Never Tempt a Scot

by Lauren Smith

  “You could have died!” Hunt exclaimed.

  “Yes, I know, but . . .” Portia sighed dramatically and then gasped. “Papa, are you wearing a wedding band?”

  Brodie felt strangely like an outsider in his own home as Hunt told his daughters about how he had married Jane Russell over an anvil.

  “Oh, that’s famous!” Portia exclaimed. “How romantic! I only wish we had been there. Right, Lydia?”

  “Yes, I’m so sorry we missed it, Papa.”

  Lydia caught Brodie’s eye, and her excited smile faded as she noticed his battered condition.

  “Brodie!” She pulled free of her father’s hand and rushed over to him, trying to touch his face.

  Brodie caught her hands and gently held her at bay.

  “Papa, did you do this?” Lydia demanded.

  “I did. And I plan to do more once I see you and Portia safely away from here.”

  “No,” Lydia said as she turned to look at her father. She was as beautiful as she was defiant in that moment. “You will not harm him ever again.”

  “There is a matter of honor that must be settled, not just for me, but for Mr. Kincade as well. I have wronged him, just as he has wronged me. And to each of us I’m sure the other’s sin seems the greater. Isn’t that right, Kincade?”

  The proud Scot in him was prepared to meet Hunt on the field of honor. The odds that one of them would die were great. He was an excellent shot, and while he could fire into the air, he had no guarantee that Hunt would do the same. If he could shoot as well as he punched, the odds that Hunt would kill him were high.

  The problem lay with Lydia. No matter who lived and who died, Lydia would be heartbroken and would in time grow to resent the survivor. For everyone’s sake, he had to be a coward. He had to turn his back and walk away.

  “Sorry to disappoint you, Hunt, but I have no honor. Take your daughters and go.”

  Brodie turned on his heel and left. As he stepped into the brilliant late afternoon sunlight, a dark violent storm ravaged his heart from within. He went to the stables, and as soon as he had a horse saddled, he rode away, leaving the castle and his bleeding heart far behind him.

  Lydia stared at the open doorway where Brodie had gone. A dull headache crept behind her eyes as she finally but unwillingly accepted that her time with Brodie was over. That the man she loved had not only walked away but in fact rode away as fast as he could.

  She had run after him, but only as far as the tall oak doors. She had stopped there, stilled by an invisible force as she watched him flee. She wasn’t a fool. She knew why he had left. He was too good of a shot to miss her father, and if he refused to fire, her father would most likely kill him. So he had done the only thing he could and left. She understood, she truly did, but it didn’t mean that her heart hadn’t shattered at his abandonment.

  “Lydia?” Her father put a hand on her shoulder. She tore her eyes away from the Scottish landscape.

  “Yes, Papa?”

  “Forget him. It’s time we both go home. Once the coach arrives with Jane, we’ll go home to Bath. Jane has already been engaging people to help explain your absence from Bath. Your reputation may yet be intact.”

  She let him escort her into the drawing room, where he once again recounted his adventure with Jane and how after they had married, they had met up with Brock and Ashton on the road to the Isle of Skye. As Brock and Ashton’s wives were both pregnant, the women had waited to take a coach with Jane, which was meant to arrive in a few hours.

  “I’m happy for you, Papa,” Lydia said, and she meant it. To have Jane as a mother would be wonderful. It meant Lysandra would be her sister, and all those charming Russells would be her protective brothers-in-law. But the joy she wished she could feel right now was impossible.

  Portia joined her sister on the settee, while their father was momentarily distracted speaking to Brock. She reached over and clasped one of her hands.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” Portia whispered.

  “Know what?”

  “That you fell in love with him. Heavens, I nearly shot the man.”

  Lydia did not deny it. What point was there now?

  “How did it happen?” Portia asked. “How did you fall in love with him?” The interest in her little sister’s eyes was unexpected. “It’s just . . . I keep hoping to fall in love. I was so certain that if I willed it in my head, my heart would follow. It’s been frustrating to find that I cannot do that. I thought I could make Brodie love me if he but stayed with me awhile, if he but kissed me . . .” Her sister’s tone was tinged with desperation and confusion, enough so that much of Lydia’s anger at her sister’s foolish actions eased.

