Taming a Laird's Wild Lady: Taming the Heart Series Read online

  TAMING A LAIRD’S WILD LADY

  TAMING THE HEART SERIES

  TAMMY ANDRESEN

  CONTENTS

  1. Taming a Laird’s Wild Lady

  2. Taming a Laird’s Wild Lady

  3. Taming a Laird’s Wild Lady

  4. Taming a Laird’s Wild Lady

  5. Taming a Laird’s Wild Lady

  6. Taming a Laird’s Wild Lady

  7. Taming a Laird’s Wild Lady

  8. Taming a Laird’s Wild Lady

  9. Taming a Laird’s Wild Lady

  10. Taming a Laird’s Wild Lady

  11. Taming a Laird’s Wild Lady

  12. Taming a Laird’s Wild Lady

  13. Taming a Laird’s Wild Lady

  Epilogue

  Taming a Rake into a Lord

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2017 by Tammy Andresen

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  1

  TAMING A LAIRD’S WILD LADY

  Scots border, Northumberland England 1856

  * * *

  ISABELLE MADDOX STOOD TUCKED, tied, curled, pinned and ready for auction. Her father, Lord Charles Maddox, despised it when she used that word, auction, but it was exactly how it seemed to her. Being on the border of Scotland, and in need of Scottish lumber, he thought to sell her off to the highest bidder.

  That is, if any of these men agreed. Her father had called a meeting with the bordering neighbors to discuss a business proposition. The fact said proposal came with a bride had yet to be mentioned. A small smile flitted across her lips. At least this meeting would be interesting.

  Though she hated to admit it, her father had married a Scottish woman for much the same reason and now loved her mother with all his heart despite his earlier trepidation about marrying a strong-willed Scot’s woman. He claimed the same would happen for her.

  So when their cousin, Barrett Maddox, wished to expand his shipping business from America to England and had commissioned more ships, he had come up with this ridiculous scheme to acquire the lumber. Her father firmly believed that if it had been the answer once, it could be so again.

  Now Isla stood, with her entire family, to meet several perspective Scottish suitors who were about to discover they were now part of the marriage market. While Lord Maddox remained convinced it would work, she had her doubts. As strong as he was, could he pull together a marriage where both the bride and bridegroom were unwilling?

  Attempting to dissuade her father, she had looked to her usual ally for help. But even her Uncle Haggis, from her mother’s side, said it was a verra good thing because she had too much wild Scottish blood to be married to a proper Englishman.

  Sighing, she tapped her closed fan against the overly cinched bodice of her gown, her corset nearly making it impossible to breathe. She wished her uncle were here and not hunting in Scotland. He always knew what to say to ease her mind.

  Her mother reached out a hand to still her movement. “Hush, child.”

  “If I were a child, this would not be happening.”

  “If you were still a little one, I would have worked harder to curb your wayward tendencies.” Her mother’s subtle brogue washed over her. The other woman’s smile was soft for her only daughter. Her mother loved her dearly, though Isla must disappoint her terribly. While other ladies her age curtsied and held teacups with perfect grace, she stood out amongst the fair maidens of England. A wild woman in a sea of societal debutantes.

  Because as they danced and fanned themselves, Isla had ran, rode, swam, shot, and spat with the best of them. That was until she had been trussed like a turkey. Her brother’s chums had initially been impressed with the raven-haired girl who could outride them bareback, but she had been forced to admit their looks had changed in the past few years.

  A shiver ran up her spine as a memory flitted through her mind. Her brother William’s once-close friend, Lord Riley, had caught her in the barn after a ride six months earlier. “My, but you’re a pretty one,” he had leered at her as he stalked closer. “A real, true beauty. And so wild. I wonder if you would ride me the way you ride that horse.”

  She had on a split-skirt riding habit, much easier to maneuver when on horseback, and it had been cold, so her boots were even on. There were times she went out riding barefoot and bare-legged. But her dark hair had come undone from its bonnet and bun and hung in a tangled silky mass down her back. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she had whispered. His look frightened her and her muscles tensed in readiness. Just when he lunged, she darted and made a dash for barn door. She wished she had her riding crop in hand.

  Riley lay chase, but Will suddenly stepped into her path. “Riley, I believe you were about to leave.” Fear gripped her at the quiet rage she had heard in Will’s voice. Never in her life had he spoken that way in front of her. It was more threatening than Lord Riley’s look.

  “It’s Lord Riley to you.” The other man had returned. Though she didn’t look, she could hear him sneering.

  Stepping around her, Will had grabbed Riley by his stiff upright collar and gave him a shake that must have rattled his skull. “Lord Riley, do not grace our doorstep again.” Suddenly, he let the other men go, and off balance, Riley fell to the ground, splayed on the dirt floor.

  “How dare you?” he spluttered without much volume, most of the vitriol now gone.

  Will grabbed him by the now-ruined collar and dragged him out of the barn. “Don’t move,” he growled at her over his shoulder. She could hear him muttering fiercely into the other man’s ear and the words “innocent” and “sister” floated back to her.

  When Will returned, he looked no less angry. “Isla,” his voice held a low fury.

