Daring the Highlander: A Scottish Historical Romance Novel Read online

  Daring the Highlander

  A Scottish Historical Romance Novel

  Lydia Kendall

  Contents

  A Little Gift for You

  Scottish Brogue Glossary

  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

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Epilogue

  Extended Epilogue

  Disciplined by the Highlander

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Also by Lydia Kendall

  About the Author

  A Little Gift for You

  Thanks a lot for purchasing my book. It really means a lot to me, because this is the best way to show me your love.

  As a Thank You gift I have written a full length novel for you, called Falling for the Highlander. It’s only available to people who have downloaded one of my books and you can get your free copy by tapping the image below or this link here.

  Once more, thanks a lot for your love and support.

  Lydia Kendall

  About the Book

  He wanted to make her his; for now and infinity to come.

  Bernadine Nibley grows up in a household nurturing an insurmountable hatred for Scots. When her father insults a Highland Laird while attending the ball of the year, her reality shifts abruptly in the most unexpected way.

  Donnan Young, powerful Laird of his clan, leads the brutish life of a Highland warrior. Short-tempered as a bull, he loses his mind when an obnoxious Englishman attacks him, speaking badly of his kin. Deciding to avenge him, he kidnaps his daughter from under his nose.

  But while the lass ultimately wins his heart, he fights to win hers…

  Until the day mysterious occurences start happening in Vernuit Castle. With an unseen con man lurking in the shadows, the couple has only a few hours to outrun the evil that has been unleashed upon them...

  Scottish Brogue Glossary

  Here is a very useful glossary my good friend and editor Gail Kiogima sent to me, that will help you better understand the Scottish Brogue used:

  aboot - about

  ach - oh

  afore - before

  an' - and

  anythin - anything

  a'side - beside

  askin' - asking

  a'tween - between

  auld - old

  aye - yes

  bampot - a jerk

  bare bannock- a type of biscuit

  bearin' - bearing

  beddin' - bedding or sleeping with

  bellend - a vulgar slang word

  blethering - blabbing

  blootered - drunk

  bonnie - beautiful or pretty

  bonniest - prettiest

  cannae - cannot

  chargin' - charging

  cheesin' - happy

  clocked - noticed

  c'mon- come on

  couldn'ae - couldn't

  coupla - couple of

  crivens - hell

  cuddie - idiot

  dae - do

  dinin' - dining

  dinnae - didn't or don't

  disnae - doesn't

  dobber - idiot

  doesn'ae - doesn't

  dolton - idiot

  doon - down

  dram - a measure of whiskey

  efter - after

  eh' - right

  'ere - here

  fer - for

  frein - friend

  fey - from

  gae - get or give

  git - a contemptible person

  gonnae - going to

  greetin' - dying

  hae - have

  hald - hold

  haven'ae - haven't

  heed - head

  heedstart - head start

  hid - had

  hoovered - gobbled

  intoxicated - drunk

  kip - rest

  lass - young girl

  leavin - leaving

  legless - drunk

  me - my

  nae - not

  no' - not

  noo - now

  nothin' - nothing,

  oan - on

  o' - of

  Och - an Olympian spirit who rules the sun

  oot- out

  packin- packing

  pished - drunk

  scooby - clue

  scran - food

  shite - shit

  sittin' - sitting

  so's - so as

  somethin' - something

  soonds ' sounds

  stonking - stinking

  tae - to

  teasin' - teasing

  thrawn - perverse, ill-tempered

  tryin' - trying

  wallops - idiot

  wee -small

  wheest - talking

  whit's - what's

  wi'- with

  wid - would

  wisnae - was not

  withoot - without

  wouldnae - wouldn't

  ya - you

  ye - you

  yea - yes

  ye'll - you'll

  yer - your

  yerself - yourself

  ye're - you're

  ye've - you've

  Chapter 1

  Bernadine Nibley wiped a stray lock of hair from her face as she slowed her horse to a trot. She had just finished a late afternoon ride, a bracing jaunt through Hyde Park. It was her favorite part of the day, the one time when she did not have to think about propriety or the season or any of the other myriad things that usually occupied her thoughts. All she needed to do was focus on the path ahead of her, the reins in her hand, and the wind on her face.

  But as she neared the stables at the back of her father’s large townhouse, she saw the man himself standing with his arms crossed and one foot tapping impatiently. And suddenly, all the good feelings that came with outdoor exercise vanished.

