Romancing the Laird Read online

  Romancing the Laird

  An All the King’s Men Romance

  Gerri Russell

  Romancing the Laird

  Copyright© 2019 Gerri Russell

  EPUB Edition

  The Tule Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  First Publication by Tule Publishing 2019

  Cover design by Hang Le

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-1-949707-88-5

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  Dedication

  To the memory of all those falsely accused during the Scottish witch trials. Your innocence and your sacrifice are remembered.

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  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

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Author’s Note

  All the Kings Men series

  Excerpt from A Temptress in Tartan

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  June 28th, 1592

  Marriage was not about love, Lucy Livingston reminded herself as she took aim at her target and with trembling fingers let her arrow fly. Marriage was about social position and connection, as her father had reminded her not a quarter of an hour ago.

  The arrow hit the target with a satisfying thwack at dead center. Her satisfaction slipped into despair with the next beat of her heart. Even nervous, she could perform the evil deed that was being thrust upon her. Lucy squeezed her eyes shut, forcing back her tears and her desperation.

  As a child, she’d learned even family was not about love. At least not her family. When two daughters had been born instead of two sons her father had distanced himself from the women in his life. Lucy tried to change his mind, tried to win his affection, even going so far as to teach herself how to fight with a quarterstaff and a bow—just as a son might in order to protect his family. But nothing Lucy did changed her father’s attitude toward his wife and daughters, especially when he discovered his youngest daughter, Esme, had an incurable affliction.

  A lack of love and attention had taken their mother from them two years ago—a reality their father failed to acknowledge. The only thing that garnered any attention from the man at all was money, and their current lack of funds.

  In fact, it was her father’s staggering debt that had allowed Lucy to be preyed upon by an outsider, forcing her to do things she would never consider in an effort to save the one person who mattered most—her sister.

  Pain for the life she would never have pierced through Lucy as she silently prayed for a miracle to deliver her from her current predicament. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes to see her maid advancing on her position in the field beyond the courtyard of Skirling Castle.

  “There you are, mistress,” her dark-haired maid called. As Davina came closer, Lucy could see the flush in her cheeks and the worry in her dark eyes. “Your father is looking for you. He wants to leave for Redhouse Castle with all due haste. He’s growing angry with your delay.”

  “My apologies, Davina, if he took his anger out on you. I needed a moment.”

  The maid’s gaze moved to the bow in Lucy’s hands. “I can see that. Did target practice help settle your nerves as it usually does?”

  “Not this time,” Lucy replied honestly. The carriage that would deliver her to her betrothed stood in the courtyard, waiting, beckoning her toward that new life. But could she do it? Could she step inside and allow herself to be driven not by love, or social position, or even connection to a new home? If she did, it would be her love for her sister that set her on her way and would force her to turn against everything she believed in.

  Lucy recalled the night the king had betrothed her to one of his men. It was not unusual to be forced into marriage by the king. In fact, such an event should have been a blessing for a girl such as her with limited financial means. But any joy Lucy had thought she might find with Laird Douglas had been stripped from her on the night of her betrothal.

  A stranger in a hooded cloak had invaded the bedchamber she shared with her sister Esme. With a touch of his hand against Esme’s chest, he sent her sister into an apoplectic fit. As Lucy held her shaking sister, trying to comfort her, the gravelly-voiced assailant had delivered his message. He knew of her marriage agreement with Laird Douglas. He knew of her skill with a bow and arrow. And he knew of Laird Douglas’s connection to the king as one of his elite guardsmen.

  “Through your husband, you will get close to the king, and you will kill him either with an arrow, or by some other means.”

  “Nay! I cannot.”

  Esme’s weak, pitiful cries wrenched Lucy’s soul as her sister came out of her fit.

  “You will do as you’ve been bid, or the next time I force your sister into a fit it will be in public. I will accuse her of being a witch and possessed by evil spirits. She will be arrested, tortured, and killed. Is that the end you want for your sister after so many years of protecting her?”

  Lucy had looked down into Esme’s still-glazed eyes, feeling tears well in her own. Esme had already suffered enough in her short life due to her disorder and the lack of their father’s love. Lucy could not, would not, inflict anything more upon her sister, not if she could do something to stop it.

  But murder? Could she murder an unsuspecting monarch and then be put to death for her part in that plan?

  “Why do you want the king dead?”

  The blackmailer bristled. “You are a woman and have no need for such knowledge.”

  Lucy lifted her chin. The man’s words grated, sounding like something her own father might say. “If that is true then why not find a man to do your bidding?”

  “How dare you?” The dark stranger’s voice was incredulous.

