by Lauren Smith
“My lord!” Mr. Tate climbed onto the back of the wagon. “I turned back from Edinburgh. I had an awful feeling—”
“I’m sorry, Tate,” Brock said on a sigh, the sound so very world-weary. “Your sister is gone.”
Mr. Tate’s face fell, and he looked to the burning castle. “In there?”
Brock nodded. “She… She went mad. Tried to kill us all.”
Mr. Tate looked to the ground. “Then it was even worse than I feared.”
“You knew?”
“I had my suspicions. She never got over Lord Kincade’s death, ya see. She was always quite taken with him, and well…” Tate sighed. “He used her, played upon those affections. Tossing her aside and then wooing her back on a whim. I didna know she was still so focused on him that she would try to kill you and my lady. I discovered she was stealing from the estate, changing the account books when I was in the village.”
“Why?” Brock asked.
“I think she felt it was owed her. She hated him as much as she loved him. I learned it was best not to talk about the man when she was around. I feared someone would discover the theft, an’ I was trying to find a way to make things right. Then you sent me to Edinburgh before I could explain.” Tate shot them both an apologetic glance. “I feared for you, my lady. I thought she might have tried to hurt you. I visited your chambers, looking for her, fearing what she might do if she were ever alone with you. I didna think about the tea she prepared. It is my fault you were sick…and now my fault the castle is burning.”
Brock placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “It is my father’s fault, not yours.”
“The rain is quenching the fire!” Duncan called.
They all stood at the edge of the barn door, watching the castle for a time. There was little to be done right now. They didn’t have the numbers to fight the fire themselves. Nature would decide the building’s fate.
Brock slowly lay back down into the hay, pulling Joanna with him so she lay against his side. Neither of them had enough energy to move for the moment, and if the castle continued to burn, that was something they could not stop.
“I’m sorry about your home,” she said. The rain rattled against the wood roof of the stables above them. The sound was soothing, and she was so very tired. If she dared to close her eyes she might slip into sleep, and she didn’t want to, not when she wanted to watch over Brock and make sure he was all right.
“I’m not,” he said after a while. “It was filled with so many bad memories. Now I have a chance to build something new.”
“We do,” she corrected gently.
“Aye. We do,” he agreed, and they listened to the rain and waited for dawn.
The next morning, Brock awoke to the sounds of men shouting. He sat up in the hay, aching all over. His back was wrapped with clean cloth where he’d been cut, which meant Joanna must have tried to tend to him. He was alone. There was no sign of his wife or his few servants. He stumbled out of the wagon to push the barn doors open.
His mouth fell open at the sight before him. Men and women were everywhere, removing rubble from the castle. Most of the stone structure was still standing, but anything that had been built of wood had vanished into ash. Joanna was calling out instructions, which Mr. Tate then repeated to the men in the midst of the stones of the castle, and Duncan passed along instructions to the women who were in charge of removing furniture. Brock recognized their faces. People from the village, his tenants, and even the children were there. Joanna noticed him and smiled. She gave a few more instructions before walking over.
“Dr. McKenzie has just arrived. I didn’t want to wake you until he was here. You looked so tired, husband.”
He tried to ignore the sting of shame he felt that he had slept through all of this. He had been unable to protect his wife last night, and now he was late to helping this morning.
“Tell Dr. McKenzie I’ll see him later. I should help move the stones.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” Joanna growled at him, her face suddenly fierce as a Highland wolf. “Any heavy lifting could damage your back, and I will not allow it until the doctor has had a look at you.” She crossed her arms over her chest, giving him a heavy scowl. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to laugh or growl back at her.
“Ach, fine, woman. Bring me to the doctor,” he grumbled. But secretly he rather liked that she was bossing him about and caring for him. It was new, this feeling of being looked after, and while he didn’t like to feel weak, he definitely liked feeling loved.
Joanna grinned at his acquiescence and escorted him to Dr. McKenzie.
Half an hour later, he stood, stitched and bandaged, one arm in a sling to prevent the shoulder from moving while the cuts on his back healed. He wasn’t allowed to help at all. Which meant he was left to watch the others clear out the rubble from his home. But at least he was able to see Joanna take charge. She was as fierce as any Kincade chief to ever protect his clan in the long history of his family. His mother would have loved her.
He stilled as a flash of memory came back from the night before. He had heard his mother’s voice, telling him to jump. And Joanna had been waiting below with the wagon. He’d thought he’d been going mad, but perhaps he had just heard her calling to him from the window to jump?
Or perhaps…
Perhaps he had been so close to death, he had somehow stroked the invisible curtain that lay between the living and the dead, and his mother had come to his aid. She had saved him from beyond the grave, just as Joanna had saved him from certain death.
A faint prickling of the hairs on the back of his neck made him shudder. Perhaps the ghosts of his parents had finally been freed from this place. He wanted to think so. The ruins of his home felt different already. There wasn’t a darkness that seemed to edge out of the shadows any longer. Everything now was exposed to the sunlight, and that darkness was gone.
