewood needed. “I’m Clarice Bradford,” she said.
“It’s pleased I am to meet you.” He looked down when Mary tugged on one leg of his velvet breeches. “What is it, sweet?”
“Will you pick me up?”
“Mary!” Clarice frowned and set a hand on the girl’s shoulder.
But Mr. Leslie handed the baby to Clarice, then reached down and swung her daughter into his arms. “Of course I’ll hold you, princess.” His eyes danced. “She’s charming,” he told Clarice.
“I…” She cradled the sweet-smelling babe, at a loss for words. Mary was acting inappropriately forward, to the point of burrowing into Mr. Leslie’s neck. And Clarice…
Clarice was jealous.
It was absurd. The planes of his face were clean-shaven, his skin flawless and…young. He was quite young. Not even twenty, she’d guess. She could see it in his complexion, in the straightness of his lanky form, in the angle of his head. This was not someone who had yet suffered the slings and arrows of life.
And Clarice was nearly twenty-four years old. Old enough to know she had no business fancying an aristocratic gentleman, especially one several years younger than she.
She’d never really fancied anyone before. It was quite a heady experience.
And her daughter was clearly just as smitten.
Clarice was startled out of her thoughts when the whine of bagpipes filled the quadrangle.
“That’s our signal,” Mr. Leslie said. “I expect I should fetch the bride.”
When he set Mary on her feet, the girl reached up and firmly took his hand. “May I come with you?”
“Of course you may, princess.”
“Princess,” Mary breathed as they walked away. Bemused, Clarice smiled down at the cooing infant in her arms, vaguely wondering how she’d ended up holding a marquess’s niece. And what she was supposed to do with her.
She glanced up to ask Mr. Leslie, but he was already too distant and Mary was happily chatting away. She wondered if perhaps she’d lost her daughter to this stranger.
Mary had always dreamed of being a princess.
TWO
CAMERON LESLIE was known to be a wee bit quiet. A lad of simple needs, he didn’t want for much. But when he did find something he wanted, he generally got it.
At the moment he was wanting Clarice Bradford. Or his body was, at least. His head told him he couldn’t come to that conclusion following a five-minute conversation.
Heavens, he mused as he led Mary up the steps to his cousin’s chamber, in all his nineteen years he’d never met a lass like Clarice. Nay, not a lass—a woman, with her quiet dignity, her wholesome beauty, the depth in her large gray eyes. She was vastly different from the girls his age, though she couldn’t be more than a handful of years older. Vastly different and so much more.
Was it because she had a daughter? he wondered, squeezing the small hand he held. Mary giggled. She was a delight, and clearly adored by her mother.
Nay, Cam decided. He’d met plenty of young mothers—some younger than Mary’s—and none of them were like Clarice. She was special.
A pity his time here in England was so short. He wanted to get to know Clarice, but he had less than a week before he needed to head home to Scotland.
Deciding he would persuade her to spend some time with him anyway, he knocked on his cousin’s door and called through the sturdy oak to ask if she was ready.
When the door opened, his jaw dropped. “Cait?” Dressed for her wedding, she looked different from the girl he’d known since her birth. Unbound from its customary plaits, her dark blond hair, so much like his, hung straight and loose past her shoulders. She wore cosmetics and a sky-blue gown trimmed in silver lace. An English gown.
“Good heavens,” he said. “Cait, you look lovely.”
“Thank you.” She smiled, her hazel eyes sparkling as she surveyed his own attire, a deep blue velvet suit that he’d borrowed from one of the groom’s brothers. He suspected Caithren thought he looked as English as she. She aimed a curious glance at the wee lassie who still held his fingers gripped tight. “And who is this?”
“Her name is Mary, and she and her mother are special guests. She, uh, attached herself to me.” Cam lifted his hand, and Mary’s hand came up with it. Though he gave a sheepish shrug, he felt warm and pleased. “She may be walking down the aisle with us.”
Caithren knelt, her silk skirts pooling around her. “Good day,” she said.
“Good day,” Mary returned in a small, polite voice. “I am pleased to meet you, my lady.”
“I’m not—” Cait started.
“You’ll be a lady within the hour,” Cam interrupted with a teasing smile. “You may as well get used to it.” He knew firsthand how difficult it was to adjust to a new station in life, having unexpectedly found himself to be a baronet after Caithren’s brother died last month. He blew out a breath. “I, on the other hand, will never get used to being a sir.”
“Aye, you will.
” Cait stood and linked her arm though his. “Shall we go?”
Bagpipe music swelled when they reached the double front doors and stepped out into the sunshine. It was a glorious day to be wed, the quadrangle redolent with the scent of newly-cut grass, the sky blue as Cait’s gown and dotted with wee, puffy white clouds. Cam’s gaze swept the enormous castle’s crenelated walls and the ancient keep. Beyond the timeworn tower, the grass grew high and untamed.
“Gudeman’s croft,” Caithren murmured.
“What is that?” Mary asked.
Cam knelt down to her. “A place allowed to grow free as a shelter for brownies and fairies.”
“Oh.” Mary’s eyes opened wide. “Do you know stories of brownies and fairies?”
“Many. But they’ll have to wait for later.” Cam ruffled her unruly curls before he stood and faced Cait. “It’s really the old tilting yard. Colin told me they don’t groom it since it’s long been in disuse.”
“I knew that.” Her lips curved in a soft smile as she scanned her new home. “Can you believe this place, Cam?”
He met her hazel eyes. “You always were meant to live in a castle, sweet Cait.”
“Aye,” she said, no doubt thinking of her family’s tiny castle back in Scotland—Cameron’s castle now. “But who’d have ever guessed it would be such an enormous, historic one…and in England?”
“You’ll do fine.” Though they’d always been inseparable and he would miss her terribly, Cam knew she belonged here at Cainewood with the marquess she’d come to love. He leaned to kiss her forehead, then looked up. “There’s your man now.”
When her gaze flew to her intended, her face lit at the sight of him. Suddenly Cam ached for the security this tall, dark-haired fellow so clearly enjoyed—someone to love and a place that truly felt like his own.