The Highland Laird Read online

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

  Copyright © 2020 by Amy Jarecki

  Cover design by Daniela Medina

  Cover photography and illustration by Craig White

  Cover copyright © 2020 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.

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  First Edition: October 2020

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  ISBNs: 978-1-5387-5097-1 (mass market), 978-1-5387-5098-8 (ebook)

  E3-20200730-DA-NF-ORI

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  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

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Epilogue

  Discover More

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Also by Amy Jarecki

  Praise for Amy Jarecki

  Looking for more historical romances? Fall in love with these sexy rogues and darling ladies from Forever!

  To all lovers of Scottish historical romance.

  You are the champions who make my Highland heroes come alive.

  Thank you from the bottom of my heart!

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  Acknowledgments

  I am deeply grateful to all the wonderful people behind the scenes who have helped to bring the Lords of the Highlands series to print. Thank you.

  Chapter One

  July 29, 1714

  Achnacarry Castle

  The Scottish Highlands

  Emma Grant gripped the silk ribbon tied around her sister-in-law’s waist while she hastened forward. “You’re walking too fast!”

  A plethora of guests crammed the passageway, the boisterousness from their conversations almost deafening.

  She tightened her fist. “Janet! Did you hear me?”

  No reply came as someone shouldered Emma aside, making her lose her grasp on the ribbon. A chill pulsed through her blood.

  No!

  “Janet?” she called, the crowd forcing her against a wall.

  “Robert!” She shouted her brother’s name while people brushed past as if she didn’t exist.

  “Help,” Emma whispered, almost too terrified to raise her voice. Was she safe here? Robert had insisted she would be, but after a lifetime of being hidden away from society, years of pent-up fear crept across her skin.

  Unable to utter another sound, she clutched her trembling fists around her medal of Saint Lucia and squeezed her eyes shut. Robert would find her just as soon as he realized they’d been separated.

  Please!

  “Miss Emma?” a voice murmured beside her.

  The deep tenor made her heart beat faster. A different type of chill raced up her spine. But this was a much more pleasant sort of racing. “Ciar? Is it you, sir?”

  Warm hands wrapped around her fingers, which were still clutching the medal of her patron saint. “Aye, lass. Whatever are you doing standing in the passageway? With this many people milling about you could be trampled.”

  “I-I was with Janet and Robert, but we were pushed apart.”

  “Not the best place to lose your guide,” he said, his tone teasing a bit while he moved her palm to the crook of his elbow. “Allow me to escort you the rest of the way.”

  With Emma’s next breath, her fear vanished. Thank heavens for Ciar MacDougall, chieftain of Dunollie.

  My knight in shining armor.

  “Thank you,” she said, letting him take the lead. Dunollie was her brother’s greatest ally, and Emma trusted him implicitly.

  With her next step, the floor changed from stone to hardwood. The scent of roasted lamb and fresh bread enveloped her. “Have we entered the hall?” she asked, her mouth watering.

  Ciar gave her arm a reassuring pat. “Indeed, we have.”

  “Do you see Robert and Janet? By the rumble of the crowd, I fear there are so many people in attendance I’ll never find our table.”

  “Not to worry. I see them already.” Ciar tugged her a few steps to the right. “It must be difficult to travel away from Moriston Hall.”

  “Och, is that not the truth? Wedding feasts would be so much more enjoyable in Glenmoriston, where everything is familiar.”

  “Agreed.” Ciar slowed the pace. “Good Lord, your brother looks as worried as a mama goose who’s lost her gaggle of goslings.”

  Emma chuckled at the notion. Robert might be a laird, but he never ceased to worry about her. “Good. In their haste to reach the hall, he and Janet left me in their wake.”

  “Hardly likely, knowing Robert. I’ll wager he came close to losing his mind when he realized you were no longer behind him.”

  “He most likely did. He’s so overly protective, ’tis very like him to do so.” Emma gave her escort a nudge. “Does he see us now?”

  “Aye.”

  “Is he smiling?”

  “Not exactly.”

  She waved and grinned as wide as her cheeks allowed. “I do not want him to think I was afraid.”

  “You? Afraid?” Ciar’s deep chuckle rumbled through her. “Och, Miss Emma, you’re the bravest lass I ken.”

  “Hardly,” she said, though a bubble inside her chest swelled. Dunollie thought her brave? Did he truly, or was he simply trying to make her feel more at ease? She certainly hadn’t felt brave standing in the passageway gripping her medal of Saint Lucia and praying she wouldn’t be trampled.

  “We’re approaching the stairs.” Ciar slowed the pace. “Take hold of the railing at your right. There are three steps
. Are you ready?”

