Deception and Desire (A MacNaughton Castle Romance Book 1)

by Aubrey Wynne

  “Only as a last resort,” Calum agreed with a grin. “Diplomacy is a skill, lad. It’ll come to ye with practice like it did me.”

  Lachlan knew better. His personality didn’t suit the role of arbitrator. He was better at commanding than cajoling. His two younger brothers had been blessed with more patience and composure. One was in Glasgow overseeing the family weaving mill, and the other had inherited Calum’s golden tongue. The boy could convince a dog to give up his bone. Either brother could easily manage the clans and settle these petty disputes. Yet, their grandfather had always been adamant that his oldest grandson would assume the leadership of the clans when it came time.

  But it didn’t have to be that way. This was Scotland, the Highlands. The designation of chief was not like an English title automatically handed down to an heir. The position rested within the most powerful family and the male within the clan who was most capable of the responsibility. Fortunately, Calum MacNaughton was a fit and healthy man. A young and robust sixty-six, he was still known for his strength and endurance. The man was like a thick, aging oak, rooted within the clan and not going anywhere unless someone chopped him down. There was still time to convince him to choose one of the other grandsons.

  Then what would Lachlan do?

  That’s what his grandfather wanted to know each time he heard his grandson’s complaint. The question had plagued Lachlan for the last year. Leaving the Highlands caused an acute pain in his chest. Yet, without an objective, he’d be unsettled and no happier than he was now. It was as if he were stuck on a raft in the middle of a great loch. No current, no paddle, just drifting. He was a man of action, of decision. He needed a trade or post that would utilize his skills and give him purpose. But what were his skills?

  He was a crack shot, fast on his feet, had an iron fist, and could outdrink his brothers. He could read a man well, and because of that, he’d rarely lost a bet. None of those attributes helped him with employment. If he had to deal with bleating sheep, dense cows, and stupid, bickering Scots for the rest of his life, he’d be mad as a March hare.

  The only option seemed to be the military.

  Again, that would take him away from Scotland.

  They trotted up the hill toward MacNaughton Castle. Several windows in the old, round tower shone with candlelight. Most of the building remained dark, except for the torches that had been lit at the entrance. There was no need to heat the entire place. The family’s living quarters were in the round tower, with the guest and formal rooms for entertaining in the rectangular stone structure that had been added two centuries ago. His mother would open those up once summer arrived and fires were only needed at night or for cooking.

  The castle, so stately and unyielding, took on a foreboding aura at dusk. The shadowed crenellations along the top of the tower, the darkened arrow slits, and mullioned windows were typical of the ancient architecture. The castle at twilight made it easy to believe the tales of fairies and ghosts his grandmother had told them as children.

  He chuckled as Black Angus howled, announcing their arrival. Lachlan’s female deerhound, Brownie, came loping into the courtyard with a small boy on her heels, his red curls bouncing as he skidded to a stop. Brownie and the lad both added their yowls to the growing racket.

  “Saints and sinners, what a welcome,” declared Calum with a laugh. “It’s always good to come home.”

  *

  Lachlan wiped his mouth with the dinner cloth and pushed back from the table. The stew had been hot, thick, and tasty. “If I eat another bite, my stomach will pop like a deer tick that overstayed its welcome.”

  “I think a compliment is hidden in there somewhere. I’ll pass it along to the cook.” Peigi smiled at her grandson, humor brightening her green eyes. “So, why has no one mentioned how it went this afternoon?”

  “I thought Grandda had told ye. We’re selling a lamb to MacDunn so he can give it to Craigg. The man’s a disgrace. He thought to snatch a good breeding ewe in place of a wee one.” He scratched the wiry fur behind Brownie’s ears after her cold, wet nose pushed against his hand. “He deserves a good thrashing. I saw his wife the other day. Another bruise by falling, so she says. We all ken better. And that poor daughter of his seems afraid of her own shadow.”

  “We canna interfere past a man’s threshold. His wife willna share her troubles, so there’s nothing we can do.” Calum shook his head. “Life isna fair, and there are times when our hands are tied.”

  “Doesna mean we have to like it or accept it quietly.” He picked up a crust of bread and tossed it to the dog. She caught it mid-air, alerting Black Angus to the possibility of a treat. The male hound crawled under the table and set his head on Lachlan’s lap. Two sets of golden eyes stared at him, long shaggy tails thumping against the wooden floor planks.

