Lost with a Scot E-Book

Lauren Smith

• Herausgeber: Lauren Smith
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: The League of Rogues
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Seitenzahl: 457

Beschreibung

Brooding, intense, passionate…

These are the three things Anna knows about the mysterious man who rescues her when she washes up on the shores after Scotland after surviving a shipwreck. With no memory of who she is except her name, she must rely on this darkly handsome Scot, Aiden Kincade as she searches for answers about her past. The more time she spends with Aiden, the more his heated looks, and fiery kisses ignite desires she never knew she had. But she fears that finding out who she is will only tear her and Aiden apart.

The last thing Aiden Kincade expects is to find a beautiful woman half-drowned while he rides along the beach. But the moment he takes her into his arms, he realizes that this is the woman he has dreamed about for years, the woman who had been prophesied to bring about his death should he dare to love her. And yet denying his love for her is as impossible as drawing his next breath.

It’s clear from the moment they meet, that fate has brought them together. But as Anna’s past begins to surface, and a terrible danger looms over her, Aiden fears that he might lose everything and everyone he holds dear unless he can find a way to defy destiny.

Leseprobe

LOST WITH A SCOT

THE LEAGUE OF ROGUES

BOOK XVII

LAUREN SMITH

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Epilogue

Historical Note

The Earl of Zennor

About the Author

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2022 by Lauren Smith

The League of Rogues (R) is an officially registered Federal Trademark owned by Lauren Smith.

All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitutes unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

ISBN: 978-1-956227-22-2 (e-book edition)

ISBN: 978-1-956227-23-9 (print edition)

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CHAPTER1

September 1821

Ruritania

Anna Zelensky was lost. Dark branches reached overhead to block the crescent moon. Roots protruded from the black soil to trip her as she tried to run. She couldn’t say what she was running from, but she knew if she didn’t escape it she would die.

“Help.” Her voice was reduced to a raspy whisper. “Someone, please, help me.”

It seemed she was always running from something in her dreams. Something was coming. Whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

The shadows of the trees lengthened, and she heard breathing in the dark wood.

She started to run again, fleeing whatever now lurked in the dark.

She skidded to an unceremonious halt as her eyes lit on the old oak tree. She knew it, had passed by it many times throughout her childhood. It was a marker for . . .

“The enchanted well,” she breathed in relief knowing where she was now. She changed direction toward where she knew the oak marked the well-worn path. Her gaze darted about, searching for the circular cairn of stones, knowing she should have seen it by now, but it remained out of her reach. Her lungs burned and her feet were bruised from the uneven path, but she pushed herself to reach the well. Most people avoided it—it was said to have been created by vengeful fairies, full of dark magic. But she had never feared it. She’d been told that there was magic in her blood. The well would help her—it always had before, at least in the land of dreams.

In the midst of a clearing, the gray stone well was revealed to her desperate eyes. She ran toward the edge, her hands gripping the cool rocks. She peered over the edge into the water below, which was still and glossy as a mirror. Her face was reflected back at her.

The surrounding woods trembled with the howls of the beasts that were now close enough to smell her fear. She knew she had but moments before she was attacked.

“Help, please . . . ,” she whispered to the water. The surface rippled, and her reflection vanished. A tall, dark-haired man with solemn gray-blue eyes peered back at her. He was beautiful, his face full of hard angles, strength emanating from his features as he gazed back at her through the water. Her lower belly quivered in a foreign longing that she’d never known before she first saw this man in the water.

Slowly, he reached for her through the water. His hand broke the magic seal between his world and hers. Milky water droplets from the crescent moon shining above dripped down his hand, making her realize he was truly reaching for her, that she could touch him.

“Take my hand, lass,” the man urged in a low, rich voice with a Scottish accent. She’d never been to Scotland, but she knew of it from tales her mother told her. It was a wild, faraway land that matched the man in the water.

The howl of beasts in the woods made her suck in a breath in terror. She glanced at the woods, then back at the man in the water.

“I don’t know how to leave. I don’t know how.”

“Ye’ve got to trust me,” the man said. “I canna protect ye if ye arna willing to take my hand.”

Anna thrust her hand out, grasping his and pulling hard.

She flew awake with a little cry, and it took her a moment to remember where she was. Her silk nightgown was damp with sweat, sitting up in a plush four-poster bed. Her heart was still beating hard in her chest, but her brain was catching up and realizing, It was just a dream. It was just a dream. She wasn’t in the woods; she had been dreaming. Anna was in her large four-poster bed at the Summer Palace, her family’s royal residence. She was safe. No beasts were hunting her, no branches had caught and torn her clothes. She hadn’t really been in the forest; it was just a dream like all of the others. She’d dreamt so many nights of the man’s face in the well. But tonight’s dream felt more . . . real. As if it had truly happened.

She stared at the embers burning in the hearth across the room as her mind seemed to finally accept that she was safe.

“My lady!” Her lady’s maid, Pilar, a dark-haired Spanish woman, appeared in the doorway that linked their rooms. Pilar stared at her with worry. The candle she held illuminated her in the dark.

Anna rubbed at her face with her palms, gently massaging her cheeks. “I’m all right, Pilar, truly. It was just a terrible dream. I’ve had so many of late.”