  “Bernadine! You should have been back an hour ago. What did I say about staying out too late?” Her papa told her as she alighted from her horse and handed the reins off to a footman.

  “I believe it was something about missing Lord Hammilton’s ball and the scandal it would create,” she told him, taking his arm as he led her back into the house.

  “Exactly. So what led you to defy my orders?” he said, a raised eyebrow and harsh tone telling Bernadine she would do well to give an honest answer.

  And so she did. She said, “Well, Papa, if you must know, the conditions were simply too good for me to waste. It is perfectly cool and clear out today, all the trees in the park are in bloom, and there was not a soul about, which meant I was able to go much faster than I ought.”

  Her father shook his head and patted her hand as they walked up the back staircase toward the front hall. “Well
, I suppose I cannot argue with that. But do make haste, my dear. We leave in an hour and a half, and I expect you ready not a moment later than seven o’clock.”

  “As you wish, Papa,” Bernadine told the man, smiling widely at him as she dropped his arm and made for the staircase.

  “And wear something befitting your station!” her father called after her. Bernadine was glad she was turned away from him, since it allowed her to roll her eyes without the danger of him seeing. She knew it was insolent, but the last thing she wanted to do that evening was get dressed up and attend yet another infernal ball.

  It was only her second season, and already she found the whole event rather tiresome. Making idle chitchat with men she didn’t care for, dancing until her feet were sore and her ankles ached, nibbling on cakes far too sweet for her own tastes. It was all such a bother.

  “Mademoiselle, do not scowl! It will give you wrinkles!” Anne, Bernadine’s maid, told her as she walked through the doorway to her chambers.

  “Oh Anne, do not fret,” Bernadine told the woman as she undid the hat from her head. The hair underneath was, to put it kindly, looking something akin to a bird’s nest, and Bernadine saw her maid wince when she surveyed the remnants of Bernadine’s carefully-quaffed updo from that morning.

  “Goodness, what do you do when you are riding that makes your hair always looks like this?” Anne tutted as she pointed Bernadine to the bath near the hearth. Bernadine smiled as she saw the steam coming off the water, already imagining how glorious it would feel to slip her tender, sore muscles under the hot water. But first, she had to undress.

  “I ride very fast and go against the wind, of course,” Bernadine said, allowing Anne to help her out of her jacket, chemisette shirt and skirt, the three of which made up her riding outfit.

  “Well, it will take me hours to fix this mess, and we do not have such time! You know,” Anne said. “When you marry, your husband will not allow you to go on such rides. He will not be nearly as lax with you as your father has been.” Anne punctuated her statement with a sharp pull on Bernadine’s stays, which loosened the strings enough for her to wiggle out of the contraption.

  “Then let us hope I do not marry for some time,” Bernadine said, relishing the pained look Anne gave her in response as she slipped the shift over Bernadine’s head. She did so love to tease her maid.

  And though she had said the statement in jest, there was a part of Bernadine that was reluctant to get married. She was twenty years of age, had had her debut two years before, and many of her female acquaintances were already married, however Bernadine was not going to settle for just anyone. She wanted the perfect man, but the more she looked, the more it seemed that there truly was no one suitable.

  Lord Hansen had been too talkative, Lord Finley too quiet, and Lord Fletcher had had the worst breath Bernadine had ever had the displeasure of smelling. It didn’t matter that they were some of the most eligible bachelors of the English ton, nor that they had all three proposed to her halfway through her first season. They simply weren’t right for her.

  Bernadine supposed she should count herself lucky that she had a father who was happy to let her find her own spouse. Many of her female acquaintances had been pushed into hasty marriages with frightful men because their families were worried that another proposal might not come their way. She, however, was free to refuse as many proposals as she liked, so long as she did eventually agree to one.

  However, sometimes Bernadine daydreamed that she need not wed at all. She would be perfectly happy to spend the rest of her days splitting her time between the family’s house in town and the estate in Cornwall, where the sea air, vigorous walks, and long rides along the cliffs always made her feel hardy and strong.

  But of course, ladies of her station had to marry. The Nibley family needed to maintain its position in society, and it could not do so with a spinster daughter. Her father might be content to let her decide her chosen husband and give her a few years to do so, since she knew he was reticent to let her go just yet, but he wouldn’t allow her to dilly dally forever. Her papa’s patience with her would run out eventually, and soon, Bernadine would have to make a choice.

