Wake Me With a Kiss: A Fairy Tale Retelling (Regency Fairy Twists Book 1)

by Samantha Holt

  WAKE ME WITH A KISS

  A Regency Fairy Twist

  Samantha Holt

  Copyright © 2016 Samantha Holt

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover art by www.promoforauthors.com

  Published 6th September 2016

  Edited by Em Petrova

  Proofed by Destini Reece

  www.samanthaholtromance.com

  Once upon a time, in a land far, far away…well, Scotland…Rose lived tucked away from the world with her aunt. Orphaned as a baby and adopted by her aunt, she’s used to her eccentric ways—including her overprotectiveness. But Rose wants more from life. However, she never quite expected for Laird Hamish McTavish—complete with kilt—to change things. The brash, and admittedly braw, man is hardly like the charming men Rose has been dreaming of.

  Freshly returned from the battlefield with an unexpected inheritance, highlander Hamish is struggling enough to fit in at the sleepy lowland village. When he comes across a feisty young woman with wild hair and a bold tongue on his land, he doesn’t expect it to lead to more than a five-minute argument.

  But he cannot help himself. His curiosity is piqued. Who is this young woman surrounded by three slightly crazed elderly women seemingly intent on keeping her from the world? He must find out more.

  Unfortunately, there are several people more than willing to get in the way of that aim. Rose’s aunt for one—not to mention his late-cousin’s mistress who is determined to replace one cousin with the other. Not only must Hamish deal with his duties and find a way to get close to Rose, he must also find a way to get rid of this abhorrent woman…before she does anything truly evil.

  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

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  Dumfriesshire, Scotland 1812

  Rose giggled. This man really did have the tickliest of tongues. Considering she had never kissed a man before she had little with which to compare it, but it was unusual. She tried to suppress the laugh bubbling up inside her. However, it would not be held at bay. She laughed out loud.

  This only seemed to increase the man’s enthusiasm.

  She pushed him away, but he was heavy and persistent. Rose scowled. As much as she had wanted her first kiss, she did not want it badly enough to tolerate such behavior. Goodness, she’d rather die a spinster than tolerate one more moment of this kiss.

  Rose pushed again, feeling the rough texture of his coat under her hands. Odd. She had thought he was wearing a soft wool tailcoat, but it seemed he now had on a strange sort of fur coat.

  A screech made them both pause. The man vanished but the odd tickling tongue did not. She pushed against the weight on top of her and dragged open her eyes.

  One big, black wet nose. Two eager little eyes. A lot of matted fur and an incredibly enthusiastic tongue. Rose tried to put her hand across her face to prevent the keen attentions of the dog, but he was having none of it. His kisses found their way under her palm, and he continued to lick her cheek.

  Another screech drew her attention to Mrs. Shaw. Red-cheeked and out of breath, the cook must have dashed upstairs after the mutt as it had barreled into Rose’s bedroom.

  Forcing herself up, she managed to push the dog back but he seemed insistent on licking every available piece of skin he could find. He lapped eagerly at her fingers while she eased him down the bed. She blinked around the room, trying to clear the sleep from her eyes. Sun seeped between the floral yellow curtains. It was morning at least.

  “Where did you come from?” she asked the pup.

  He continued licking whilst Mrs. Shaw gave another frightening squeal, rather like that of a battle cry, and darted forward with a broom held high. If Rose were not so concerned about the dog—or even her own safety for that matter—she would have laughed at the image of the petite Mrs. Shaw charging like a knight on horseback.

  Rose held her hands aloft in surrender and dragged the dog close, receiving another slurp up the cheek for her troubles.

  “Do not touch him, Miss Rose,” the cook warned. “You don’t know where he’s been.”

  She looked at the animal which, in spite of being horribly scruffy, appeared to be clean and healthy. “He looks loved.” She urged him onto his back for a belly rub. “And you are certainly a he.”

  “Rose!” the cook shrieked.

  The dog’s ears pricked and he bolted from the bed.

  “Mrs. Shaw, you’re scaring him.”

  Rose leapt out of bed and tried to grab the animal, but he darted between her legs and out her bedroom door. Mrs. Shaw gave yet another ear-piercing screech, liable to wake the whole of Scotland, before bustling out after the dog.

  Rose sighed. The dog could be running around for hours. Her aunt’s manor house was a maze of rooms. Some wooden paneled and some covered in ancient tapestries that were worn in many places. Rose’s room was freshly decorated in a lemon yellow and though the dark wood, uneven floorboards dated back to the sixteenth century, the décor kept it bright and airy.

  Shaking her head with a smile, Rose fumbled for her gown and pushed her feet into her slippers to protect them from the cool wooden floor. Though it was the height of summer and they had received some admirable weather for the lowlands of Scotland, the day had barely started and the house remained cool. She peeked at the clock before dashing out of the bedroom. Hopefully her aunt, whose hearing was deteriorating with age, had not heard a thing and slept on. Aunt May did not like to rise until well after nine in the morning.