  “You cannot make love out of nothing. It cannot be forced or willed into being,” Lydia replied softly. “It comes on slowly, without one noticing. And when you do realize it, the feeling hits you like lightning. When I first saw Brodie at the ball, I thought he was the most handsome man I had ever seen, but I knew he was not meant for the likes of me. It was only after he took me north that things changed. Our anger with each other softened, and little by little as we got to know each other, I eventually realized I was in love with him.”

  She looked at her sister. “Love is not a splendid, wondrous thing, dear sister. It is a broken heart, a wrenching sob, a collection of dreams fading before your eyes. Pray that you never know love, Portia. I would not wish this fate upon anyone.”

  Her own words caused such pain that she could not stand to sit there and pretend to be fine, even amongst her family and friends.

  Lydia rose from the settee and left the drawing room for her bedchamber. She threw herself onto the bed, unable to stop the sobs that came. She jolted as something grazed against her arm. She lifted her head and saw Aiden’s pine marten watching her. It nuzzled her arm, and she reached out hesitantly to touch it, and it rubbed its cheek against her fingers.

  A quiet exhaustion stole through Lydia as she lay there. She could feel her hopes and dreams fading into dust as the sunlight gave way to shadows outside.

  When Jane, Joanna, Rosalind, and Regina finally reached Castle Kincade, the women were quite mad with fear, particularly Jane, who knew that a duel was very possible.

  “Jackson!” Jane called out for her husband as she and the others rushed into the hall.

  “Here, my love!” Jackson stepped out of a nearby room, and she all but flung herself at him.

  “Are you hurt? Tell me it didn’t come to a duel?”

  “No and no, my darling. Rest easy. Lydia is safe, and Portia too.”

  “Portia? I thought she was in Brighton with your aunt?”

  “She was,” Jackson sighed. “She ran away and came here to try to rescue Lydia herself.”

  “Oh, good heavens.” Jane glanced about. “But if you didn’t duel with Mr. Kincade, then where is he?”

  “Gone. He said he had no honor to defend, took a horse from the stables, and rode away. He hasn’t returned since.”

  At this point, Rosalind spoke up. “My brother said he had no honor?”

  “Yes. It quite puzzles me, but that’s what he said.”

  Rosalind and Joanna exchanged glances.

  “Where is Lydia?” Jane asked.

  “Upstairs in her room. She was quite upset. I didn’t wish to bother her.”

  “Oh dear, we had better go.” As one, the four women headed up the grand staircase. A maid in the hallway indicated which room Lydia was staying in, and Jane knocked lightly on the door.

  “Lydia? May we come in?”

  There was a moment of silence before the door opened. Lydia peered at them with puffy red eyes. She had been crying. Jane’s heart broke for the girl.

  “Oh, sweetheart, come here.” She took Lydia into her arms and held her close. She had wanted to be a mother to this young woman for so long, and now she was. She only hoped she could earn Lydia’s trust now. Jane let the girl cry as she gently coaxed her to sit on the bed. Rosalind, Regina, and Joanna stepped ou
tside to give them privacy.

  “I’m so sorry, Lady Rochester. I mean, Mrs. Hunt. Heavens, I don’t even know what to call you.” Lydia sniffled and wiped her eyes with a handkerchief.

  “It’s all right. You may call me Jane, or even Mama, if you like.”

  Lydia managed a watery smile. “I’ve always thought of you like a mother whenever I spent time with you and Lysandra.”

  Jane brushed a lock of hair back from Lydia’s face. “I remember what it feels like to have a broken heart. Even all these years later, it’s not something one forgets.”

  Lydia lifted her teary gaze to Jane’s. “How did you know that I love him?”

  Jane nodded. “I couldn’t imagine you would be crying right now for any other reason.”

  Lydia nodded and wiped at her eyes again. “I don’t normally cry. Yet I can’t seem to stop now.” Without further encouragement, Lydia told Jane everything, leaving out no details, except for when it came to moments of private passion.

