To Wed A Wild Scot

by Bradley, Anna

  She stumbled over the words, her pronunciation clumsy, but Logan didn’t seem to mind. He drew her tightly against him and took her lips in a kiss that left her breathless.

  Juliana made up her mind right then and there to learn Gaelic. “How do you say, ‘Kiss me again’?”

  “Pòg mi a-rithist.” Logan’s lips hovered over hers.

  Juliana gazed up into the blue eyes that had mesmerized her since the first moment she saw him and whispered, “Pòg mi a-rithist.”

  He did, until the fire died to embers, and the bathwater ran cold.

  Gaelic Glossary

  Agaibh mo chridhe – you have my heart

  Àlainn – lovely

  Àlainn bòcan – beautiful sprite

  An duine agam – my husband

  Beag bòidhchead – little beauty

  Beag deomhan – wee demon

  Bhean – wife

  Bhean ghràdhach – beloved wife

  Bhig – petite, little

  Bòcan – sprite

  Breagha – fine, beautiful

  Chan eil caoineadh – don’t cry

  Dia tha – God, yes

  Dùr – stubborn

  Fhìnealta – delicate

  Fuilteach ifrinn – bloody hell

  Galla – vixen

  Leannan – sweetheart

  Maoth-chridheach – tenderhearted

  Mo bhean uasal – my lady (title)

  Mo chridhe – my heart

  Mo Dhia – my God

  Mo ghaol – my love

  Neach-gaoil – beloved

  Tha gaol agam ort – I love you

  Tha mi duilich – I’m sorry

  Tha thu mo chridhe – you are my heart

  Uaine air leth-shùil – green-eyed

  Author’s Notes

  Highland Clearances

  The Highland Clearances were a brutal period in Scottish history in which large portions of the indigenous population were forcibly, and in some cases violently, evicted from the land they’d farmed for generations.

  Because the Clearances took place over an extended period of time (roughly the 1750s to the 1880s), and because the reasons for it are so complex and varied, there’s a great deal of scholarly dispute regarding the reality of the Clearances. Putting the academic arguments aside, and although exact numbers vary, it is certainly true that hundreds of thousands of native Scots were evicted from their homes to make way for much larger and more lucrative sheep farms.

  Like Logan Blair in To Wed a Wild Scot, there were landlords who didn’t callously toss the people off their land and leave them to fend for themselves. A merciful clan chief might have assisted his tenants to emigrating to North America or Australia, or helping them relocate to the Scottish Lowlands or England. Some landlords, like Logan, simply shifted some of their tenants to another part of their estates, or to neighboring estates.

  In the worst cases, however, the Highland Clearances were a tragic period in which families who’d occupied the land for generations were suddenly and sometimes cruelly evicted from their homes. It was not unheard of for hundreds of families to be evicted at once when entire villages and townships were cleared en masse.

  In part a response to overpopulation and famine in the Highlands, the collapse of the clan system, and the changing social and economic landscape that took place during Britain’s industrial revolution, the Highland Clearances remain one of the most heartbreaking periods in Scottish history.

  Strathnaver Clearances

  The Strathnaver Clearances are notorious for being one of the most brutal in Scottish history. Between 1807 and 1821 more than ten thousand people were removed from the Sutherland estates at the behest of the Countess of Sutherland. Tenants were forcibly evicted and left to stand by and watch while their homes and possessions were burned to the ground. In To Wed a Wild Scot Logan witnesses the particularly vicious clearance of Rosal Township, one of the largest townships in Strathnaver at the time.

  Patrick Sellar

  Patrick Sellar, a Scotsman born in Moray in 1780, was the Countess of Sutherland’s factor from 1814 to 1816. Sellar was responsible for, among others, the Rosal Township evictions mentioned in the prologue. Sellar was put on trial in Inverness in 1816 for arson and the culpable homicide of two victims who perished in Rosal Township in 1814. One of these was ninety-year-old Margaret MacKay, who died from severe burns after the roof of her son-in-law’s croft was set afire with her still inside. Sellar was found not guilty of the charges.