  Miss Taylor, however, had awoken it seemed. As Rose dashed down the wooden stairs to the large entrance hall where wooden beams spanned a raised roof and beveled windows let in the morning light. She barreled into the housekeeper.

  “What was all that noise?” the woman demanded.

  “Mrs. Shaw. And a dog,” Rose blurted before hurrying through the pale blue breakfast room and the rear door into the servant’s quarters, where barking could be heard.

  The housekeeper followed her. “There’s a dog in the house?”

  “Yes.”

  They hurried down the stairs into the kitchen.

  “However did it get in here?”

  Rose paused as she nearly slipped on the bottom step. Miss Taylor grabbed her arm. “Be careful, Miss Rose. The last thing we need is you hurt as well as dealing with a stray dog.”

  Nodding, she ducked under the low beam to view the chaos. Mrs. Shaw usually kept a very tidy kitchen. With only Rose and Aunt May to look after, she had plenty of time to keep the place organized and they had no other servants aside from the gardener who lived in the village.

  The kitchen, big enough to feed a large family and their guests, was always neat. The large cupboard to one side dominated the room, while the tall ceilings allowing high shelving which housed the fine china they rarely used. The black hearth took up the other side, though they seldom used more than one oven. In between these was a large table that the cook had used to prepare their meals as long as Rose could remember.

  Usually the giant copper pans were hung n
eatly on the wall, but instead they were scattered across the table and floor. The large mixing bowl that should have been tucked in the cupboard was upside down near the rear door. Various utensils were in the oddest of places. There was even a puddle of something on the flagstone floor. She was not sure how long the dog had been in the house but, apparently, it had been long enough to cause utter chaos.

  Barks emanated from the store cupboard. Rose and Miss Taylor found the cook curled up in one corner while the dog eagerly stood guard, barking at her. The tiny cook, with her white curls peeking haphazardly out of her cap, shook a ladle at him.

  “Back off,” Mrs. Shaw ordered the animal. “Back off!”

  Behind Rose, Miss Taylor laughed.

  Mrs. Shaw narrowed her gaze at them both. “Stop laughing and help me. This blasted mutt is running riot and dirtying my kitchen. We shall have to clean it from top to bottom!”

  Rose eased down onto the cold stone floor and held out her hand. “Here, boy,” she said softly.

  The dog turned his attention to her, but Mrs. Shaw jumped up. “Don’t let him touch you. You shall get a disease!”

  Startled, the animal bolted once more, flying out the open rear door and up the steps to the outer courtyard. Rose sighed.

  “He was fine. He was likely hungry. Poor mite.” Pushing to her feet, she glanced around at the chaos.

  Miss Taylor shook her head and lifted a copper pot. “Was it really necessary to throw everything at the animal, Mrs. Shaw? He was only a small dog.”

  Mrs. Shaw thrust her hands upon her hips and glared up at the tall, slightly rounded woman. “He was a filthy mutt. I wanted him nowhere near me. I had to defend myself with something.”

  Miss Taylor peered at the cutlery strewn across the table. “With everything?”

  “What should I have done? Invited the dirty animal in and fed him?”

  Rose did not point out that perhaps if she had offered him some food, he might not have run all over the house. Instead, she drew back. The women had worked for her aunt as long as she could remember and knew each other better than anyone. That said, it meant they could argue for hours and it was looking extremely likely that was about to happen.

  “No doubt you left the kitchen door open and practically invited him in anyway,” the housekeeper accused. “You were lucky it wasn’t a fox.”

  Mrs. Shaw’s eyes flared. Rose took another step back, easing toward the steps to the servants’ quarters.

  “I did not leave the door open!”

  Rose coughed. “I think I shall take a walk, see if I can catch up with him.”

  The morning meal would not be served for several more hours and the day was turning bright, so the idea of remaining indoors amongst all the chaos did not much appeal.

  Neither woman paid any attention to her as they squared up to one another. She only hoped the argument was over before Aunt May awoke.

  Hastening back up to her room, she flung open the curtains and admired the burgeoning summer day. Aunt May had always told her she was far too English. The mere sight of sunshine had her excited, mostly because she found the dreary Scottish weather stifling, particularly when one had to remain indoors with one’s aunt. As much as she loved her aunt, and even Mrs. Shaw and Miss Taylor, she longed for some company closer to her own age.

  Not that there were any about. The village people were pleasant enough but were closer to her aunt’s age. Most of the younger people ventured south or to the bigger towns when they came of age. Aunt May was not one for socializing anyway. She preferred her own company, she always said. Rose suspected some thought her too proud to spend time with anyone of lower status.

  However, Rose knew Aunt May was never snobbish and whilst they had a large house, they lived modestly. No doubt Aunt May had to make her funds stretch, though she had never quite figured out where her widowed aunt gained her money. She had once said something vague about her parents leaving her money to look after her in their wills, but she had refused to answer any more questions and Rose had to assume her sister’s death was too painful for her to think about.

  It still seemed a little odd to Rose that she was not really allowed the opportunity to make friends with those supposedly below her own situation, particularly given Rose had no situation. After all, she had no rank, no fortune, no friends, and no family.