  Jane was stunned. How could Brodie Kincade not love this woman back? Was he truly that much of a rakehell that he was unmoved by Lydia? Or . . . Jane bit her lip in thought. Did he love her madly but yet didn’t have the time to make things right with Jackson? It was quite possible that Brodie had chosen to leave rather than hurt Lydia by facing Jackson down, since it would be hard to calm the tempers of two men who had both wronged each other. Yet Brodie’s attempt to avoid hurting Lydia by leaving had, in fact, hurt her anyway.

  “Now that you are here, we should return to Bath.” Lydia sat up, straightening her shoulders as she tried to mask her pain. “We have so much to do now that you and Papa . . .” Lydia embraced Jane again. “Lysandra and I are truly going to be sisters now, aren’t we?”

  “Yes, you are,” Jane agreed as she stroked Lydia’s hair. “You don’t mind that I married your father?”

  “Mind? No, you’ve always been so wonderful to me. If I had thought you and Papa could have made a match, I’d have introduced you to him myself.”

  Jane chuckled. “I am fortunate. Your father has given me something I never thought to find again.”

  “I’m so very happy for you both.” Lydia’s joy was genuine, though she was a bit shaky from crying.

  “My children will certainly be surprised, but they know that I do not hesitate when my instincts tell me to do something. And spending time with your father while searching for you, I felt it, deep inside.” Jane shook her head with a wry smile. “My first marriage was made just as quickly, and I had no doubts about my love then. I have no doubts here either.”

  Jane kept an arm around Lydia’s shoulder. “Now, tell me about this little orphan, Isla.”

  Aiden watched the Hunt family depart as he, Brock, Joanna, Ashton, Rosalind and Regina all waved goodbye. Being the quiet brother, Aiden saw and heard much from those around him.

  He knew Isla’s leaving was breaking Rafe’s heart, the widening distance between the rake and the orphan making its mark on the man to the point where Aiden wondered how no one else could see it. It was as plain as the fact that Brodie, his wild and reckless brother, was making the worst mistake of his life by not going after Lydia.

  Aiden was able to slip away unnoticed and went to the stables to have a horse prepared, and then he rode out into the twilight. There were only a handful of places Brodie would go, and he knew them all.

  Half an hour later, Aiden reined in his horse and dismounted near a small waterfall deep in the woods a few miles away from the castle. He looped the reins of his horse around a low-hanging branch once he spotted Brodie.

  His older brother was sitting on a tall rock near the base of a shallow waterfall. His knees were bent, and he rested his forearms on them, looking very much like the young boy who used to hide here when their father was still alive. With stealthy steps, Aiden crept up behind him.

  “I knew you would find me,” Brodie replied without turning. “You always do.”

  Aiden climbed up on the rock beside him and watched the clear water cascade into the pool below before it joined the stream. “And I knew you would hear me. You always do.”

  “She’s gone, isn’t she?”

  “Aye. And Isla with her.”

  Brodie dropped his head between his knees.

  “Then all is as it should be.”

  “Is it?” Aiden asked. “I see only broken hearts and broken people.”

  “We’ve always been broken,” Brodie replied. “That hasna changed.”

  Aiden cocked his head to one side. “Hasn’t it, though? Rosalind ran away vowing never to return. Yet she’s here, with a loving husband and a child on the way.” Brodie continued to stare at the water, so Aiden continued. “Then there’s Brock, so fearful of his temper, yet he’s calm and happy with Joanna and soon to be a father as well.”

  “That doesna mean you and I will be the same,” Brodie muttered.

  “Maybe not me,” Aiden agreed. “But you? That woman loves you. I know you all think me damaged and that I canna and willna ever be whole, but I see things more clearly than you ken. I see life all around me, see the way it pairs things together, the falcon and his mate, the otters in the river, the wee creatures in the ponds. Animals know their mates. Men are the ones who hesitate, who let clouds gather to cover what fate has shone a light on for us. You have a mate, brother, and you have no reason to turn away from her except for your own fears.”

