Page 1 of The Duke’s Absolutely Fantastic Fling (The Notorious Briarwoods #15)

T eague MacMurrow, Duke of Rossbrea, stormed across the Highland landscape with a black thundercloud over his head.

It was a metaphorical cloud, of course, because the current weather was beautiful in the Highlands. It was supposed to be a perfect time, a time in which he reveled in relatively good weather. Now, good weather in his homeland still did mean quite a lot of rain.

However, there was nowhere in the world, in his opinion—and his opinion, he was certain, was closely related to fact—more beautiful than the Highlands during this time of year.

He knew he should not have a cloud over his head, and yet it persisted as he wound his way through the heather, down the ben, and back towards his large palatial castle positioned along a sea loch, which he had swum in almost every day of his life, no matter the weather.

He found himself grinding his teeth. For the first time in years, a good long walk had not cured his ills, and he really did not know what to do.

He had tried everything. He had tried cold-water swimming.

He had tried hiking. He had tried abstaining from food.

He had tried eating too much food. He had tried reading every book that he usually did for comfort in his extremely extensive library.

He had tried singing. He had tried playing the pianoforte, quite badly. He had even tried to take up the fiddle.

It had been a mistake.

The sounds that had emanated from that poor instrument still haunted him and his brothers. The cats, who acted as mousers in the castle, had yowled their horror at his twisted tunes.

His long legs ate up the ground as he crunched up the gravel path and entered his palace.

He did not hesitate but went in pursuit of his family, hoping they might alleviate his gloom, though he knew it was risky.

For his brothers might very well bury him in banter about poor decisions made in the not-too-distant past.

But he was desperate and willing to take the risk. Anything had to be better than his own company.

As expected, his brothers were sprawled on every lounging surface in the salon, victims of their excessive pursuit of merriment late into the night. They had drunk more whisky than they were accustomed to.

All of them seemed to be in a rather poor state, and Teague knew why.

Still, he refused to admit it. No, he was not about to admit the truth that a family from England had caused such an upheaval in their lives.

Especially a stunning young woman in his.

Indeed, he couldn’t admit this. He would not.

After all, he was the Duke of Rossbrea. He was not about to say that some girl from England had caused him to have such an emotional upheaval.

No, that would not be right. Surely the admittance that a person who had been raised in England could do that to him was unacceptable. He supposed the one saving grace about all of it was that Josephine Briarwood was not technically English.

She had been born on the Continent and adopted into an English family. Somehow that made it slightly more palatable that his entire world had been upended by the young woman.

He let out a rough, long sigh and slammed his hand down on a polished mahogany table, causing all of the porcelain figurines upon it to jump.

His brothers let out a simultaneous chorus of groans.

“It’s time to get up,” Teague said with a little too much pleasure. “We have things to do. We have people to help. What are you lot doing still half asleep?”

“Recovering,” groaned Leith, placing a hand over his eyes. “What were we thinking last night?”

“We were trying to drown our sorrows,” Brodie said, wincing from his chair.

“Exactly,” Archie whispered from the settee before the fire. “Who knew that the departure of the Briarwood clan would cause such dismay?”

“They have stolen the sun,” Leith said with surprising drama.

“Indeed, they have taken all merriment with them,” Archie stated. “Whisky will never replace our evenings of good chats, theatrical productions, and dancing about.”

“Balderdash,” Teague snapped. “I refuse to believe that our family is not merry upon its own. We are quite enough without the Briarwoods.”

His words rang hollow. It did not help that his sister, Elspeth, had left, going with her new husband, Octavian Newfield, to live in London for a time.

The house felt odd without her cheeky influence.

He’d grown accustomed to having her home again after she’d been widowed.

To lose her again, though she had found love at last, had been surprisingly hard.

Leith popped open a wary eye, arching his brow, then snorted.

“You may try to be optimistic,” Archie said, driving a hand through his wild russet hair, “but we know the truth, brother.”

“Do you?” Teague asked tightly. “And what truth is that?”

“You are in a foul mood,” put in Archie.

“So foul you could curdle milk,” said Leith.

“That’s not true,” he defended swiftly, standing straighter, attempting to give a merry smile.

“That’s a grimace,” Leith pointed out.

Teague scowled. “We did very well before the Briarwoods were here. We shall do very well without them.”

Archie rolled his eyes. “Say what you will. It’s like a spring wind came and then suddenly departed, leaving us bereft of all its greenery.”

Teague gathered himself, determined to pull them all out of their mire. “We cannot allow ourselves to be brought so low by a group of English people. Surely we should be glad that they departed.”

“You are the one who brought them here,” Leith had the audacity to remind him.

Archie waggled his brows. “Yes, the whole bleeding horde of them.”

“We were overrun,” Brodie said, his lips twitching. “And now you will not admit that they were victorious in winning over our family.”

Finally, Teague let out another long sigh. “Well, what do you wish me to do about it?”

Archie smiled at last. “The only thing that there is to do.”

“What?” he managed, half dreading the reply.

“Well, you need to repair your poor mood,” said Leith, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “And then we will all improve.”

“And how exactly am I supposed to do that?” Teague demanded, actually hoping for a solution.

“Well,” Brodie began, “there’s really only one way to solve all of this.”

“If you don’t tell me what it is,” Teague ventured, “I can’t do anything about it.”

“We go to England.”

