Page 1 of A Bride for the Wicked Highlander (Daring a Highland Laird #2)

“ T hey say ye can taste destiny in each sip,” Oscar Blaine, the Laird of Muir, said as he swirled his glass of whiskey. “And I ken what my destiny is tonight.”

He sipped the smoky, peaty liquor, meeting the eager gaze of the two women who had joined him in his private tower, where he liked to “entertain.” One blonde, one brunette, both brimming with the potential to be as satisfying as the good whiskey running down his throat.

The blonde giggled, crossing her legs in a way that made her skirts inch up, revealing a bare calf. “What might that be, m’laird?”

He was about to answer when the dark-haired woman spluttered, banging on her chest as her eyes bulged. She set the glass of whiskey down, shaking her head, holding a handkerchief to her mouth as she coughed through the vicious burn of the liquor.

“I daenae think... I like this whiskey,” she croaked, at last.

“Something sweeter, perhaps?” Oscar said, undeterred. “I have brandy from France, spiced wine from Tuscany, port from Lisbon.” He walked slowly toward her, a knowing smile upon his lips. “Anything ye might desire.”

She bit her lip, fluttering long, dark eyelashes at him. “I dinnae ken what I like, m’laird.”

“Then, ye must taste everythin’,” he replied, bringing his thumb to her lips, brushing away the glisten of whiskey that remained. “Ye must explore, until ye ken exactly what ye like.”

He brought the flat of his thumb to his mouth, lightly sucking the trace of liquor from his skin.

The dark-haired lass gazed at him, her brown eyes gleaming, her lips parted. Making no secret of where she might like to feel his mouth.

“Do ye prefer a sweeter taste?” the blonde cooed, to draw his attention back to her.

“I have nay preference,” he replied, smirking. “I enjoy every?—”

A sharp knock at the tower door annihilated the smooth flow of his seduction, the two ladies jolting in fright, running to each other instead of to him. No doubt they thought their fathers had come to drag them out before they could indulge, wary eyes fixed on the door.

“What?” Oscar barked, annoyed that he would have to begin the flirty rigmarole again. Just when he’d had the ladies where he wanted them, eating from the palm of his hand.

The door opened and a silver-haired maid, Betty-Ann, poked her head in; the only one bold enough to disturb him when he had company in the tower.

“There’s a gentleman here, m’laird,” she said in her raspy voice, steamed hoarse by decades in the laundry. “Said it was urgent, else I wouldnae dream of... interruptin’.” She cast a cursory eye across the two ladies who bowed their heads in pink-cheeked embarrassment.

Oscar set down his whiskey glass, the mood fading fast. “What man?” He moved closer to the maid, lowering his voice as he added, “It had better be urgent, Betty-Ann. Nae one of yer disruptions that turns out to be naught.”

The old maid occasionally liked to intrude when there were lasses in the tower who were known to her: daughters and granddaughters of friends, acquaintances, family. But these two were passing through; Betty-Ann couldn’t possibly have had any relationship to the pair.

“I swear, there’s a man waitin’ for ye in the entrance hall,” the maid insisted. “Didnae give his name and he wasnae familiar to me, but he said he kenned ye.”

Oscar narrowed his eyes. “And ye’d fall for that? Are yer sharp senses finally dullin’ with the years?”

“I wouldnae have bothered ye at all,” the maid replied a little curtly, “but he’s... an odd fellow, this’un. Someone ye ought to see.”

Oscar’s curiosity piqued, his eyebrow rising. “Odd how?”

“It’s difficult to explain,” the maid said. “Ye have to see it to understand. While ye’re doin’ that, I can see to it that these lasses leave safely.”

Still not entirely convinced that this wasn’t another of Betty-Ann’s ruses to rob him of a night’s satisfying company, but too intrigued not to investigate, Oscar shrugged and left the tower.

The mood had gone anyway; it wouldn’t be the same if he began again, the ladies likely too anxious about another knock on the door to continue.

Before long, he was at the last bend in the spiraling staircase that would take him into the entrance hall. He heard chatter not far behind him, so either the ladies weren’t leaving quite as willingly as Betty-Ann had thought, or they’d insisted on leaving the castle altogether.

It hardly matters now.

He looked ahead to where a figure stood awkwardly in the center of the airy entrance hall, scuffing a toe against the flagstones which had been worn to a shine by centuries of footsteps.

Betty-Ann was right. This was an odd fellow indeed. More surprisingly still, the “man” was known to him.

