A Wee Highland Predicament: A Duncurra Legacy Novel Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  A Wee Highland Predicament

  A Duncurra Legacy Novel

  By

  Ceci Giltenan

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, locations and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental. Any actual locations mentioned in this book are used fictitiously.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

  All rights are retained by the author. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. The unauthorized reproduction, sharing, or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Copyright 2018 by Ceci Giltenan

  www.duncurra.com

  Cover Design: Earthly Charms

  ISBN-13: 978-1-942623-80-9

  Produced in the USA

  Dedication

  To my braw Irish lad, my beloved husband, Eamon. Thank you for making this possible for me.

  Acknowledgements

  As always I need to thank my friend and content editor, Kathryn Lynn Davis. My books are always better because of your fine hand.

  I also owe a huge thank you to Lily Baldwin who does so much behind the scenes at Duncurra and helped me plot this book from the start and was always there to help me figure out where to go next.

  And lastly, thank you to my beta readers, Barb, Ann, Ann, Virginia, Sharon, Laura, Sarah, Kristen, Jennifer, Nancy and Candace. I truly appreciate the time you take to read a manuscript and provide feedback. It helps me be certain I am giving readers the kind of story they want.

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  About The Author

  Other Books by Ceci Giltenan

  About Duncurra

  Other titles published by Duncurra LLC

  “Life is not a spectacle or a feast; it is a predicament.”

  ~ George Santayana

  Chapter 1

  September 30, 1367

  A day’s ride west of Edinburgh

  How in hell did I get myself into this? Lucas Grant wondered as he crouched in the dark, watching the lass tied to the tree and the six men who held her captive.

  What part of “there’s six of them and only one of ye” made ye think ye could do this?

  Damn it all anyway. It wasn’t the odds that had spurred him into action, it was the wee, terrified lass they held.

  He shifted his attention to her. From this angle, he could see her clearly in the soft light of the fire. She was tied to a tree, in a sitting position, her head drooping to one side, as if asleep. She must have been exhausted if she could fall asleep in that position. She appeared to be small and very young, perhaps fifteen. She was dressed in a blue velvet kirtle, so she was likely a nobleman’s daughter. They had probably snatched her from the Michaelmas Feast at the royal court.

  Ah, the royal court.

  This was his brother’s fault.

  Lucas Grant hated visiting the royal court. He avoided it whenever possible and this time had been no different. He’d done everything in his power to talk his brother out of it. But William, his oldest brother and Laird of Clan Grant, had insisted.

  “An alliance with a strong clan closer to the lowlands would be very good for us. Moira MacNaughton’s hand comes with a sizable dowry, not to mention the fact that she’s said to be a great beauty. Furthermore, she’s an only child. Laird MacNaughton’s lands and title will go to her and her husband.”

  “Ye don’t know that for certain. He might take another bride someday who’ll bear him a son. Or he might name his younger brother as his heir.”

  “Nothing in life is certain. There is at least a chance ye could become the MacNaughton. But that isn’t the primary reason ye need to marry her anyway. We need the funds her dowry will bring.”

  “William—”

  “Why do ye argue with me about everything? Just go to court, meet Laird MacNaughton, and shamelessly woo his daughter until she begs her papa to let her marry ye.”

  Lucas had snorted. “That isn’t likely.”

  “Why is it ye have no trouble enticing a crofter’s daughter or a maidservant into yer bed, but ye seem to have the exact opposite effect on noblewomen?” his brother had asked.

  “Because crofter’s daughters and maidservants enjoy a good tumble. Noblewomen are taught that all the delightful things men and women do are sinful. The idea of snuggling up with a laird’s daughter, who is cold and stiffly proper, leaves me anything but…well, stiff. It hardly seems worth the work to woo her.”

  William’s good humor had been nearing its breaking point. “Ye’re hopeless. First of all, the main goal isn’t to get her into yer bed, it’s to get her dowry into our coffers. Second, all noblewomen are not so unaffected. And third, ye will have a lifetime to teach her to enjoy all of the delightful things men and women do.”

  “That sounds boring.”

  His brother shook his head in disgust. “It isn’t. In fact with the right woman it can bring ye great joy. But even if ye don’t find a wife who holds yer attention, ye still must find a wife. Maids and peasant women will always be there to quench yer desires. So, I have heard enough of yer arguing. For the last time, ye will go to court, ye will meet Moira, and ye will press her father for a betrothal.”

  For the last time? How many times had William told him something for the last time? When would his brother learn? That had to be the fifth time this week he had suggested that Lucas go to court and woo Moira MacNaughton. And each time he had refused. Well, in fairness, William had only suggested it the first two or three times. If there had been any doubt before that William was serious about this, there wasn’t now.