“What?” Teague all but yelped.

Leith shoved himself up on the green silk-covered furnishing. “You asked.”

“England?” Teague groaned.

“London, to be clear,” announced Archie.

“London?” Teague whispered, the horror of it inescapable but also realistic. Still, he felt compelled to say, “That place of English oppression?”

Archie pursed his lips. “There is that, yes, but it’s also where some of the greatest literature of the world has been written. There’s a great deal of entertainment. There’s the theater, there’s the opera, there’s museums, there’s—”

“Stop,” Teague bit out, swinging his gaze from brother to brother. “You cannot tell me that there’s anything better in England than there is here in Scotland.”

“I didn’t say better,” said Archie.

“He means it’s different,” said Leith.

“And let’s be honest, you might think that everything is better here in Scotland, but Scotland is missing one thing,” Archie said, pushing himself up to a standing position, then stumbling to the tray of coffee that had been brought in earlier by a servant.

He poured himself out a steaming cup.

“And what is that?” Teague asked, though he had a significant suspicion that he knew the answer already. Did he secretly wish to hear it?

Possibly.

“She’s there,” said Archie, waggling his brows again.

“Stop that,” Teague said.

“What?” Archie asked.

“Your brows. They are over-animated.”

“My brows are animated perfectly,” Archie replied, then took a fortifying sip of coffee.

It was Teague’s turn to snort. Then he cleared his throat and said with feigned ignorance, “Who exactly is she?”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Leith said, “we’re not going to play at this, are we? We’ve never been the sort of family to prevaricate or dance around things. I don’t think we should start now. Just admit it.”

“Fine,” Teague allowed, wiping a hand over his face. “Fine. I miss her .”

“You should miss her. She’s lovely,” enthused Leith. “I don’t know why you didn’t ask her to marry you when she was staying with us.”

Teague grabbed a cup and poured himself coffee as he said the line he had rehearsed in his head over and over, trying to convince himself of it. “Josephine Briarwood is not the sort of girl that a—”

“What?” Leith cut in. “That a duke asks to marry him? We thought you more enlightened—”

“A Scottish duke,” he thundered. Surely, they could understand his duty?

“What?” Archie frowned. “Are you hoping to marry some Highland lass? Make a croft, wear a kilt, have wee babies with her, and then roam the glens with your great sword?”

Teague scowled.

Perhaps some part of him had envisioned that, though he knew it could never be true.

There was an ache in him that was deep and full of longing and impossible to ignore.

On some nights, it felt as if he could almost hear the old Highlanders crying out in terror and remorse that their entire way of life had been stolen from them.

It was as if he could feel the generations who had been driven from the land, who had had their dignity and their rights stolen from them, screaming in his blood, and it kept him up at night.

An entire way of life had been eradicated in a short season and not kindly, not easily, but brutally. It had transformed Scotland and its people forever. Every Scottish person bore a wound of varying degree from it.

Teague’s gut twisted. “Sometimes the things I long for—”

“Longing,” Leith said gently, “is a very dangerous business indeed. Longing can keep you trapped. I think you should just be honest. You want her.”

Teague looked away. He did want her. But he also wanted his people to be proud of their laird, their duke. And how did it look, going south to marry?

“Shed whatever ideal you think that you should have, and just go get her,” said Archie.

“Indeed, go get her,” repeated Leith.

“Exactly,” added Brodie. “You’re a duke. You’re a MacMurrow. If you really want to act like a Highlander, go down there and claim her.”

He thought about that for a moment.

Perhaps he could never have a true Highland laird’s way of life, and he should stop trying. The past was dead. There was no bringing it back.

The thought felt oddly freeing and, much to his shock, he suddenly felt light. He looked at each of his brothers, all of whom wished him to be happy, and for him to go after the woman he desired.

“Thank you,” he said, his throat tight with emotion.

His brothers grinned back at him.

“Well, that was surprisingly easy,” said Archie.

“I thought we were going to have to cosh you over the head and throw you in the coach to get you to London,” put in Brodie.

They were right. His brothers often were. He’d never be one of the great clan lairds he’d fantasized about being as a boy, but he could at least act with the decisiveness that his ancient family members had possessed.

“How can I repay you all?” he asked.

“By making lots of babies,” said Leith.

“We all want to be uncles,” added Brodie.

“And since you’re the eldest, you should go first,” drawled Archie.

A laugh tumbled past Teague’s lips, as he realized that this was what he had been waiting for. “You lot are bloody amazing,” he said softly.

“We know,” Leith said.

“Glad you are finally admitting it,” said Brodie.

“Good for you to recognize the worth of your brothers,” agreed Archie.

“I’ve always known you lads were worthwhile,” Teague said, “but this support means the world to me.”

Leith gave him an elaborate bow. “Thank you. So when do we leave?”

“Now,” Teague said, clapping his hands together.

“Now?” Brodie shouted.

“Now is the time to do things,” Teague said. “Why wait?”

“Oh God.” Leith laughed. “Fine, but we all need to go for a swim first. The lot of us are rank.”

Teague laughed again and it felt good. So very good.

“I’ve already done that. I’ll give you fellows one hour.

I’ll alert the servants, and we shall head off to the land of the oppressors, to the land of the worst, to the land of the Briarwoods, who happen to be the best of that country.

” Teague nodded and vowed, “And there I will claim my wife.”