Sinful Scottish Laird--A Historical Romance Novel Read online

  Daisy looked at her cousin, her expression full of despair. She sighed again and moved to sit next to her on the bed. “I hope to marry Rob. I do. Arrandale is...he’s diverting, that’s all. I am merely amusing myself—nothing more. Because he is the one man on this earth who cares nothing for my fortune,” she added bitterly.

  Belinda nodded. She took Daisy’s hand in hers and squeezed it, then looked her in the eye. “Be careful of amusements, Daisy.”

  Daisy smiled wryly. “Why? Did something dire happen in the course of someone’s amusement?”

  Belinda’s face darkened. “No. Because I am concerned for you and Ellis. I am allowed that. I am allowed to be concerned about what you’re doing.” She stood up and went out of the room without another word.

  “Blast it,” Daisy muttered and fell back on her bed, exhausted and torn and sort of distantly aroused—there were so many things in her head that it began to ache.

  * * *

  DAISY EVENTUALLY FINISHED dressing on her own and then reluctantly made her way down to breakfast and her guests.

  On her way to the dining room, she detoured to her son’s rooms.

  Ellis was at breakfast with Mr. Tuttle. The books for his lessons were stacked neatly on a small desk near the window. Ellis was in the midst of a rather animated tale when she walked in. Mr. Tuttle came to his feet and bowed his head.

  “I’m to learn how to toss a tree today, Mamma,” Ellis said. “Cailean means to show me. Not Collin, Mamma—it sounds a bit different than that.”

  “Thank you for alerting me,” she said, smiling. “But do you think it wise to call him by his given name?”

  “He said that I should. Do you know what else he said? He said I looked quite strong.”

  Daisy exchanged a look with Mr. Tuttle, who said affectionately, “His lordship is most adamant that the tree be tossed, madam.”

  “Then by all means, it shall.” She couldn’t imagine how this tree tossing might be done, but she knew one thing—Arrandale had best live up to his promise to her son, or he would have an angry viscountess to address.

  Daisy kissed her son on the top of his head. “If you mean to toss trees about, darling, you best eat a hearty breakfast,” she said, pointing at his plate.

  Her son obediently picked up a toast point. He leaned back in his chair, his gaze on the window, his feet swinging above the ground. It was remarkable, really—Daisy hadn’t seen him this cheerful in weeks. All for the toss of a tree?

  She stayed a moment to hear about his lessons, then continued on to the dining hall. The rain had cleared and left in its wake a cloudless and brilliantly blue sky. She paused at the window to look at the stunning landscape. The sun had cast a soft golden hue over the garden and lawn leading down to the lake. She could see a few people there, pulling the small rowboat, that Uncle Alfonso had purchased from a boat maker in Erbusaig, from the shore.

  She found the dining room empty and Rowley clearing the sideboard. “Has everyone dined?” she asked, surprised. It was only nine o’clock.

  “Yes, madam. Most of them were rummaging about for something to eat at half past seven. Shall I fill a plate?”

  “No, thank you.” Daisy gathered her shawl around her. “I should go and see what my guests are about.”

  She made her way out onto the terrace, pausing to turn her face up to the delicious warmth of the sun.

  “A bonny vision you are,” a man said.

  Daisy lowered her head to see who’d spoken. “I’m not,” she said laughingly at Mr. Somerled as he strolled across the terrace to her. “I was up far too late last night.”

  Mr. Somerled glanced toward the lake and the others, who were now piling into the boat.

  “You didn’t want to join them?” Daisy asked.

  Somerled shook his head. “Too many people in a boat may sink it, aye?”

  Daisy laughed.

  “The weather has turned in your favor, Lady Chatwick.”

  “Indeed it has,” she said, turning her face up to the sun once more. “It’s glorious.”

  “I quite enjoyed our talk last evening,” he said.

  Their talk? She’d had so many conversations.

  “You’ve a keen wit,” he said, smiling at her.