We can start over. All of us.
“Brock! Come look!” Joanna was standing with a group of women. They were all looking at several portraits that had been retrieved from the castle.
“These were stowed in a heavy oak cabinet that was drenched with rain. The wood didn’t catch fire, but it also didn’t let any water inside.” Joanna gestured for him to come closer. There were three portraits. His mother’s and two others. One he hadn’t seen in many years. His ancestors on his mother’s side, Ramsey and Torin, twin brothers who’d fought at Culloden; they were both posing beside their wives. The elder, Ramsey, had been Lord Kincade. Then when his family believed him killed in Culloden, the younger brother, Torin, took over as Lord Kincade.
“Who are they?” Joanna asked. “The paintings are very old.”
“Aye, nearly ninety years old. They were my mother’s family, the last true Kincades to rule over these lands. My mother was the last of her blood. Because she wasn’t born a son, they sought a husband for her, someone with some Kincade blood, however faint. It was how she met my father. He was a distant cousin.”
Brock stared at the two men and their wives. Proud, noble, pure of heart. They had both been captured after Culloden and sentenced to death. But a kind English soldier had spared one brother’s life, allowing him to work as a servant on his estate until it was safe to return to the Highlands. It was a story that someday he would tell Joanna, while they sat by the fire. It was a romantic tale, after all, one she would enjoy hearing. He turned his focus back to his wife, and she was watching him, a worried look in his eyes.
“Brock, we never had a chance last night to speak about your father and Ewan. I want to know the truth. What happened?”
He motioned for her to walk a little way away from his people so they could speak privately. She tucked her arm in his, and they moved fifty yards apart from the workers so that they might be alone. Only then did he speak.
“My father was always motivated by greed. When I was younger, I learned that he’d sold out his friends who were forming a rebellion against the Crown. He worked with an En
glish spy and betrayed them to that man. They were all killed. Great men, the leaders of their clans—what remains of us, anyway, after Culloden.”
“And Ewan’s father was one of those men killed?”
Brock nodded, a bitter taste in his mouth as he thought of how Ewan must feel, knowing the Kincades had betrayed his family.
“When we came to rescue Rosalind from your brother, that same English spy who’d worked with my father convinced me that Lennox was harming my sister. He played me for a fool.”
“Who is he? This English spy?”
“A man named Hugo Waverly. I wanted to kill him, but your brother assured me that he would take care of him. I trust him. Your brother and his friends have a deeper reason for needing to handle that man, and I am glad to give them that responsibility. I want no more blood on my hands.”
He looked down at Joanna, his brows drawing together as he gazed at her. How could he tell her that all he wanted now was a life of love and joy with her? The last of the darkness that had followed him had burned up in the castle, and a new Kincade family was rising from the ashes. He and Joanna would be the start of it all.
“Are you well?” she asked, not wishing to embarrass him in front of his people.
“Aye. Very well indeed.” He crooked his finger, indicating that she should lean in. When she did, he cupped her face with one hand and kissed her. It was a kiss he would never forget, because it was a kiss that wasn’t just about physical passion. There was far more to it than that.
“I love you, lass,” he said, and he was rewarded with her bright-blue eyes widening.
“Truly?” she asked, the word quivering with hope.
“Aye. I suppose I loved you the first moment I kissed you. But I was too afraid to say it until now.” He knew now that he was not his father, that he had no monster within him. He was like his mother after all, but unlike her, he was not going to die from a broken heart. He trusted Joanna to love him as fiercely as he loved her. There was no room for any more doubt. There was only endless love, just as his mother had said.
When you loved someone, truly loved them, there was no room for anything else in your heart, even for your enemies. And Joanna’s smile was like a burning flame in the darkness, calling him, guiding him home.
Epilogue
Two months later
“They’re here!” Brock bellowed from upstairs.
The castle rebuilding was almost finished. It was no longer a crumbling ruin, even the way it had been before the fire. His tenants had worked hard, and Joanna had hired many more local men to help. The promise of decent wages along with noon and evening meals had drawn men from miles.
Now the castle was a source of pride, not something which drowned him in guilt and shame. Each night he and Joanna had stayed up late in the new library, which was quickly filling with books, reading to each other, sharing food and smiles before they retired to his…their bedchamber to make love.
Joanna rushed downstairs, wearing a dark-blue gown accented with a tartan sash bearing his family’s pattern of red and green. “They’re here already?” She had taken to wearing his family’s colors whenever she had the chance. He smiled as she flew into his arms. He caught her, and she kissed him hard, laughing as he swung her around.
“I admit, seeing you in Kincade colors…” He smiled and stole a kiss. “Did I ever tell you the central seat to the Kincade lands is connected to the Scottish Lennox clan?”
“My family, you mean?”