Her maid came to her bed and set the candle down on the nightstand, then eased beside her and put an arm around her shoulders, giving her a gentle squeeze. Pilar had been her maid for ten years. She’d come to work at the palace when Anna was only twelve, and Pilar had been a girl of sixteen then. Pilar was more like a sister to her than a maid in many ways, and she trusted the woman with all her secrets. Along with her parents and her twin brother, Alexei, Pilar was one of the people Anna trusted most.

“It was that dream, the one where I’m in the woods and the man in the enchanted well tries to save me.”

Pilar was silent a moment. “Your grandmother had enchantment in her blood. Perhaps you do as well. She was gifted with the sight, and most of her visions came to pass. Do you believe what you saw was something that will happen?”

Anna considered it. Was she like her grandmother? She’d always been told she was. But visions of the future? A man couldn’t reach through the water like that and save her.

“I don’t think monstrous beasts in the woods and the wishing well are real, at least not as they are in my dream,” she admitted. “Perhaps my imagination is overactive.”

“Water is a powerful thing to dream about, milady. Do you trust the man you see in the water?” Pilar asked.

“I . . . I do.” Was it possible to trust someone she had never met and likely wasn’t even real? She’d seen him so often and for so long that she could answer no other way. Trusting him was like trusting herself.

“Go back to sleep, milady. Dawn is but a few hours away, and you need your rest.”

Her maid kissed her forehead, and Anna lay back in her bed and pulled her blankets back up around her. She had many court duties to perform in a few hours—the life of a princess was never truly her own.

She’d only just started to fall asleep again when a bitter smell teased her nose. She shifted uncomfortably but couldn’t escape the scent. She opened her eyes and peered into the darkness, trying to see what was causing the smell. The distant light of a red dawn illuminated the edge of her window. The light flickered and wavered, dancing with the shadows nearest it. That wasn’t right . . . there were no trees outside her window that would make the light move if stirred by a breeze.

She took a deeper breath, and the bitter scent turned acrid, a smell she recognized with horror.

Smoke . . .

The light on the windowsill wasn’t dawn’s early light, but a fire’s angry glow. She threw off her blankets and shoved her feet into the pair of walking boots she kept by the foot of her bed.

“Pilar!” she shouted as she ran to find a gown that she could get into quickly. Her maid burst into the room, still in her nightgown, and sniffed the air.

“There’s a fire!” Pilar gasped. “Oh God . . .”

“I know. Dress quickly! We must go!” Anna pulled on a dark-green gown with laces up the front, but her hands were shaking so badly she just hastily knotted the ribbons.

She had to find her parents and brother, and then she needed to help the servants and palace staff escape. Once Pilar was dressed, they quickly exited Anna’s chamber into the corridor. Smoke drifted along the arched ceilings of the palace above them.

“Cover your nose and mouth. Try not to breathe in the smoke,” Anna warned her maid. They lifted their shawls up around their faces as they bent low while running to avoid the smoke gathering above them.

Screams and shouts filled the hazy corridor. The crack of pistols and the firing of rifles in the distance was eerie and terrifying as they echoed down the halls through the smoke. Suddenly, a figure loomed out of the shadows and crashed into them, knocking Pilar to the floor. When Anna heard her maid’s cry, she hurried over and pulled Pilar up to her feet.

One of the palace footmen barreled into them. He tried to rush past them, but Anna caught the man’s arm. He was trembling, and she saw blood on his chest.

“What happened?” she asked. “Are you all right?”

The man’s eyes grew wide with terror as he looked into her face. “It’s not my blood. It’s the cook’s. They murdered the cook and the scullery maids . . .” He shook his head as if to rid himself of a nightmare. “Men are here for you, princess. They are coming for you. You must escape! Run!” Then he turned at the sound of heavy boots thudding around the distant corner of the corridor. “I’ll hold them off.”

He pulled out the short sword that all footmen carried when they were in the palace. It was ceremonial and barely sharp enough to cut bread. If he tried to fight anyone with it, he would be killed.

“No, come with us.” Anna was not going to let the man face whoever was coming for her. If she could find a blade or a pistol, she could fight as well as any man, and she would, too, to save her people.

“Someone must hold them off. Not even you can fight them. There are too many!” the footman said. “Go and live, princess.”

Pilar gripped her arm and jerked her down the hall and around another corner. A moment later, they heard the clash of steel and the shouts of men at war.

Thoughts of her parents and the dangerous men who had come to burn down her world were pushed to the side as she heard Pilar’s whimper of fear as they quickly moved from shadow to shadow down the hallway. She would find out what was truly going on once she could ensure Pilar’s safety. If her parents and Alexei were not outside to greet her, she would find a way back into the castle to search for them.

“We must find Alexei,” she whispered to Pilar as the smoke and flames forced them to turn from the hallway that would lead to her brother’s rooms. Her stomach dropped as the darkness ahead of them crackled with the destructive force of the fire. Her body was moving by itself, her mind screaming about his safety, and the heat of the flames singed the air around her. Pilar pulled her back.

“The gardens,” Pilar said. “We can reach his rooms from the southern gardens.”

Encouraged by their new plan, Anna hurried with her maid toward the door that led to the south part of the royal gardens.

When they stepped into the cool, clearer air of the gardens, the smoke thinned. They were alone, at least for now, but a wall of fire separated them from Alexei’s rooms.

