Wake Me With a Kiss: A Fairy Tale Retelling (Regency Fairy Twists Book 1) (2 page)

“Damned mutt.”

Hamish paused to scan the hills. The blasted dog was too small to be
seen amongst the heather and tall grasses. He’d been searching for nigh on two
hours now and still no sign of him. He scrubbed a hand across his face and
peered into the distance. Why had he let the animal out? Now he would likely
have to spend the rest of the day hunting for Rupert instead of touring his
cousin’s lands as he had planned. Not to mention all the work he needed to do
on the castle. Since returning home to Scotland, he had yet to have a day that
was not taken up with learning his new role, and he certainly could not afford
a day off dog hunting.

He climbed up the next slope and peered down toward the line of the
woods. Here his land ended.

His land.

How strange it was to think of it as that. As the second cousin of a
baron, he had never expected to inherit anything, yet here he was, nothing more
than a Highland soldier, suddenly a laird and living in a castle in the
lowlands.

And fully aware of how poorly he filled the role. His cousin Malcolm had
been an excellent earl and had trained from a young age for that role. The next
heir would have been perfect too, had he not caught pneumonia some three days
before Cousin Malcolm’s untimely death and followed him to the grave.

Hamish shook his head as he marched down toward the trees. As for
himself, he had been shot at, hit by shrapnel, nearly killed by cannon fire, been
involved in vicious hand-to-hand fighting, and yet had survived. Who knew being
at war was safer than remaining in Scotland?

Something amongst the grass caught his attention. He paused and peered
at it. Not a dog, to be certain. He moved closer. A woman. Closer still. No, a
girl. He tilted his head. A sort of girl. A girl-woman perhaps. She had the
figure of a woman, to be certain. Even lying down, he could see there were
ample breasts and some curvaceous hips. However, her face was far too girl-like
with a petite mouth, small nose, and pale lashes and eyebrows. Her hair was
technically fair but not as light as the few fair women he knew who likely had
a little help from cosmetics to get that bright, light look.

Of course, he was able to observe all this at his leisure because she
was sleeping. Fully and completely asleep. He looked at the basket at her side
to see a small joint of ham. Why the devil was this young woman picnicking on
her own with a mere slab of ham?

He coughed. Hamish supposed he could have let her sleep on, but it did
not seem safe to leave her out here all alone where anyone could do anything to
her.

Not to mention, he was wildly curious about this woman. He had only been
in Scotland mere weeks, but he had met a few of the local families and his
tenants, and she certainly was not one of them. He would have remembered.

He coughed again.

Lashes fluttered and mossy green eyes stared up at him. A crease
appeared between her brows, and she jerked up to sitting. “Who are you?” Her
gaze raked him from head to toe, making him far too aware of his traditional
Highland garb that had no place in the lowlands.

“Who are ye?” he demanded.

Her scowl deepened and she stood, snatching up her basket as though he
might be very interested in her lone piece of ham.

“I asked first.”

“But yer the trespasser.”

“I certainly am not!”

Those mossy green eyes were not so mossy when they stared up at him. In
fact, they were becoming more interesting by the moment, and he’d certainly
never been interested in moss. Dark green at the center, radiating out to an
almost sea green, then finished with a ring of dark color that he supposed had
given him that plant-like impression.

She peered at him as though he was crazed, and he realized he was staring
into them for too long.

“Yer on my land,” he stated.

Yet again, her gaze ran the length of him. He’d never been so aware of
his height and stature before. In battle, his oversized body had been useful—apart
from when it came to ducking bullets. But now he felt like an ogre or a giant,
come to feast on this wee little lass.

However, though there was certainly distrust in her gaze, she did not
seem frightened of him. In fact, she raised her chin and directed her challenging
stare at him.

“This is the land of the Laird of Baleith.”

“Aye.”

She tilted her head. “The laird is six and fifty years.”

“He was.”

“Was?”

