Lucy and Her Scottish Laird Read Free Page B

there would be a drunken Scotsman here, else I never would have come through.” She glanced around again and saw no
    obvious exit.
    He put his feet up on a leather ottoman and raised his glass in her direction. “I am hardly drunk.”
    “You are hardly sober, either.”
    He made a low sound of derision. “What brings you here, Sassenach? Looking for a noble husband among my barbarous Scottish brethren?”
    She glared at him. “Someone like you? Not a chance.”
    “I am relieved beyond saying. Not that any Scotsman worth his salt would marry a simpering Sassenach.”
    “I did not come here to
simper
,” she retorted angrily. Even so, she could not help but peruse the walls. She’d never seen
    anything like this place, and she would have liked to explore further.
    He made a low, obnoxious chuckle
    “How do I get out?”
    “There is no way out, except for the passage you came through.” He gestured toward the tunnel. “And you are more than welcome to go
    through it again.”
    Lucy decided to ignore the man’s rudeness and give in to her curiosity. She looked around at the ancient drawings on the walls. “This was a
    Viking strong room,” she said quietly to herself. It only made sense. There were no windows or doors, and the passageway was easily guarded, or even
    hidden. In addition, the drawings on the walls portrayed great riches – cups, chalices, coins.
    The Scotsman refilled his glass and took a long drink.
    As much as Lucy would have liked to stay and really study the Viking etchings, she had no interest in spending one more minute with this odious Scot who
    lounged in his chair like the lowest drunken sot, as though she were not even in the room. She did not bother to say good day as she retraced her steps
    through the passage to the horrid statue garden.
    * * *
    Ian awoke in his chair in near darkness. The last of the candles had nearly sputtered out, and he wondered if he’d dreamed his little encounter with
    Miss Lucy Stillwater.
    She was astonishingly beautiful in close quarters, and not the least bit simpering. He would have smiled at her audacious remarks if he still did not feel
    quite so wretched.
    He took the sputtering candle and made his way out of the ancient treasury – fancy the young Englishwoman realizing what it was right off – and
    went around to a back entrance he knew from past visits to Glencory. It took him to a staircase that led to the wing where his room was located. He could
    hear strains of music from the pianoforte in the music room far below, and a young woman singing.
    He knew Lady Glencory had not forgotten him, but at least she would not insist he join her party. Thank God. Because Lord Glencory’s excellent Scotch
    whiskey had done nothing to improve his mood.
    Ian woke Ferguson, who had fallen asleep in a chair in Ian’s room, and sent him off to bed. The man was as much a friend and companion as he was
    Ian’s secretary and steward, but Ian didn’t want any conversation tonight. “Get some rest, for we leave early tomorrow.”
    “Aye, my lord.”
    Once Ian was in bed, he found sleep elusive. His thoughts flew from one subject to another – from the irritating Miss Stillwater, to his
    family’s declining fortunes, to the truth of his own birth.
    Miss Stillwater was the least of his worries. Surely a passing attraction to a beautiful woman would evaporate once she was out of sight. All that would
    remain was the memory of her prickly demeanor.
    According to his father, the business in Selkirk was crucial. And it got him away from Craigmuir Castle for a few days – away from the mother
    who’d always hated him, and the father who’d protected him, but felt nothing but guilt over him.
    Ian wished the duke had never told him about his affair with the Irishwoman. At least that way, he would still feel as though he belonged in his own skin.
    Now, though…
    He and all his titles were a sham. He, who’d always put such stock in honor and honesty, was living a