  “Yes.” Holding her head high, she collected her skirts, shifted them to the side, and ascended. One. Two. Three. Thank heavens for Ciar. Even though he was an important man, he’d always been ever so thoughtful.

  “Emma,” Robert barked, his footsteps pounding the dais. “What happened? One moment you were right behind us and the next you’d completely disappeared. Are you hurt? Are you ill? Did you fall?”

  Ciar’s arm dropped away and was replaced by her brother’s firm grasp, nowhere near as pleasant or alluring or enticing, and in no way did her heart palpitate.

  Wanting to thank Dunollie, Emma reached for him but only managed to pass her hand through thin air while her brother pulled her forward. “I lost my grip on Janet’s ribbon, and when I called out, the pair of you were nowhere to be found.”

  “She’s safe now,” said Ciar, following, thank goodness. “No harm done.”

  “No harm?” asked Robert. He made it sound as if Emma had been traumatized in the town square. He urged her into a chair. “Do you have any idea how difficult it is for my sister to be anywhere outside of her home?”

  “I do.” Dunollie slid into a chair to her right. “In fact, we were discussing how well she’s adapting given you left her alone in the midst of a mob.”

  Robert said nothing, which meant he was rather irritated. Though there was an air of fun in Ciar’s tone, his words most likely struck a dissonant chord. In truth, if Robert had still been a bachelor, he would have left Emma at home—as he’d always done. At home she never fell behind. In fact, everything was so familiar, she never needed assistance moving about the estate.

  “I’m so sorry we lost you. How are you handling the crowd, my dear?” asked Janet from the left.

  Emma chewed her lip. If only she could babble excitedly about Dunollie’s rescue and how thrilling the ordeal had been because it was he who’d found her. But admitting her delight would not only be improper, the laird might realize how deeply she cared for him, which would be unconscionably mortifying. Moreover, aside from her own embarrassment, Robert would suffer heart failure.

  Emma clasped her hands beneath the table. “Quite well. Aside from the wee mishap, ’twas as if we rehearsed the procession from the chapel to the dining hall.”

  “Wonderful.” Janet’s silverware tinked. “’Tisn’t as if you’ve never been to Achnacarry before.”

  “Aye, but there weren’t as many people last time.”

  “Why should it matter? You’re with your family, and no one loves you more than we do.”

  Emma brushed her sister-in-law’s arm and whispered, “Did you have anything to do with the seating arrangements?”

  “I believe that undertaking was done by Lady Lochiel herself.” Her Ladyship was the hostess, stepmother to both Janet and the groom.

  “Do you not wish to sit beside me?” asked Ciar, giving her arm a wee poke.

  “Are you jesting? I’m glad of it.” Emma tapped her fingers over her place setting, identifying her plate, silverware, and wineglass on the right. “Being seated beside you, sir, is far better than sitting next to some old laird who is too filled with self-importance to speak with the likes of me.”

  “Och, I reckon anyone who believes themselves above your riveting conversation is undeniably daft—or in their cups.”

  No matter the situation, Ciar always managed to say something kind or funny, or kind and funny. And Emma had no doubt Robert’s wife had arranged for Dunollie to be placed beside her. Janet just didn’t own to it.

  He leaned in, his breath skimming her cheek. “Yellow suits you, miss. You’d best be careful how broadly you smile, else you’ll outshine the bride.”

  Emma covered her mouth before she laughed aloud yet again. Should she believe him? Nay. He’s just being nice.

  “All rise!” boomed a man.

  “The bridal party,” whispered Ciar as he helped Emma to her feet.

  “Behold Lochiel the Younger and his bride!”

  Emma applauded with the crowd. “Is she bonny?”

  “Radiant as a bride ought to be,” Ciar said as they resumed their seats. “She’s almost as lovely as you are this eve.”

  “You’re teasing me.”

  “Not at all.”

  “And what of the groom?” she asked, trying to ignore the flittering of her heart. “Is he as fearsome as they say?”

  Ciar snorted. “Kennan? He’d like to think he’s fearsome.”

  “I beg your pardon, that is my brother to whom you’re referring,” said Janet. “And I daresay he looks dapper in the weave of Cameron plaid.”

  Delicious smells of roasted lamb, baked fowl, and warm bread grew more potent. Emma licked her lips. “They’re wasting no time bringing the food.”

  “I’m glad of it,” said Ciar. “After the vicar’s monotonously un-invigorating sermon, I’m starved.”

  “Is that your way of saying you had difficulty paying attention?” Emma asked.

  “Perhaps, though I’d best not own to it.”

  She inhaled as the dishes were placed on the table. “I can pick out the musk of lamb straightaway, but what is the fowl?”

  “Partridge, and it looks like French beans as well.”

  “Wine, my lady?” asked a footman.