  She just wished she had good suitors to choose from. Ones that would be the father she needed them to be, when the time came.

  “The men are so dreadful this year, Anne. Even worse than last year. Do you know half of them cannot even shoot?” Bernadine told her maid as she climbed into the bath, lowering herself into the tub slowly. “Can you imagine? A member of the English ton, a gentleman, not knowing how to work a rifle! It is a disgrace! An embarrassment! It—”

  “Does not matter! You are so picky, mademoiselle. Please, do me the favor of at least trying to make conversation with a man at this ball. Word has it that a great many new faces will be there. Perhaps you will finally take a liking to one, and we can move from this house into a gentleman’s estate!” Anne told Bernadine as she handed her a bar of soap with which to wash.

  “We already have a gentleman’s estate, Anne. My father’s,” Bernadine said, rolling her eyes.

  “It does not count,” Anne replied, huffing with displeasure as she began to comb through Bernadine’s hair, not bothering to be gentle as she undid each tangle.

  Bernadine snorted in rather an unladylike manner at her maid as she finished soaping up her arms and moved onto her legs. She knew the woman wanted nothing more than to be a lady’s maid to a wealthy, married woman, and Bernadine’s continued spinsterhood was doing much to infuriate Anne.

  “Fine, fine. I shall do my best,” she said as she handed Anne the bar of soap so her maid could wash her back. They were both silent during the rest of the bath, which took only a few minutes more. Time was of the essence, after all, and though Bernadine could happily banter with her maid all day, she knew that distracting the woman would only slow down the agonizing process of dressing and attending to her toilette.

  Anne had chosen a dark-emerald gown for the evening’s festivities, which, when paired with a gold necklace, pearl earrings and a simple plaited bun, were enough to make Bernadine look rather lovely, if she did say so herself.

  She left her room just before seven o’clock and made her way down the stairs quickly, taking them two at a time. She was eager to catch up with her father, who was waiting patiently for her at the door to their townhouse.

  Next to him was Guinevere, Bernadine’s nursemaid and old governess and the only true mother she had ever known. After Bernadine had grown out of the schoolroom, her papa had offered the woman the choice of a cottage in Cornwall, or a permanent place as a houseguest. She had chosen the latter, reasoning that she was used to being around company, and did not want to spend her last years on earth alone.

  “You look lovely this evening, my dear, but there is a devilish glint in your eye I do not like,” Guinevere said as Bernadine approached the two of them.

  “I was being horrid to Anne again. She is growing quite frustrated with my lack of husband,” Bernadine joked, leaning down and placing a kiss on Guinevere’s cheek. It was soft and unwrinkled, despite the woman’s advancing years. Bernadine sometimes wondered how it was that the woman who had nursed both her mother and her seemed not to have aged even a day.

  “I am sure that your quips and jokes do not help your cause,” her father told her, leveling her with a hard stare before breaking into a smile.

  Bernadine knew that most of the ton saw her father as a hard-faced, intolerant man. He was open with his opinions, many of which were of a rather negative variety, and he had more foes than friends. But around her, he had never been anything but her gentle, warm, loving papa.

  “Yes, well, it is your entire fault, really, Papa. You taught me to be headstrong and fearless and look where it has gotten me!” Bernadine said, smiling fondly at her father as she accepted his outstretched arm.

  “Indeed. Well, do be nice this evening. One of us has to,” he said, grinning at her.

  “Both of you enjoy your
selves. I imagine the party will be quite interesting. Two warring factions brought together to mend the strain that the malt tax caused us all. Why the government ever decided to pass a law taxing the Scots for their malt in the first place is beyond me!” Guinevere said, shaking her head.

  “But no matter,” she continued, waving the thought off with her hand. “Seeing Scots and Englishmen intermingling this evening should be fascinating,” she said, signaling for the footman to open the front door.

  “Perhaps if they were not so fond of their drink, they would not have made such a ruckus in the first place!” Bernadine’s father shouted over his shoulder. Bernadine saw Guinevere shake her head at him, but to her, she blew a kiss and mouthed, “Be good.”

  Bernadine nodded and whispered, “I will.”

  “What was that, dear?” her father asked, turning his head at her as they descended the last step in front of the house and made their way to the carriage door.