Anna stared at the flames. “We have to find a way to get to him.” She would never leave her twin behind. They were inseparable, two halves of a whole . . .

“We can’t, my lady. Alexei has his best friend William, one of the loyal palace guards, who was assigned as his bodyguard. William will watch over him. My duty is to take care of you. We must go. Milady, please!” Pilar begged, her face streaked with tears.

Only her maid’s fear made Anna agree to find a way to escape the danger on the palace grounds.

She prayed that William would be able to see him safely out of the palace.

More fighting broke out somewhere in the palace, and the horns of Ruritania sounded as the loyal palace guards fought against whoever had started the battle to defend the Crown. Flames leapt along the tops of the roof of the Summer Palace, devouring all the wood and blackening the stone. Anna stared up at the growing inferno from the garden, her body frozen, her mind blank with grief and fear. Her whole world was burning.

“My lady!” Pilar hissed, tugging hard on Anna’s hand. Once more, they were running through the hedgerows of the luxurious palace grounds. A figure suddenly leapt out at them, and Pilar screamed. Anna took up a defensive stance, ready to protect herself and her maid however she could. She’d been trained in the use of many kinds of weapons, including her own hands.

“Anna?” a familiar voice croaked hoarsely in the dark.

“Alexei?” She ran to the cloaked figure and threw herself into his arms.

“Thank God you’re both unharmed.” Her brother coughed from breathing in the smoke. But he held her close, hugging her so tightly she almost couldn’t breathe.

She was almost laughing insanely with panic and relief, but her twin wasn’t. His face was hard and his eyes full of pain.

“Alexei . . . ,” she began uncertainly.

“You have to go to the harbor. Board the Ruritanian Star. It’s waiting for you.”

“Me? What about you? Where are Mother and Father—?”

“They’re gone, Anna,” he rasped.

“Gone . . . What do you mean, gone?” She felt a wild hysteria building as she tried to process what he was saying.

“Uncle Yuri killed them. He almost killed me. If not for William, I would be dead.” Her brother’s face was dusted with smoke and streaked with tears. “He has turned half the army against us. We never even knew the devils were inside the walls until it was too late.” He ushered her and Pilar into the shadow of the garden wall at the edge of the palace. “Now go. Run to the docks. Take this.” He pressed a heavy coin purse into her hands.

“Aren’t you coming with us?”

Her twin smiled sadly. “I must stay and rescue any who are still loyal to us. Now that Father is gone, I am king, and I must stay with our people. Yuri will not spare them in this fight. The Star will take you to London. Speak to King George. Bring back soldiers to help us. I need you to do this for me . . .”

She was shaking her head, not wanting to leave him. “No. Alexei, I can’t—”

“You can, sister. You have always been braver than me—that is why you must go. You have the heart of a queen, and King George will want to help you once he hears you speak of these atrocities. When it’s safe, I will send for you. Until then, William and I will be fighting to take our home back.”

Anna threw her arms around her brother’s neck. “Keep your promise, Alexei. I cannot live in a world without you.” She kissed his cheek and let him go, even as her heart was breaking.

She and Pilar ran for the woods on the edge of the castle grounds. The sky was now red with hellish flames, a stark contrast to the dark woods between her and the distant harbor. She looked back only once, hoping to see her brother watching them, but the archway that led back to the gardens and the palace beyond was empty except for firelight.

The dream she’d had so often of late proved to be prophetic that night as she and Pilar fled through the dark forest. The howls of men hungry for royal blood echoed all around them, and Anna and Pilar did not stop.

We must reach the water, she thought over and over again. The water would save them. The water would carry them away. She prayed that her brother would survive. She had lost everything else. She could not lose him as well.

* * *

September 1821

Scotland

Aiden Kincade kicked off his blankets as he struggled to wake. Old, painful memories of his tyrannical father left him quivering with fear and rage. He sat up and covered his face with his hands, letting out a shaky sigh before he dropped his hands and stared unseeing at the room around him.

How could a man long dead still strike such fear into his heart? Aiden was twenty-seven, long past the time when nightmares should frighten him. But it always seemed so real whenever his father appeared in his dreams. The scars his father Montgomery Kincade had given him, both physical and emotional, were ever present for him in a way that his siblings seemed to have escaped. Brock, Brodie, and Rosalind all shared his abusive history with their father, but his siblings had all have moved on with their lives, whereas Aiden couldn’t manage to shake off the pain that lingered. It made him feel all the more alone for it.

His mother once said he was born with the wild spirit of her ancestors in his blood, the old warrior clans. That wild spirit had caught both his father’s eye and his scorn. Montgomery had secretly helped the English government crush a Scottish rebellion years ago. He, more than most, despised the old ways. The clans, the lairds, the kilts. All of it. And so Aiden became a target for his father’s venom.

Aiden climbed out of his bed and went to wash his face in the porcelain basin. The weak morning light was gray, and he could smell the rain upon the breeze that drifted in through the half-open window of his bedchamber. He washed his face, the cold water helping to banish the lingering murkiness of his dreams.

Something stirred in the corner of his room behind an old overstuffed armchair. Aiden clicked his teeth softly as a pine marten called out from beneath the legs of the chair and stretched, almost catlike. Its coat was a rich glossy brown that blended with the wood of the trees. Aiden had rescued the wee beastie when he had found its front paw caught in a hunter’s snare.