  “See what ye’ve done, ye troublemaker? Now we’ve been found out,” Lachlan chided and slipped Angus a chunk of gravy-sodden potato and Brownie a piece of stringy rabbit. “Now off with ye.” He wiped his hands on the cloth as Angus returned to Calum’s side.

  “I think ye need some time away, lad. What do ye think of a trip to Glasgow? Ian needs some help, and we have a special order that needs to be delivered.” Calum grinned. “Ye could get into some fine trouble with yer brother in the Lowlands.”

  Ian had been in Glasgow for over a month, taking over the day-to-day business of the textile mill. The supervisor had quit, sailing to America to start his own business. Lachlan had offered to go since Ian had been married less than a year. But his brother oversaw the mill business and would be working with the new supervisor, so Ian had insisted on finding a replacement himself.

  “Any luck Ian will be home soon?” asked Peigi of her husband. “Ye promised his poor wife he’d be back in the blink of an eye. My eyelids could fall off from so much blinking, and we’re still waiting.”

  “It’s no’ my fault a good mon hasna been hired yet. It’s Ian’s responsibility, and he’ll stay as long as he needs to.” Calum winked at his wife. “Ye ken he willna tarry with such a pretty bride waiting for him. Nothing would have kept me from my bride for long. I dinna think I barely let ye out of my sight.”

  Peigi blushed, her hand smoothing back her faded auburn waves. “Stop it, ye ornery devil. Dinna embarrass me in front of my grandson.”

  Calum stood and walked to his wife, pulling her up from the chair. He kissed her on the mouth and hugged her close. “We’ve never hidden our affection from the lads. I’m demonstrative mon, and they should be used to it by now.” He kissed her again, a loud smacking noise.

  “Ye are abominable, Calum MacNaughton. And I love ye anyway!” Peigi slapped him on the chest. “See what ye have to look forward to in yer old age, Lachlan? Of course, ye’d have to find a wife first…”

  “I believe that is the signal for me to say goodnight.” Lachlan rose, avoiding another conversation about age, weddings, and great-grandchildren. If he didn’t hear it from his mother, then it was his grandmother hinting about marriage. “When did ye want me to leave for Glasgow, Grandda?”

  “The special order of tartan weave should be ready before the end of next month. Let yer mother and yer sister ken ye’ll be gone at least a month, maybe two. Brodie should be back by then, so they’ll have help while ye’re away. Both women, along with Lissie, will want to send letters to Ian, I’m sure.”

  “As will I,” added Peigi with a smirk. “I’ll ask him to find a pretty lass for his brother. There must be a few in that city.”

  *

  Late April

  Lachlan pulled his plaid closer around his neck and clucked to his horse to increase the pace. A late snow fell over the loch as they made their way around the partially frozen water. He took in the snow-capped mountains to his right. A light wind sent shadows across the dark greens and silvers of the pines and rugged terrain as a weak sun peeked in and out of ominous clouds. More snow—or rain—to come.

  If he left Scotland, he wouldn’t miss the fickle weather. “I
f ye ever loved me, Lord, hold off on the rain. I willna complain about the snow if ye do.” His chestnut gelding gave a snort as if in agreement. The beastie was a bit nervous this journey. Lachlan didn’t usually travel alone. When he did, he took Brownie with him. “It’ll be fine, Charlie. I’ll take care and no’ let anything hurt ye. I’m at least as capable as yer furry guard.”

  The land was covered with a thin layer of white, and new spring grass poked through in defiance. The bluebells would be in bloom soon, creating a picturesque backdrop for the Highlands. Och, how could he leave this place? It was as much a part of him as his name. But Lachlan hated to be idle. He kept busy with the herds, sold and traded livestock, kept the books, and helped repair roofs or build new structures needed by the clans. But he couldn’t remain an extra set of hands. Nor could he become the full-time bookkeeper. Tallying up rows of numbers at a desk, finding where a shilling or penny had fallen off the page was tedious torture.