  Gretna Green Marriage

  In chapter Three Logan tells Juliana a scandalous tale about a lord who eloped to Gretna parish with his housekeeper. This story is true. In 1818, Lord Erskine, a gentleman sixty-six years old, eloped to Gretna Green with Miss Sarah Buck, his much younger housekeeper/mistress. Lord Erksine’s son Thomas, scandalized by the affair (and likely concerned about his inheritance!) pursued the fleeing lovers to the King’s Head Inn in Springfield, in the parish of Gretna. According to the gossip of the time, Lord Erskine disguised himself in ladies’ clothing to confuse his son and thereby elude pursuit. Whether his lordship was wearing a bonnet at the time of his marriage, as Logan insists was the case, is a matter of speculation.

  Drum Castle

  The description of the chapel at Castle Kinross where Juliana and Logan are married was inspired by the beautiful chapel at Drum Castle in Aberdeenshire, Scotland. Drum Castle’s chapel dates from the sixteenth century, and is famous for the arched stained glass window behind the altar that depicts the Crucifixion. Drum Castle is open to the public.

  Sources

  “Oh, What a Scandal!” Jane Austen’s World, October 31, 2015: https://janeaustensworld.wordpress.com/2015/10/31/oh-what-a-scandal-a-gretna-green-elopement-marriage-and-divorce/

  “POWiS, Places of Worship in Scotland,” Scottish Church Heritage Research Ltd.: www.scottishchurches.org.uk/sites/site/id/478/name/Drum+Castle+Chapel+Drumoak+Grampian

  Sawyers, June Skinner. Bearing the People Away: The Portable Highland Clearances Companion. Sydney, Nova Scotia: Cape Breton University Press, 2013.

  Turn the page for a sneak peek at The Wayward Bride by Anna Bradley!

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  Chapter One

  Huntington Lodge, Buckinghamshire

  March 1818

  A creaky floorboard was the worst thing that could befall a sneak.

  Isla Ramsey didn’t like to think of herself as the sneaky sort, but when the floorboard under her boot squawked in protest, she instinctively threw a guilty glance over her shoulder. Hyacinth wasn’t there, thank goodness. Over the past few weeks her sister-in-law had taken to following her about like a Bow Street Runner after a thief, and for all her sweet, gentle ways, Hyacinth had the instincts of a predator.

  Isla crept forward again, wincing as the floorboard shrieked like an outraged mouse. How was it possible every floorboard in this house had suddenly developed an alarming squeak? They’d all been perfectly silent until she tried to creep across them.

  Her mouth set into a stubborn line. It was utter nonsense she was forced to sneak about in the first place. It wasn’t as if she were going out to pick a pocket, or set a fire, or kick a puppy. She wasn’t doing anything wrong. It was a morning ride, for pity’s sake, nothing more. Surely there was nothing so shocking in that? Why, people all over England rode every day, and no one asked them to explain themselves.

  She cast another nervous glance around, but there was no one about. Perhaps fate had deigned to smile on her at last, because she made it across the entryway to the front door without being taken up by the Huntington Lodge watch. She’d just nip out the door, make her way to the stables, and be gone before anyone even realized she’d—

  “Isla Ramsey, don’t you dare set foot outside that door!”

  So close.

  “I mean it, Isla. I for
bid it!”

  Hyacinth’s voice was as stern as Isla had ever heard it, but when she turned to face her sister-in-law, she couldn’t prevent a grin. “You can’t forbid me to do something when you’re wearing that gown, Hyacinth. It’s not at all forbidding.”

  Hyacinth frowned and smoothed a hand down her dainty skirts. “What do you mean? What’s wrong with my gown?”

  “It’s pink.” Isla moved a step closer and squinted at Hyacinth’s bodice. “Blossom pink, with sweet little purple flowers all over it.”

  Hyacinth crossed her arms over her chest. “What of it? I don’t see what my gown has to do with you riding out today.”

  “You look as if you’ve just tumbled from a tray of sweets. Really, Hyacinth, you can’t play the despot when you look like one of Cook’s teacakes.”

  Isla offered her sister-in-law a winning smile to soothe any ruffled feelings, but Hyacinth was having none of it. “Very well, Isla. I can’t force you to listen to me, but you don’t need me to tell you it’s dangerous to ride during a violent storm.”