It had taken him half a day to woo the marten into trusting him before he could release it from the snare without it biting him. Once he had freed it, he carried it home to treat its wounds. Thankfully, the paw had escaped infection, and the marten had been free to return to the wild after a few weeks, but like many of the creatures Aiden encountered and assisted, the marten seemed perfectly content to stay at Castle Kincade.

Along with the marten, there was also a female badger, Fiona, who enjoyed sleeping in his brother Brock’s bed, which always amused Aiden because Brock’s name actually meant badger. They also had a pair of river otters in the lake who sometimes came up to play in the garden fountains. There was even a small tawny owl.

He’d named the owl Honey because her black, brown, and gold speckled feathers reminded Aiden of the honeycombs of bees. Honey roosted in the castle’s library, and Aiden had built a muslin flap entrance into one of the nearby windows where the owl could scuttle out onto a ledge on the outside of the castle and fly off to hunt when she needed to.

Aiden was lucky that neither of his brothers and their wives seemed to mind the comings and goings of the creatures. Even luckier for him, the two new occupants of Castle Kincade thought it was sweet how he nurtured the wee beasties. His sisters-in-law, Joanna and Lydia, seemed to enjoy the odd fox that sunned itself by his window, the doves that roosted in the hall, or the other various injured animals he brought home to heal. He wasn’t sure how he’d gotten so lucky. His brothers had married English lasses who were compassionate and kind, especially considering that for most of their lives, his brothers hadn’t been exactly predisposed to the English, by and large.

Aiden was secretly amused at his two older brothers having married into English families as they were both quite proud of their Scottish blood.

Even their younger sister, Rosalind, had married not one but two Englishmen. She had first married an older man with a kind heart years ago to escape their father, then as a wealthy widow had found her true match in her second husband, a powerful English baron.

Aiden’s brothers had quite thoroughly mixed themselves into the lives of their wives’ families, while Aiden had managed to escape this. He didn’t mean to be apart from everyone else—it was just his way. His mother and siblings had understood that about him, but not his father.

He felt safest and most comfortable when he was alone or with his animals. Distrusting other people was an issue he was constantly trying to overcome. His father had hurt him the most, and his brothers hadn’t always been able to protect him, nor could his late mother. He’d often dreamed of running away to England or Wales or perhaps even farther, but he had stayed in Scotland because it was his home, and he loved his brothers and sister too much to leave.

Aiden dressed in a pair of buckskin trousers and a shirt, not bothering with a waistcoat. He left his bedchamber and walked down the hall, the pine marten trailing behind him as loyal as any hound. He came down the grand staircase and glanced up at the restored arched ceilings of the castle. Several months ago, the castle had partially burned in a fire that almost killed Brock and Joanna.

Despite how much work and money the repairs had required, the restoration of the castle had proved a positive experience for everyone. It felt like a new home now, one more welcoming, full of sunny memories rather than painful ones.

The marten wound herself through the gleaming wood spindles of the staircase before meandering off her own way to some other nest she had hidden in the castle. Sounds of laughter echoed down the hall from whatever it was that currently amused Brock and Joanna. No one would miss Aiden if he disappeared for an afternoon. No one ever did.

He headed to the kitchens, where their cook left out a bag of meats, cheeses, and fresh bread for him on the days she guessed he might go riding, which was usually every other day. He took the bag from the countertop while the plump cook had her back turned and slipped out the nearest door toward the stables. He was very good at going about unseen when he wished to, which, given his height, was an impressive skill.

The stable hands greeted Aiden and politely stepped back as he visited each of the horses in their stalls. The horses bumped his hands with their noses, eager for attention. He chuckled and stroked his fingertips down the bridges of each horse’s nose and fed them clumps of sugar. When he reached his own horse, Thundir, named in Gaelic after the storm he was born in, Aiden put a harness on him, but no saddle. He rarely used them. He put a light blanket upon the horse’s back and mounted up using a small footstool nearby. He rode Thundir out of the stables and toward the distant hills. Thick, building clouds towered above them in the sky, creating fast-moving shadows on the bright gold grass. The hills were adorned with hues of pink and purple heather blossoms.

He bent low over the beast’s neck to whisper into his ear, “Chase the clouds.” He had a strange feeling that he was not running away from but toward something for once. Whatever it was, he would find it. His heart was calling for him to find it. He sensed that when he did find it, the peace he had longed for all his life would finally be his.

CHAPTER2

One month later

The North Sea, off the coast of North Berwick, Scotland

Anna and Pilar never saw the storm approach as their ship crossed the North Sea. Nor did the captain of the Ruritanian Star or his crew. A cold north wind rose up foul and fierce when they were almost all the way across the sea, headed toward England.

Under orders to stay below in their cabin, Anna and Pilar huddled together as the ship rose and fell upon mountainous white-capped waves. Pilar rushed over to a bucket in the corner to be sick, and Anna knelt beside her maid, holding her hair back from her face and sharing soothing words while she rubbed the other woman’s back.

“That’s it—take a breath and we’ll be out of the storm soon,” Anna said, but the words tasted like a lie. She had a terrible feeling that the storm would be the end of their voyage.

