Taken By the Twisted Highlander (Taken by Highland Devils #8)

Chapter 1

“Eye of newt and toe of frog?” Betsy feigned a grimace as she looked over her shoulder at her mistress, holding up a bag filled with dried herbs.

Lilliana rolled her eyes at her maid. “Just put it in there next to the empty vials, please.”

They worked in silence for a while.

“You have the sarsaparilla?” Lilliana asked, looking around for it.

Betsy held up the bottle and nodded, before slipping it into one of the compartments in the trunk.

Lilliana nodded, wiping her hands on her apron as she looked around her chambers. The room was a mess—everything she needed to pack was still strewn everywhere. She was both excited and scared.

Betsy picked up the jar of licorice next and held it up, looking at her. “Where should I put this, My Lady? Will it not melt in the heat?”

Lilliana frowned at the bottle. “That is fine. Melting it will not decrease its effectiveness, but we will wrap it in a bag and place it near the center of the trunk.”

Betsy grinned. “Whatever you say, My Lady.” She cheerfully stuck it in the compartment next to the sarsaparilla.

The door opened suddenly, and they both jumped, turning to see Lilliana’s sisters, Cecily and Jane, stepping into the room. They both looked anxious as they stared around at the mess.

“Are you sure about this, Lilly?” Cecily, her older sister, asked, wringing her hands. “Papa says the Scots are savages. I cannot bear to think of you over there all alone.”

“I will not be alone. Betsy is coming with me.” Lilliana gestured to her lady’s maid.

Jane, her younger sister, sighed deeply. “We are not casting aspersions on Betsy, but I do not think she can protect you from much. Papa says that these people do not know how to treat gently bred women.”

Lilliana sighed with exasperation. “He would not have agreed to my going if he thought I would not be safe. Aside from that, Laird McGill is his friend. Papa would not be friends with a savage.”

Jane sank down on the bed, looking sad. “I suppose we are just sad that you will be so far away. We shall miss you so.”

Lilliana smiled back. “I will miss you too. But it is only for a short while. Once the villagers are cured of this illness, I will be back.”

Cecily gave her a warm, proud look. “You are so clever, Lilliana, and now everyone will know it.”

“I hope so.”

Lilliana could not help but feel hopeful. Finally, her father would stop looking at her as if she were nothing but a pest. She would prove that her preoccupation with herbs and healing was actually helpful and a calling to be admired, rather than something to be ashamed of or embarrassed by.

Her sisters came over to her and hugged her tightly. “You are something special, Lilliana. Do not forget it.”

Lilliana smiled tearfully. “I will not.”

Something brushed against her foot, and she jumped and squealed. She peered down to see her tabby crouching at her feet. Her mouth fell open.

“Bramble?” she squeaked.

Betsy followed her gaze, and she gaped as well. “What is that bloody cat doing here?”

Lilliana gave an incredulous laugh. “She must have stowed away.” She knelt to pick up the cat. “Poor thing must be starving.”

Betsy snorted. “Not with the number of rats we have encountered along the way.”

“Do not pretend you are not happy to see her. I have caught both of you dozing in the sunlight on the rocking chair in my chambers.”

Betsy laughed. “Well, you know we have to soak it in as much as we can, what with all the rain in London. Though Scotland is definitely worse. So much mist and fog.”

Lilliana shivered. “It certainly is… nippy. I hope we at least manage to secure lodgings along the way with a fireplace.”

“I suppose we shall just have to wait and see,” Betsy replied.

The journey north took three long days and a fourth spent rattling over increasingly narrow roads.

They slept in modest inns, sneaking in Bramble each night.

They ate meals that grew plainer with each mile north they crawled, and watched the landscape change from soft English fields to harsher hills and stone-lined paths.

Lilliana spent the hours cataloging herbs she might find ahead, while Betsy alternated between anxious chatter and wide-eyed silence as the Highlands drew nearer.

“Oh Lord, are we almost there? My back feels quite done in,” Betsy complained.

Lilliana held on to the side of the carriage as it lurched through the hilly landscape.

Scotland was a beautiful, lush green scene, but the road left a lot to be desired.

They had left Edinburgh early that morning and were perhaps another three hours away from Malgrave.

Lilliana was just as tired and sore as Betsy, but she tried to set a good example and not complain.

“Soon,” she whispered hoarsely. “Be patient.”

“I have not seen any ill people yet. How long until we reach Malgrave?” Betsy whined.

