The Highlander's Irish Bride

by Vanessa Kelly

  Lord Arnprior shook his head. “I find it appalling that any Kendrick male would hesitate to leap at the chance to escort such lovely ladies.”

  “Quite right, Nicholas,” Gillian said. “You’d think we were a trio of madwomen escaped from Bedlam.”

  “To be fair,” Kathleen said, “that’s not quite an inaccurate description for the three of us.”

  Thankfully, almost everyone laughed, as she’d intended. Even Mr. Stodgy and Stoic Grant Kendrick cracked a smile.

  “Perhaps Grandda and I could take you for a drive around Glasgow tomorrow,” said Kade. “We could point out the highlights and then go for pastries at Monroe’s.”

  “What’s Monroe’s?” Jeannie asked.

  Kade smiled. “Only the best cake shop in Scotland.”

  “From what I hear about Scottish cuisine, that’s not saying much,” Gillian teased.

  Angus pointed his pipe at Gillian. “I’ll nae have ye disparaging our pastries, ye saucy Sassenach, even if ye are a duchess.”

  Gillian heaved a dramatic sigh. “Is it to be pistols at dawn, then?”

  “We could take the ladies up to Mugdock one day,” Grant unexpectedly said.

  Kathleen mentally blinked at that, and because he was now staring directly at her. “Mugdock? That sounds . . .”

  “Disgusting,” Gillian put in.

  Kathleen rolled her eyes. “I was about to say nice.”

  Actually, she hadn’t been sure how to respond, since the sudden intensity in Grant’s eyes had again momentarily flustered her.

  Angus nodded his approval. “The ladies will love Mugdock.”

  Jeannie looked doubtful. “What is it?”

  “The ancestral home of Clan Graham,” Kade explained. “And one of the oldest castles in the district.”

  Jeannie brightened. “That sounds lovely, and very romantic.”

  “I’d say interesting rather than romantic,” Grant said. “But it’s got tremendous history and excellent views of the countryside.”

  “Just about any place can be romantic with the right sort of company,” Gillian said. Then she turned to Kathleen with a sly smile. “Don’t you agree, pet?”

  It was all Kathleen could do to keep her jaw from sagging open at her friend’s astounding lack of subtlety.

  “No,” she bluntly replied.

  When Grant’s expressive eyebrows ticked up, she repressed a grimace.

  You are an absolute ninny.

  Her sister came to her rescue, apparently unintentionally.

  “Is the castle haunted?” Jeannie asked.

  Kade waggled a hand. “Maybe.”

  “No,” Grant said at the same time.

  Jeannie wrinkled her nose in disappointment.

  “But the views truly are spectacular,” Grant added, by way of consolation.

  When Jeannie snorted, Kathleen almost felt sorry for the poor man.

  “It does have a bloodthirsty weapons collection,” Kade said. “Positively gruesome.”

  Gillian winked at Jeannie. “Now, that sounds promising, doesn’t it?”

  Jeannie beamed, her good humor restored.

  “It sounds fascinating,” Kathleen said. “I’d love to visit.”

  She smiled at Grant, who gave her just a brusque nod in return. Honestly, men could be so very confusing.

  “Mugdock is a splendid place to visit,” Arnprior said. “I’m sure Grant and Kade will enjoy showing it to you.”

  “It’s a shame you won’t be here long enough to visit Kinglas,” Victoria said with a sigh. “Glasgow or even Edinburgh can’t compare.”

  “Perhaps next summer, when my children are older,” Gillian replied. “As it is, two weeks is all I can manage before Jeannie and I must return to London.”

  “I don’t want to go back to London,” Jeannie said. “Certainly not in a paltry two weeks.”

  There was a fraught pause. Kathleen crushed the impulse to bang her head against the wall. They’d only just arrived, and her sister was pushing for more.

  Of course, that sort of pushing against boundaries was exactly the sort of thing Kathleen had done her entire life. Jeannie had clearly picked up her burgeoning rebellious streak from her.

  “We can talk about it later, dearest,” she said. “Let’s just try to enjoy Glasgow, shall we?”

  Jeannie’s chin took on the now-familiar tilt. “All right, but I still don’t want to go home. I want to go to Lochnagar with you.”

