Page 2 of A Scot to Wed

The laird slid from his horse and walked toward her, his size encouraging her to back up as he approached. Goodness, the man was large. As he got closer, his shoulders blocked out the view of the entire area behind him. All she could see was his massive chest.

He was ruggedly handsome. A strong chin, full lips, green eyes the color of the Scottish hills, and a well-trimmed beard of dark red. His hair hung to his shoulders in waves, giving him the look of warriors past. Any moment, she expected him to bellow and brandish his broadsword around.

Although the edict against the wearing of traditional Scottish kilts had been lifted, these men wore buckskin trews, linen shirts, and a tartan fastened across their chests. This laird who stopped directly in front of her also carried two dirks in his leather belt and a sporran in front of him that she was sure held a pistol or two, with ammunition. When he turned back to his companion, she caught a glimpse of the imagined broadsword strapped to his back. ’Twas like something out of a history book.

This, however, was not the time to admire the man or ruminate on times past. She needed help now. He had offered, and she must be on her way. However, she backed up again, giving herself room to breathe. “Thank ye for yer assistance, laird.”

“That’s better, lass.” He grinned, his green eyes full of laughter and teasing. “’Tis not a pleasant thing to have a wee lass shouting at ye on the road.”

It was as if he’d patted her on the head like a bairn. She swallowed the retort she had ready. He would fix her wagon wheel, she would thank them, and they would be on their way. She would make her way to the MacDuff castle and never have to see Laird Evan MacNeil again.

Evan squatted down and examined the wheel. He looked toward the other man. “Toss me the rope.”

“How will a rope help?” Katie had squatted alongside him, wondering what this man saw that her own men hadn’t seen.

“I’ll tie the rope several times around the wheel to keep it from falling apart. If ye travel slowly, it will get ye to the next village. ’Tis only about a mile past the castle. There ye can get a replacement and soon be on yer way.”

Katie sighed with relief. “Oh, that’s wonderful because we’re only going as far as the castle.”

Evan rested one knee on the soft ground, shifted to place his wrist on his bent knee, and looked at her. “The MacDuff castle?”

“Aye.”

He glanced up at his companion, who shrugged. “And what business do ye have there?”

Although ’twas no concern of his, she decided to continue with her amicable mood to get the wagon wheel fixed and this blasted journey over with. “’Tis mine. I am the owner.”

Evan frowned. “What is yours?”

She sighed. “The castle.”

He raised his brows. “The MacDuff castle?”

Bloody hell, the man was as dense as a forest. She hated cursing, even to herself, but this conversation was becoming tiresome. “Aye. The MacDuff castle.”

Evan looked over at the other man again, who leaned forward on his horse, a puzzled expression on his face. “Who are ye, lass, that you say the MacDuff castle is yers?”

A sense of uneasiness trickled through her. She had been certain the MacDuff castle had been abandoned. She’d sent a few of her people to investigate after she’d heard the last MacDuff had died, and his daughter had left the country to marry an English nobleman.

They had reported back to her that the place was empty except for a few servants, and when he’d spoken with them, they hadn’t received any word on who the new owner was. With her proof of ownership—she was determined that it was proof—she’d decided to move her household and what was left of her clan to Fife.

Surely no one would have inherited the place. MacDuff was not known for his hospitality, and as far as she knew, there was no family, except his daughter.

Her own home had been crumbling around her ears for years, with her father taking no interest in the place since her mother had died, and the Clearances making it hard to grow enough food to feed a family on land that was slowly being taken over for sheep farming.

Despite the fluttering in her stomach, she drew herself up. “I am Mistress Katie Stirling of Stirlingshire.”

He continued to study her. “And ye claim to own MacDuff castle?”

Her unease grew, but she forged ahead. “Aye. I dinnae ken how many times I need to say it to ye. Are ye daft?”

Evan’s eyes narrowed. “Nay, mistress. Not daft, just confused.”

Katie’s mouth dried up, and her breathing increased. “Confused how?” The words barely made it past her lips.

“Confused, lass, becauseIam the owner of MacDuff castle.”

Chapter Two