“Aye. He died several weeks ago.”

“He did?” Her eyes widened and she took a stumbling step back. He instinctively
reached for her and helped her straighten, but she shook off his touch.

He flexed the hand that had met her skin. A mild burning sensation had
struck him the instant they had touched. He tried to shake it from his mind but
he could still feel it, still recall the softness of her skin.

Hamish opted for looking over her head. Golden strands of hair curled
from it in wild disarray. What had once been a braid now looked to be a misshaped
wodge of hair. Slightly brighter strands curled around her face, drawing
attention to the pointed chin and tightly pressed together lips.

Damnation, now he was looking at her mouth.

He forced his attention back to her eyes. Aye, they were far too
intriguing but if he continued on the path he was on, he’d end up staring at
her figure and he could not allow that.

“The laird had a fall. He died from his injuries, unfortunately.”

“I did not know.”

“Well, now you do.”

“But why would I not know?”

“I’m not sure. Do ye know all that goes on around here? Forgive me for
not telling ye as soon as he hit his deathbed,” he said, his tone dry.

“There’s no need to be rude. I am just sure my aunt would have known.”

“I can be as rude as I like, lass. Yer standing on my land.”

“You cannot really be a laird. No laird would speak in such a manner.”

Whoever this stranger was, it was apparent she felt she should know all
that occurred on his private land. He chuckled. “Well, this one does.”

She clutched the basket close. “You should be ashamed, speaking such
lies and besmirching the name of a good man.”

“Aye, Cousin Malcolm was a good man, I shall agree with ye on that, but
I dinnae think me speaking the truth counts as besmirching.”

“Cousin Malcolm?”

She took several steps back, nearly stumbling again. Though he went to
steady her again, she dodged his touch, much to his disappointment. He could
not help wonder if it would feel the same, if that strange tingling sensation
would strike him again.

“Aye, Cousin Malcolm. The late laird. Ye remember him? We were just
discussing him.”

“There is no need to be sarcastic.”

There wasn’t, she was right. And yet he could not help himself. He was not
sure why but this lass encouraged it in him. She clearly did not feel he was
good enough to be a laird. Frankly, he wasn’t sure he was either. Yet it riled
him that she should judge him instantly. Who was she anyway?

“Ye shall have to forgive my manners,” he said as sincerely as he could.
“I understand it is a shock, and I’m a merely lowly highlander to yer eyes. If
it’s of any consolation, it was a shock to me too. I never expected to inherit,
but, alas, I am the last male heir.”

She eyed him for several moments, her lips puckered as though she had
eaten something sour. At some point, that determined chin and those thin lips
had grown appealing. He could not quite think when. Even when all wrinkled into
a barely visible pout, he liked them. Her obvious disdain for him could not
seem to change that.

What a fool he was. He was addled in the head. That was it. The war had
damaged him, and now, he could only like women who clearly loathed him.

“You really are the laird?”

“Aye. I returned from the war especially to be one.” He smirked.

“I see.”

He wasn’t sure what she saw, but at least she was no longer arguing with
him that he was not in fact who he said he was.

A blur of fur barreled toward him, and he turned his head in time to see
Rupert scrabble up the lass’s legs. Her sour expression vanished, replaced with
one that was utterly compelling. A wide smile and soft eyes greeted the dog as
she lifted him up.

“There you are,” she cooed, letting the dog lick her cheek.

“Ye damned mutt,” he grumbled. All day searching for him and the animal
did not care one bit that he had been worried to death for the dog he had
picked up on his way to Scotland. “Ye see a beautiful woman and forget yer
master instantly.”

The woman turned her attention to him. “He’s yours?”

“Aye. Well, sort of. I picked him up as a stray in Newcastle.”

She petted the dog’s head. “I thought he looked well though he seemed to
be hungry this morning.”

“He’s always bloody hungry,” he muttered and scowled. “What do ye mean ‘this
morning’?”