  “If I am forced to do something so evil, I have a right to know.”

  A section of his dark moustache twitched in the shadow cast over his face by the night. “The king’s government treats Catholics unfairly. He should change the laws, but since he will not, it is up to us to change the king.”

  Lucy knew King James had enacted laws that forbid Catholics from practicing their religion in Scotland. “There must be other ways to appeal to the king?”

  “The damage is already done. Many Catholics have already died, labeled as witches and warlocks, in an effort to rid the country of any challenges to the king’s Prote
stant faith.”

  Lucy stared coldly at the man. “You will do to Esme what King James is doing to other unfortunate souls?”

  “We will do what we must to you, your sister, and anyone else in order to secure the future.”

  “I will be tried for treason and hanged for murdering the king.” Lucy pressed her lips into a tight line. “I will forever be known as an infamous traitor.”

  The man shrugged. “If you get caught, that will be your end.”

  “What will become of Esme? Who will care for her when I am gone? My father will not. And I will never agree to this scheme unless you give me some guarantee she will be safe.”

  “I can see that she is sent to Inishail Convent. She will be cared for there.”

  Lucy frowned. “Why should I trust you? You broke into our home, tortured my sister by forcing her into a fit, and have threatened both of us with harm if we do not do as you demand.”

  “You will have proof of what I say before you leave for Redhouse Castle. You have my word.”

  Two days later Lucy had received a letter from the abbess of Inishail Convent agreeing to send for Esme and protect her should anything happen to Lucy in the future.

  With a commitment to protect Esme secured, Lucy had no other choice but to do what the stranger had asked of her.

  As the memory faded, Lucy handed Davina first her bow and then her quiver. “Make sure these are packed in my trunk. I will be needing them.”

  *

  The moon was an unhelpful sliver in the night sky when Lucy stepped from her carriage at the arched doorway of Redhouse Castle.

  “Miss Livingston.” A man who looked very much like the portrait she’d been sent of her soon-to-be husband, yet darker in all respects, greeted her. So this was not her bridegroom. He stepped forward, along with six Scotsmen, all with swords at their sides.

  In the flickering torchlight, Lucy scanned their faces warily as her father and then her maid, Davina, emerged from the carriage to join her. “Why has the Earl of Douglas not come himself? Does he think I shall not honor my commitment to him?” Lucy asked.

  “’Tis nothing of the sort. My brother sent us to escort you to the chapel.”

  So, this was Reid’s twin, Quinn Douglas. Lucy lifted her chin. “He means for us to marry at once?”

  “Excellent,” her father replied, then turned back to the coachman. “Hold the carriage. I’ll be returning to Skirling Castle tonight. This shouldn’t take long.” Facing Lucy once more he said, “Come, daughter. We must not keep the earl waiting.”

  With an apologetic smile, Quinn offered her his arm. “My brother means you no disrespect by his haste. The matter of your marriage is very important to Reid, which is why he wants to marry you tonight. He is in the chapel, waiting for you with the minister.” Quinn offered her his arm.

  She pretended not to notice his bent elbow. The silence of the night weighed heavy on Lucy as she clenched her hands, feeling the sudden moisture on her palms. She had agreed to this course of action because she’d had no other choice if she wanted to keep her sister safe.

  Lucy shifted her gaze to her father. The man had been overjoyed at the idea of settling his eldest daughter on a laird with strong ties to the king. He had mentioned often during the past week since the betrothal agreement had been signed how such a relationship might benefit him and that she should be grateful. According to her father, the Earl of Douglas was wealthy, educated, and reputed to be a gentleman, despite his notoriety as a ruthless warrior always in search of his next battle.

  “Tonight’s as good as any other to marry the man.” Sir Archibald Livingston crossed his arms over his chest and rocked back on his heels. “You both have signed the marriage documents, so this is only a formality for your benefit, Daughter. Shall we proceed?”

  Her father wanted her gone from his life. That much was obvious, even before the marriage offer had been made. All her life she and her younger sister Esme were treated more as commodities, goods available to the highest bidder, than as treasured daughters.

  She and her sister had both been cast aside, especially after Esme had had her first apoplectic fit, to be raised by indifferent nannies. Why did Lucy expect something more from her father now? And while Esme had had no other recourse, Lucy had compensated for her father’s indifference through self-training. Whether her skills with a bow would be a blessing or a curse she did not yet know.

  Lucy turned back to Quinn and, with her heart stumbling in her chest, pulled free the lace she’d tucked into the bodice of her gown and settled it over her face and head. Then, placing her hand on the warrior’s arm, she said, “Take me to the chapel.”