  Sighing, she set about her ablutions and dressed for the day in a simple sprigged muslin dress. Miss Taylor could be counted on to do her hair on the rare occasion she went any farther than the village, but today she would remain in the woods to see if she could find the dog so she braided her hair over one shoulder and left it at that.

  She supposed she could be grateful for many things about her situation, and one was the freedom to roam wherever she may like. In the many, many books she had read, young women were escorted everywhere and watched over constantly. Thank goodness she did not have to tolerate that.

  Rose stopped by the larder, ignoring the raised voices still coming from the kitchen, and put a little ham into a hamper. If the dog was hungry, perhaps he might sniff it out. She really did want to make sure he was fed and well.

  Throwing on a shawl, she headed out toward the woods. Aunt May’s house sat on a river bend, blocking it off from the land to the west. She doubted the dog had gone for a swim, so she would head in the other direction in the hopes of coming across him.

  The well-manicured lawns turned into wild fields before she reached the edge of the woods. She had been exploring them since she was a young child and knew each tree and rock and gulley with such intimate knowledge that she often boasted of never once getting lost.

  She hopped over the old tree that had fallen years before her arrival in Scotland and made her way down the natural path that her feet and that of others had worn into a permanent one.

  “Here, doggy,” she called and lifted the cloth of the basket, giving it a little waft in the hopes he might catch the scent.

  The only sounds around her were that of a few birds hopping from branch to branch. While she made her way through the woods, she did come upon a squirrel.

  But no dog.

  When she emerged from the other side of the woods, she had been walking for a good hour. She paused to look around at the open fields, some filled with tufts of bright purple heather, others a mix of green and yellow. Perhaps, if she waited, he would follow the scent. Her aunt had always said if she ever got lost to stay in one spot so she could be found. Well, she was not lost but maybe her aunt’s advice worked with stray dogs too.

  Rose found a flat piece of grass, uncovered the ham again, and lay back, her hands behind her head. She watched the clouds pass lazily by until her eyes grew heavy. She yawned. No wonder she was tired with her early start, and the summer nights had made it hard for her to settle. Not to mention the odd dreams of strange men. The only men Rose knew well were the delivery man and the gardener. Why should she dream of faceless men? She had little chance to meet any and even less intention of trying to. A kiss would be nice, but she had decided several years ago that men were not worth all the trouble. If the books she read were to be believed, they only led to heartache and misery. Why would she wish to give up her freedom for a man?

  Chapter Two

  “Damned mutt.”

  Hamish paused to scan the hills. The blasted dog was too small to be seen amongst the heather and tall grasses. He’d been searching for nigh on two hours now and still no sign of him. He scrubbed a hand across his face and peered into the distance. Why had he let the animal out? Now he would likely have to spend the rest of the day hunting for Rupert instead of touring his cousin’s lands as he had planned. Not to mention all the work he needed to do on the castle. Since returning home to Scotland, he had yet to have a day that was not taken up with learning his new role, and he certainly could not afford a day off dog hunting.

  He climbed up the next slope and peered down toward the line of the woods. Here his land ended.

  His land.

/>   How strange it was to think of it as that. As the second cousin of a baron, he had never expected to inherit anything, yet here he was, nothing more than a Highland soldier, suddenly a laird and living in a castle in the lowlands.

  And fully aware of how poorly he filled the role. His cousin Malcolm had been an excellent earl and had trained from a young age for that role. The next heir would have been perfect too, had he not caught pneumonia some three days before Cousin Malcolm’s untimely death and followed him to the grave.

  Hamish shook his head as he marched down toward the trees. As for himself, he had been shot at, hit by shrapnel, nearly killed by cannon fire, been involved in vicious hand-to-hand fighting, and yet had survived. Who knew being at war was safer than remaining in Scotland?

  Something amongst the grass caught his attention. He paused and peered at it. Not a dog, to be certain. He moved closer. A woman. Closer still. No, a girl. He tilted his head. A sort of girl. A girl-woman perhaps. She had the figure of a woman, to be certain. Even lying down, he could see there were ample breasts and some curvaceous hips. However, her face was far too girl-like with a petite mouth, small nose, and pale lashes and eyebrows. Her hair was technically fair but not as light as the few fair women he knew who likely had a little help from cosmetics to get that bright, light look.

  Of course, he was able to observe all this at his leisure because she was sleeping. Fully and completely asleep. He looked at the basket at her side to see a small joint of ham. Why the devil was this young woman picnicking on her own with a mere slab of ham?

  He coughed. Hamish supposed he could have let her sleep on, but it did not seem safe to leave her out here all alone where anyone could do anything to her.

  Not to mention, he was wildly curious about this woman. He had only been in Scotland mere weeks, but he had met a few of the local families and his tenants, and she certainly was not one of them. He would have remembered.

  He coughed again.

  Lashes fluttered and mossy green eyes stared up at him. A crease appeared between her brows, and she jerked up to sitting. “Who are you?” Her gaze raked him from head to toe, making him far too aware of his traditional Highland garb that had no place in the lowlands.