She laughed. The sound did odd things to his insides. If he weren’t
careful, he’d be staring at her, open-mouthed as if he had never seen a lass
before.

“He caused a little bit of trouble at my aunt’s house this morning. I
think he was looking for food so he snuck into the kitchen.”

Hamish shook his head. “Ye’ll have to forgive him. Rupert has not yet
learned how to behave civilly. I have been trying to keep him in the castle
until he’s better trained, but he escaped this morning.”

“Rupert?” She gave the dog a scratch behind the ear. “That’s an odd name
for a dog.”

“I’ve heard worse,” he said tightly, unwilling to explain his choices to
this nosey woman.

“He looks more like a Charlie or…or a Lucky.”

“Well, he’s Rupert, if the lady has no objections.”

“I did not mean to…” The dog wriggled from her arms and burrowed his
head into the basket. The woman laughed. “I suppose you are still hungry.” She
set Rupert down and the sandy-colored animal made quick work of dragging the
ham from the basket and gnawing it down to the bone.

“Was that for him?” he asked.

“Yes. I was worried he was a stray. Mrs. Shaw frightened him off, so I
wanted to make sure he was well.”

“Well, apart from some very bad manners and the habit of running into
places where he does not belong, Rupert is a healthy mutt.”

She peered at the dog. “He really is a mutt, is he not?”

“Aye, there’s certainly no breeding in him.” The dog had been matted beyond
recognition and riddled with fleas when he had begun following Hamish around.
But he could not resist taking him in, cleaning him up, and feeding him. “I
think he remembers the days he was starving and now he wants to be fed
constantly, fearful of the day he might no’ get a meal again.”

“Poor thing.” She gave Rupert a good fuss before straightening. “I suppose
I ought to return to my aunt’s. It must be past the morning meal.”

“Aye, well past, I reckon. Ye know, ye should not sleep out here.
Anything could have happened to ye.”

“I know these lands well. I have never come to harm yet.”

“Ye should be grateful it was I that happened upon ye and not some
ruffian.”

“Ruffians frequent your land, do they?”

“Not yet. Only stubborn, sleepy lasses do apparently. But I wouldnae be
pleased should ye come to harm on my land.”

Gaze narrowed into sharp slits, she eyed him. “Well, if you are done
insulting me, I shall take myself off of
your
land and you can be rid of me, my laird.”

Now why did his title sound like an insult? So far it had simply sounded
strange and foreign, but the way she had just said it, she might as well have
been calling him the worst of men.

“See that you do.”

“Good day to you, my laird.”

She gave a hasty dip that was no doubt not meant at all genuinely and
snatched up her basket. Hamish was forced to grab Rupert before he darted off
after the woman. He held the dog tight until she had vanished into the woods
and gave him a rough rub on the head. Rupert issued a sort of huffing sound and
settled into his hold.

“I know the feeling, mutt. I know the feeling.”

The scent of books
surrounded her. Rose inhaled deeply and smiled. At least in the bookshop she
would not run into any brazen Scotsmen, nor would she think of them.

Certainly not. She would not recall his blazing blue eyes or the curl of
his black hair. Nor would she think of his thick legs, dusted with hair.

Shaking her head, she forced her attention to the leather spines,
decorated with gold. She only had a little time before Aunt May would want to
return home so she needed to find something new to read. She picked up a red
book and flicked it open.

What sort of a man wore Highland dress in the lowlands anyway? Should he
not be attempting to blend in rather than stand out? The huge length of him in
a kilt had certainly surprised her. As a laird, would he not want to appear
respectable?

She chuckled to herself. Respectable…what an impossibility that would be
for that man. He had said he was a soldier. Well, it certainly showed. She did
not know many people but she knew gentlemen did not behave as he did,
practically insulting her and speaking so coarsely.