  They made their way up the stairs and along a darkened corridor until they arrived at the open doors of the chapel. The sweet smell of roses surrounded her as they moved toward the aisle. The chamber was not dark and dismal as the hallway had been. Instead, a reddish-orange glow filled the room as four torches lit the chamber and reflected glints of red and orange from the stained-glass mural at the front altar. With the daylight behind it, the spiral of red, orange, yellow, and white would be breathtaking. The circles seemed unending, moving from the here and now, upward, toward the heavens.

  They stopped. A movement off to her right pulled her attention. The man before her was dressed in a blue and green tartan. She knew him at once. He was slightly taller than his twin at her side. His hair was the burnished gold of ripe wheat. His features were every bit as handsome as his brother’s, with a strong, chiseled jaw, bold lips, yet he had intense blue eyes where his twin’s eyes seemed almost black. But it was Reid Douglas’s smile that set him apart. When it turned on her, gooseflesh rose on her arms and her legs felt a little weak.

  Lucy straightened, determined not to show that his smile affected her so. “My laird,” she greeted.

  “Miss Livingston,” he replied, taking her hand from his brother’s arm, and placing it on his. He tipped his head toward her, trying to catch a glimpse of what lay beneath her heavy veil.

  It felt a little awkward addressing each other with such formality on this, their wedding day, but they had never met before. And while he had sent a portrait along with his proposal of marriage, she had not returned the favor. Because of that, the man had absolutely no idea what he was agreeing to marry. The thought brought a bittersweet smile to her lips.

  Someone cleared their throat, bringing Lucy’s gaze to a small, balding man in a black coat and white necktie. “Since we are now all present, shall we get started?”

  “One moment more,” Reid said as he took the edges of her veil in his hands. He peeled the lace back, slowly, as though almost afraid of what he might find beneath. Then when he settled the fabric on the crown of her head, he stepped back.

  They stared at each other.

  Reid’s eyes commanded most of her attention; the startling blue seemed almost too blue to be real. Then, he blinked, and another smile stretched across his lips. Heat rushed to her cheeks and down her throat. His gaze followed, lingering on the edge of her bodice where it molded against her breasts. Interest flared in his eyes.

  Lucy drew a tight breath and turned to face the minister. She would have been thrilled to witness such an emotion from the man who would soon be her husband if she didn’t have to betray him in the days ahead. She shuddered at the memory of the threat to her sister. Since that night, a dagger had ever been strapped to her thigh.

  Clenching her teeth, Lucy forced her attention back to the minister as he droned his oft-repeated rites and vows of the marriage ceremony. He directed the promises to obey, serve, love, and honor her husband at her when the time came, forcing Lucy to tighten her jaw. This was not how she wanted to start her married life, with lies and deception. But what choice did she have if she were to keep her sister from suffering as so many other young women had in the past year when accused of witchcraft—falsely or not?

  Reid took her hands in his and slipped a ring upon her finger. “I, Reid, promise to love Lucy, com
fort her, protect her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health for as long as we both live.”

  His addition of ‘protect’ was not lost on her. But how could he protect her when she couldn’t even protect herself from what was to come? Her breath became trapped somewhere between her throat and her lungs. She offered her bridegroom a forced smile as the minister completed the ceremony. “Those whom God has joined together let no one separate.”

  They were married.

  What had she just done to him and his clan? If she succeeded in assassinating the king, she would tarnish the Douglas name forever. Her sister would be safe amongst the nuns at Inishail Convent, but her father would be left to suffer whatever wrath the Privy Council chose to mete out. Death or forgiveness . . . those were his two options.

  Unaware of the terror roiling through her, Reid pulled her closer. Those in attendance cheered. He leaned down. A mere inch from her lips he said, “I am sorry to do this to you on this our wedding night, but King James is in trouble at nearby Falkland Palace.”

  “You are leaving? Tonight?”

  Reid nodded. “I am so very sorry. I received word moments before you arrived that the Earl of Bothwell and three hundred others are attempting to capture the castle and king. I must leave at once before they succeed.”

  “If the matter is so urgent, I am surprised you did not leave at once.”

  “Nothing was more important than marrying you.” There was something in his eyes, something that made her pause and wonder. Could he see the deception in her eyes or was it something else entirely?

  Reid embraced her, molding her to the hard contours of his body. His gaze held her transfixed as one of his hands encircled her waist and the other slid up her spine to cradle the nape of her neck.

  A mindless drumming sounded in her ears. The air in the chamber suddenly became too fragrant with the scent of early spring roses. His lips touched hers, and shock trembled through her body. All her senses became centered on the featherlight pressure of his mouth on hers.