  Somerled had lovely brown eyes...but nothing compared to Arrandale’s vivid blue. “You give me too much credit, sir. My talent lies only in repeating stories I’ve heard.”

  “Nonsense. And you are to be commended on the meal. It was exquisite. It was a treat, it was, that you availed yourself of Arrandale’s wine. You’ll no’ find that quality anywhere else in the Highlands.”

  That was the second time someone had referred to it as Arrandale’s wine. “Did he make it?” she asked.

  Somerled laughed gaily. “No, but he’s brought it to the Highlands.” At Daisy’s blank look he said, “The laird Arrandale is a frequent visitor to the port of Calais, then. You must ask after his brandy, aye? It’s exceptional.”

  France? She thought trade with France was forbidden, given the tensions between the two countries. Was he implying that Arrandale was a smuggler? No, he couldn’t be. Arrandale was too...sophisticated. Too strong, too in command of himself. She had the idea that smugglers were weak, desperate men.

  “Lady Chatwick...will you walk with me?” Somerled asked, startling her back to the present.

  She was wary of gentlemen who invited her to walk, as there was always something of great importance they wished to say. “Shall I show you my garden?” she suggested. It was a quick walk, and she could do most of the talking. “I’ve brought it back from the brink of death.”

  They walked down the terrace steps and onto a well-worn path, headed for her garden, to the weathered wooden gate that marked the garden’s entrance. She proudly opened it. “My garden,” she said.

  It was a bit muddy, but the garden looked fresh to Daisy’s eyes. She was delighted that her sad little roses had held their ground against the rain, and the vines—all of them cut back now—seemed particularly lush.

  “’Tis bonny,” Mr. Somerled said as he paused to look around. He bent over one of her better rosebushes and picked one of the open buds before Daisy could stop him. He held it out to her with a smile, and she tried not to look appalled that he’d just reduced her crop of roses by one. “A rose for a rose,” he said.

  Not very original, but Daisy appreciated the sentiment all the same. “Thank you.” She smiled sweetly and took it from him, touching the velvet petals to the tip of her nose. Her roses were so small and lifeless that they scarcely emitted any scent.

  “Have you a potting shed?” he asked, looking about.

  “No,” she said. “It’s much too small a garden for that.”

  “You ought to have one.” He glanced at her and said timidly, “You ought to have all that you desire.”

  Oh yes, and Mr. Somerled would next posit that he, of all men, was best suited to give her all that she desired. Daisy forced a smile. “I’d be rather spoiled, then, would I not?”

  “May I speak plainly, then, Lady Chatwick?” Somerled asked and rubbed a leaf between his finger and thumb.

  No! Go home now—go home! “Of course,” she made herself say.

  “I pray you will no’ think me too bold...but you have been the bonniest surprise of summer. When I heard the Viscount Chatwick’s widow had come to open Auchenard, I rather pictured an old woman with graying hair. What a delight to find you here, aye?”

  She blushed a little and avoided his gaze by tucking the rose into her bodice.

  “I should like to inquire, if I may, after your intentions.”

  She glanced up, not understanding. “My intentions?”

  “Do you intend to stay on at Auchenard, then? Or will you soon be returning to London?”

  “I�
��ve—”

  “It would be my great pleasure to come to know you,” he nervously interjected.

  Would it really be such a great pleasure? Had he seen even the slightest thing in her that spoke to compatibility? Or did he see only a fat purse when he looked at her? “Aha...well.” She cleared her throat. “That is terribly kind of you to offer—”

  “I should like to be the one to introduce you to Scotland, aye? It’s a bonny land—there are many stunning vistas in these Highlands.”

  “Yes, it seems there are,” she said as her mind raced through all the things she might say to discourage him without harming his feelings. She glanced at the gate and pictured herself walking around him and out of the garden. She pictured herself walking all the way to the lake and throwing herself in, hoping the lake would carry her out to the sea.

  “Many stunning vistas and...many romantic ones, as well.”

