The Scot

“What are you doing?”

Susanna yelped, jerking her head around so fast she slung a shower of water out of her long wet hair. She scrunched the thick toweling closer, hastily covering as much of her as possible. “Get out of here!”

Her husband leaned against the door frame, biting back a grin. It shone like devilment in his eyes as his gaze traveled the length of her. “Pardon the intrusion,” he said, so insincerely she wished she had something to throw at him.

Fortunately for him, she had nothing near enough but the bar of soap on the ledge. She was tempted. “Get out of here immediately!”

One shoulder shrugged. “You’ve seen me in the natural state. Turnabout’s fair, eh?” He paused while he looked his fill.

Susanna shivered. Her teeth chattered. She was not that cold at the moment. But she was furious…!

Praise for LYN STONE’s recent titles

The Highland Wife

“…laced with lovable characters, witty dialogue,

humor and poignancy, this is a tale to savor.”

—Romantic Times

Bride of Trouville

“I could not stop reading this one….

Don’t miss this winner!”

—Affaire de Coeur

The Knight’s Bride

“Stone has done herself proud with this

delightful story…a cast of endearing characters

and a fresh, innovative plot.”

—Publishers Weekly

#644 THE MIDWIFE’S SECRET

Kate Bridges

#645 FALCON’S DESIRE

Denise Lynn

#646 THE LAW AND KATE MALONE

Charlene Sands

The Scot

Lyn Stone

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Available from Harlequin Historicals and LYN STONE

The Wicked Truth #358

The Arrangement #389

The Wilder Wedding #413

The Knight’s Bride #445

Bride of Trouville #467

One Christmas Night #487

My Lady’s Choice #511

The Highland Wife #551

The Quest #588

Marrying Mischief #601

Gifts of the Season #631

“Christmas Charade”

The Scot #643

Other works include:

Silhouette Intimate Moments

Beauty and the Badge #952

Live-In Lover #1055

A Royal Murder #1172

This book is in memory of my father, Harlan Perkins, who allowed me to make my own decisions, congratulated me when they were right and never said, “I told you so” when they were wrong.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Epilogue

Chapter One

Edinburgh, 1856

James Garrow slowly rotated his second tankard of ale with a thumb and forefinger as he mentally tallied the British pounds he had accrued during the past fortnight. A mere fraction of what was needed to carry the remnant of his clan through until next summer, but still better than he had anticipated. Stonework didn’t pay much, but with all the new construction, it was steady. His hard-won degrees in the study of architecture were doing him precious little good.

He glanced around, grimacing ruefully at his surroundings. The Hog and Truffle Inn, despite its earthy name, did furnish clean sheets, fairly decent meals and passable ale. His private room here would have fit neatly into his garderobe back home, but the loneliness of the city not-withstanding, he’d rather have a small space than share one with a stranger. God, he’d be glad to return to the Highlands. Before the first snow, he promised himself.

His ears perked as he heard a name mentioned at the table behind him. Eastonby. The earl? James slouched back in his chair so that he was a few inches nearer and listened to the muted conversation with interest.

“His girl’s with him, I hear,” a rough voice whispered.

“So much the better,” another answered in kind, the accent soft and cultured.

“Cause an outcry the like of which you ain’t never heard,” the other warned. “Killin’ a man’s one thing, but—”

“You want the money?” came the silky question. “Then you do as I say. There’ll be the woman.” An enticement that drew a suggestive growl.

“We’ll take ’im on the road to York, then?”

A deep-throated chuckle, then the almost inaudible confirmation. “As soon as he clears the city. And no one survives. Is that clear?”

The same voice, the well-spoken one, then gave the exact location of what James understood as a planned assassination and continued to discuss the details of what needed to be done.

Were the men bloody drunk to bandy plans such as this in a public room? He noted the rest of the clientele who were few in number, deep in their cups and sitting far enough away they could not possibly have overheard. He was not that close by himself, but his own hearing was such that folk generally marveled at it.

Since he had yet to see their faces, James wondered how he could manage without getting up, walking halfway around their table and alerting them to the fact that he had heard what they said.

Instead, he quietly sat up, then leaned forward on the table and slid off to the floor in a heap, raking his tankard in a wide arc as he fell.

As he’d expected, the men who had been speaking jerked around to see what had caused the commotion. Cursing him and complaining loudly about the ale splash, they rose. James grinned up at them through half-closed eyes until he’d set their faces in his mind, then sighed loudly and feigned an unconscious stupor. The smaller of the two kicked him soundly in the leg, but he lay still. Then they stalked out of the pub, still bellyaching about being splattered.

He had recognized neither of them. When the door slammed behind them, James rolled to his side and made a show of struggling to his feet. Stumbling drunkenly out the back way as if to answer nature’s call, he dropped the guise once outside and managed to reach the front of the inn just as the men separated. He kept to the shadows and followed the toff. Eastonby should be warned.