  On one hand, the clan did need the mo
ney.

  On the other hand, didn’t he deserve to have the slightest choice in who he married?

  Still, the clan was facing financial ruin.

  But, in fairness, this was a rather drastic and painfully permanent solution to their financial woes.

  “Lucas, do ye understand me? I tried to be reasonable but there is no reasoning with ye. I have given ye a direct order, will ye defy me?”

  And there it was. Regardless of what Lucas wanted, William was his laird. Ultimately, that was the only thing that mattered. Lucas sighed. With no choice, he had bowed to his brother’s authority. “Nay, I won’t defy ye. I’ll go to court.”

  Lucas had set out for Edinburgh the next morning, accompanied by four of his brother’s guardsmen and looking forward to wooing Moira MacNaughton as much as he would his own execution. If his brother hadn’t hand-picked the guardsmen who had accompanied Lucas, he might have been able to stay in Edinburgh for a while, assiduously avoid the MacNaughtons, and return home, sadly having failed in his efforts. But the men who went with him were loyal to William to a fault. If Lucas wasn’t seen to try to court Moira, his brother would hear about it. Thinking back now, he couldn’t deny that when he first met Moira MacNaughton, she had been a pleasant surprise. Slender and fair, with golden blonde hair and bright blue eyes, she was breathtakingly beautiful. She moved gracefully and watching her dance was pure pleasure. Perhaps this wouldn’t be as miserable a situation as he had first imagined. A woman who could dance like that might just enjoy all the delightful things men and women could do together.

  Ah, the folly of judging a woman solely by her appearance. It hadn’t take him long to learn there was absolutely nothing attractive under that lovely shell.

  A conversation with her usually consisted of a litany of spiteful comments about every other woman who happened to be in the room at the time or who she had encountered over the course of the day.

  “I don’t know why Laird Cockburn doesn’t simply have done with it and send Honoria to a convent. I’ve owned horses that would make a more attractive woman. I can’t stand being in the same room with her.”

  Honoria Cockburn was a bit plain, but not unattractive. She was a sweet, shy lass, and once ye pulled her into conversation, she was fun to talk to. Not to mention the fact that she had a cunning mind: few could best her at chess. If William had ordered Lucas to seek a betrothal with her, he would have done it happily. Unfortunately, not only were the Cockburns already allies, they were nearly as strapped as the Grants were. Plus Laird Cockburn had five daughters to provide dowries for.

  Lucas couldn’t let the comment pass. “Ye can’t stand to be in the same room? Ye seemed to be having a lively conversation with her earlier,” Lucas observed.

  “Well, of course, she thinks I like her. My friends and I get her talking just to have something to laugh about. And ye’ve seen her mother. If Honoria turns out anything like Lady Cockburn, she’s destined to have whiskers and a double chin.”

  Lucas smiled blandly. “Better a double chin, than two faces.”

  Moira tittered with laughter for a moment before looking confused. “Two faces? I don’t understand.”

  “Of course ye don’t.”

  Moira looked miffed. “Then it wasn’t as funny as I thought.”

  “Don’t worry yer pretty head about it. I’ll explain it to ye when ye’re older.”

  “Ooooh, it must be naughty.” She slapped playfully at him giving him a coy smile.

  Lucas shrugged. He longed to explain it to her, but that would get him nowhere.

  “Oh, and did you see what Lady Rose was wearing today? If I was her daughter, I’d be utterly mortified. That gown has to be two years old. The poor, tasteless thing must like it because she wears it every few days.”

  Lucas frowned. “Well, Laird and Lady Rose travelled quite a distance to be here. She was probably only able to bring a few gowns.”

  Moira huffed. “If you can’t bring a proper wardrobe, you shouldn’t be allowed at court. Papa wanted me to bring what would fit into three trunks. I told him I needed at least five.” She pouted. “He said no. Well, I cried and cried. It was too cruel of him and I told him so. I also told him that I couldn’t believe he was so stupid as to think I could be properly attired here with less than five trunks of clothing.” She smiled smugly. “Eventually, he saw it my way.”

  That didn’t surprise Lucas at all. Eventually, Laird MacNaughton saw everything Moira’s way, because at the first sign that he might not, she puffed out her cheeks and pouted. If that didn’t work, she burst into ragged sobs. And just as he had about the number of trunks he allowed her to bring to Edinburgh, Laird MacNaughton gave in to her every whim.

  Nay, Moira was one of the most unpleasant, selfish, vapid women he had ever met.