After several hours, she coaxed Pilar to lie in bed. Moments later, a sailor pounded a fist on their cabin door.

“My ladies, we’re taking on water. We’re abandoning the ship. You must come!” the man shouted.

“Abandoning the ship?” Anna frantically pulled Pilar up to her feet. They had slept in their clothes the last several days, so there was no need to worry about their state of dress.

They stumbled up the gangway and onto the deck. The captain was unfastening a lifeboat from the side of the ship. It was being lowered over the side when he saw Anna and her maid, and he waved them over frantically. Anna guided Pilar toward the boat first, despite her protest.

“My lady—Oh!” Anna pushed Pilar’s back, and the captain’s first mate caught her and settled her in the boat. The captain stepped in next, and Anna followed him over the side of the ship. The captain held out his hands to catch her, but just then a mighty wave rolled over the ship and his hands slipped. For a brief instant she hung in space, and the pit of her stomach dropped before she plunged into the waves far below.

She sucked in a breath before dark, gray water closed over her head. The icy water cut through her body like a knife. The weight of her skirts and boots pulled her down into the depths. Fatigue began to set in, weighing Anna’s limbs down, but something deep within her was kindled to life, as weak as a small candle in a storm, but still a flame.

She remembered the man from the enchanted well in her dreams. He was racing toward her, the horse beneath him a dark, dappled gray. Shadows and light flickered upon his face as he rode and bent low over the horse. She somehow knew he was riding as fast as the wind itself, although the images were moving slowly.

“Trust me . . .” His words echoed inside her head.

That small flame grew brighter within her, and some latent strength returned to her. She kicked, clawed, and fought to reach the distant surface of the sea far above her. She was the daughter of kings and queens. She was descended from an ancient line of warriors. She would not let the sea claim her life.

Breaking the surface with a cry, she forced air into her searing lungs. She wiped seawater from her eyes but saw no sign of the lifeboat she’d hoped to find. There was nothing about her but the wreck of the Ruritanian Star. The ocean had torn the ship to pieces.

She swam toward the flotsam of timbers and planks, hoping to find something to catch hold of to stay above the water. A long, thick mast drifted past and she caught it, curling her arms around it just as a wave smashed into her. Holding her breath, she sank down and then bobbed back to the surface with the mast. She gasped for air and searched for any distant outline of land or the lifeboat that held the other survivors.

There was no sign of the boat, but she did spot the silhouette of land. It was so far away . . . too far away. And she was so very tired . . .

Anna bound her arms in the loose ropes that were attached to the mast to help keep herself above the water in case she passed out. Then she kicked toward the distant silhouette of land until her body surrendered to fatigue and she slipped into unconsciousness.

“Trust me . . .” The comforting words came to her somewhere between the waking world and one of her dreams. Pain became distant as the cold crept through her until she was too numb to stay in the land of the living . . .

Violent pain returned, smashing her head and chest. Then pressure on her lips, more pain and pressure. She wanted it to stop, but it didn’t. It was rhythmic, and that flame within her kindled back to life. She coughed as seawater exploded from her mouth so hard that she gagged. When she was able to draw a steady breath, she realized she was in someone’s arms and no longer in the sea. A man held her tenderly, his stormy gray-blue eyes searching her face as she gazed up at him.

Her lips parted in shock. It was him—the man from her dreams. Wet tendrils of rich dark-brown hair hung dripping above his eyes. She was confused and dazed as she struggled to remember how she knew him; she only knew that he must have pulled her into the world through the water. But why or how she didn’t know. Her skull ached as though someone had struck it with a fire poker, and her thoughts, which had seemed so coherent before, were now tumbling over each other like the waves of the sea.

“You—it’s you.” Then the pain in her head grew so fierce that she slipped into darkness once more. The last thing she heard was his voice.

“Who are ye, lass?”

* * *

The woman was still unconscious as Aiden cradled her against his chest. He stood and carried her out of the water and toward the sandy beach. Her body was cold and limp now, and her beautiful face was as pale as alabaster. A second ago her warm brown eyes had held him completely still, utterly transfixed, before she sank into unconsciousness and broke the spell she’d cast. Aiden had to get her back to the village before she perished from exposure to the cold sea.

He whistled at Thundir, and his gelding trotted through the shallow rolling waves toward him. He was glad he had saddled Thundir this time because he’d need the firm saddle to hold him and the woman in place. He settled her carefully over the front of the saddle and then climbed up after her. Then he pulled one of her legs over so that she rode astride in front of him.

He then leaned the woman back against his chest and took the plaid blanket he always carried with him and wrapped it around her to secure her to him. The woman made a soft sound, almost a moan, and shuddered against his chest as though aware of the warmth that the blanket was giving her.

“That’s it, lassie, hold on now,” he murmured to her, hoping she could hear him. The sudden and fierce protectiveness that this woman drew forth surprised him, but he had no time to think on why that was—he only knew that he had to save her.

Then he dug his heels into Thundir’s sides, and the horse sprinted forward. They rode hard along the beach until they reached a path that rose up the hillside toward the town of North Berwick. He pushed his horse to move as fast as he could without endangering them on the rocky trail up the cliffside. By the time they reached the bustling little port town, her wet gown had soaked the front of his own clothes clear through and he was shivering from the cold.