The next morning, James arose quite early, dressed in his best suit and set out for the palace, hoping the earl had not yet left, if indeed that was where he was staying. A peer would likely have a standing invitation there, James thought.

As it happened, the earl was not a guest in the palace, but James was able to verify that the man was still in the city.

After a good deal of trouble and a long walk through the city, James found himself impatiently waiting to be granted an audience with Eastonby at the Royal Arms Hotel.

He reminded himself repeatedly why saving an English earl who starved his tenants and neglected his estate was a worthwhile endeavor. But there was also a female at risk, he recalled. James couldn’t leave without doing what he could to prevent her murder.

“This way,” ordered a liveried employee who had let him upstairs to the third floor and knocked on the door. When they were prompted to enter, James followed the man into a well-appointed sitting room where sat a distinguished gray-haired gentleman at a large writing desk blotting the signature on some sort of document. “Mr. Garrow, my lord,” said the footman as he backed out the room. The earl continued what he was doing.

Through the doorway to another chamber of the suite, James spied a red-haired lass curled in a chair reading a book.

At first he thought her but a half-grown bairn since he saw the chair in profile. She sat crossways, her back against the one arm and her legs draped over the other, facing him. All he could see was her bowed head, with its bonny mass of fiery ringlets over the top of the open book which rested on her knees. Swinging idly from the snowy mass of petticoats were slender ankles and small stockinged feet. She wiggled her toes.

That must be the girl the men meant to kill and worse. She looked up from her page and James smiled at her. She frowned back, immediately hopped up, strode to the door and firmly shut it. She was no bairn, he realized, but a woman indeed. A bonny one at that, of some twenty years more or less.

The man at the desk seemed hardly more eager to acknowledge a guest than the lass had been. Since James had no more time to waste here, he took the initiative. “Are you Lord Eastonby, then?” he asked.

The man turned, put aside his pen, took an impatient breath and confirmed his identity. “I am. State your business. Mr. Garrow, is it?”

“Aye, laird of Galioch, which is hard by your place in the North.”

“Drevers?” the earl asked.

“Aye, but that’s not why I’ve come. I chanced to o’erhear a threat to you last eve and took it upon myself to warn you.”

The earl’s mouth twisted in a wry expression. “And I am to reward you richly for this information, I suppose?”

James took a deep breath and tamped down his anger. Some people were born suspicious, he reckoned. He shouldn’t cast any stones since he was none too trusting himself. “Nay, I’ll not require coin for doing what I think’s right. There’s a plan to waylay you at Solly’s Copse outside the city and do away with you and whoever’s with you.” He glanced meaningfully toward the door the lass had closed. “They mentioned a woman.”

The earl’s eyes widened in surprise. He shoved back his chair and stood, approaching James, searching his face as if to discover a lie. “You are certain of this?”

“Aye. Two men conspired in it. One resides at Shipman’s Inn and goes by the name of Ensmore. Sounded educated to me, but the publican there didn’t know his rank. I could only follow the one, so I don’t know the other, but he’s a common man, rough speakin’. And prone to meanness,” James added, recalling the kick he had suffered. “Do what you will with the warning. Good day.”

James turned to leave, his honor satisfied. He had already missed two hours’ work and needed to get back to the building site.

“Wait!” the earl demanded.

“Hire a few outriders and arm yourself. You’ll be fine,” James assured him. “Good luck.”

“Stop! You cannot simply march in here with an announcement such as that and then leave!” Eastonby declared.

“I can and must, sir. There’s no call to detain me. I’ve said what I came to say.”

All of a sudden the earl became friendly, forced a smile and gestured to the chairs grouped near the fireplace. “Come now, I admit I was a trifle hasty to dismiss your information in such a fashion. Do forgive me if I insulted you. Allow me to offer you a drink at the very least, by way of thanks.”

“Too early for liquor and I canna stomach tea,” James declared, impatient to take his leave.

“I implore you,” the earl coaxed. “Stay a while. I need to hear more about this.”

Resigned to missing at least another hour wielding his chisel and files, James acceded to the earl’s wishes and took a seat in one of the fine brocade chairs the man had indicated. He succinctly related every word he had heard at the inn’s public room and what he had discovered about the man who made the plans.

The earl nodded, leaning forward and giving James his full and undivided attention. Again, but sincerely this time, he offered a reward. “Won’t you accept something for your trouble last evening? You did go out of your way and most likely have saved my life as well as my child’s. I truly owe you, Garrow.”

“Nay, I said I’ll take naught and I meant it.” James glanced down at his own scarred and callused hands when he noted his host staring at them.

“You work hard for a living, I see,” the man observed.

“True enough.”