  He’d speak with Ian. Perhaps they’d find a solution to his life dilemma over a bottle of good whisky. Lachlan was looking forward to his visit. The mill was fascinating, always in motion with so many workers, so many merchants, so many deals made within a day. It was a shame he couldn’t bargain for a living. He was damn good at it.

  The Thistle Inn came into view. The old stone building stood in welcome against the gloom of the late afternoon. A pint, some hot food, and a soft mattress. “A warm stall with fresh hay is waiting for ye, my friend,” he told Charlie as they stopped in the courtyard. “I told ye I’d take good care of ye.”

  He stooped under the doorframe and entered the inn. The familiar odor of smoke and stale sweat greeted his nostrils. Local patrons and a few travelers sat at trestles or stood up by the bar. Lachlan went straight to the small table near the hearth, peat glowing in the huge fireplace. This seating was reserved for honored patrons, and as he made his way across the room, he answered greetings and nodded to various customers. He winked at the barmaid, who knew him better than some, and leaned back into the chair. Centuries-old beams, blackened by smoke and time, crisscrossed above him with dried stalks of heather and purple sage hanging from them. The innkeeper claimed his wife put it up to cover the smell of burning food. Not that Lachlan had ever eaten a bad meal at the Thistle.

  The maid, dark curls escaping her cap, served him ale and a smile, bending low to reveal creamy white bosoms pushing against a tight bodice. She had been widowed at a young age and had become friendly with Lachlan a few years past. They often kept each other company when he passed through. He grinned and gave her ample bottom a light slap. Blessed be the saints, tonight he’d get a warm meal and a warm bed.

  “We have some cold venison if ye’re hungry, and I could warm ye up a bit of mash and neeps.” She turned her head and whispered in his ear. “And for dessert—”

  “Aye, lass, ye’ll be perfect for dessert.”

  “Weel, what am I interrupting here?” A deep voice cut off the suggestive conversation.

  Lachlan glanced up to see his youngest brother, Brodie, arms crossed over his barrel-chest, giving a fine imitation of a glowering Calum MacNaughton. He was a younger version of their grandfather, midnight hair gleaming in the firelight, deep blue eyes sparkling with humor. Shorter in height, he made up for it in brawn and wit. The barmaid scurried away and returned with a second bumper before the new arrival had found a seat.

  “Greetings, Brodie. I was just getting yer brother some supper. Are ye hungry?” She smiled sweetly, her innocent expression a contrast to her plunging neckline and fiery dark eyes.

  “Anything ye can scrounge up will do for me, lass.” He tipped his head in thanks and took a long pull of his ale. “And a bottle of that fine Scotch whisky when ye have time.”

  “Ye’re looking pleased with yerself. I take it things went well?” asked Lachlan. His brother had been sent to Edinburgh in the hopes of purchasing a site for another weaving mill.

  “Aye. I managed to sign a lease on that building along the Water of Leith.” Brodie leaned back and put a hand on his chin and the other on the opposite side of his head. Lachlan winced at the crack he made as Brodie jerked his head one way then the other. “A thirty-year lease with first option to buy or a possible lease for another thirty when the contract ends.”

  Lachlan whistled. “Well done. Grandda will be pleased.”

  Brodie nodded and winked at the barmaid as she set down the whisky. “And what, may I ask, are ye doing here? Heading home or away?”

  “Away to Glasgow. I’ve got a special order to deliver, and Ian needs some help. With the unrest in England and the Lowlands, he can’t find an overseer for the mill. The workers want higher wages, the merchants want more say in Parliament, and the rich noblemen want to wear blindfolds and pretend nothing is wrong. A storm is brewing, if ye ask me.”

  “Poor Ian. And he canna return until someone replaces him.”

  “Ye ken he’s been away for over two months, and his Lissie is missing him.”

  “The MacNaughtons can’t add a new bairn to the family lineage if the couple are miles apart.” Brodie measured out a dram of the amber liquid, inviting Lachlan to do the same. “To the next generation of MacNaughtons!”

  “To the firstborn of Ian and Lissie,” agreed Lachlan. An idea began forming in the back of his brain. Perhaps…

  “Och, ye’ve got that look in yer eye like a good bargain is about to come yer way.” Brodie leaned forward, his elbows on the rough wood of the table, boots scuffing the plank floor. “Or does it have to do with the female persuasion?”