  She clasped her hands. Normally, she would have argued her case, but Will had never found fault in her and it was though the tide was changing. Instead of fighting, Isla pleaded, her voice slightly winded and high pitched, “I’m even wearing my boots, see? Petticoats, pantaloons, not even mother could take fault.”

  His eyes softened. He reached out and grasped the ends of her silky hair, giving it a tug. He had been doing that for as long as she could remember. “Isla, it’s not that you’ve done anything wrong, this time. Unfortunately, it is time to accept that you are too beautiful to be gallivanting off by yourself. It isn’t safe.”

  “I’ll perish from boredom if I have to sit inside all day listening to those women gossip and prattle while stitching wedding quilts and dresses.”

  “I’ll not tell father, but you must ride with one of us. And you must keep your hair back and all of your clothes on.”

  While she hadn’t argued, Isla hadn’t agreed either. It would crush her spirit to be caged like that, although Will would not have issued the warning if he didn’t think it was necessary.

  Isla almost never cried. It was for babies and women who were weak. But that night, she had lain in bed and let the tears fall. It was the beginning of the end to the life she treasured above all else, and there was no real life for her without adventure.

  She snapped back to the present as, off in the distance, several riders appeared. Her mother reached over and tucked a curl in her perfectly coiffed chiffon.

  Moving her head to remove herself from her mother’s grasp, she scanned the approaching riders. There had to be eight of them, many wearing tartans. Hearing her m
other huff, Isla rolled her eyes. Her mother desperately wanted Isla to be a daughter of dresses and fashion, with kisses and cuddles, rather than a hellion on horseback.

  The blue, red, and green of the riders’ tartans came into focus. Brawny legs and wide shoulders graced the top of giant steeds. Perhaps, Isla’s uncle was correct that a Scottish bridegroom might be a good choice. They certainly were specimens of manliness.

  To her knowledge, there were three Scottish landholders whose land bordered her father’s. It was their sons who had been invited. She went through them in her head. Collin MacPherson was a good man, had been a good boy, but she had rarely given him her attention since she could best him, on a horse, swimming in a creek, or shooting a pistol.

  The features of Angus Mackinnon came into focus and she groaned inwardly, rude and often ill-kept, he had a terrible temper to match his brawny size. She could only pray he would be as appalled by the prospect of marriage as her.

  Scanning the group, she found Fergal Campbell amongst the men. A longtime friend, it gave her some measure of relief to see his jolly face, always filled with laughter and fun. While he inspired no deeper feeling, she found comfort in his presence here.

  A stranger in Campbell’s blue tartan rode near the front of the group with a child in front of him. Bigger than the rest, his dark eyes pierced into her. That couldn’t be Fergal’s brother Gavin? How could he be that much bigger than his brother, and who was the boy riding with him?

  As they drew closer, Isla seemed unable to tear her eyes away from the piercing dark gaze of the man. His features were sharp in a way that made him look nearly dangerous, but excitingly so. Well-muscled legs spread out from under his tartan to wrap around his steed. Narrow hips gave way to broad shoulders in a breathtaking display of manliness. He rode with an easy grace that hypnotized Isla. She could not look away.

  “That must be Gavin,” her mother whispered, sounding as awed as Isla felt. “I didna know he was so…. large.”

  “That is one word to describe him. What of the child?” Isla whispered back.

  Her father overheard them and gave them a frown. “Must be his son. Gavin’s wife bore him five years ago. If the child is here, I wonder where she is?”

  Isla shrugged. Gavin had left for school in London fourteen years prior and never returned. Once married, he had spent most of his time in London. It had been a source of irritation to his father.

  The men had moved close enough so Isla could see their individual expressions. Fergal grinned, in his usual way, more of the tension eased from her body and it relaxed for the first time that day. If it weren’t for the corset pinching her back, Isla may well have slumped over in relief. She gave him a genuine smile in return and glanced back at the man who must be Gavin, but his features were set in hard lines that displayed little emotion. The riders stopped a few feet away and her father issued a warm greeting. “Thank you all for coming. It is an honor to see you all again.”

  Each dismounted, as her father addressed them individually, “Lord MacPherson, you remember my daughter, Isabelle.”

  “Miss Maddox.” Collin made a mooning face in her direction and Isla stamped her foot, but no one noticed under the layers of voluminous skirts. Collin had always called her Isla. Why was he so willing to play her father’s game? She had been counting on these suitors being affronted by the news that the contract came with a betrothal but the way Collin was acting, he would welcome the news. Drat.

  Angus leered as he was announced, and her fingers clenched around her fan. If given the chance, she would knock his teeth out.

  Finally, her father turned to the Campbells. “Gavin, it has been a long time, and I’m glad to see you, but I must confess to be curious where your father is.”

  Gavin’s already stony features grew even harder. “My father passed this winter. I decided to tell you in person rather than write.” Like her mother, Gavin’s voice held a muted lilt that danced across her senses. It was a rich baritone that was almost musical. She would have enjoyed it immensely if not for the sad news it brought. John Campbell had spent many a times at their home and he would be missed.