“If you do not mind my asking, what is it that you do?”

Since he asked kindly and seemed genuinely interested, James saw no cause to avoid the answer. It was honorable work. “I’m a stone carver.”

“And also laird of this…Galioch, was it? You need the added income to maintain your estate?”

“Aye, I do that.” He could see the earl’s mind at work, wondering how to settle what he considered payment of a debt without offending. “You owe me nothing,” James insisted, “but there is another matter I might as well take up now the chance presents itself. I wouldn’t take it amiss if you saw to feeding your folk at Drevers. I confess this has been a wee drain on our resources at Galioch.”

“My folk?” The earl frowned. “What do you mean, feed them? Mr. Colin, my steward there provides for these people.”

James stood. “Aye, well, he collects their rents and the wool at shearing time, is all. Most of ’em have left the country, but there’s a few won’t give up what they’ve considered theirs for centuries. I canna let ’em starve. If you won’t see to ’em, then I must. They’re my neighbors, y’see. Many are good friends.”

The consternation on the earl’s face told James more than anything he could have said in his defense.

“I swear this is news to me, Garrow,” he said, shaking his head as he motioned for James to sit again. “I’ve not been to Drevers since I first inherited when I was twenty. What else should I know? You seem an honest man and you’ve done me a great favor already. Please, be frank, and do me another.”

“Well, your place is in sad repair. To be honest, mine’s worse, but I do all I can to see my people have what they need. Yours, as well, but a bit of food’s about the best I can manage these days.”

Eastonby sighed loud and long. For a good while he said nothing, but looked James straight in the eye. “You are obviously a man of honor and compassion. You have the title, I presume?”

“Baron, fourteenth of the name. Granted by King James. Named for him like all the eldest sons in my family.”

“Garrow, you say. My father was acquainted with your grandfather, I believe,” the earl commented. “Are you Catholic?”

James hesitated, shrugged, then admitted, “Not so’s you’d notice.”

Silence reigned for a moment. “Are you married?”

“Nay.” He refused to confess the why of that. Not many women would welcome a home at Galioch or a husband gone half the year, laboring like a peasant to fill the larders. “Why do you ask?”

The earl smiled. “Garrow, I think you and I can strike a bargain that will benefit us both. Are you game to give a listen?”

James nodded. He thought he knew what Eastonby would propose and it made good sense to him. Being awarded the stewardship of the earl’s estate in Colin’s stead would certainly be preferable to the six months James had to spend working in Edinburgh each year. No one would regret the departure of Frank Colin, either. As for asking his marital status, the earl must want a family man to run the place now that his bachelor steward had not worked out. “What do you have in mind, sir?”

“I will deed Drevers to you in its entirety, Garrow, if you will marry my daughter, Susanna,” the earl announced proudly as if he’d found the solution to peace in the world.

James asked the first thing that came to mind. “What’s wrong with her?”

In the room adjacent, Susanna Childers listened, her ear pressed shamelessly to the door. At her father’s words, she squeezed her eyes shut and gritted her teeth until they ached. She moved away from the door then, unwilling to listen further and hear the accounting of what Father considered her misdeeds.

She knew she had only herself to blame for landing in Edinburgh, but Father had no right to marry her off to a Highlander. The scandal in London would blow over like the ill wind it was and she could go home again. Eventually. But not if she were wed and buried in the bleak hills to the north with that lot of wild savages. She’d heard tales of how those people lived!

For a moment, she considered storming into the room and protesting so vehemently, the Scot would run for his very life. But before her hand reached the doorhandle, Susanna reconsidered. Such a display would only prove her father’s accusations of impetuosity and arrogance. It would serve her much better if she approached him later and pleaded like a penitent, she supposed.

The very thought went against everything she stood for. Women should take an unyielding stand against men ruling their lives and treating them like possessions. Hadn’t she preached that to anyone who’d listen?

However, saying as much in public had gotten her into this predicament in the first place. And last evening’s game of cards hadn’t helped her cause at all. She should never have bet with her father, much less wagered her freedom to choose her own future. Now she would either have to throw herself on his mercy and beg him to recant his offer of her hand, or she must honor the wager, make good on her loss and marry that man in the next room.

No question. She would beg for all she was worth. If he would only change his mind about this particular choice of husbands, she would promise Father he could choose any man in England for her. She would swear to accept that man with grace and dignity and keep her unruly mouth shut. Anything would be better than living in a dirt-floored bothy and eating oats and mutton every meal. God only knew what those people expected of their women, but it could hardly be anything she’d be willing to provide.

The door opened and she all but fell into the sitting room.

“Susanna,” her father said, a note of censure in his voice, “join us if you will.”

The Scot was biting his lips together, stifling a grin. His green eyes were alight with merriment. She wanted to throw a vase at his head. Instead, she straightened, raised her chin and stared him down.

