A Scot on Duchess Square (The Silver Duchesses #2)

Chapter One

Lanark Castle

Near Edinburgh, Scotland

“What in blazes is going on?” Bram Lanark, Duke of Solway, muttered, waking in the wee hours of the night with a grunt and rolling out of bed to toss on his trousers in response to the crashes and shouts going on downstairs.

In the next moment, there came a pounding at his bedroom door. “Yer Grace! Yer Grace! Come quickly! We are under attack!”

He recognized the panicked voice of his trusted kinsman, Gordon Lanark, an elderly retainer who held responsibility for guarding the castle gate. Of course, those guard duties were mostly ceremonial now that there was peace between the Scots and the English, and had been for many years.

Gordon, quite old now, had participated in some of the bloodiest battles and won respect among the family as a valiant warrior.

So why did he sound like a frail and frightened woman now?

Bram stuck his feet in his boots and grabbed his dirk before opening his door. He was surprised to see nothing but Gordon clad in his robe and nightcap, carrying a blazing torch that illuminated his panicked features.

“Gordon, did ye wake yer fellow guards?” Bram asked, because all seemed fairly quiet outside the castle walls, which would make no sense if they were truly besieged.

“It isn’t that sort of attack,” Gordon said, motioning for Bram to put aside his dirk.

“Ye have me utterly confused. What is that noise downstairs? This had better be nothing less than a massive invasion or I shall be mighty put out.”

“Och, ye’ve never seen the like, Yer Grace!

Come quickly.” He held up the torch to light his way to the formal parlor and blathered some unintelligible nonsense about a redheaded harpy as they hurriedly walked downstairs.

“No’ that I blame her for being in a fury, for they took the wrong lass.

They meant to bring ye a wife. What idjits! And they brought ye her instead.”

“A wife?” Bram gaped as he entered the parlor, where nothing short of a riot seemed to be taking place courtesy of one small, surprisingly beautiful female who had three of his kinsmen lunging in terror behind any piece of furniture large enough to protect them.

He grinned.

A vase flew past his face, missing him by inches before smashing against the wall and shattering into pieces. When another flew past him, missing him by even less, he went for the lass who was hurling those projectiles, and looked like a magnificent warrior queen as she destroyed his parlor.

“Enough!” he said with a deep, authoritative growl, and swept the spirited lass up in his arms.

“Hah! I am just getting started!”

“Nay, lass. It is over,” he said with a stern calmness, making certain to wrap her firmly but gently in his grasp so that she could not pick up another weapon or punch him in the face.

She was a little thing compared to his breadth and size, and exquisitely soft.

Her loosely braided hair was the lovely color of dark cinnamon, thick and rich, and about to come undone.

She smelled nice, too. Like a warm bun filled with honey and raisins.

He thought he would enjoy sampling her to see if she tasted as good as her scent indicated, but dared not dwell on that ridiculous notion, since she was in a fury and now attempting to kick him in his nether parts.

“Stop or ye’ll regret it,” he said with another deep growl that was meant to convey the full measure of his irritation.

He had not really expected his warning to work, for the pretty woman was in a lather and did not appear to be listening to him. For this reason, he was momentarily unprepared when she suddenly froze and regarded him with frightened eyes.

Well, he was a massive man who happened to be wearing nothing but his trousers and a terrifying scowl. She must have just realized there was only her cloak serving as a barrier between her and his bare skin.

“I’ll no’ harm ye,” he hastened to assure her. “But ye must tell me who ye are and why ye are wreaking havoc in my home.”

“Your home? So, you are the fiend to blame,” she said, her quavering voice sounding cultured and unmistakably English. “Did you order your men to abduct me from the Lampton Inn and bring me here?”

He inhaled sharply, and then cautiously eased his grip as he turned her to face him. “Abduct ye? Ye were abducted?”

Was this what Gordon had been going on about? Had his foolish kinsmen truly stolen her for the purpose of bringing him a wife?

She tipped her chin into the air. “You cannot believe I would ever come here willingly. Where is here, anyway?”

“Lanark Castle.” He cleared his throat that was suddenly dry, for this pretty warrior queen was doing odd things to his heart.

He wanted to release her mane of dark cinnamon and watch it tumble over her shoulders in a bountiful cascade.

He stared into her emerald-bright eyes, and then his gaze drifted lower to study her lips that any man would be proud to kiss into eternity.