“Aye. For many centuries, our families have come together. Kincade and Lennox. I guess we are continuing a grand tradition.” He lowered his head to hers, claiming her lips in a way that left him forgetful of what they were supposed to be preparing for.
“Ahem.” The sound of someone clearing his throat broke them apart. He found Ashton and Rosalind standing in the entryway, watching them.
“Sister!” Brock waved Rosalind to him, and she ran to embrace him and Joanna.
“Did you travel well?” Joanna asked.
“We did,” said Rosalind. “Your mother and Rafe should be in shortly. Aiden returned with us as well. Brodie has decided to stay in England a few more weeks.”
Ashton nodded to the large family traveling coach outside. Rafe and Aiden were talking quietly, and Rafe said something that made Aiden laugh.
Brock clapped Ashton on the shoulder. “Brodie stayed behind, you say?” Brock asked, a little concerned. Brodie had a habit of attracting trouble when left to himself, particularly the feminine kind. “Did he happen to say why?”
Ashton shook his head. “Only that he wished to see what England had to offer.”
Brock groaned. Things never ended well when he said that. “He isn’t seeing anyone in Bath by chance, is he? Or is anyone showing interest in him?”
Ashton shrugged. “Well, there was talk of a young lady who’d set her cap for him, Miss Portia Hunt…”
“Portia?” Joanna nearly shrieked. “Oh no, Brock, you must send for him at once. Portia is the most dreadful, insipid, and cruel little creature I’ve ever met. I do not want her to be a part of this family. Her sister Lydia is quite wonderful, but ever so shy, but Portia…” Joanna groaned. “Lord save us if he becomes entangled with her. If we could perhaps allow him to meet Lydia though…”
Ashton and Brock stared at her, and then Ashton burst out laughing. “You’ve been married only two months, and you’re already matchmaking your brother-in-law? God help the man.” He and Brock shared a grin before Brock reassured his wife.
“Dinna worry, lass. I’ll see that Brodie comes home…without a wife unless its one you approve of.”
Joanna breathed a sigh of relief, and Brock fought off a smile. He turned back to Ashton. “We’re glad you came, brother.”
Ashton’s pale blond brows rose. “Brother?”
“Aye, you’re family now, whether you wanted it or not.”
With a chuckle, Ashton studied the castle. “Well, we do have a bit of Scot in us, so I’ll accept it. You’ve done well repairing the castle. It’s not…”
“A crumbling ruin, unfit for Joanna?”
Ashton’s face reddened. “Er…yes. It’s quite suitable now.”
“Well, the lass is the one who did it all. She’s quite talented at many things.”
Joanna’s mother bustled inside with a hint of impatience. “Where’s my child?” When she caught sight of her daughter, she held out her arms. Joanna approached her mother demurely, the way a fine lady of any house would.
“Joanna,” Regina said uncertainly. “I hope you’ve forgiven me for not listening to you, my dear. I had no idea how unhappy you were at home. I’m so sorry.”
Joanna embraced her in a tight hug. “It’s all right, Mama. I’m ever so happy now. Deliriously happy.” She shot Brock a smile, and he returned it.
“So things are going well?” Ashton asked Brock.
“Very well. She is the best part of my life. I hope you will see how happy she is while you’re here.”
“I already see that,” Ashton said. “The way she looked at you just now…it’s how I feel when I see Rosalind.” He looked toward Brock’s sister, who was praising Joanna on the improvements to the castle.
“When you love someone, they become everything to you,” Brock said.
Ashton nodded. “On this we can agree. Everything and more.”
Brock stood proudly in the entryway of his home, the sun beaming in through their new high windows. Joanna had redesigned the old medieval structure and had given it a more modern look. The effect was incredible—more light, more space, more everything.
But the truth was, none of that mattered to him. He would’ve given it all up and more, just to have one more moment to know and love her.
His mother was right. Love left no room for hate. And Joanna filled him with love unending.
* * *
Thank you so much for reading Never Kiss a Scot! Don’t worry, Brodie and Aiden will soon have their stories! The next book however
will be about The Earl of Kent as part of the Wicked Earls’ Club series and the League of Rogues which will be about Phillip and Ella (Charles’s little sister)! It comes out October 2019.
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If you like what you’ve read, feel free to explore another delicious and romantic series: Sins and Scandals!
Feel free to fall in love with Leo, the british Earl and the half gypsy woman from his childhood, Ivy as they rekindle their romance! Turn the page to read the first 3 chapters of An Earl By Any Other Name! Come on, you know you want to turn that page…
An Earl By Any Other Name
Chapter 1
England, October 1911
“You know what they say about the old boy…” Lord Caruthers murmured as Leopold Graham stepped into the main reading room of Brooks’s Club on St. James’s Street. The words stopped Leo cold.
“No…what do they say?” another man whispered, his face half hidden behind a newspaper. The two men were sitting close to a fireplace beside the door. They were both older, with graying hair and extended waistlines that showed their well-off lifestyles. Leo scowled at them, but deep inside he was afraid of their whispers.