“May I present my daughter, Lady Susanna Childers. Susanna, this is Baron James Garrow, laird of Galioch,” her father intoned, aware she had listened at the door and already knew very well who the man was. The man knew it, too, and seemed to find it highly amusing.

“Charmed.” Susanna only inclined her head instead of a formal curtsy. Probably a mistake, given her father’s frown.

The Scot bowed gracefully. “Likewise.”

Apparently someone along the way had taught him a few manners, Susanna decided. Not enough, however, to employ her customary title or to dress properly for a call. Or to observe the accepted hours for calling, for that matter. True, he had done them a great service by warning them of possible attack, so she supposed he could be forgiven for that breach of etiquette.

“Entertain our guest for a few moments, Susanna. I will return shortly.”

“Father, wait!” She put out a hand to grasp his sleeve, but the look he gave her stopped the motion. She swallowed the urge to shout a refusal and stamp her foot, knowing how useless—not to mention humiliating—it would be to defy him publicly. That would seal her fate for certain. If she kept her wits, she might yet change his mind.

The door closed behind him. There was nothing for it but to play this out. She turned to the Scot. “So, are you enjoying your holiday in Edinburgh?”

“Holiday?” He smiled, a singularly bold expression that set her teeth on edge. Then he inclined his head and his gaze toward the bedroom door. “Is it your hearing that’s faulty, lass, or was the door too thick?”

She held on to her look of bland innocence. “I fear I do not take your meaning, sir.”

The man sighed, looking around the chamber and everywhere but at her. “Well, I’d wager my last groat you heard the whole conversation. Not that I’m blaming you for listening, mind. What I canna ken is why you havena thrown a fit about it.” Then he settled that curious green gaze on her. “Are you that desperate to marry, then?”

Susanna could scarcely draw breath she was so angry. It absolutely stuck in her throat preventing speech.

He ignored her silent glare and continued, “I admit I could use a wife.”

“You could use the estate my father offered you to take me off his hands!” she snapped. “Can you possibly understand how insulting this is? And how dangerous for me even to consider?”

“Dangerous?” His eyebrows flew up.

“Yes, dangerous! Do you think I’m not aware that when a woman marries, everything she owns or inherits or earns then belongs to her husband to do with as he alone decides? Why, he can even do with her person what he will! Why should I beggar myself and accept what amounts to enslavement?”

“Ah, Mrs. Wollstonecraft speaks, I see.”

Susanna’s gaze flew to his. “You have read her views?”

“Nay, but I’ve heard of ’em. I had no hand in making the laws she spoke about,” he argued. “’Tis true enough, they are not fair, and I’m sorry for it, but—”

“How dare you pity me, you wretch!” she warned, her chest now rising and falling so rapidly, she thought she might faint. She fisted her hands in her gown to keep from flying at him in a rage.

“Well, I do, lass,” he admitted. “I’ve great sympathy for any woman saddled with the choice you’re facing.” He stopped for a moment to think, then seemed to come to some decision. “Runnin’ a place the size of Drevers is no small thing. If we marry, I’ll see to it your father puts the place in your name.”

Susanna scoffed. “A precious lot of good that would do. You know a wife cannot possess her own property.”

“But you will. I promise I’ll deed it back to you alone. I think it can be done. All I’m wantin’ is the stewardship and a fair wage for my trouble. I’ve people to feed and you’ll have the same responsibility if you agree to this.”

“Ha!” She threw up her hands. “What makes you think I would trust you? I do not even know you, sir!”

“Because I give you my word. Were I a slave to greed, I’d not be here, forfeiting this day’s pay. And I’d be demandin’ a reward, aye?”

Her skirts swished around her ankles as she began to pace. “You’re a madman! My father must be mad as well!”

The Scot laughed. “Neither of us as mad as you, judging by the fire in your eyes. Bonny eyes, too, despite the fury in ’em.”

She halted directly in front of him, hands on hips. “Why are you even considering marriage to me? Do you know what hell I could impose on your life, Garrow? Can you even imagine it?”

Gently, he answered, “I’ve had a fair warning. Tell me, do you gamble?”

She blinked. “Gamble?” After that last ill-fated game of cards with her father, she would never touch another deck of cards as long as she lived. Or perhaps the Scot was speaking of the risk she’d be taking to marry him. “Absolutely not! I leave nothing to chance,” she declared heatedly.

“Then we’ll suit,” he said with a succinct nod.

When she opened her mouth to speak, he grasped her shoulders and kissed her soundly. Shock held her still long enough to feel the heady warmth and taste the sweet, coffee flavor as his tongue touched hers. For some strange reason, she lacked the will to raise her fists and do him an injury. No one had ever kissed her in such a way. And he wasn’t stopping.