He rode straight to the inn where he had been staying the last few days as he waited for Brodie’s ship to arrive from France. He earned odd looks along the way with an unconscious woman in his arms, but he cared little for the thoughts of others, especially strangers. If anyone thought he’d done the woman harm, he’d prove them wrong later, once she was out of danger. As if somehow aware of his thoughts, the woman’s body began to tremble, and her lips, once the palest pink, were now turning a faint blue color. She made a soft sound again, a feminine whimper as if in pain, and the sound tore at his heart.

“Stay with me, lass,” he pleaded. “Stay with me.”

When he reached the inn, a stable boy of around seven or eight rushed toward him and caught the reins Aiden threw him. He had to get the woman inside and away from the chill of the Scottish air before she perished.

“Stable my horse and fetch the best doctor ye have and send him directly to my room. I’ll pay ye an extra shilling. Be quick—the lassie is deathly ill.” He handed the boy the first shilling. The little boy’s eyes grew as large as a hunter’s moon as he held up the coin.

“Yes, sir!” the lad piped up.

Aiden slid out of the saddle and carefully caught the woman as she slipped off, limp, back into his arms. For a moment, Aiden stared at the woman’s face, his world tilting wildly on its axis as he took in her features. He knew her face . . . He knew this beautiful creature from his dreams, and in that moment, he knew that if he lost her, he’d lose himself forever. It was a bloody miracle he’d been riding along the shore every morning for the last three days since he’d arrived here to wait for Brodie and his bride, Lydia to return from France. If he hadn’t gone riding today . . . He dared not think what would have happened to her.

Aiden crossed the courtyard and shouldered his way into the taproom of the inn.

Molly Tanner spied him carrying the woman in his arms and was instantly firing questions at him.

“Ack, laddie, what’s this now?” Molly, the innkeeper, was a formidable creature. A wiry figure in her late forties, with strong hands and hard eyes that softened a little when she realized it was Aiden.

“She washed up on the shore,” he said before taking the stairs to his room. He heard Molly come up behind him as he realized with a curse that he’d need to set her down to find his key.

“Let me, laddie.” Molly retrieved his key from his soaked coat pocket and unlocked the door for him. Once the door was open, he carried her into his room and gently laid her down on his bed.

Molly hovered next to him by the bed. “Washed ashore? There was a shipwreck, then?” Molly asked curiously. “Did ye see any cargo or—”

“Molly,” he growled softly, not taking his eyes off the woman on his bed, “that was not my concern. But men should be sent to search for other survivors. When the doctor arrives, send him straight up.” He fingered the hem of the woman’s wet, icy clothes, which no doubt kept her skin at a dangerously cold temperature. “And bring me any extra nightgown ye have, until I can get her one of her own. I’ll pay ye for it. She’ll not survive if we dinna get her out of these wet clothes.”

“She’s verra pretty,” Molly murmured.

Aiden sighed. “She’s naught but a wounded creature who needs my help. Nothing more.”

He knew Molly had seen his affinity for animals when he had rescued a horse the day before. The horse had been mad with pain after it sprained its front foreleg, and the rider, in his anger and haste, had wanted to put a bullet in the beast’s head. Aiden bought the horse from the man and wrapped the injured leg. Molly had marveled at the way he’d tended to the horse and calmed it. It was a skill he’d had ever since he was a child, but he forgot that when he was among people who didn’t know him, his way with animals tended to cause a great stir.

But this woman was not just another wounded creature. He had seen her before, many times in his dreams, the ones he had where the veil between dream and wakefulness was thinnest. In the dreams she was lost—always lost in a deep, dark forest, and he was always trying to reach her. As a boy, he had dreamt of a young girl, and now he dreamt of a grown woman. This woman. He’d never spoken to anyone of these dreams, not even his siblings.

How such a thing was possible, he didn’t know.

“Ye need a nightgown, ye said?”

“Aye.” He was barely aware of Molly leaving. His focus was almost entirely on the woman he’d rescued.

With tender hands, he removed her wet leather boots and rolled the stockings off her legs before he gently turned her over to undo the back laces of her gown and remove it. The clothes she wore were finely made, those of a highborn lady, and yet they were not overly extravagant.

He averted his eyes as best he could. It was impossible to ignore the beauty of her body as he revealed it, but his mind was focused on ridding her of the wet fabric. Then he peeled back the covers of his bed and tucked her naked body beneath the sheets and added a few logs to the fire to warm the room. He removed the soaked top blanket and retrieved another that was draped over the back of a nearby chair. He was used to the cold in Scotland, had spent his whole life in a drafty castle and often didn’t need as many blankets to sleep at night, but this woman needed as much warmth as he could give her. The blue tint began to fade as her cheeks warmed, losing that fearful white cast to her skin. Her mouth moved as if she was trying to speak, and she stirred fretfully in the bed.

“Rest now. Ye’re safe.” He placed the backs of his fingers against her forehead, checking for any sign of a fever. He remained at her side, frowning slightly as he studied her features over and over, trying to understand how the woman of his dreams, whose name he didn’t even know, was here with him now.

Molly came in once during the wait for the doctor and set a nightgown down on the bed and helped him hang the woman’s clothes by the fire to dry.

