Chapter One
Lanark Castle
Near Edinburgh, Scotland
April 1821
“What in blazesis going on?” Bram Lanark, Duke of Solway, muttered, waking in the wee hours of the night with a grunt and rolling out of bed to toss on his trousers in response to the crashes and shouts going on downstairs.
In the next moment, there came a pounding at his bedroom door. “Yer Grace! Yer Grace! Come quickly! We are under attack!”
He recognized the panicked voice of his trusted kinsman, Gordon Lanark, an elderly retainer who held responsibility for guarding the castle gate. Of course, those guard duties were mostly ceremonial now that there was peace between the Scots and the English, and had been for many years.
Gordon, quite old now, had participated in some of the bloodiest battles and won respect among the family as a valiant warrior.
So why did he sound like a frail and frightened woman now?
Bram stuck his feet in his boots and grabbed his dirk before opening his door. He was surprised to see nothing but Gordon clad in his robe and nightcap, carrying a blazing torch that illuminated his panicked features.
“Gordon, did ye wake yer fellow guards?” Bram asked, because all seemed fairly quiet outside the castle walls, which would make no sense if they were truly besieged.
“It isn’t that sort of attack,” Gordon said, motioning for Bram to put aside his dirk.
“Ye have me utterly confused. What is that noise downstairs? This had better be nothing less than a massive invasion or I shall be mighty put out.”
“Och, ye’ve never seen the like, Yer Grace! Come quickly.” He held up the torch to light his way to the formal parlor and blathered some unintelligible nonsense about a redheaded harpy as they hurriedly walked downstairs. “No’ that I blame her for being in a fury, for they took the wrong lass. They meant to bring ye a wife. Whatidjits! And they brought yeherinstead.”
“A wife?” Bram gaped as he entered the parlor, where nothing short of a riot seemed to be taking place courtesy of one small, surprisingly beautiful female who had three of his kinsmen lunging in terror behind any piece of furniture large enough to protect them.
He grinned.
A vase flew past his face, missing him by inches before smashing against the wall and shattering into pieces. When another flew past him, missing him by even less, he went for the lass who was hurling those projectiles, and looked like a magnificent warrior queen as she destroyed his parlor.
“Enough!” he said with a deep, authoritative growl, and swept the spirited lass up in his arms.
“Hah! I am just getting started!”
“Nay, lass. It is over,” he said with a stern calmness, making certain to wrap her firmly but gently in his grasp so that she could not pick up another weapon or punch him in the face. She was a little thing compared to his breadth and size, andexquisitely soft. Her loosely braided hair was the lovely color of dark cinnamon, thick and rich, and about to come undone.
She smelled nice, too. Like a warm bun filled with honey and raisins.
He thought he would enjoy sampling her to see if she tasted as good as her scent indicated, but dared not dwell on that ridiculous notion, since she was in a fury and now attempting to kick him in his nether parts. “Stop or ye’ll regret it,” he said with another deep growl that was meant to convey the full measure of his irritation.
He had not really expected his warning to work, for the pretty woman was in a lather and did not appear to be listening to him. For this reason, he was momentarily unprepared when she suddenly froze and regarded him with frightened eyes.
Well, he was a massive man who happened to be wearing nothing but his trousers and a terrifying scowl. She must have just realized there was only her cloak serving as a barrier between her and his bare skin.
“I’ll no’ harm ye,” he hastened to assure her. “But ye must tell me who ye are and why ye are wreaking havoc in my home.”
“Your home? So, you are the fiend to blame,” she said, her quavering voice sounding cultured and unmistakably English. “Did you order your men to abduct me from the Lampton Inn and bring me here?”
He inhaled sharply, and then cautiously eased his grip as he turned her to face him. “Abduct ye? Ye were abducted?”
Was this what Gordon had been going on about? Had his foolish kinsmen truly stolen her for the purpose of bringing him a wife?
She tipped her chin into the air. “You cannot believe I would ever come here willingly. Where ishere, anyway?”
“Lanark Castle.” He cleared his throat that was suddenly dry, for this pretty warrior queen was doing odd things to his heart.He wanted to release her mane of dark cinnamon and watch it tumble over her shoulders in a bountiful cascade. He stared into her emerald-bright eyes, and then his gaze drifted lower to study her lips that any man would be proud to kiss into eternity. “Bram Lanark, Duke of Solway, at yer service.”
