The Laird’s Wild Bride (English Lasses in Scotland #5)

Chapter 1

“You cannot continue to live in this house.”

Francesca’s hand froze halfway to the butter dish, the words hitting her like a blow. The breakfast room fell silent except for the steady tick of the mantle clock, each second stretching into eternity as she processed what her father had just said.

She turned slowly from the sideboard, still clutching the butter knife, to find both parents watching her with expressions carved from stone. Earl Holton sat rigid in his chair, his coffee growing cold before him, while her mother remained perfectly upright, radiating disapproval from every pore.

“Father, I may have spoken out of turn. I was not thinking.”

“Yes, you were not! And you have not been thinking ever since this child came into your life. So now listen to me and do not speak.” His voice was deadly quiet, more terrifying than any shout. “You have done quite enough speaking for one lifetime.”

The disappointment in his eyes made her knees weak. She gripped the edge of the sideboard for support as he continued.

“London society must already be buzzing with talk of your declaration last evening. By noon today, every drawing room in Mayfair will be discussing the Watson family’s latest scandal.” His voice dripped with disgust. “My daughter, publicly claiming a bastard child as her own.”

“That is not what I meant, and you know it.” The words burst out before she could stop them. “Eloise is my late sister’s child. I was speaking of her as my own daughter.”

“As your daughter?” Her mother’s voice cracked like ice. “How dare you claim that poor child in such a manner? How dare you taint her with such implications?”

Blood drained from Francesca’s face as the full horror dawned on her. In her desperation to claim Eloise as family, she had inadvertently cast doubt on the child’s legitimacy.

“Your reckless words have now cast suspicion on that child’s parentage as well as your own virtue.

” Earl Holton rose from his chair, his face red enough to burst. “The gossips will wonder whose bastard she truly is. Yours? Violet’s?

A child that was clearly conceived outside of wedlock, no matter whose womb bore her. ”

“This situation has become untenable. I have worked too hard to build this family’s reputation to have it destroyed by romantic notions about motherhood.”

“Father, please!”

“I have made arrangements.” The words fell like stones. “You will leave London immediately. I have accepted a proposal of marriage on your behalf to Laird MacGhee of the Scottish Highlands.”

The room spun around her. “You… what?”

“The MacGhee clan has need of English connections, and I have need of a solution to the problem you have created. It is mutually beneficial.”

“You cannot be serious. You would send me to Scotland? To marry a complete stranger?”

“A stranger willing to overlook your circumstances in exchange for certain political considerations. You should be grateful any man of standing would have you now.”

The cruelty stole her breath. “And Eloise?”

“The child will accompany you. The Laird has been informed of the complexities.”

Relief flooded through her, followed immediately by fresh terror. “I will not do it. I will not be bartered away like livestock to solve your political problems.”

Her father’s eyes went dark with fury. “You forfeited the right to choose when you chose scandal over sense.”

“I chose love over reputation. I chose to protect a child who had lost everything.”

“And look where that choice has brought you.” Her mother’s voice was as bitter as winter wind. “Ruined. Unmarriageable. A burden to this family.”

“What if I refuse?” The words came out in a rush, desperation making her voice crack. “What if I simply do not go?”

Earl Holton’s smile was cold as ice. “Then you may remain here, daughter. But the child will go regardless.”

Francesca’s heart stopped. “You would not dare.”

“The circumstances of her birth do not permit her to remain here with us. Not after your spectacular display last evening.” His voice was merciless. “The child will go to Scotland with you, or she will go to your aunt’s estate to live in quiet obscurity. Those are your options.”

The threat hung between them. Francesca’s mind raced, searching for another way, any escape that would not tear her from everything she had ever known or, worse still, tear Eloise away from her.

But there was none. She could see it in her father’s implacable expression and her mother’s cold silence. They would separate her from Eloise without hesitation if she refused.

There was nothing to be done now. Her shoulders sagged in defeat. “I understand, Father. I accept the betrothal.”