A quarter of an hour into his silent vigil at her bedside, the doctor arrived with the stable lad on his heels. When the doctor set his black leather case down at the foot of the bed, Aiden tucked a shilling into the boy’s open palm and ruffled his hair before sending him on his way.

The doctor was a younger man, perhaps only a few years older than Aiden. He offered his hand to Aiden.

“I’m Arthur MacDonald.”

He shook the man’s hand. “Aiden Kinkade.”

“Now, tell me what’s happened. I’ll look her over while ye talk.” The doctor reached for the sheets, about to pull them down, but Aiden caught his hand.

“I removed her clothes. She’s as bare as a newborn bairn.” He released the doctor’s hand. “I found her washed up on the shore with water in her chest. I cleared much of the water out, but she was drenched and her lips were turning blue.” He released Dr. MacDonald’s hand.

“Dinna fret. I will endeavor to examine her carefully.” The doctor lifted only parts of the sheet as he worked and kept his gaze averted whenever the woman had to be bared more openly for his examination.

“She has a nasty bruise on the back of her head. I see no other injuries except some bruises from a rope or some other binding on her arms. It’s her lungs I am most concerned with. It will be easy for her to catch pneumonia. She must be kept warm and dry and sleep elevated with her chest up. Feed her hot broth for the first day or so, and if she’s feeling better, she may have more substantial food. Avoid letting her have too much milk or cheese. They will make her cough worse when she starts to clear her lungs out. When she is feeling better, ye must get her up and walking. I’ve seen my patients do better when given exercise rather than staying in bed. The movement clears the lungs.” The doctor stroked his short, dark beard thoughtfully. “Ye dinna ken who she is?”

“No,” Aiden said quietly. “I was riding along the shore when I noticed debris from a shipwreck washing in. That’s when I spotted the lass in the shallows.”

“A shipwreck, eh? Any other survivors?”

He shook his head. “If there were, I didna see them.”

“Well, I’ll leave ye to see to her when she wakes. I’m only a short distance away. My home is the last house at the end of this road. Dinna hesitate to summon me.”

“Thank ye, Doctor.” Aiden shook the man’s hand again. Once Dr. MacDonald was gone, Aiden sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the beautiful woman from his dreams who had washed up on the shore. He couldn’t help but wonder if she was a selkie princess. He smiled at the thought. No, she was a fae princess. Only the fairy folk could make a woman this beautiful.

“Who are ye, lass?” he asked again, but the woman slept on, oblivious to him and his concerns for her.

Color was continuing to return to her skin, and her breathing was deeper. Her face, which even in sleep had seemed so strained before, had eased and her lovely features softened. He traced her dark eyebrows with a fingertip and then touched her lips, wishing he could warm them with his own in a burning kiss. In his dreams, he was always reaching for her, wanting to hold her, to kiss her, to love her until the world ended and began again and new stars burst forth in the night sky. But it was madness. Surely a woman in his dreams whom he’d never met couldn’t be real, couldn’t be this woman. His brothers would have insisted it was a mere coincidence, but Aiden believed in things his brothers did not, things like fate and destiny. This woman . . . was both.

“Whoever ye are, I will protect ye, always,” he vowed.

The woman gave a soft sigh, and her lips parted slightly as she murmured words too soft for him to hear.

* * *

Anna’s head throbbed. She wondered vaguely if she had drunk too much wine at dinner. She moaned and rolled, then winced as she rotated her head on her pillow. The twist of her body released something in her lungs, and she coughed hard as she lay on her side. She tasted salty water in her mouth and licked her dry lips. When she moved again, the pain on the back of her head twinged again.

“Ouch!” she hissed, and her sore throat burned at the single exclamation of pain. Sore throat? Why did she have a sore throat?

“Easy, lass, ye’ll hurt yerself.” A deep, rich voice spoke softly from somewhere nearby. She flinched and opened her eyes. For a second her vision blurred, and then she realized she was in a strange room with a strange man. But this realization was worse when she didn’t know what sort of room she should be in. The man was dark-haired, and his stormy blue-gray eyes were fixed on her in obvious concern.

“Who . . . who are you?” she demanded. She thought she had a vague memory of him and terrible, cold black water and then him again . . . in pale gray-blue water like the sky and how the sunlight had formed a ring of light around his head as he looked down at her.

“I canna understand ye, lass. Can you speak English?”

“Yes—yes, of course,” she said in English. Had she been speaking Danish? She knew the difference between the two languages and made the jump to English when he asked her.

“So ye speak more than one language,” the man mused. “Do ye have a name, lass?”

“Anna. My name is Anna . . .” Her voice trailed off as her memory came up with nothing after Anna. Why couldn’t she remember her own name?

“Anna what?”

A sudden fear rose in her so swiftly that her chest squeezed all the breath from her lungs.

“I don’t know,” she said with a gasp, then buried her face in her hands and wept. She felt out of control—she didn’t know who she was or where she was. It was terrifying.

“There now, lass. Dinna cry.” The man’s hand touched her shoulder, and his warm palm felt good on her bare skin. Bare skin? She lowered her hands from her face to see that her upper body was naked, but mostly concealed by sheets.

“Why am I naked?” she asked in a whisper.