  “Violent storm? Oh, nonsense, Hyacinth. It’s not even raining.” “Only because it’s too cold for rain, and it’s growing colder by the minute. You may trust me when I say that once the skies open, we’ll be pummeled with ice and snow.”

  Isla glanced out the window and bit her lip. A fierce wind was blowing ominous dark gray clouds across the sky, and even her thick wool riding habit was no match for the icy drafts stealing under her skirts. “Oh, very well. I grant you it’s not an ideal day for a ride, but I won’t be gone long. I only intend to go as far as the main road, and then I’ll turn right back.” “Look at the clouds, Isla!” Hyacinth pointed at the patch of leaden sky visible through the window set high above the door. “It will be snowing before you’ve even reached the stables, never mind the road!”

  “Perhaps, but I’ve ridden in blustery weather before. I am from northern Scotland, if you recall. Come, Hyacinth. It isn’t far, and I want to see if I can spot Lord Sydney’s carriage on the road.”

  Dear Lord Sydney. She’d written, asking him to come, and he’d written back, promising to set out from London at once. He was the dearest of men, and the doubts and chaos in her head always calmed when Sydney was about.

  What more could a lady ask of her betrothed than that?

  “Lachlan and Finn have both said they doubt he’ll come today. He’s almost certainly delayed his trip from London, or stopped on the way to wait for more favorable weather.”

  It was a reasonable enough assumption, but Isla wasn’t in a mood to be reasonable. “Perhaps he has, and yet I’d feel better seeing for myself, just the same.”

  Hyacinth regarded Isla in silence for a moment, then asked in a casual tone, “Is that the only reason you insist on riding out?”

  Isla had turned back to the door, but now she jerked around. Her gaze snapped to Hyacinth’s face, and what she saw in those sympathetic dark blue eyes made her stiffen.

  Hyacinth knows.

  Isla had grown up with only rough, wild brothers. She’d always longed for a sister, and Hyacinth was as lovely a sister as she’d ever dreamed of having, but there were certain things she hadn’t understood about sisterhood until after her brother Lachlan had married Hyacinth.

  For one, there were no secrets among sisters.

  A sister could see past whatever lies you told and scars you hid, right into the center of your heart. There was a reason Isla rode out every day, no matter how indifferent the weather, and a reason why she always went alone.

  Hyacinth had seen into Isla’s heart, and she knew the truth.

  “Isla?” Hyacinth laid a tentative hand on her forearm. “Is Lord Sydney the only reason?”

  Isla met Hyacinth’s eyes. There was no judgment in that steady blue gaze, and yet as badly as Isla wanted to blurt out the truth and cry herself dry on Hyacinth’s shoulder, shame forced a bright, false smile to her lips. “Yes, of course. What other reason could there be?”

  Hyacinth, who knew this for the lie it was, let out a deep sigh. “I’m sorry, Isla, but I won’t stand quietly by while you march out that door as if you were going to the garden to pick flowers. It’s far too cold for a ride, and the weather is too unsettled. I won’t let you take such a risk.”

  Isla sighed. She didn’t like to quarrel with Hyacinth, but she’d begun to feel quite desperate. “I’m sorry, Hyacinth.” She was sorry, but if she didn’t escape Huntington Lodge soon, she was going to burst out of her skin.

  She opened the door to slip outside, but before she could move an inch, Hyacinth’s quiet voice stopped her. “If you take a single step toward those stables, Isla, I’m going straight to your brothers. What do you suppose Finn will say when he finds out you intend to ride on such a day?”

  Isla turned back to Hyacinth, her mouth falling open with shock. She and Hyacinth never told each other’s secrets. To do so was a betrayal of sisterly confidence.

  “You’d tattle on me to Finn, Hyacinth? Truly?”

  Hyacinth gave her a pained look. “I don’t want to, but if it’s the only way to make you listen, I will. Please don’t leave me no other choice. It’s for your own good, Isla.”

  They stared at each other for a long, silent moment; then Isla turned, her eyes narrowing against the wind as she scanned the brooding sky. She didn’t know how to explain to Hyacinth it wasn’t simply a ride to her, but an escape from the demons only a hard gallop could chase from her head.

  But surely, she hadn’t become so desperate she couldn’t endure a single day without it?

