Spotlight: THE HIGHLANDER WHO PROTECTED ME
(Clan Kendrick 1)
Bestselling
author Vanessa Kelly returns with an enthralling new series about the men of
the Kendrick clan—and the women who claim their hearts . . .
Lady Ainsley Matthews,
heiress and darling of the ton, was expected to make a magnificent
match. Instead she’s hiding on a remote Scottish estate, terrified that her
vicious former fiancé will use her pregnancy to force her into marriage. One
man can help her—Royal Kendrick, son of a distinguished Highland clan. Though a
mistake drove them apart long ago, Royal is the only person Ainsley trusts to
protect her baby—even if that means agreeing to never see either of them again
. . .
Scarred in body and
soul by war, Royal suddenly has a purpose—caring for an innocent babe and
thereby helping the woman he can’t stop loving. But when Ainsley ultimately
returns to Scotland, determined to be a real mother to her child in spite of
the risk, there’s only one solution: marriage. And only one likely outcome: surrendering
to the desire that’s simmered between them for so long, no matter how dangerous
it may be . . .
Excerpt:
When no footman emerged
to take his horse, Royal sighed. He swung his bad leg up over the saddle,
grimacing as he made a sliding dismount, putting most of his weight onto his
good leg. Thankfully, Demetrius was used to his awkward antics by now, so he
did little but shake his bridle, impatient for watering and a feed.
Royal patted his neck.
“I know, old fellow, we’ll get you squared away soon enough.”
Noting the absence of
posts to tie up his horse, he dropped the reins to the ground. Demetrius was
too well behaved to bolt.
He stalked up to the
door and knocked, then peered up at the windows on the first floor. Several
long seconds passed before a curtain twitched at one of the windows. He waited
another few minutes, then once more thudded his fist on the blasted door. This
time, he heard the faint echo of his knock.
Unfortunately, it failed
to produce any additional proof of life.
He rubbed his forehead.
Were Ainsley and her aunt no longer in residence? Was it possible she’d
returned to London? She’d said in her last letter that she wouldn’t travel
south before June, but she could be impulsive that way, and it was possible
she’d decided to defy her father’s orders and return home early.
Or maybe she’d even
changed her mind about Cringlewood and decided to marry the blighter. That
seemed unlikely, given her apparent animosity toward the marquess. But she
wouldn’t be the first woman to change her mind about a man, especially one who
was rich, titled, and handsome.
And able-bodied.
Royal closed his eyes
and pulled in a few deep breaths, trying to ease the tight feeling in his chest
at the thought of Ainsley as another man’s wife. A loud whicker brought him
back to himself, and he turned to find Demetrius regarding him with what he
swore was equine sympathy.
“I hear you,” he said,
returning to pick up the reins. “I’ll never find out the truth if I keep
standing about like a pinhead. Let’s see if anyone’s around back.”
They walked around the
west-facing wing to find a well-maintained set of stables and two smaller
outbuildings. There was also a large kitchen garden, tidily kept and showing
evidence of spring planting. Beyond the boxes of vegetables and herbs were
ornamental gardens and a lawn that ran down to the loch. The flower garden and
the lawns, however, looked poorly tended. In fact, some of the sheep had
wandered over from the pasture and were calmly wreaking havoc in the flowerbeds.
Royal couldn’t help wincing at the wreckage. Perhaps Lady Margaret had been
forced to economize, spending only on those things that supported the estate.
Or perhaps she was as
barmy as everyone said and didn’t give a damn about appearances.
One of the stable’s
double doors opened and out clomped a stooped-shouldered man dressed in
breeches and a smock. His boots were so deplorable it was as if he’d been
mucking out the Augean stables. He looked seventy if he was a day but stomped
over with a fair degree of energy, even if the scowl on his face suggested he
suffered from the rheumatics.
“Here, now. Who are ye
to be sneakin’ aboot like a cutpurse?” he barked. “Her ladyship weren’t
expectin’ no visitors. Be on yer way, or I’ll be forced to fetch me pistol and
have at ye.”
Since there was no
pistol in sight, it wasn’t much of a threat. But Royal gave the old fellow full
marks for effort. “Your precautions, while laudable, are entirely unnecessary.
While I may not be expected, I’m sure Lady Margaret will see me.”
“Then why didn’t ye say
that?”
“I just did,” Royal
said.
“Bloody nob with yer
breaktooth words,” the old man muttered. “I doubt her ladyship will be wantin’
to see the likes of you.”
At least she was home.
“I’m a friend of Lady Ainsley Matthews, who is expecting me.”
It was an out and out
lie, but he had no intention of leaving until he was sure she was safe. His
instincts were now practically screaming at him.