  Kathleen’s brain froze. “Ah . . .”

  “Lochnagar’s a grand place,” Angus filled in. “Can’t blame the lassie for wantin’ to visit.”

  “No, but perhaps we can let Miss Calvert and her sister sort that out later,” Grant suggested.

  The old man simply shrugged.

  “There’s nothing to sort out,” Jeannie stubbornly insisted. “I want to stay in Scotland.”

  Kathleen tried to look firm. “Jeanette—”

  “You’re not in charge of me, Kath, so don’t even try,” her sister replied.

  “More tea, anyone?” Victoria asked in a bright voice.

  Kathleen suspected that even a good belt of whisky would fail to do the trick. It was going to be a long two weeks.

  Chapter Seven

  Grant hastily stepped away from Jeannie’s wobbly swing. “Steady, lass.”

  An old broadsword was hardly a toy at the best of times. In the hands of an enthusiastic sixteen-year-old, it was a lurking disaster.

  “Aye,” said Angus. “We dinna want yon laddie losin’ any body parts, especially not the good bits.”

  He capped off that bon mot with a wink to Kathleen, who turned bright pink. The pretty Sassenach wasn’t the shy type, but Grandda’s matchmaking was obvious and embarrassing.

  Kathleen had captured his grandfather’s fancy as a potential bride. Angus had a soft spot for girls with both brains and beauty, not to mention ones also possessing an excellent dowry. The dowry insight had been relayed by Gillian, another participant in the matchmaking quest. That Kathleen was less than enamored with Scotland and him were impediments easily brushed aside by the coconspirators.

  It was a hell of an impediment for Grant, even though he was certainly not on the lookout for a bride.

  “I value all my bits,” he said as he sidestepped another swing and snatched up a lamp, saving it from imminent destruction.

  After putting the lamp on a side table, he plucked the sword from Jeannie’s hand as she prepared for a practice lunge.

  “But some more than others, I reckon,” Angus replied, tapping his nose as he tried to look both subtle and sly.

  Grant contemplated whacking the old fellow with the flat of the blade but contented himself with a glare. Angus blatantly ignored the silent reprimand as he puffed on his pipe, safely ensconced in the ancient, elaborately carved oak chair by the fireplace, far away from the swinging.

  Kathleen had been wandering around Mugdock’s weaponry hall, peering at the various lethal items and moldering stag heads. Now she glanced at her sister.

  “Dearest, perhaps you’d best let Mr. Kendrick keep the broadsword for now,” she said. “It’s heavy and hard to control.”

  Jeannie rolled her eyes, a remarkably consistent response to her sister’s interventions. “It’s not that heavy. Besides, I’m just practicing. Kade said he would teach me, and how can I learn if I can’t swing it?”

  Grant lifted questioning eyebrows at his brother, who was also standing well out of harm’s way.

  Kade gave him a sheepish smile. Jeannie was running rings around the poor fellow, and Kathleen was clearly not happy about it. But the girl’s infatuation had evolved with a speed that had caught them all off guard—especially Kade.

  Too kind to crush the girl’s sensitive spirit, Kade was struggling a bit to keep her at a friendly but appropriate distance.

  Still, Grant reckoned it was all fairly harmless. Jeannie was too young to know what she truly wanted, other than Kade’s attention. As long as he and Kathleen
kept an eye on the lass, all should be well.

  Unfortunately, Grant found himself wanting to spend most of his time keeping an eye on Kathleen—a very close eye. Not that he’d had much chance, given the whirlwind of female shopping that had taken place over the last several days.

  Little Jeannie had arrived in Scotland without much of a wardrobe. There was a mystery there that seemed to generate a fair bit of tension between the sisters. Vicky no doubt had a better understanding of the situation, which meant Nick would, too, but Grant had steadfastly resisted making attempts to discover the truth. The less time he spent thinking about Kathleen Calvert and her troubles, the better.

  It was a challenge, though, because he found the lass fascinating, charming, and quirky, and a whole host of other adjectives he could conjure up. It was impossible not to notice her, since she talked quite a lot in her sweet voice, with its hint of an Irish lilt, and laughed even more. Kendrick House, almost always a lively place, was even livelier now thanks to Kathleen.

