To Love a Scottish Lord Read online

  KAREN RANNEY

  TO LOVE A SCOTTISH LORD

  BOOK FOUR OF THE HIGHLAND LORDS

  With grateful appreciation to

  Suzie Housley,

  who named Book Four

  Contents

  Prologue

  Scotland welcomed Hamish MacRae back to her shores with fists…

  Chapter 1

  “Tell me about my patient,” Mary Gilly said.

  Chapter 2

  Brendan entered Hamish’s room without knocking, but then, Hamish expected…

  Chapter 3

  Mary returned to the gate to find Micah unloading the…

  Chapter 4

  Brendan grabbed her valise and a candle, leaving Mary to…

  Chapter 5

  Mary woke feeling rested, grateful that Betty had delayed waking…

  Chapter 6

  Mary and Brendan sat at the kitchen table after the…

  Chapter 7

  Mary pressed her hand against her midriff in order to…

  Chapter 8

  His eyes were on her, she knew it. She could…

  Chapter 9

  His tray was brought by Brendan, who didn’t badger him…

  Chapter 10

  Mary watched as Hamish fell asleep, lying beside him and…

  Chapter 11

  “Are you entirely certain this is wise?” Brendan asked, glancing…

  Chapter 12

  “Are you certain I’m not hurting you?” Mary asked, dabbing…

  Chapter 13

  Two small candles sat in the center of the kitchen…

  Chapter 14

  When Mary entered the tower room, she found it empty.

  Chapter 15

  Mary smiled at Hamish, the firelight adding a golden hue…

  Chapter 16

  Mary was retrieving her medicine case from the chamber two…

  Chapter 17

  Mary came into the courtyard, looking for Hamish, but he…

  Chapter 18

  Hamish told himself that he was a fool, but censure…

  Chapter 19

  The door opened so suddenly that it startled Mary. She…

  Chapter 20

  The Sheriff’s Court was held in a building that looked…

  Chapter 21

  “It’s not going well for her,” Hamish said, pacing the…

  Chapter 22

  Alone woman escorted Mary into the courtroom but led her…

  Chapter 23

  For a terrifying moment, Mary expected the sheriff’s men to…

  Chapter 24

  Hamish settled into the seat beside her. Slowly, they made…

  Chapter 25

  Mr. Grant entered the house stiffly, closing the door softly behind…

  Chapter 26

  Three massive crystal chandeliers imported from France illuminated Gilmuir’s clan…

  Epilogue

  “I’m not as young as I once was,” Leitis said,…

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Other Books by Karen Ranney

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Prologue

  September 1782

  S cotland welcomed Hamish MacRae back to her shores with fists of black clouds looming on the horizon. Weak sunlight left the day overcast and gray, and the wind whistled out of the north, chilling him to the bone.

  He anticipated the coming storm, the pulsing, pounding fury of it. He wanted to experience a Highland tempest in all its rage. He’d stand in the middle of it, arms outstretched to the heavens, and command the thunder, invite the lightning. Perhaps God would finally strike him dead for all his sins.

  “There,” he said, pointing to where the land sat humped like a dragon’s back. Atop the last mound was a castle, a place he’d remembered from a previous visit to Scotland. A desolate-looking sentinel on a rocky islet, it was connected by a small stone causeway to the mainland.

  “It’s a ruin,” his brother Brendan said at his side.

  “I’ve lived in worse.”

  From the Orient to India, they’d each spent time in palaces and hovels. Even their own ancestral home, Gilmuir, might be considered a ruin. His older brother had it in his mind to rebuild the castle. Hamish had no doubt that Alisdair would have accomplished miracles since he’d seen the place three years ago.

  “Set me down here,” Hamish said, wishing that his throat didn’t feel scraped raw. He’d have to learn to deal with the new sound of his voice as well as other reminders of his time in India.

  Brendan moved to stand a little ahead of Hamish on the bow, as if that foot or so distance would gain him a better vantage point over what he studied now.

  “No man could survive there.”

  “Which is not exactly a deterrent,” Hamish said, allowing a small smile to curve his lips.

  “Don’t joke about such things.”

  Brendan had lost his humor in the past three months while Hamish had, oddly enough, gained a sense of the ridiculous.

  “Very well. Let’s discuss my life. I have to live it somewhere.”

  “You could remain at sea.”

  Hamish smiled again and tipped his head in acknowledgment of Brendan’s words. “Of course I could. I’m a captain who’s not only lost his crew and his ship but also the use of his arm. Who wouldn’t wish to sail with me?”

  Brendan’s silence didn’t surprise him. Even his brother couldn’t conjure up a remedy for the wreck he’d become.

  His smile was too difficult to hold, so Hamish let it slip away. “You’ll get what I need, then?”

  “You know I will,” Brendan answered. “What will I tell the others?”

  By the others, Brendan meant his two older brothers, Alisdair and James. Hamish loved his brothers, but he didn’t want their companionship or their understanding. Nor did he need their pity.

  “Tell them whatever you wish, Brendan. Something, hopefully, that will keep them far from here. Tell them the truth, if you must.”