His wizened nemesis gaped
at him. “Ye know Lady Ainsley is here?”
Royal frowned. “Of
course I do. It’s not exactly a secret, is it?”
“Who are ye, if ye don’t
mind me askin’?”
“Royal Kendrick. I’ve
ridden up from Castle Kinglas to call on Lady Ainsley and her aunt.”
The old man snorted.
“One of the Kendrick lads, eh? That explains it.”
Royal wasn’t sure
exactly what it explained, but he suspected that the twins’ wild reputation
might have made it to this little corner of the Highlands. Still, he fancied
that his interrogator’s hostility abated a jot.
“And who do I have the
privilege of addressing?” Royal asked with exaggerated politeness.
“Darrow, stable master
and coachman to her ladyship. And groom,” he added in a disgruntled tone. “When
young Willy is off on errands.”
Lady Margaret must be
verging on destitution if she could only employ one decrepit coachman and one
groom.
Darrow’s expression
suddenly switched to one of professional interest. “That’s a fine piece of
horseflesh ye have there.”
“He is, and I would be
most grateful if you could see to his needs. If you’re up to it,” he added a
moment later. “If not, I can do it.”
“Of course I’m up to
it,” the old man snapped. “I’m no in the grave yet. Will ye be stayin’ the
night?”
Royal pulled off his hat
and scrubbed his head. “I have no idea. I’ve yet to talk to anyone in the
house.”
“Why the bloody hell
not?”
“Because no one the
bloody hell answered the door when I knocked.”
“Och, that’ll be Hector,
for ye. Useless,” Darrow said. “All right, I’ll see to this laddie’s needs and
get him settled.”
“Thank you.” Royal
patted Demetrius. “I’ll come check on you in a bit, good boy.”
The horse nickered and
then docilely went off with the old man, who handled the animal with practiced
ease.
“By the way, how do I
get into the house?” he called after Darrow.
The coachman pointed
past one of the outbuildings. “Go ye to the kitchen and knock. Mrs. Campbell or
Betty will let ye in and fetch her ladyship. If ye try the front door again,
ye’ll be waitin’ all bloody day for Hector.”
Clearly, Lady Margaret
had a servant problem. Royal found it hard to believe that Ainsley would put up
with the likes of the mysterious Hector.
The kitchen was easy
enough to find, since several large windows were opened to catch the breeze,
and the smell of apple pie and baking bread wafted out in delicious waves. Lady
Margaret might preside over a madhouse, but it appeared that Bedlam had a
competent cook.
Since the door stood
wide open, Royal ducked his head under the lintel and took the few steps down
to the flagstone floor. A middle-aged woman, her brown hair tidy under a neat
cap, was slicing potatoes at a wooden table in the middle of the old-fashioned but
well-organized kitchen. She quietly sang an old Highland ballad that Royal’s
mother used to sing, although she broke off when a clattering noise erupted
from a door on the other side of the long, low-ceiling room.
“Och, Betty,” she
exclaimed. “Ye’ll not be dropping any more of the crockery, I hope. Not after
ye broke my best mixing bowl, just last week.”
“Never fear, Mum,”
answered a cheery voice. “Just puttin’ the trays away.”
A moment later, a young
woman emerged, wiping her hands on her apron. “I was . . .” She pulled up short
when she saw Royal. “Mum, who’s that?”
The cook spun around.
“Excuse me, sir, but how did ye get in here?” Then she winced before trying for
a smile. “I mean, how can I help ye?”
Royal doffed his hat.
“I’m sorry if I startled you, ma’am. I’ve come to see Lady Margaret. When I
knocked on the front door, no one answered.”
The women exchanged a
glance. “Hector,” they said simultaneously.
“Indisposed again,
the daft fool,” Mrs. Campbell muttered.
Indisposed, no doubt,
imbibing a wee too many drams of whisky.
“I beg yer pardon, sir.
Willy has gone into the village on an errand,” she said apologetically, “else
he would have answered it.”
Betty, a bonny girl with
a pretty smile and flaming red hair, gave Royal a flirtatious wink. “Or I would
have, if I’d heard ye. Ye can be sure I would have answered.”
“Er, thank you,” Royal
said.
“None of that, lass,”
her mother said with heavy disapproval. “He’s a gentleman, dinna ye ken? Not
one of yer flirts down at the tavern.”
“Sorry, Mum,” her
daughter said, not sounding the least bit sorry.
“Is Lady Margaret at
home?” Royal asked with some exasperation.
“And is her ladyship
expectin’ ye?” Mrs. Campbell asked a mite warily.
