The Lass Beguiled the Laird (Explosive Highlanders 3)

CHAPTER ONE

London, late spring, 1811

There were two things that never failed to happen in Miss Catriona Emily McTavish’s life. The first was her early morning rides in Rotten Row. She loved riding—and horses for that matter—and those were the high moments in her day. She committed to her rides as a monk committed to his prayers, never letting up. Sun, rain, snow or wind, her beloved mare, Debranua, the Celtic goddess of speed, made a graceful appearance with her skilled amazon in the empty lanes of the park. 

The second thing bored her to distraction. At least three times a week, her sister, Anna, insisted on dragging Catriona to Bond Street on dreadful shopping trips. Like now, for example. She sat at the milliner’s while her English rose sister chose between two unnecessary bonnets to add to her countless collection. Catriona’s dark eyes darted through the window to where their carriage stood with its two horses, one of them digging on the cobblestones in a sign of impatience. She did not blame the poor equine his need for dashing from the crowded, noisy, smoggy city. Catriona yearned for it, too. Had yearned for it for quite a long time, in reality. Something like the second day after arriving in London ten years ago. But her mother, Lady Marie McTavish, née Paddington, had deemed it a sensible decision to educate her daughters in a ‘civilised’ place with the best tutors the Laird McTavish could afford.

At twenty-four, Catriona’s initial impression of London, and England in general, had not changed. Trips to her father’s manor in the Highlands had been few and far between, which did nothing to quench her longing to live there for good. It was a longing so acute it brought tears to her eyes in the darkest hour of the night.

Should I take the blue or the lavender one? Anna turned her wheat-haired head and blue-eyed inquiry to her sister, interrupting the elder’s musings.

The sisters were like night and day, literally. While three years younger Anna had taken after their mother with her blonde looks, Catriona had followed in her father’s line with midnight hair and a lean, tall figure.

Catriona turned her attention from the window to petite, delicate Anna. You already have both colours, I believe.

But in a different model, silly, the blonde girl taunted.

Despite their obvious dissimilarity in temperament, the McTavish sisters were best friends, strange as it might seem. Catriona loved her younger sibling with a devoted care, and this devotion was fully reciprocated by the other girl. Anna took ballrooms by storm with her beauty and gregarious nature, which Catriona admired but did not share. She preferred quiet nights, the smell of grass after rain and a placid lake that mirrors the sky, and preferably in the Highlands. She stifled a sigh at the intrusive thought.

The lavender one, then, to go with your new dress, the elder sister ventured.

Anna gifted her with a dazzling smile. You’re right! she exclaimed and turned to the milliner to have it delivered to their townhouse in Mayfair.

A long time later, they finally sat in the carriage and were on their way home.

Mama received a letter from father, Anna started, her eyes shading a little.

Any news? Catriona asked, already worried for her usually cheerful sister.

Angus McTavish divided his time between Scotland and London. Spring and autumn required his presence in the Scottish manor with its busy activities, but summer and winter offered a calmer period he used for staying with his family in London or at his wife’s family’s country seat.

He signed a marriage agreement with the McKendrick. I am to marry the second brother, Fingal. Her voice held none of the enthusiasm of a girl about to marry.

Catriona felt for her sister. Nothing could be further from her city-life loving sister than a match with a Highlander. But clan alliances must be considered, and they had no say in the matter.

But this lies years in the future, I hope. The elder sister tried to soothe the younger.

I expect as much, Anna said. I don’t really want to marry a savage Highlander and live in a primitive manor at some forgotten corner of the country, she vented.

Catriona could not agree with any of it, since she understood that her sister was not cut for country life. However, Angus McTavish had set his eyes on an English lord for his eldest daughter. Not that English lords were that keen on Scottish ladies, but her mother’s pedigree, a Duke for an uncle, and a fat dowry on the bride’s head made up for rather convincing arguments. Watery Lord Tremaine, Catriona’s supposed destiny, did not seem to mind giving her a try.

Catriona hated the ton, by the way.

Their bored stances, their superficial conversation, the cruel gossips, the meaningless etiquette—every single thing had been annoying her since her debut at seventeen. Her contempt would not be suppressed, which did not do much for her marriage prospects, naturally.

She could not care less.

Talk to mama, Catriona suggested. She may intercede on your behalf.