The bedclothes covering her were warm but scratchier than she was used to, and she felt too warm and the air in this small room too stifling. She thought she remembered gentle fingers sliding cold, wet clothes from her skin. Had that been him? Had this man touched her? She should have been terrified, but somehow seeing his face, the kindness mixed with desire, made her blood stir in a way she didn’t fully understand.

“Yer clothes were soaked with seawater, and ye were freezing to death.” The man removed his hand from her shoulder and stepped back to hold up a nightgown. It was a plain cotton one, but it looked very comfortable.

“Is that for me?” she asked. She should have been afraid of this man. He was impossibly tall, his shoulders broad, and the outline of his muscled physique was clear in the way his waistcoat hugged his waist and the trousers he wore clung to his powerful thighs. But she felt no fear, only confusion.

The man’s face reddened. “Aye. Do ye want to put it on now?”

“Yes.” She accepted the nightgown, and he turned his back while she stepped out of bed, wobbling a little as her legs felt too weak to hold her up. She had only a moment to pull it over her head and let it slip down her body before a wave of dizziness swamped her.

Strong arms caught her and lowered her onto the bed. His deep, subtle scent reminded her of old forests with trees so ancient they had seen more centuries than men had on earth. She buried her head against the man’s throat, wanting to take in more of it. It was a scent that felt familiar, comforting in all the strangeness around her.

“You’re so warm,” she whispered. If she hadn’t been so dizzy and hurting she would have questioned his motives, but right then she took the comfort that she needed from him.

A rich chuckle rumbled from his chest.

“The room is still cold. I’ll add more logs to the fire.” He tucked her beneath the covers, then turned away to tend to the crackling fire. She had a moment to admire the lean, muscular form of him. He was truly beautiful. He wore dark-brown trousers and a simple waistcoat with no fine embroidery, yet he carried himself with a quiet confidence that spoke of a noble spirit. She wasn’t sure how she knew that, except to say that she felt oddly in tune with this stranger.

A delicious fire burned in her belly as he crouched in front of the flames. He reached for two logs and placed them with care on the fire, whereas other men would have tossed them in carelessly. That was something she had noticed about him. Everything the man did was careful and controlled. It made her feel safe somehow, though she couldn’t say why.

She cuddled deeper beneath the warm bedding. “Who are you to me?” she asked.

“I dinna ken,” he replied, and his words only added to her confusion. Wouldn’t he know if he knew her? She tried a different question.

“Do you have a name?”

“Aye, lass,” he replied, still with his back to her as he used a poker to nudge the logs.

“Will you tell me what it is?” She waited expectantly for the man to answer.

He straightened, placed the poker back in the metal stand, and faced her. Dark hair fell into his stormy blue-gray eyes. They reminded her of the sea. Full of mysteries that would never be solved.

“Aiden Kincade.” He made a courtly bow that prompted her to smile.

“And how did we meet, Aiden Kincade?” She remembered him mentioning she’d been found freezing to death in seawater-drenched clothing.

“I found ye drifting toward the beach on the waves. Ye washed up from a shipwreck.”

“Shipwreck?” She mouthed the word, baffled.

“Aye, lass. Whatever poor souls sailed with ye must have perished. I didna see anyone else among the wreckage as ye washed in.”

A shipwreck and no memories and . . . She touched the back of her head and winced again.

“Careful.” He moved toward her but halted inches from touching her, as if remembering they were strangers and he shouldn’t touch her. Something about that filled her with tenderness, that he cared about her enough to breach whatever rules of society he followed here in his land.

“The doctor said ye must’ve struck yer head on something. Ye have bruises too. Ye canna remember anything that happened?”

She closed her eyes, trying to remember. She thought she remembered the ocean . . . and fighting for air. But perhaps that was her imagination trying to fill in the blank spaces. All she truly remembered was his face . . . both through a dark pool of water and again in the pale sea as he rescued her.

“Ye also seemed to ken me,” Aiden said as he sat on the edge of her bed, close to her.

Rather than be frightened by his proximity, she was comforted. “Ken?”

“Know,” he enunciated.

“Did I?”

“Aye, ye did. Ye said, ‘You—it’s you.’” He spoke the words in a more English accent than his own.

Anna twisted her fingers in the covers, crumpling them in her lap.

“It’s strange, but I feel as if I do know you,” she said after a moment. “Not that I could say how.” The fire crackled, and her skin felt too warm now.

Aiden studied her face, and the intensity of his eyes on her only heated her more. The familiarity, that connection to him she couldn’t explain, tugged at her mind again—as if she should know this man anywhere. He swallowed and shifted closer on the bed, his lips parting as he continued to look upon her. His male beauty took her breath away. It was as though his features had been carved by angels.

Someone knocked on the door. He went to answer it. A woman stood there with a worried look on her face as she peered around Aiden to look at Anna. She was middle-aged and had a fierce expression on her face that softened slightly as she saw Anna sitting up.

“I hate to bother ye, but ye’d best come out and check on that horse with the bad leg. That fool McPherson said he wants it back now. I can watch over yer lassie.”

Aiden’s eyes darkened. He looked back at Anna. “Dinna move from this bed, lass. I must go, but ye need your rest. I’ll be back with food.” And just like that, the tall Scottish stranger was gone. That was something she’d recognized in the last few minutes. His accent was Scottish, as well as the woman’s who had knocked at the door.

Was she lost in Scotland?