  Her father’s face looked deeply pained for a moment but then it was gone. “I’m sorry to hear that, Laird Campbell.” He gave him the respect now due to the head of the household. “And your wife?”

  His is fingers clenched and Gavin’s jaw tightened. “She has passed as well.”

  The crowd gasped at the news.

  2

  TAMING A LAIRD’S WILD LADY

  Can I asked what happened?” Lord Maddox spoke what all were thinking. A new tension gripped the air. One such death was unfortunate, two was heartbreaking.

  “She died of consumption deep in the winter. My father passed a month later.” Laird Campbell calmly uttered without a hint of emotion to belie his feelings, his face a mask as he spoke. Isla’s own spine straightened. Gavin must be very strong, indeed, to bear the weight or such grief so stoically.

  Her father cleared his throat. “Perhaps we should step inside.”

  Isla sighed with relief. Usually she spent all day outdoors; however, with all the infernal layers of clothing she was wearing, sweat was traveling in rivulets down her back. How did aristocratic women put up with this daily? She didn’t mind beautiful dresses, but in the midst of summer heat, it was beyond ridiculous. The corset in particular made it difficult to breath or cool herself down.

  Angus moved next to her and she tried not to grit her teeth. Normally, she might have outstripped him to avoid his company, but not today. Her shallow breaths only allowed her to move at the slowest pace. No wonder her mother had dressed her such. Most likely she had picked the stiffest, most uncomfortable undergarment she could find. “You’ve always been a beauty, though today you are delectable. I might want to eat―”

  “Angus,” Will called from the back of the group, pushing forward. “What news from the North?”

  She tapped her fan on her stomach again, desperately resisting the urge to beat Angus with it. If ever there was a man who deserved a beating, it was him. Will gave her a long look and Isla understood his meaning. Will would keep Angus from becoming a problem, and she was not to beat these men. Pity.

  “Are ye still riding, lass?” Collin’s brogue washed over her. He was a handsome man with blond hair and eyes the color of the sea.

  “Not as much,” she replied, regret lacing her voice.

  Collin didn’t seem to hear her tone or didn’t care. He gave her a winning smile. “Well, I see you’re growing up.”

  Isla’s mouth fell open and then she quickly snapped it closed. That had always been the issue with Collin. He didn’t understand her. It wasn’t a passing fancy, she wasn’t being childish. It was who she was, singing in her blood like the sea to a sailor, the heather to a Scot. “And I see that you’ve not changed a bit.” She smiled back and he returned her grin, completely unaware it had been an insult and not a compliment. Her younger brother, Tom, gave her a long look over Collin’s head.

  As if to taunt her near heat exhaustion, Tom called over. “Collin, let’s swim this afternoon. The spring rains have the creek full to the brim.”

  “Scottish bath,” Angus cackled. “I’ll be joinin’ ye too.”

  Thomas was fifteen and full of life and mischief and often her partner in crime, but not today. He was leaving her behind to enjoy what she could not. Her mouth pinched and she was about to tap her fan on her stomach again when she sensed another set of eyes upon her.

  Glancing to her left, Gavin―or, rather, Laird Campbell―was assessing her. His look was as hard and uncompromising as it had been when he arrived. Butterflies flitted in her stomach.

  The doors swung open as several servants stepped out to greet their guests. Refreshments would be laid in the dining room and then everyone would sojourn to rest for the afternoon. More likely, the men would frolic in the river while she was stuffed into her hot and stuffy bed chamber to die of boredom. At least she’d be able to ta
ke off this blasted corset.

  Her father moved next to her, placing his hand under her elbow as they crossed the threshold. He motioned to Gavin who joined him on Isla’s other side. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” her father murmured.

  “And I yours. I know he counted you one of his dearest friends.” Gavin’s voice held the warmth his face did not.

  “He was a good man and a hard worker.” Her father hesitated and Isla remembered what had likely caused her father to pause. The last time they had seen the elder Campbell, he had not been himself. Prone to fits of anger and forgetfulness, he had made it nearly impossible to complete the simplest tasks. It had been such a marked difference from the kind man who excelled at every task he undertook. Isla had looked up to him like another uncle.

  “Had you seen him recently?” Gavin asked, a tic in his face betraying his pain. Would he be glad to know they understood the situation, or embarrassed they had witnessed a great man succumbing to illness?

  “Aye, he came last summer. He struggled to control…”

  “It got worse, much worse.”

  “And the estate?”

  Gavin hesitated. “The past few years have not been kind to the Campbell estate. I am trying to repair it.”

  “How bad is it?” Her father’s voice was grim.

  “Not that bad. I can correct it. He had a great many years of running the estate well.”

  Her father nodded. “You’ll get it back. I’ve every faith in you.”

  Isla listened in fascination, surprised they were discussing this in front of her. Though her father included her in plans for the estate, particularly when it involved horse flesh, their conversations were usually behind closed doors. It was a mystery why they were discussing this in front of her now.

  “Thank you for that. But, if you’ve a mind, a lumber contract would greatly help the cause.” Gavin glanced at her father, his eyebrows raised in question.