“Not entirely,” he
hedged. “But Lady Ainsley will not be surprised to see me. We’re good friends.”
The cook eyed him,
clearly dubious.
Royal gave her a coaxing
smile. “Perhaps you could tell Lady Margaret or Lady Ainsley that Royal
Kendrick has ridden up from Castle Kinglas. I apologize for appearing so
abruptly, but my brother, the Earl of Arnprior, asked me to convey his
greetings.”
As might be expected,
invoking Nick’s title tipped the scales in his favor.
“Betty, take Mr.
Kendrick straight up to the front parlor,” said the cook. “Then see if Lady
Margaret is available.”
“Aye, Mum.”
“Take him straight to
the parlor,” the cook reiterated. Betty rolled her eyes, but nodded.
Royal followed her
through a swinging door, then up shallow steps and into a narrow corridor
running toward the front of the house. They emerged into the entrance hall, a
handsome, somber space with stone floors and paneled walls covered with large,
ornately framed portraits of presumably Lady Margaret’s ancestors. He could
swear they were eyeballing him with the same suspicious regard he’d encountered
from the servants.
None of it made any
sense.
Betty opened a door off
the hall. “Please wait in here, sir.”
He limped past her into
the room. “Thank you. And if Lady Ain—”
“I think Lady Margaret is
takin’ a nap,” the girl interrupted. “I’ll pop up and check.”
“Could you please tell
her I’d like to see her as soon as possible?” he asked, grasping the fraying
ends of his temper.
“If she’s awake, I’ll do
just that.” She flashed him a cheeky grin before smartly shutting the door.
Royal muttered a few
curses to relieve his spleen, then made his way to a red velvet chaise by the
fireplace. If only he’d thought to ask Betty to fetch some tea—or, better yet,
whisky, since the long day had taken a toll.
Easing down onto the settee,
he looked around the spacious and well-appointed drawing room. With expensive,
rather old-fashioned furnishings, good carpets, and splendid silk drapes
swagged back with extravagant gold cords, it was obviously for formal use.
Still, despite its splendor, there was an air of rather sad, faded gentility. A
thin layer of dust coated the furniture, suggesting little use.
After ten minutes, his
leg stopped aching quite so fiercely, so he got up to inspect the fine
landscape over the fireplace and the excellent collection of Meissen porcelain
in a pair of glass-fronted cabinets. That took up perhaps ten minutes, after
which he returned to the settee. After an equal amount of time, all spent
straining his ears to detect any signs of life in the hall, he decided enough
was enough.
Mentally cursing
eccentric old ladies and young stubborn ones, he stalked out to the entrance
hall. Only the dust motes were stirring, dancing in the bolts of sunlight
coming in the narrow windows set high in the wall. Two corridors led off from
the central space, one back to the kitchen and the other likely to more drawing
rooms and the dining room.
That meant he should
head for the spiral staircase at the back of the hall and the family rooms on
the upper floors. He just hoped he didn’t have to search the entire bloody
house to find Ainsley. God knows what he might stumble into. A mad monk locked
in the cellars wouldn’t surprise him in the least.
When he reached the top
of the stairs, a long hall ran straight to the back of the house. As he
followed it, a thick carpet runner muffled his footsteps. Royal could usually
move as quietly as any man raised to hunt and track in the Highlands, but his
limp was more pronounced after the long ride. Bad enough to be skulking about
like a common criminal, worse to sound like a peg-legged pirate while doing so.
The first door he came
to was open, so he stuck his head in.
And almost fell flat on
his face.
Sitting on a chaise by
the bay window, her slippered feet resting on a stack of pillows and a book
propped up on her belly, was an exceedingly pregnant Lady Ainsley Matthews.
**
Kindle: https://amzn.to/2uR6rOJ
Nook: http://bit.ly/2va4cmv
Apple:
https://apple.co/2q85cVD
Kobo: http://bit.ly/2uKsy9k
Book Depository: http://bit.ly/2ENbJ2u
Walmart: http://bit.ly/2D8hjuY
Audio: http://bit.ly/2Oa5W6z
Bio: Vanessa Kelly is a USA
Today Bestselling, award-winning author who was named by Booklist,
the review journal of the American Library Association, as one of the “New Stars
of Historical Romance.” Her Regency-set historical romances have been
nominated in a number of contests, and she has won multiple awards,
including the prestigious Maggie Medallion for Best
Historical Romance. Her books have been published in nine languages.
Twitter:
VanessaKellyAut
THE HIGHLANDER WHO PROTECTED ME spins off from THE HIGHLANDER’S PRINCESS BRIDE (Improper Princesses 3).
No comments:
Post a Comment