  She also had an eccentric habit of leaving her belongings strewn about the house, thus constantly reminding one of her presence. More than once, Grant had found a gauzy scarf draped haphazardly over a chair, or jeweled hairpins or dainty hankies dropped on the floor. For some deranged reason, he found the habit endearing.

  Aye, she was a handful, Kathleen Calvert. Along with her rambunctious sister and the madcap Duchess of Leverton, they’d turned Kendrick House into a bit of a circus. Which was why Grant had made a point of staying at the office as much as possible, hoping that everyone had forgotten his impulsive suggestion for an outing to Mugdock Castle.

  It hadn’t worked. At breakfast yesterday, Nick had acerbically pointed out to him that everyone else was doing his social duties by the ladies, and now it was his bloody turn. Grant had responded that he was much too busy to be larking about, but big brother had simply ordered him to get it done, before retreating behind his morning gazette.

  “You used to like larking about,” he muttered to himself as he placed the broadsword back on its pegs.

  “Did you say something, Mr. Kendrick?” Kathleen asked.

  He turned. “No, Miss Calvert. Nothing at all.”

  Grant felt his artificially polite smile suddenly turn into something genuine. It was a hell of a thing, but Kathleen Calvert just made a fellow want to smile.

  When he’d caught sight of her coming down the stairs this morning, he’d had to smother a grin. Because it was another pink outf it—this time, a brightly colored walking dress, trimmed with elaborate red braid on the sleeves that also marched down the front of her bodice. That, naturally, drew his attention to her breasts, curves lovely enough to satisfy even the most exacting of tastes.

  It wasn’t much of a surprise to discover that Kathleen exactly fit his particular tastes.

  Forgetting for the moment that he had piles of work at the office, he’d gladly handed her into the barouche, where Kade, Jeannie, and Angus were already waiting. Grant could barely remember the last time he’d been out of the city, and found the country drive to Mugdock surprisingly enjoyable.

  So had Kathleen, who’d perked up as soon as they left the outskirts of Glasgow, growing ever more appreciative as the countryside rolled by. The steady climb to Mugdock took them through colorful meadows of bracken and heather, and a sun-dappled forest of oak and birch. The leaves were just beginning to turn, and flashes of red and yellow sparked out in the clear light of an early autumn day.

  Her pretty features framed by a lavishly trimmed pink bonnet, Kathleen had tilted back her head to catch the sun. Her skin was cream, and her freckles a splash of cinnamon across her nose and cheeks. She’d breathed out a happy little sigh, then her lush lips had curled up in a lovely smile as the sunlight danced over her features. To Grant, she appeared as if lit from within, and that inner glow turned her from pretty to glorious. Quite the most glorious girl he had ever seen in his life.

  Unfortunately, Mugdock had so far failed to elicit a similar happy reaction. Grant couldn’t entirely blame her for that. Mugdock was no fairy-tale castle. Rather, it was a grim-looking fortification of gray stone, built for battle during the days when clan fought clan and marauders roamed the countryside.

  Jeannie loved it, of course, expecting phantoms to be lurking around every corner. Her favorite room thus far had been the weapons hall of the old manor house. Its collection of claymores, dirks, and broadswords was set on the wall amongst ancient heraldic banners and moth-eaten stag heads.

  Kathleen, on the other hand, seemed unimpressed, and was currently inspecting the stags with a critical eye.

  “They’re such magnificent creatures,” she said. “It’s a shame to see them moldering away on a wall.”

  “They do look rather tatty,” Grant replied.

  Kathleen squinted up at an impressive twelve-point buck mounted high over the fireplace. The poor thing had seen better days, alive and dead.

  “Still, if one squints,” she added, “I suppose it does convey a certain grandeur of days gone by.”

  “The Sassenachs in the family tend to call the style ‘Heroic Highlander,’” Grant said. “It’s not meant as a compliment.”

  That earned him a crooked, charming grin. “I cannot say that I disagree.”

  “One of the first steps Vicky took at Kinglas was to remove most of the animal heads. She said they attracted moths and were a dusting nightmare for the maids.”

  Angus gloomily sucked on his pipe. “A sad day. I fair wept into my dram, seein’ our history come down like that.”