Lilliana peered out the window. “I think the first village is just up ahead. We should be able to get a glimpse of how serious everything is.”

Betsy smiled. “You sound excited.”

“I am.” Lilliana wiggled in her seat. “I have never been given an opportunity like this. I want to make Father proud, so he does not regret it.”

Betsy made a humming sound and looked away, her face purposely blank.

Lilliana knew Betsy’s opinion of her father. Her lady’s maid thought that her father was too hard on her because he tended to complain that Lilliana did not like to flit about and fan herself like the other ladies in the ton, and because no one had asked for her hand in marriage.

At twenty-two years old, Lilliana knew her father was growing impatient. Her sister, Cecily, was engaged, and her younger sister had been receiving visitors every day since she debuted.

Lilliana was aware that her hands were usually stained green and that it might put off some gentlemen, but she was sure the right man was still out there, and she would find him. Just as soon as she helped these villagers.

Betsy took charge of Bramble as they arrived at the gates of Malgrave Castle, where they were stopped by a group of soldiers. Lilliana’s heart stuttered with fear as they inspected the carriage, hostile looks on their faces. She tried to speak with them, but they ignored her.

“Your Laird is expecting me,” she said. “I am here to help.”

No one paid her any mind, simply opening her bags and going through her belongings with an unexpected thoroughness.

“We are civilians,” she felt obligated to say.

Finally, one of the soldiers jumped atop the carriage beside the driver and indicated that they should ride on. Betsy and Lilliana exchanged glances.

“They are even more hostile than I thought,” Betsy whispered, caressing Bramble.

They rode for at least another five minutes.

Lilliana peered out the window, taking in the scenery. “It is quite a bit larger than I thought it would be,” she said.

Betsy peered outside. “Yes, I suppose it is not as small as we were expecting.”

Malgrave Castle had a vast compound and verdant fields dotted with various animals, peacefully grazing. There were also people going about their business, none of whom paid any mind to the carriage.

“I wonder if those are the villagers we are here to save,” Lilliana said, pointing to them. “Though they look quite healthy to me. I suppose the sick ones would not be out and about.”

Betsy nodded. “Yes, they must be elsewhere. These look quite ruddy, hale, and hearty. Like proper Scotsmen.” Her eyes wandered over them curiously. “Though I have never been to Scotland before, so I am just guessing.”

Lilliana smiled. “What about all the Scotsmen we passed on the road? Do they not qualify?”

“Oh, these seem a bit bigger, do you not reckon so?”

Lilliana glanced out the window just as the carriage came to a stop outside massive wooden doors that framed a large stone castle. Her mouth dropped open at the size of it. She had not been expecting something so large and ostentatious.

“You might just be right, Betsy.”

To her knowledge, the Scots lived in squalor. They were lucky that the English took any time at all to civilize them, ungrateful as they tended to be.

The doors opened with a loud crack as they stepped out of the carriage. A tall, sturdily built woman with steel-grey hair tied in a tight braid came hurrying outside towards them, clutching her apron. Her motherly bearing immediately put Lilliana at ease.

“Welcome. Welcome. We have been waiting for ye. Come with me. Nay, nay. Leave yer bags. The men will fetch them. Come with me, dears.”

She hurried them along a dark corridor that led to a grand hall. Lilliana hardly had time to take in anything or understand the woman’s thick brogue. She just knew that the woman wanted them to follow her, and so she did just that.

She stopped short as she entered the hall and laid eyes on what she could only assume was Laird McGill.

She took in his tall and broad-shouldered frame, chin-length dark brown hair, and piercing dove-grey eyes that stared coldly at her.

He had a strong jaw shadowed by a beard, several scars that peeked out of the collar of his shirt, and a jagged scar that disappeared into his rolled-up sleeve.

Lilliana shivered as she took him in. She was used to London fops with their delicate hands, weak chins, and a propensity to sigh dramatically at any inconvenience.

Looking up at this man, she knew he was nothing like that.

She had never seen such a hardened man in her life.

It was no wonder she felt a bit weak in the knees and her heart sped up. He was very attractive.

She barely managed to bob a quick, respectful curtsy, so flustered was she. Taking a deep breath, she offered him a tentative smile.

“Might you be the Laird?” she asked.

His mouth twisted, and his eyes seemed to grow even colder. “Who else would I be, lass?” he asked, rather rudely in her opinion.

“Oh, er, well… It is a pleasure to meet you.” Sirens went off in her head, her heart pounding in her ears.