  Tragically, it would not have been difficult to get MacNaughton to agree to a betrothal. Moira made it very clear that she was more than attracted to him. She flirted openly, and when they were together, became petulant if Lucas’s attention turned to anything but her, even for just a moment. All Lucas would have to have done was give her the slightest hint that he was interested in marriage. Moira would have taken care of the rest. Lucas had no doubt that Laird MacNaughton would have begged him for a betrothal in a matter of days…if not hours.

  Lucas loved his brother and tried his best to be loyal…most of the time. Still, even as much as William had wanted this, the more time Lucas spent with Moira, the less he wanted to live the rest of his days saddled with her as a bride. But the last straw occurred at the Michaelmas Feast. He had lavished her with attention all evening, thinking that might sweeten her mood. As intended, she started dropping hints about a betrothal between them. But late in the evening, he noticed that sweet Honoria Cockburn hadn’t danced at all. So he said, “Moira, the Cockburns are allies of the Grants. I’m sure ye won’t mind if I ask Honoria for one dance.”

  “Of course not, Lucas. That’s so charitable of ye.”

  He should have known her condescension boded ill. While he danced with Honoria, Moira maneuvered close to them, and before Lucas realize what she was doing, she stuck out a foot and tripped the lass. Honoria went sprawling. The other dancers stopped and stared as Lucas helped her up. But a voice from the crowd that he knew was Moira’s said, “People who trip over their own feet have no business dancing.”

  Honoria’s face turned bright red and Lucas had been disgusted by the titters the comment drew from the crowd. At that moment, he had known, without a doubt, he could not marry Moira MacNaughton. He turned his attention to Honoria, who had tears standing in her eyes. He spoke loudly to ensure he was heard. “Honoria, I am so sorry. I have such big feet. It’s true I probably don’t have any business dancing, but it was kind of ye to give me a chance. Forgive me for tripping ye. Come, let me escort ye back to yer da.”

  She blinked rapidly, clearly trying not to cry. “That was nice of ye, but ye didn’t trip me,” she said softly.

  “Nevertheless, I’m the reason ye were tripped. For that, I am heartily sorry.”

  “Thank ye.” She blushed deeper and looked away.

  He looped her arm over his, walking her across the dance floor.

  Before they reached her father, Honoria stopped and turned towards him. “She isn’t very nice, Lucas.”

  “Nay, she isn’t.”

  “I don’t believe she’d make ye happy.”

  “My intent was that obvious?”

  “With my father trying unsuccessfully to find a rich husband for me, I had an inkling.”

  He hated to see her looking so sad. “So, Honoria, are ye saying ye don’t think a vain, self-centered, unkind, rude, petulant, woman, is my type?” He winked at her. “That may be the nicest thing anyone has ever said about me.”

  Her eyes lit with a smile and she chuckled. “Aye, ye’re a rogue for certain, but even ye deserve better than her.”

  He laughed. “I can’t argue against that. She’s poison.” He sobered a bit. “Stay away
from her and I’ll do the same”

  “Agreed.”

  She really was a sweet lass. He was sorry once again that a betrothal between the two of them wouldn’t serve the best interests of either family.

  After Honoria was back with her father, Lucas had had but one desire—to escape Moira MacNaughton. Without returning to her to say good night, he left the celebration, gathered his belongings and fled Edinburgh altogether. He probably should have attempted to find his brother’s guardsmen or waited until they had returned from the feast. Traveling alone wasn’t particularly safe. But when they hadn’t returned as the sun rose, he knew he had to leave without them. He feared that Moira had already decided to press her father for a betrothal. If Lucas hadn’t gotten out of the situation immediately, he might not have been able to avoid Laird MacNaughton come morning. And once a betrothal to Moira was offered, his brother would slice off his cods if he refused it.

  Nay, this had been the better choice.

  He’d left a note for his brother’s men. They would follow as soon as they found him gone. Although he’d ridden away from Edinburgh as if the devil were on his heels, he figured when he was comfortably far enough away, he’d slow his pace and they’d catch up to him soon enough.

  But by late afternoon, when he’d ridden up behind a group of six men on horseback well ahead of him on the road, he’d had some regrets about that decision. One of the men held a lass on his lap with his plaid wrapped around her. Lucas wouldn’t have thought anything of it, except at one point she glanced over her shoulder and he caught a glimpse of her ashen face. Then the plaid dropped away for a moment and he saw that her hands were bound. He recognized the men as Galbraiths. He didn’t know who the lass was, but it didn’t matter. She was clearly in trouble.

  Still, he was just one man, what could he do? There were six of them.

  But on the other hand, he couldn’t bear the thought of the lass being hurt.