Anna sighed, disgruntled. You know papa will not change his mind on this. Her brows pleated in a delicate frown. An alliance with the powerful McKendricks is too valuable for that.

Much as Catriona would like to dispute the point, there was no doing such a thing. Her sister had the right of it. The McKendrick sister, Aileen, had married the great McDougal; the McKendrick laird, Drostan, had a McPherson wife, and now his son had been declared the heir to both clans.  These alliances alone would be enough to cover almost the entirety of the network in the Highlands, not to mention the secondary agreements of produce and transport of goods. The McKendricks were quite simply invincible in this scenario. An alliance with them had no chance of being ignored.

And now it got down on black and white. Any possibility of going around it had disappeared.

The only thing Catriona could do was give her sister support. She took the other girl’s hands in hers and tried to convey encouragement. Anna gave her a sad smile and squeezed her sister’s hands in return.

You’re home at last, Marie McTavish greeted her daughters as they walked into the entrance hall. Luncheon is served.

Catriona and Anna took off their bonnets and cloaks and followed their mother into the family dining room.

At the table, Marie spoke again. We are invited to dinner at the Tremaine’s tonight.

This piece of news made Anna’s face light up. Fantastic. I am sure Miss Ellie will be there. She’s sure to tell me about her engagement.

In the same proportion the younger miss cheered up, Catriona’s outlook wilted. Can I stay home for once, mama?

Of course not, Emily dear. Her mother called her by her English name more often than not, especially when the older woman wanted to remind her eldest of some obligation or other. I need not remind you that Lord Tremaine will be in attendance. It’s his house, after all.

Catriona would not dare confess her low opinion of Lord Tremaine nor any other Lord she had ever met. I see, but I could run into him in the park on another day, she suggested, hopeful for a deliverance.

Catriona Emily, her mother said in a warning voice, you’ve been leading the poor man on for years. It’s time you let the match go through!

Not if she had a say in the matter, no. The prospect of marrying a man that appeared in feeble watercolours disgusted her. Images of what being his wife would look like came to her head, and these images would be comic if they were not so tragic. He would politely knock on her chambers, ask if he might come in, lift her nightgown, and politely…well…you know. He was a polite bore, to be sure.

But to avoid any unnecessary conflict, she answered meekly, Yes, mama.

The Earl of Arleigh, Lord Stanley Tremaine, lived in a sumptuous townhouse a few blocks from the McTavish’s.

Catriona had followed her maid’s directions and dressed in a proper, demure peach gown, no more and no less than the occasion required. She felt as if she were going to a fancy-dress ball. These English rags mean nothing to me, she thought without a benevolent streak in it. The Scottish attire worn in her clan was so much more beautiful. The black and white plaid of the skirts and shawl held comfort, prettiness and practicability in their favour. Together with the men in their woollen tartan, her father’s lands provided a picture all of its own. The longing for her corner of the world assailed her yet again. To keep her composure, she shoved it aside and plastered a smile on her face. The evening would drag on forever, she feared.

The Arleigh house lay not far from the McTavish’s, which meant that the carriage ride took mere minutes. The house was built in the latest fashion, shining with marble, crystal chandeliers and plush furniture. They alighted from the carriage and joined the line to greet their hosts.

The three McTavish ladies wove their way through the receiving line. Catriona, the second to curtsy after her mother, gained a dutiful compliment from Lord Tremaine. Miss McTavish, it’s an honour to have you here, he said in a bland tone after bowing slightly.

The Earl of Arleigh did not display a tall frame, but his dark blonde hair and nondescript blue eyes made him personable in a somewhat watery way. His expression lit on whomever came behind her.

Miss Anna, he said, his voice deepening an octave lower. He extended an eager hand to catch her sister’s. Your presence will light my humble house in the brightest gold.

But soon the function engulfed her and the episode slipped from her mind.

Catriona felt the dinner dragged on and on as uninteresting conversations ran over her head. Her attention completely oblivious to her surroundings, she just waited for the moment she could take refuge in her chambers and breathe freely.

My Catriona would like that very much. Her mother’s utterance of her name tore Catriona from her reveries.

About to get their carriage and finally go home, the older woman spoke the last to Lord Tremaine.

A stroll in the park tomorrow it is, then, he answered.