  Brodie sighed. “I don’t trust myself, Aiden. I fear everything about life, at least the parts that matter. I am a coward, and I am cruel.”

  At this Aiden laughed, but he felt a pang of guilt for it given the dejected look on his brother’s face. “Brodie, you are no coward. You leave when you know it’s the only way to survive. Not every fight is worth using one’s fists. You fled because it spared Lydia having to choose between you and her father. She knows that. And you are not cruel. You speak in haste and can say things that wound, but you are like a badger with an injured paw. You lash out with no true desire to hurt others, only to protect yourself. That can go away in time. And with love. Both of which you have within reach.”

  Aiden saw the light of understanding creep across his brother’s face.

  “You are a man who survives,” Aiden added more quietly. “But you canna survive with a broken heart, and you canna survive without her in your life.”

  Brodie was quiet a long moment before he straightened his shoulders, and then he looked up at the glorious skies above them.

  “You’re right. Perhaps it is time I stopped running away from everything and started running toward something.”

  “Someone,” Aiden corrected as he and Brodie climbed off the rocks. “And you’d best start running now.”

  “Hush, pup!” Brodie laughed as he took off toward his horse.

  Aiden took his time returning to his own horse and slipped the pretty mare a few bites of apple while he stroked his palm down her chestnut nose.

  “It is just you and me now, I suppose,” he told the horse. The mare nickered and bobbed her head before nudging her nose against his shoulder playfully. Aiden looked toward the horizon, watching the sun vanish and the purple hues gather in the woods to take its place.

  “If I be so broken, then let me go in these twilight shadows,” he murmured, thinking of an old story of a fairy princess who had rescued a brokenhearted Highlander. But a fairy princess could not stay a fairy forever in the realm of humans, and so she had to choose: her immortality or her love.

  Aiden had often dreamed of a dark-haired fairy princess with eyes the color of warm honey. She haunted his waking moments almost as much as his dreams. But the fairies were lost to the world of men. Magic had faded from the earth, and there was little left to tether the two realms together.

  Aiden hummed a sad song as he mounted his horse and rode home. He gave silent thanks to whatever creatures of myth still dwelt in the woods, and he saw once again the fairy princess in his mind, calling to him.

  23

  One
Week Later…

  Brodie walked up the steps to the Hunt townhouse in Bath, his pulse quickening as he pushed away hazy memories of dragging Lydia down these very steps at knifepoint. He was certain he would not be received here, but he had to try, and keep on trying until he succeeded.

  He rapped the knocker, and the butler answered. Brodie remembered him from the night of the abduction as well. But rather than a look of recognition or surprise, there was only cold indifference.

  “May I help you?”

  “I need to speak with Mr. Hunt, please.”

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “Well, no. Can I make one?” Was this the point where English toffs left their calling card? He wasn’t that familiar with these formalities. “I don’t have a card, I’m afraid.”

  The butler sighed, his tolerance strained. “Your name?”

  “Brodie Kincade.”

  “You will wait outside.” The butler shut the door before Brodie could even acknowledge him.

  Something odd was going on. Surely the butler knew who he was? If he did, he would have expected a more hostile reception, and if he didn’t, then why was he being so rude? It made no sense.

  In time the door opened again. “It seems Mr. Hunt is not currently engaged and is willing to see you. This way.”

  Brodie straightened and stepped into the hall. The butler closed the door behind him and led him toward the study.

  “Personally, I am hesitant to allow a stranger into this house,” the butler said. “One never knows what they might do if given the chance. A truly unscrupulous cad might even try to make off with one of the family’s daughters at knifepoint.”

  Brodie looked at the butler when he said that, but the man’s features were like stone. Still, his words said it all. He did know who Brodie was and what he had done. So why the game?

  Inside the study, Hunt sat at his desk, but he wasn’t alone. An older man sat in a chair across from him. Hunt was looking over a document, and when Brodie came in, he handed the document over to the older man. “See if this will do. I will tend to my guest while you examine the terms of the sale.”