Rose stared at the title page. But, of course, he had looked terribly
charming with the dog. The way his giant hand had ruffled its head. Not to
mention he had picked Rupert up as a stray. That was certainly admirable and
surely meant he had some kindness in him.

Peering harder at the text, she huffed and slammed it shut before
putting it back. Why could she not even enjoy herself in her favorite place in
the world? It was all that wild Scotsman’s fault. She had thought of their encounter
continuously for the past day. Why she should be so preoccupied with him, she
did not know, but she could only conclude it was because she rarely met anyone
so disagreeable.

“Nothing to yer liking, Miss Rose?” the shopkeeper asked.

She glanced his way. “I am struggling to choose,” she admitted.

He came out from behind his desk, his long, lanky frame seeming to bend
and wave as he did so. Mr. Sherbourne had owned the bookshop since before her arrival
in Scotland and had always seemed immensely tall to her, even as she grew. His
arms were like thin twigs and all of his clothes never quite fit him properly.
But even though he had seemed like a giant to her the first time she had met
him many years ago when her aunt had brought her here, he had a kind twinkle in
his eye and he had taken to her as soon as he’d realized her love of books.

The highlander had been tall too, she thought vaguely. Though entirely
differently built and he had no soft, inviting twinkle to his eye. His
shoulders had stretched impossibly wide, testing the width of his plaid and
shirt. Rose doubted Mr. Sherbourne could ever stretch anything.

“I did get in a few new titles the other day,” he said, drawing her
attention to a stack of books on the desk. “There was one I thought ye might
like.”

“Only one?”

He chuckled. “Well, the others were philosophy.”

She smiled. “Yes, I suppose those would not interest me much.”

“I should be heading to Glasgow in a few weeks. If ye have any special
requests, I would be delighted to bring ye some books back.”

“You know what I like, Mr. Sherbourne.”

“That I do. Exciting tales of daring feats. Which is why I thought ye
might like
The Mysteries of Udolpho.
”
He handed it to her. “If ye are still reading history books, I might be able to
find something for ye. Ye were reading about Ancient Greece last time, were ye
no’?”

“I was but I think I have had my fill.” She flicked open the book and
read the first paragraph. “I think I shall take this but…would you have any
books on…” Heat filled her cheeks “on the history of the Highlands?”

The man beamed at her. “Well, naturally I do. It’s admirable that ye
should want to learn about the country in which you live. Of course, Highland
history is a little more interesting than that of the Lowlands. I should imagine
ye want to read of the many battles and infamous soldiers.”

Her smile wavered when she considered the soldier she had met yesterday.
“Y-yes.”

“If ye just wait a moment…” Mr. Sherbourne moved past her and deep into
the recesses of the small cottage that had been converted into a bookshop.

Books were stacked in every corner while some teetered precariously on
wonky wooden shelves. Every inch of space was taken up with books, and when she
had first visited with her aunt as a young girl, she had been mesmerized. Her
aunt had bought her a few books with beautiful engravings, and her love of
books had been secured. Once she could read bigger books, there had been no
stopping her.

The problem was she feared she was going to run out of books to read
soon. There was only so much reading one could do and her favorite writers
simply could not keep up with her.

Mr. Sherbourne returned with two books on the battles of the Highlands
and one about clan warfare. He handed them over, and she brushed her fingers
down the covers. “I shall take them. And this one too.” She lifted the fiction
title he had given her. “They shall keep me busy for a while, hopefully.”

“Indeed. Yer just like me, Miss Rose. We read quicker than writers can
write.”

“Yes.” She sighed. “I shall have to find a new hobby if I am not
careful.”

“I hope not.” Mr. Sherbourne smiled softly, his already creased eyes
crinkling further. “I shall return from Glasgow with many new and exciting
books for ye to read, I promise.”

“I look forward to it. Will you put these on my aunt’s account?”

“Of course. Enjoy yer history lesson, Miss Rose.”

“Thank you.”