“The last time I was alone with ye, ye were tryin’ to scratch me eyes out. Think I still have a bruise on me forearm where ye sank yer teeth in,” he said, descending slowly, a wry smirk upon his lips. “Did ye miss me so soon, eh? Have ye sought me out for another bite?”

The “man” lifted his head, exquisite hazel eyes already narrowing in annoyance behind a pair of spectacles.

His ripe lips were so full they looked bee-stung, the upper bow as defined as the recurve he took hunting, opened to reply when the giddy laughter of Oscar’s would-be conquests made them close again.

The two ladies swept down the staircase arm-in-arm, breaking apart as they hurried toward him.

“We thought we might stay after all,” the blonde crooned.

“Perhaps you could invite your visitor to join us, so we’re nae interrupted again,” the brunette said in a husky voice, weaving her arm through his, pressing herself against his side.

The blonde glanced at the “man” opposite, her sultry expression transforming into a confused frown. “I daenae think that’s a man, Ginny.”

“I said he was unusual,” Betty-Ann’s voice joined in, a harried look upon her face. She’d clearly failed in her task to get the ladies out of there.

After they’d parted ways over a month ago, Oscar hadn’t expected to see Madeleine Huxley again.

She’d certainly given the impression that he would be the last person she would ever seek out willingly, which begged the question of why she was there at Castle Muir at all. And at such an hour of night, too.

And why is she dressed as a lad? As if that face wouldnae give her away in an instant; there’s nay man in the world with a face as fine as that.

Not that she seemed aware of it. Either that, or she simply didn’t care, despite having the uncommon beauty and exceptional figure that could’ve won her a prince if she’d wanted one. Even her spectacles did nothing to detract from her beauty, somehow adding to her mystique.

Madeleine cast a thin smile toward the two women hanging from Oscar’s arms. “Do you think we might speak alone, Laird Muir?”

“His Lairdship is busy,” the blonde said, fluttering her eyelashes.

Oscar removed his arm from her grip, motioning toward the door. “Daenae presume to tell me what I mean to do with me evenin’,” he said flatly, already bored of these ladies. “Be gone from me sight.”

Indeed, his evening had just gotten a lot more interesting.

The blonde attempted to protest, gaining a cold look in response. She faltered, flashing a glare at Madeleine, while Madeleine merely stared back with impatience etched across that exquisite face.

“Goodnight, m’laird,” the dark-haired girl mumbled, grabbing the other woman by the arm.

She pulled her across the hall, through the doors and out into the courtyard. Evidently, she had more sense than her companion. Neither of them would have liked to find out what would have happened if they hadn’t obeyed.

“Well, ye have me attention,” Oscar said, gesturing for Betty-Ann to leave.

The maid retreated up the stairs while Oscar walked toward his unexpected guest. She was taller than he remembered, that lithe figure hidden beneath shapeless men’s clothes and a musty greatcoat.

Before Madeleine could say a word, he reached for the woolen cap on her head and whipped it off. Auburn hair tumbled down in silky waves, cascading past her shoulders, releasing the scent of lavender and woodsmoke. No finer perfume.

Lord, help me.

His fingertips itched to glide through those shiny, fiery locks, winding them around his hand, pulling until she danced that line between pleasure and pain.

“That’s better,” he said quietly.

Her fierce hazel eyes narrowed at him. “Now that your harem has gone, might we go somewhere more private to talk?”

“How private?” he replied, imagining her in his tower... or his bedchamber, perhaps, seeing as it was a special occasion.

She rolled those bright, sultry eyes of hers. “On second thought, here is fine, where there are witnesses.” She paused. “Do you know, I’d forgotten how irksome you are.”

“Is that what ye missed? Having someone to challenge ye?” he replied with a smirk. “Could ye nae stop thinkin’ about our last meetin’? Is that what brings ye to me door in the middle of this bitter January night? Are ye in search of a particular kind of heat?”

Madeleine snorted, sweeping her hair back, coiling it into a bun that held itself in place. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m not here because I want to be.”

“Then, why are ye?” He wondered if he had been too quick to dismiss the other ladies, for he would have taken willing and pretty over frosty and extraordinarily beautiful any day.

A shuddering breath slipped from Madeleine’s lips, her eyes closing for a moment, as if she had to gather the strength for what she had to say.

Is it Hunter? Grace? Has somethin’ happened at Castle MacLogan? Hunter Barr was his closest friend, which made his wife, Grace, like a sister to him now. Family.

He braced, ready to sound the alarm and muster his army if he had to. Indeed, his men had had so little to do that they would likely leap at the chance to fight, regardless of who it was for.

“Laird Muir, I’m here to ask for your hand,” she said, those golden eyes opening. “That is all.”