“Bram Lanark, Duke of Solway, at yer service.”

He eased his hold on her a little more, since she seemed to have calmed for the moment. However, he was not about to let down his guard entirely yet.

Nor did he seem capable of setting her down or taking a step away from her.

He told himself it was to ensure she would not start hurling objects again, but the plain truth was that he liked holding her in his arms. There was something about her body that he found very much to his liking.

“Well, Bram Lanark, Duke of Solway, would you mind telling me why I was brought here against my will? I demand you release me at once and return me to Edinburgh. My niece will be frantic with worry by now.”

“Dinna do it, Bram,” the son of one of his cousins said, poking his head out from behind the damask settee. “She’ll have us all arrested.”

Bram groaned. “Och, Mongo. Ye idjit. What did ye do?”

“It wasn’t our fault, Bram,” the young man whined, and his cowering companions nodded. “We meant to bring ye the young lass, no’ this untamable old harpy.”

“Old? Harpy!” She wriggled free of Bram’s grasp and hurled another decorative vase at Mongo’s head that struck him full-on.

“How dare you call me that! You crude, boorish…” She grabbed another item and was about to toss it at Mongo, whose head was now bleeding, but Bram took her back in his arms to put a stop to the carnage before she actually killed his foolish kinsman.

“Gordon,” he said to his companion, who was still holding the torch and gaping at the lady as she struggled in Bram’s arms, “put the kettle on for tea. And bring in the oatcakes and apple pie Mairie baked for tomorrow. Her Ladyship must be tired and hungry. But I need to talk to her first and apologize for the misunderstanding.”

“Aye, Yer Grace.”

Bram now turned to the spitfire who was obviously genteel, judging by the upward tilt of her nose and the quality of her cloak, although her behavior left much to be desired.

However, he could not blame her for fighting to protect herself.

“I am going to release ye now, m’lady. Can I trust ye?

I need to get a fire going in the hearth. ”

She frowned at him.

“Ye look cold,” he said with a patient sigh.

“And ye must be hungry after all those hours traveling. I’d like yer word ye will no’ attempt to harm us if I let ye go.

In return, I give ye my oath that ye shall be treated as an honored guest in my home until we get this mess sorted and I return ye to Edinburgh.

I shall get ye reunited with yer niece as fast as possible.

No one will lay a hand on ye in the meanwhile, and ye shall have all the comforts available in this fine manor house. ”

She did not look pleased, but gave a curt nod.

Och, she looked so angry, and likely with good reason.

How was he to convince her not to press charges against Mongo and his two companions, all three of whom must have been drunk and not thinking straight when they stole her from the inn?

And the Lampton Inn, of all places! There was no finer establishment in all of Scotland.

In fact, he was quite familiar with it, since he often stayed there himself when visiting Edinburgh, preferring it to the larger hotels popular with the wealthy classes.

He needed details.

He expected he might also need to do a bit of groveling to keep his kinsmen out of prison.

Before he got to that, he needed to finish putting on his clothes, for remaining shirtless in her presence was not helping the situation.

He was reminded of the indecency of his attire every time he touched the lady. But he dared not leave her yet, for she looked ready to pounce on the hapless Mongo and his companions.

Well, the clothes would have to wait for later.

“Mongo…and the rest of ye fools, return to yer quarters and dinna come out until I summon ye. But wake Tilda first and have her take care of that lump on yer forehead and any other injuries ye might have suffered at her hand. Och, ye blathering idjits. Mongo, also wake yer brother and have him join me in the parlor.”

“Ye want me to disturb Douglas?”

“Yes, is that no’ what I just said? Have him come to me at once. I dinna know how the pair of ye are brothers. Obviously, he got all the brains. Now, go! And dinna drip blood all over the house.”

As soon as everyone had scampered off to do his bidding, Bram set about lighting the fire. He then drew one of the cushioned chairs close to it and gestured toward the lady. “Come,” he said gently. “Ye’ll be more comfortable here. Warm yer hands and feet.”

She eyed him warily, but complied.

He knelt beside her. “What is yer name, if I may ask?”

“Lady Miranda Lawson,” she replied, her voice cultured but still laced with barely leashed fury.

“Ye mentioned a niece. Was she staying at the Lampton Inn with ye?”

She gave a curt nod. “If you dare harm her, I’ll—”