The words tasted like ashes in her mouth, but they were the only ones that would keep Eloise safe. Whatever trials awaited them in the Scottish Highlands, whatever this unknown Laird might demand of her, she would endure it all for the child she loved as her own daughter.

Earl Holton nodded curtly, as if he had never doubted her capitulation. “A wise choice.”

“When?” The question came out as barely a whisper, but it carried the weight of her entire future. “When do we leave London?”

“Are we nearly there, Aunt Francesca?”

Eloise’s small voice was barely audible over the relentless drumming of rain against the carriage roof. The child had been asking the same question every few hours for the past three days, her wide green eyes growing more anxious with each mile that carried them further from everything familiar.

Francesca shifted on the hard bench seat, her spine aching from days of being jolted over increasingly rough roads.

Through the rain-streaked window, she could see the landscape had changed dramatically since they’d crossed into Scotland.

Gone were the gentle rolling hills and manicured estates of England.

Here, the terrain was wild and untamed with rocky crags jutting up from mist-shrouded valleys like the bones of some ancient beast.

“Soon, darling,” she murmured, pulling Eloise closer against her side. The child’s traveling dress was wrinkled beyond repair, and her golden curls had escaped their careful plaiting days ago. “Look there, do you see how different the trees are? Those are Highland pines.”

Eloise pressed her nose to the glass, her breath fogging the window. “They look so tall and dark. Like they’re hiding secrets.”

“Perhaps they are.” Francesca managed a smile despite her own growing unease. Everything about this land felt foreign and unwelcome. The mountains loomed like sleeping giants, their peaks lost in low-hanging clouds that seemed to press down upon the narrow valley roads.

The carriage lurched violently as one wheel hit a particularly deep rut, sending them both sliding across the worn leather seat. Eloise whimpered and clutched at Francesca’s arm.

“Why did we have to come so far away?” the child whispered, and Francesca’s heart clenched at the lost sound of her voice.

“Because sometimes we must be very brave and go to new places that might be better for us in the end,” Francesca replied, though her own courage was wearing thin with each passing hour. “And we shall face whatever comes together, just as we always have.”

The coachman’s voice drifted down from above, barely audible through the storm. “Castle ahead, My Ladies!”

Francesca’s stomach knotted as she peered out into the gathering darkness.

Through the rain, she could make out the massive silhouette of a fortress perched on a rocky outcrop, its towers and battlements looking more like a prison than a home.

Torches flickered in the courtyard below, their light wavering in the wind like desperate signals.

“Is that where we’re going to live?” Eloise asked, her voice very small.

“Yes, sweetheart.” Francesca swallowed hard, forcing confidence into her tone that she did not feel. “That is Castle MacGhee. Our new home.”

The carriage wheels ground against wet cobblestones as they entered the courtyard, and Francesca could hear voices calling out in thick Highland accents she could barely understand.

Her hands trembled as she smoothed Eloise’s rumpled dress and checked that her own traveling cloak was properly fastened.

When the carriage finally shuddered to a halt, Eloise was fast asleep against her shoulder, exhausted from the ordeal of travel. A young woman emerged from the castle doors, her apron soaked within seconds as she hurried toward them through the downpour.

“Please, could you show us to our chambers?” Francesca laid Eloise down on the carriage bench before she called out as the coachman helped her down, rain immediately soaking through her cloak. “The child is sleeping, and we have been traveling for days.”

The maid bobbed a quick curtsy, her Highland accent thick as honey. “Aye, Me Lady, of course. Welcome to Castle MacGhee. I’m Betsy. I’ll show ye to yer room now.”

“Betsy, have our guests arrived?”

The words cut through the air, spoken in a voice so deep and commanding that Francesca felt it reverberate in her chest. The maid’s words died instantly, her eyes going wide as she looked past Francesca toward the castle’s massive oak doors.

Francesca turned, and her breath caught in her throat.

The most imposing-looking man she had ever seen stood in the doorway, his massive frame filling the entrance. Even from this distance, she could feel the raw power radiating from him. It was something wild and untamed that made every instinct scream that she was in the presence of a predator.