  “What is the truth, Hamish? You’ve been sparing with it ever since India.”

  Hamish turned and looked at his younger brother. What did Brendan want from him, a litany of his capture? If so, he was doomed to be disappointed. Some things Hamish would never tell anyone.

  He directed his attention to the castle.

  The shoreline was rocky, and farther in, the black boulders gave way to multicolored stones in hues of gray, black, and brown. Beyond the bridge was a strip of pines curving around to the road like a green ruff adorning a crone’s neck.

  In his mind he’d named it Aonaranach, the Gaelic for lonely. The place was obviously deserted, as were so many other dwellings in the Highlands. Once Hamish might have been curious about why it had been abandoned. Now, however, he couldn’t summon up a thought or a degree of empathy for the long-vanished inhabitants. All he cared about was that it was empty and a refuge of sorts for him.

  “If you’re going to ground, Hamish, at least choose a half-decent burrow.”

  Hamish glanced over at his brother, frowning. “It will do for my use. It’s deserted and far away from any settlement.”

  “I don’t like this.”

  “I know your sentiments, Brendan. You’ve been very clear about them.”

  “But it doesn’t matter, does it? You’re set on this, Hamish?”

  He nodded, staring at the castle. “I’ll not return to Gilmuir.” He’d been too ill to countermand Brendan’s instructions when they’d left India. Now, however, he was grateful his brother hadn’t decided to go home to Nova Scotia. He could well imagine what the sight of him would do to his parents. Yet he wasn’t prepared to sail farther north for Gilmuir, either. />
  “Dying won’t make them come back,” Brendan said.

  Hamish didn’t bother explaining that he had more guilt to bear than the loss of his crew. He only smiled, touched despite himself by his brother’s fierce devotion. Brendan had always been loyal. Why had he expected this situation to be any different?

  Ever since they were young, he and Brendan had been the closest of the MacRae brothers. They’d goaded and pushed each other, each always achieving more with that extra bit of competition. They’d planned their voyages to meet in far-off cities, and sometimes the two MacRae ships would take the same trade route.

  Now, however, he wished that Brendan would simply let him be.

  “I won’t die, Brendan,” he said. “I have an unquenchable, irrational, desperate desire to live.” The fact that he was standing there proved that.

  Brendan didn’t say anything else, only moved away, no doubt to give orders to his men.

  Hamish stood at the bow and listened to the sounds behind him, playing a game in his mind about what the crew would be doing. The scrape of metal against metal was the sound of the anchor being lowered. Its drag would slow the forward momentum of the ship. Iron against wood signaled that the heavy sails were being drawn in, the huff of canvas as wind clung and then reluctantly surrendered its hold.

  Slowing a ship was noisy business, but speech was needed only to relate orders. There was no good-natured ribbing or laughter, or supposition about the shore leave soon to come. A pall had fallen over the ship ever since India.

  The first mate came and stood beside him. Hamish knew the man well from previous voyages. Sandy, they called him, not because of the color of his hair but because of his first adventure at sea. He’d stranded a longboat on a sand bar and had been ridiculed by his crewmates, the teasing resulting in the name he had carried for twenty years.

  “I’ll have my trunk,” Hamish said, and gave the order for the other possessions he wanted. He’d have enough provisions to last him until Brendan came back. His brother had reluctantly agreed to bring supplies to the castle, at least until Hamish decided what to do with his life…or until death itself claimed him.

  The first mate nodded, but unlike his brother, he didn’t try to talk Hamish out of his decision. Perhaps Sandy, and the others, couldn’t wait for him to leave the ship. Sailors were a notoriously superstitious group, and his presence aboard was no doubt seen as a bad omen.

  Less than an hour later, he was being rowed to shore. Brendan sat opposite him in the boat, frowning at him.

  “You’ve done all that you can and more,” Hamish told his brother, trying to assuage any misplaced guilt Brendan might be feeling.

  “Why do you talk as if you’re dying, Hamish?” Brendan said sharply. “Is that what you’re going to do, will yourself to die?”

  “The process of attrition?” Hamish asked, genuinely amused. He would simply forget to eat or drink, not make the effort to tap a cask or remove a piece of hardtack or jerky from its crate. He would simply not hunt or prepare a fire. Without his lifting a hand, death might come to him. It was a frighteningly seductive thought.

  To die, and not to feel. To die and no longer hear the tortured screams of his crew. To die and not awake sweating and racked with guilt. But he didn’t die easily. Hadn’t he already proven that?

  The boat hit the shore, and Hamish stood, grabbing one end of his trunk with his good hand.

  “You only need time,” Brendan said, reaching for the other handle. “You still haven’t completely healed from your wounds.”

  Hamish only smiled. He was completely healed, but he’d never again be whole.

  Chapter 1

  “T ell me about my patient,” Mary Gilly said.

  “When we were boys, I called him Hammer,” Brendan said, glancing over at her and then away as if afraid to witness her response to his words.

  “Hammer?” Mary asked. “A rather fearsome name.”

  Brendan smiled, an appealing expression she’d thought when she’d first viewed it. Now, however, she was well aware that the man was actively attempting to charm her.