  Lord, it was worse than she suspected. “Mr. Somerled—”

  “What’s this? A garden?”

  Daisy and Mr. Somerled turned at the same moment; the gate swung open with some force and through it strode Arrandale. He was dressed in buckskins and a dark coat, and his boots were muddied, as if he’d been hunting.

  Arrandale glanced around the little garden, his gaze appraising. “You are clearly in need of a gardener, Lady Chatwick.”

  She gaped at him. “I beg your pardon, I am the gardener here. I would think you’d recall as such from our previous meetings.”

  “Was that what you were doing, then?” he asked as he looked around again. “I imagined you engaged in something else entirely.” He gave her a pointed look.

  Daisy’s cheeks began to burn as he sauntered forward and looked at the rose she’d tucked into her bodice. Her skin burned beneath that little rose. “Diah, if this is a rose you have grown, I would highly recommend you attempt other endeavors, aye? Perhaps pottery.”

  “I beg your pardon, but I picked that flower for her,” Mr. Somerled said, straightening up a bit. “You insult the lady, Arrandale.”

  “You picked it?” Arrandale said with a chuckle. “I might have left that on the vine if it were my best offering.”

  Daisy bit back a laugh of shock. Mr. Somerled looked truly affronted.

  “Please, pay him no mind, Mr. Somerled,” she begged.

  “I pay him no mind at all, madam. He is of no consequence to me. I will leave you now so that Arrandale might impress you further with his wit, aye?” he snapped. He bowed, then stepped around Arrandale without another word and strode from the garden.

  Arrandale watched him go, then looked at Daisy and smiled smugly.

  “You’re a wretched, wretched man. You needn’t have teased him,” she said, taking the rose from her bodice.

  “What sort of man is he that he canna bear a wee bit of teasing?” he asked jovially. “Look at you, Lady Chatwick, with a gift from your admirer. You enjoy the attention, aye?”

  “I do,” she said breezily. “As I’m sure you would enjoy the attention if any was ever paid to you.”

  “Oh ho,” he said cheerfully, “the lady doth challenge me. I’ve had a fair share of attention paid to me, I have. Quite a lot in recent days, I will boldly remind you. At least I’ve no’ presented you with spindly blooms eaten by insects.”

  “You can’t fault Mr. Somerled for the selection,” she said, casting her arm around her.

  “Aye, but I can fault him for being tiresome.”

  Daisy tried not to smile...and bowed her head so he’d not see it.

  Arrandale clasped his hands and stepped around her, venturing deeper into her little garden.

  “You sound rather envious, in truth,” she said. “And yet I know that cannot possibly be true as you do not hold any great esteem for me.”

  “Aye, you are correct—it canna possibly be true,” he said and cast a smile over his shoulder at her.

  It was a pity he stood a few steps away—she couldn’t kick him as she suddenly wanted to do. “Then what is it that vexes you?” she demanded, annoyed with him now.

  “Oh, I’m no’ vexed, madam. But I would no’ like to see you set your sights on him.”

  “I’m not setting my sights on anyone.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Why should you not take me at my word?” she said, her vexation growing. He was maddening! “Have I been anything but unfailingly honest with you? You want to believe the nonsense that comes from the mouths of gossips and rogues.”

  He glanced at her again, but his smile was gone. “I know the men here. I know what they want.”

  Daisy bristled at the insinuation. It was one thing for her to believe it, but entirely another for him to say it aloud to her. “You can’t possibly know their intentions—”

  “I know the brothers Fergus and Irving MacDonald are shipbuilders and suffered the loss of a ship in the spring,” he said, moving toward her. “I know Murray’s brother lost his cattle to bovine plague, and now he canna keep his clan fed.”

  Daisy’s eyes widened. Mr. Murray had indeed mentioned that his older brother might like to see Auchenard.