Anna can accompany you, Marie said.

No chance of escaping it, Catriona lamented. It will be lovely, she said, for lack of a more enthusiastic response.

The sight of her home made Catriona expel a sigh of relief that the night drew finally to a close. Mumbling a good-night, she flew upstairs to get rid of these constraining clothes. Tucked in bed, she fell asleep with memories of green woods and fresh lakes going through her mind.

Next morning, she entered her house flushed from her ride with Debranua to peep at a newspaper lying not yet pressed on the mantel. Her father not being home, The Times used to sit around unread. Well, not that unread, to tell the truth. Most days, Catriona managed to pilfer it and carry it to her chambers. Predictably, the publications aimed at ladies irritated her with their irrelevant articles. Books or The Times piqued her interest much more. She skimmed the day’s pages while she waited for breakfast to be served.

As she did, her eyes fell on a classified advertisement: Horse Experts required. Unruly stallion needs extra attention. Applications to Fingal McKendrick. And an address came next.

Her dark gaze lit on the page. Any highlander worth their salt knew the McKendrick’s horseflesh was magnificent. The second McKendrick brother treasured his horses and cared for them as if they were family. Not to mention that the clan had enough money to afford the best. Catriona had never seen their horses but not for lack of interest. Over the years, she had spent too little time in her home country to be able to do so.

She would give anything, just about anything, to roam their stables—even if only for five minutes.

And she could help them in this. She was good with horses, loved them, loved riding and everything related to their care. Since childhood, she had been interested in horses. Most of the first fourteen years she spent in the McTavish manor had been dedicated to their stable. Of course, they did not possess the same kind of top-of-the-top quality one found in the McKendrick’s stables, but still…

In time, she would be related to the powerful clan, she would be Fingal’s sister-in-law, after all. It would not take too long for her to have the opportunity to visit them, seeing as they would be related.

But that was likely years in the future…

What was she thinking? Not considering…? No, surely not.

What if she had the chance, though? Her mother would not mind if she travelled for a few weeks, would she? Summer drew close, and they would leave London for her family’s seat in the country anyway.

Temptation assailed her like a storm. The longing for her birthplace and the possibility of visiting such a mythic collection of thoroughbreds. Oh, how marvellous!

Trying to convince her mother would be a chore, no doubt. Catriona could travel with her maid. They had more than one carriage; Debranua would come, too. She was in for the best summer in many, many years.

If you never try, you never know, goes the saying.

Without thinking any further, she rushed to her escritoire and grabbed paper and ink.

Why on Earth would you want to spend the summer in Scotland? her mother asked in a rather high-pitched tone.

The conversation played out not for the first time. Or the second. Ever since Catrona received a reply to her letter, she had been on a field campaign to convince her mother. The first day she had mentioned the subject, Lady McTavish almost had a fit. To hear that her first-born wanted to travel by herself to the very confines of the planet did not sound conventional at all. But then, Catriona never stuck too much to tradition. At least not the English ones, mind you. But this request blew up all the previous little eccentricities her daughter had ever displayed.

When, as a girl, she asked to wear a tartan dress right in the middle of London, her mother granted her wish once or twice. When, as a youth, she asked to oversee the breeding of the horses, the parent allowed it for a short while. When, as a debutante, she had wondered if she could learn to ride astride, her mother deemed it too much. Though she later came to know the girl had tried it in a trip to the Highlands.

But this…?

So her mother was well aware of how her eldest longed for that savage country, with roads that were more potholes than paved ways, with a primitive system of clans, and Gaelic, a language that resisted modernity. Thankfully, the McTavish had consented to his lady educating the girls in London, the bastion of civilization and refinement. Even if he used to argue that those pristine qualities rested only on the surface, for how could the city be so civilised if it contained Southwark? How could it be so refined with its most shameful currency—sex—and prostitution of all kinds? His wife gave him no heed, however, and got her wish to bring her daughters here.

I thought to stay there for a while. Catriona kept her voice neutral, but the eagerness that coursed through her would be enough to heat the house for several winters.

This is absolutely out of the ordinary! Her mother's brows pleated in consternation.

I see, mama. But you know I miss it there terribly. She used a confessional voice in the hopes to move Marie. Don’t deny me, please.

Lady McTavish rubbed her brow