  “As a boy he had a head as hard as iron. He used to butt me in the stomach whenever he didn’t like what I had to say, which was most of the time. I started calling him Hammer then.”

  “I’m more interested in him as a man,” she said.

  “I no longer call him Hammer, of course. It would be foolish to call a man over thirty by his boyhood name. Yet I’ve been known to do something daft now and then.” He glanced at her again, and Mary couldn’t help but wonder if he was thinking that bringing her here was one of those foolish acts.

  She was having the same doubts.

  He was the brother of Alisdair MacRae of Gilmuir, a long-time customer of her husband’s. Had it not been for the fact that she’d known Alisdair and his wife, Iseabal, a number of years, she wouldn’t have considered leaving Inverness with Brendan. Now, however, she doubted the wisdom of that decision.

  Mary stared straight ahead, deliberately concentrating on the mane between her horse’s ears. She and her long-suffering mare were both feeling the effects of this journey. They’d been pelted by rains all day. At first, the roads were not only passable, but very good. In the afternoon, however, they’d turned off the main thoroughfare and were now following a meandering course beside the loch. This path was rutted and muddy, their pace slow to allow the full wagon behind them to catch up from time to time.

  “Don’t be surprised by his appearance, Angel.”

  She glanced at him, irritated. “Please, do not call me by that name.”

  “It’s what everyone in Inverness calls you.” There was that charming smile again.

  “Not everyone,” she countered.

  “Enough.”

  “Just because people repeat something doesn’t mean it’s right or proper.” She looked at him, willing him to understand. “I do not want you to think that I’m capable of miracles. I can’t guarantee to help your brother,” she said, compelled to offer him the truth. “His injuries may be too far advanced for my limited skills.”

  “He may be too far for anyone’s,” Brendan said glumly.

  “It’s been nearly a month since you’ve last seen him?” Another question trembled on her lips. Finally, she forced herself to speak it. “Are you certain he’s still alive?”

  “Of course he is.” But his lips thinned, and his expression made her wonder if he were as optimistic as he sounded.

  The farther west they traveled, the more barren and desolate the landscape became. To their left was the loch and beyond, the sea. On the right were stark mountains even now dusted with snow. The lowering skies tinted everything somber and gray, the color of sadness.

  She smoothed her hand over the medicine case on the saddle in front of her. The case was a talisman of sorts, and her stroking a habit. The leather was worn smooth where her fingers had caressed it beneath the handle so many times before when she was nervous or simply waiting.

  Patience was a requirement in healing, she’d discovered. She must wait for a patient to improve, for a medicine to work, for a fever to break. Sometimes, the outlook was good. At other times, it was not, and Death swooped in, black garbed and cackling, to steal the ill from her grasp.

  “You mustn’t be surprised at his appearance,” Brendan said. It was the second time he’d made the comment, as if he were afraid she’d exclaim aloud or recoil in aversion upon meeting her new patient.

  Otherwise, he’d been remarkably reticent about his brother’s injuries. She, in her pride and foolishness, had been in a rush to be of assistance, not asking all the questions she should have prior to leaving Inverness.

  “I’ve seen many grievous things, Brendan,” she assured him quietly.

  “India changed him. He’s not as he was.”

  “People who’ve always been healthy often react with anger to sudden illness. They don’t expect their bodies to betray them.”

  “He’s not angry,” he said and
then looked away, as if uncertain whether to continue. “Perhaps resigned,” he added after a moment. “He seems to simply accept whatever happens to him, almost as if he’s ready for the worst. It’s not like Hamish.”

  “It could be a symptom of his illness,” she told him, familiar with such behavior in her patients. “Even the healthiest man will have the doldrums if he’s been laid low.”

  He nodded but said nothing further.

  Her hands were chilled beneath her leather gloves, and Mary felt as though she had never been warm or dry. The wind whistled out of the north, flattening the horse’s mane. A gust traveled beneath her voluminous red cloak, lingering at her ankles. She held herself tight, elbows pressed against her sides, chin erect.

  “We’ll be there shortly,” Mary said. It was not a question, rather a hope voiced in a statement. Brendan, however, did not dispute it, remaining silent.

  He reminded her, oddly, of her late husband’s apprentice, Charles. Brendan was a more attractive man, with an open countenance and a face that encouraged an answering smile. His hazel eyes were earnest; his brown hair had a habit of falling over his brow boyishly.

  Charles had a narrow face and an even narrower mind. Over the past few months, he’d been irritatingly possessive of her, so much so that she’d seen this new patient as an escape, of sorts.

  The two men were alike, however, in their single-mindedness. At dawn they’d left Inverness and had begun their trek west, never halting despite the weather. She had the feeling that no obstacle would stop Brendan until they reached his brother.

  She’d never been this far from home, and during this interminable day told herself that the adventure of this journey would be worth the minor discomforts of it. When other people mentioned their travels from now on, she would be able to say that she, too, had traveled beyond Inverness. Even if the only sights she saw were snowcapped peaks and a gray, finger-shaped lake that pointed to the sea.