  She struggled with herself, but at last Isla closed the door with a sigh, removed her gloves and cloak, and propped her riding crop against the wall. “You know I despise being told things are for my own good, Hyacinth.”

  “Oh, thank you, Isla!” Hyacinth squeezed her hand. “I promise you I’ll keep you well entertained. Shall we go to the parlor? I’ve a sudden yearning for Cook’s iced tea cakes. Perhaps we can find Ciaran and coax him into playing a game of cards with us.”

  Isla dutifully followed Hyacinth to the parlor. They didn’t find Ciaran, or any of Isla’s other brothers, but Hyacinth was as good as her word. She kept up an engaging stream of bright chatter, plied Isla with sweets, and even read aloud to her from Northanger Abbey. They’d just reached the part where the heroine, Catherine Morland, is about to delve into the mysterious chest in her bedchamber when they were interrupted by Lachlan, who’d come in search of his bride.

  “Ah, here you are, sweet.” Lachlan plucked the book from Hyacinth’s hand, laid it aside, and drew her to her feet. “I expected you to join me in our bedchamber a half hour ago for our…rest.”

  Isla smothered her snort. Rest, indeed. Lachlan and Hyacinth had married several weeks ago, and since then, they spent every afternoon alone in their bedchamber. Once they were there, they remained for a good long while, and Isla doubted it was to rest.

  No one was that tired.

  Still, it was rather sweet, and true passion was rare enough without her standing in its way. “It’s all right, Hyacinth. I’ll find a way to amuse myself.”

  Hyacinth met Lachlan’s gaze, and when she turned back to Isla, her cheeks were flushed. “If you’re sure?”

  “Yes, yes.” Isla waved them off. “Go on. Have a pleasant rest.”

  They hurried up the stairs, and for an hour or so Isla did her best to stay occupied. She read for a bit, then made another half-hearted attempt to find her brother Ciaran to see if he fancied a game of chess, but he was nowhere to be found. She set up the board and played both sides of it for a while, but it wasn’t long before the quiet of Huntington Lodge began to press in upon her, and she found herself creeping back over the squeaky floorboards to the door.

  Perhaps I am the sneaky sort, after all.

  But surely a quick ride wouldn’t do her any harm? She’d go only as far as the road, then comes straight back before Hyacinth had a chance to worry about her.

  Moments later, she’d s
lipped out the door. A tiny prickle of doubt rose in her chest when the howling wind instantly whipped tears into her eyes, but she ignored it. Within minutes she was mounted and riding toward the main road, praying she’d encounter Sydney in his smart green carriage, coming for her.

  * * * *

  There was no green carriage, no Sydney, and by the time the storm had finished venting its rage on Buckinghamshire, Isla thought it likely there’d be no road.

  Hyacinth had been right about the rain. Nothing as tame as a late winter downpour would do for this storm. It was as if the sky were an enormous sheet of ice and someone had smashed it with a hammer until thousands of tiny, pointed shards rained down upon Isla’s head. They made hollow popping sounds as they hit the top of her riding hat, and the cacophony was growing louder and faster with every minute.

  It had been a mistake to venture out at all today. When she arrived home, she would offer Hyacinth her most sincere apologies and promise to listen to her next time, no matter how dainty her gown was.

  But then it was a day for mistakes, it seemed. She’d ended up going farther down the road than she’d meant to, as well, and by the time she was forced to admit to herself Sydney wasn’t coming today, the storm had grown so severe she’d had no choice but to take the shortest route back to Huntington Lodge.

  The one that took her straight past the front entrance of Hazelwood. Lord Pierce’s estate.

  It wasn’t the first time she’d come this way, of course. No, she’d passed his house every day since she’d come to Huntington Lodge, no matter that she woke every morning promising herself she wouldn’t. That today would be the day she’d forget him.

  Now here she was again, staring up at the empty windows, lingering even as the skies rained fury down upon her head. The symmetrical rows of blank, glassy eyes stared back at her. If there was any light behind those windows, she couldn’t see it.

  When she and her brothers had arrived in London, Isla had been so certain her heart would remain forever cold, it hadn’t even occurred to her to guard it. As little as three months ago, she would have sworn she hadn’t any heart left to break.