  “You had more than a dram,” Grant replied. “Nor did you weep. You yelled at poor Vicky at some length, as I recall.”

  “And I recall that the lassie yelled right back,” Angus retorted. “Besides, all I was doin’ was teachin’ family history to her.”

  Kade, who stood with a shoulder propped against the mantel, snorted. “Is that what we’re calling that particular incident? A history lesson?”

  Angus adopted a dignified look. “I was simply explainin’ things, but our countess refused to listen.”

  “No, you refused to back down until Nick threatened to toss you into the loch,” Grant said.

  “Och, the laird sided with me, ye ken.”

  Kade shook his head. “Grandda, I distinctly remember Nick was going to throw you into Loch Long.”

  “Yer mistaken lad. I was there, ye ken.”

  “We were all there, unfortunately,” Grant said. “You’re off the mark, Grandda.”

  “Fah,” Angus replied, curling a lip.

  Kathleen chuckled. “I have to agree with the countess. I’m not fond of animal heads littering the walls, either.”

  “There are mounted heads in our Wiltshire manor house,” Jeannie said.

  The girl had given up on broadswords and was now craning up to pluck a big old yew bow from the wall.

  “Only a few in Papa’s library. One hardly notices them,” Kathleen replied.

  “Except for that Christmas when you draped them in mistletoe and stuck candles on the antlers. That was fun.”

  Kathleen winced. “Please don’t remind me.”

  “It didn’t turn out well?” Grant asked.

  “I basically set the room on fire.”

  He laughed.

  “These ones are much nicer than Papa’s old things,” Jeannie said as she pointed the bow at the twelve-point buck. “Can you imagine how difficult it must have been to shoot him?”

  Kathleen crinkled her nose. “I’d rather not.”

  Jeannie tried to bend the bowstring, without much success. “I think it would be exciting. Like Robin Hood and his comrades in Nottingham Forest.”

  “It takes a great deal of skill and strength,” Kade said. “And if you only wound the poor animal, you often have to spend hours chasing it down. You cannot let it suffer.”

  Jeannie frowned. “That part doesn’t sound like fun.”

  “Definitely not,” Grant quietly added.

  Kathle
en shot him a curious look. “Did that ever happen to you?”

  It was a memory he particularly hated. “Yes, I was hunting a stag. It wasn’t with a bow, but my shot missed the mark. Took almost a full day to track the poor fellow down.”

  He’d only been seventeen at the time and still mad for hunting. When he’d flubbed the shot, the poor beast had taken off into the woods around Kinglas. Nick had ordered Grant not to come home until he’d tracked the wounded animal down. Their father had drummed that rule into their heads from an early age. Always respect the animal, and never let it suffer.

  But that poor stag had indeed suffered. By the time Grant and Graeme had tracked it to a secluded fen hours later, the animal had collapsed, half-dead from distress and blood loss. Graeme, bless his soul, had offered to finish the job, but Grant had done it. It was his mistake, and his duty to fix it.

  The creature had barely moved, gazing up at him in exhausted, mute agony. That had been the end of Grant’s days hunting bigger game. At Kinglas, he still shot the occasional partridge or grouse, but only to give it to local crofters who needed the extra food.

  “Ye just had a bad bit of luck with that one, son,” Angus said. “Yer a fine shot. Best in the family, after me.”

  Grandda was a notoriously bad shot, in fact. Truthfully, though, Angus also hated hunting. He loved animals of all sorts, and had too soft a heart to kill them.

  “Do you still hunt, Mr. Kendrick?” Kathleen asked.

  “Very little, in fact,” Grant replied.

  “Did you ever shoot a person?” Jeannie asked. “The duchess has, you know. And she said your twin shot lots of people when he was a spy.”

  Kathleen grimaced. “Jeanette, that is all extremely inappropriate.”

  Grant smiled at Jeannie. “I think the duchess has exaggerated Graeme’s, er, prowess. And, no, I have never shot anyone.”

  “But ye could if ye wanted to. You’d plug the bastard right between the eyes,” Angus said, as if offering Grant a consolation prize. “Just like yer twin.”

  “Also an inappropriate comment,” Grant said, sternly eyeing his grandfather.

  “Your twin does sound like a very exciting person,” Kathleen said with a grin.