  “No. Grandda sent me to Glasgow to cool my temper. That fousome Craigg tried to cheat Rory MacDunn. Wanted his prize ewe when the poor mon came up short one lambie.” Lachlan’s jaw ticked, remembering the confrontation. “Brodie, we have to find a way to make this right.”

  “Craigg? Perhaps he could have an accident while out hunting.” The glint in Brodie’s eyes told Lachlan it was said in jest. But it was tempting.

  “I’ll be the worst chief the clan has ever kent. Ye’re the one who should be taking over, no’ me.”

  Brodie’s smile faded. “Aye, Brother, I ken ye dinna want to do it. Ye’ll settle disputes with a fist when the argument turns petty, which would work for some but no’ all. We’ll have to put our heads together and come up with a plan. See if Ian has any ideas.”

  “I ken a way I could put you with Grandda. Take my place, so to speak, for a short time.”

  Brodie’s bright blue eyes narrowed, but his grin returned. “I’m listening.”

  “Suppose I shared the responsibility of the mill with Ian until an overseer was found? He could spend a month at the castle while I was in Glasgow. And then we’d switch places.” A weight lifted from Lachlan’s chest as he said the words. A reprieve of sorts, he told himself. “We could convince Grandda to let ye take my place while I’m gone, and then he’ll see how much better ye are with people than I am.”

  “God’s bones, mon, ye make yerself sound like a social pariah or one of those mad hermits. Ye arena that bad, at least no’ with the ladies.” Grinning, Brodie leaned back to allow the maid to set down plates of fresh bread, mashed potatoes, and turnips. “However, ye may have come up with a temporary solution. I dinna think Ian will be averse to coming home for a spell. Ye could weed out any applicants, and Ian could speak with them when he returned.”

  Lachlan gave the lass a wink as she brought fresh mugs of ale. “Do me a favor and mention it to Grandda when ye get back. I’ll talk to Ian.”

  “Sure, and send me to do yer dirty work, will ye?” Brodie shook his head. “He’ll see through the ploy, but I’ll tell him just the same. If we really want anything to change, we need to make our plea to the women. Our grandmother is the only one I ken that might alter his opinion once set.”

  “Aye, she’s always had a way with him. Ye should have seen the two of them, flirting yesterday. Time hasn’t changed how the two of them feel for each other.”

  Brodie sopped up so
me gravy with his bread, stabbed a fork into the meat, and waved it at Lachlan. “We all need to find a woman like that. One to keep us happy and robust in our later years.”

  “I’d settle for happy and robust in my present years.”

  But it would take more than a woman to satisfy fate and his future. In the meantime, there was still half a bottle of whisky to be drank and a willing female to be satisfied.

  Chapter Two

  A Deceiving Demeanor

  Late March 1819

  London, England

  Fenella licked her lips and jerked one shoulder. “Is that better?”

  “Oh, Lord Almighty,” groaned the lady’s maid. “That’s more of a tick than a temptation. Stop thinking of each step and make it one smooth motion. Like this.”

  Rose’s tongue slid along the seam of her lips as she rolled one shoulder in a come-hither motion and took one step toward her mistress. “I’m terribly thirsty. Would you be so kind as to get me a lemonade?” she asked huskily in the feigned intonations of a noblewoman, lashes fluttering.

  “I may kiss you myself if you come a step closer.”

  Rose looked at Fenella and winked. They both burst into loud guffaws. Imitating their elders had instigated their friendship as children. The maid’s prowess at mimicking others had given them hours of entertainment. She could be a French maid one day and a countess the next.

  “What’s going on in there?” asked Lady Franklin from the hall, poking her head into the room.

  “Nothing, Mother. Just being silly girls,” Fenella answered.

  “That will be the day when you take your nose out of the books,” grumbled her mother as she continued past. “You should be choosing a dress and jewelry and deciding how to wear your hair tonight.”

  “This is useless. I’m quite happy helping Papa with the ledgers and the estate.” Fenella sighed and fell back onto the bed, arms spread above her head, long legs dangling against the counterpane as her feet brushed the floor. “He has spoiled my chances to be a happy docile wife, raising me as if I were his male heir. No man would give me the same freedom or deference. Evie would be happy to snare a viscount or an earl. Why must I be delegated to find the titled husband?”