  Arrandale moved closer. “And I know Somerled, aye? We attended Saint Andrews together. He’s the son of an important Scotch statesman and barrister, a man whose fortune rose in defense of the king when Scotsmen raised complaints against the Crown, and whose fortunes fell with the rise of the Jacobites. Rumor has it that Somerled has significant gambling debts that his family can no longer cover.”

  Daisy gaped at him. Her blood was heating with rage. It was humiliating—the Highlands had sent their men running to Auchenard with the hope of catching her, the pot at the end of their rainbow.

  She tossed down the flower. “I am weary of talk,” she said. “Someone is always talking, always advising me what they think I am too blind to see.”

  “I donna mean to offend you, on my word I do no’. But I canna stand idly by while a woman as bonny as you are is pursued by gentlemen who donna honor you.”

  “I am well aware what they honor,” she said hotly.

  “Aye, I know that you are. Does Captain Spivey honor you, then?”

  Daisy’s heart stopped beating. “How do you know about him?”

  Arrandale said nothing.

  Belinda, of course. Daisy whirled away from him. “It is none of your concern. None.”

  When he didn’t speak or move, she whirled back to him. His gaze bored into her. “Aye, it is no’,” he agreed. “But if he does honor you... I’d no’ like to see you harm him.”

  Her anger soared. How dare he tell her how to behave? She walked up to him, pushed his chest. “I don’t need your advice, of all people. Perhaps I ought to give you some advice.”

  “By all means,” he said, casting his arms wide.

  “Don’t smuggle,” she snapped. She’d meant it to shock him, to put the shoe on the other foot. Arrandale’s brows lifted with surprise. And then he laughed.

  “Excellent advice,” he said jovially. “But donna think you can intimidate me. I’m no’ ashamed of it,” he said and abruptly caught her face in his hand. “When the Crown’s tariffs make it impossible for our clan to thrive?” He shrugged. “I will take that risk.”

  “Neither am I ashamed,” she said angrily. “By the same token, when a husband’s edict makes it impossible for me to live my life as I please, then I, too, will take some risks.”

  She glared at him. But then he tenderly stroked her cheek. “I understand,” he said quietly, acquiescing.

  “Do you?” she asked angrily. Her skin was tingling where he’d touched her.

  “Aye, I do.” He slipped his hand around to the nape of her neck, then bent so they were eye level. “You donna want my advice, then. But if you should ever decide you want it, you need only ask. I will always b
e truthful with you, on my word.”

  She was suddenly swimming in a pool of desire, the longing there again, pressing against her edges, threatening to erupt at the seams. What had happened to her? When had she become so lustful? When had she needed a man’s pledge of honesty as desperately as she seemed to need it today? When had she begun to throw all caution to the wind in pursuit of her own pleasure?

  This could not be her. As much as she wanted it to be, she had a son to think of. Daisy slowly reached up and wrapped her hand around his wrist. “I will keep my own counsel,” she said evenly and pulled his hand from her neck. She knew a moment of indecision, when she thought that she might perhaps kiss him again. But his admonishment of her behavior still stung, and she dropped his hand.

  Arrandale stepped back. He bowed. “As you wish,” he said, strolling out of the garden with such insouciance that it was a wonder he didn’t whistle as he went.

  “Where are you going?” Daisy asked.

  “To teach a lad how to toss a caber,” he called over his shoulder. “Go see to your guests, Lady Chatwick.”

  “Thank you for advising me on how I might host my guests!” she called irritably after him.

  She heard his chuckle as he went out the gate.

  * * *

  MR. SOMERLED FOUND Daisy again, on the shores of Lochcarron, where she was watching Mr. Murray row his wife and Miss Mackenzie about. Miss Mackenzie was having a grand time of it, shrieking with laughter every time the boat dipped to one side or the other.

  Somerled handed her a parasol. “Miss Hainsworth is concerned about your complexion,” he said, his eyes shining with amusement.

  Daisy smiled. “I think she counts my freckles daily.” She and Somerled sat on a bench that someone had installed quite some time ago—the wood was weathered and splintering, and he’d very gallantly put down a handkerchief for her.