  She held in her urge to snicker. Everyone at the table was either a laird or a lady except her. But correcting the servant would only draw attention to her station, and she certainly didn’t want to do that. “Please.”

  “And you, m’laird?”

  “I’m never one to turn down a Lochiel vintage.” Ciar tapped her elbow. “Would you like me to dish your plate?”

  “Janet can—” Emma patted her chest. Why not let him? “Pardon me. If it would not be too much trouble, I’d be grateful, thank you.”

  “One slice of lamb or two?”

  “Two.”

  “Brown sauce?”

  “Please. And a wee bit of partridge and beans as well.”

  “Your wish is my command.”

  She flicked open her fan and hid her chuckle behind it. “Tell me, how are things at Dunollie?”

  “I suppose they would be better if the queen saw fit to fairly tax her constituents in Scotland. Aside from that, I’m grateful to say the high demand for wool and beef is keeping clan and kin afloat.” He placed a few more items on her plate. “And how fare things with you? If I recall, the last time we met was right here when your brother wed Her Ladyship.”

  “My, how quickly a year passes.” Emma cut a piece of roast and savored it. “I’m sure it comes as no surprise to hear Lady Janet has been a lovely addition to Moriston Hall. Thanks to her, I have a new lady’s maid. On top of that, I’ve given two small recitals and am becoming proficient at knitting.”

  “Recitals? I did not know you were musical.”

  Janet nudged Emma’s shoulder. “Until I arrived in Glenmoriston, Robert had hidden her talent from all of society. But she is astounding. And mind you, I am not exaggerating in the slightest.”

  “Are you a vocalist?” Ciar asked.

  Emma cut her lamb and raised the fork to her lips. “Harpist.”

  “Aye?” Ciar’s voice filled with admiration. “All these years I’ve been visiting Moriston Hall, and I never knew you had such a talent. I hope you will be sharing your gift with the guests during the wedding celebrations.”

  “What a wonderful idea,” Janet agreed.

  Batting her hand through the air, Emma shook her head. “No, no. I’m certain Her Ladyship has quite a schedule planned for the gathering. I most certainly would not want to put a kink in her preparations.” Besides, Robert mightn’t approve when in the company of so many strangers. And all these guests might not approve of her. “Unfortunately, I’m afraid I left my harp at home.”

  “Not to worry.” Janet patted her arm. “There’s a harp in Achnacarry’s music chamber. I’ll speak to Lady Lochiel at my first opportunity.”

  “Oh, no, please. I do not want to be a bother.”<
br />
  “Bother?” Ciar’s plate clanged with the tapping of his knife. “If you are proficient, I’m certain Her Ladyship will be delighted, as will I.”

  Pushing her food around her plate, Emma bit her bottom lip. Since their parents had passed away, her brother had assumed guardianship, and he was rather protective. Most likely he’d forbid it. “I suppose if Robert agrees.”

  Janet squeezed Emma’s fingers. “Leave His Lairdship to me.”

  Prickly heat spread across her nape. Indeed, she could play the harp in her sleep. But what about the other guests, the ones who didn’t know her? What might they think? For years her brother had hidden Emma from all but close kin. And for good reason. It wasn’t easy for Emma to expose herself in public. Many Highland folk were superstitious. They feared the blind and thought them demons. Drawing attention to herself so far away from Clan Grant didn’t sit well. What if someone jeered? What if they didn’t like her music?

  But then Ciar had mentioned that he wanted to hear her play. Had he meant what he said? Emma would gladly pluck the strings all night if he asked. On the other hand, the laird was most likely being nice. He was always incredibly kind, almost the antithesis of Robert, who was affectionate but severe. Dunollie was not only affectionate but polite, thoughtful, warm, and…

  Emma sighed for what seemed like the hundredth time.

  If only Dunollie might look upon her as a woman and not the sister of his friend and ally.

  Perhaps if they didn’t discuss it again, Janet would forget to mention the recital to her stepmother. Besides, the feast had only just begun. With Janet on Emma’s left and Ciar on her right, she fully intended to enjoy herself, starting with the delicious fare. Through the first and second courses, she listened to the friendly banter, savoring the food and wine while trying not to laugh too boisterously at Ciar’s wit.

  After a dessert of trifle served with macaroons, a Highland folk tune rose over the hum in the hall. Emma counted three fiddles, a bass violin, a drum, and a flute. Clapping, she sat taller. “I daresay there will be dancing.”

  “I cannot imagine a wedding feast without dancing.” Ciar’s knee lightly brushed hers as he shifted toward her.

  The inadvertent touch made Emma gasp as gooseflesh rose across her skin. Rubbing her thigh, she pretended to be unruffled. “Tell me about the musicians.”