Books in hand, Rose stepped outside and hugged her shawl about her
shoulders. Gone was the beautiful weather of the previous day, replaced with
clouds and a cold breeze. Her Aunt May waved a hand in her direction and
hastened along.

“Did you find some books, dear?”

“Yes, Aunt.” She showed her the titles.

“Scottish history?” She peered up at her. “I thought you preferred
ancient history.”

“Well, I decided I needed a change.” That blush was on her cheeks again,
she just knew it. But simply because she had met a highlander did not mean she
was interested because of him. He had merely reminded her that there was a lot
she did not know about Scotland. She might have lived here all her life but she
was very aware of being English by birth and her aunt was not a native Scot,
having moved here shortly before her parents’ deaths with Mrs. Shaw and Miss
Taylor.

“I am sure it will keep you occupied. Are you ready to return home?”

“Yes. Did you get the fabric you wanted?”

“I did indeed.” Aunt May gave a bright smile, one that made Rose want to
hug her tight. “At an excellent price too.”

From underneath her cap peeked white curls with a lingering touch of
red. Rose had seen a portrait of Aunt May when she was a young girl, and she
had been quite beautiful. That beauty remained, if in a wrinkled fashion. But
her joyful eyes and wide smile never failed to make her seem utterly wonderful
to Rose. Here was a woman who had taken in a newborn child when she was far
past the age of being a mother herself. She would always be grateful to her for
her diligent care.

“I am glad.” They began their walk back to the house, following the main
street past the houses and greeting the few villagers that were out and about.

The houses in Baleith were close together, their uneven roofs and walls
nearly touching in places. Each whitewashed wall was touched with a little mud
and dirt, but the houses were tidy and well-kept. Her Aunt May’s house could be
considered much grander than all of them, but no one ever treated them any
different, in part likely helped by Aunt May’s careful ways. The house could
easily hold many servants, but for the two of them, there was no need, and they
were not extravagant. Aunt May never discussed her finances, but Rose imagined
keeping such a large house was costly enough.

“Aunt May,” Rose started. “Why did you not tell me there was a new laird
at the castle?”

Her aunt paused and frowned, holding her basket tighter to her side. “I
did not really think about it, my dear.”

“I met him yesterday.”

Auntie May stopped completely. “You did?”

“Yes. Did you hear from Miss Taylor about the dog?”

“I did. They argued for a full morning about it.”

Rose giggled. “The dog belonged to the new laird it seems.”

“And you returned it to him?”

“No, we met accidentally. I had ventured out of the forest in search of
the dog.”

Aunt May sighed, and they continued on up the country lane that led
toward the river. “You should not have gone so far. I presume you met this man
whilst you were on his land?”

She gave a sheepish smile. “Perhaps.”

“Rose, I have given you a lot of freedom. You really must use it
sensibly. As much as you are not confined by society like many young ladies, it
does not do to spend time with strange young men.”

“I am more confined than some,” she muttered.

Aunt Rose took a few more bold steps ahead of her, her head lifted high.
“You are a lucky young woman and I think you forget that. Now I will not talk
of this man any longer. The chances are the new laird will have much to occupy
him and you shall not see him again.”

Rose hurried to catch up. “Would it not be prudent to pay him a visit?
He is our neighbor, after all.”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wished she could call
them back. Why should she wish to see such a man again? Their meeting had been
nothing but disagreements. However, what she said was true. Why would Aunt May
not wish to pay her respects to the new laird?

Her aunt turned her gaze on her, eyes narrow. “If he were a gentleman,
he would call on us.”

“I am not sure he’s a gentleman,” she murmured.

“Well, then we have no reason to call on him.”

“I didn’t mean it quite like that, Aunt. Merely that he is new to his
lairdship and it was unexpected. I am sure he was not at all prepared for such
a position. He said he was a soldier.”

Aunt May paused in front of the gate leading to their garden. “You had
quite the conversation with this man, did you not?”

“Only a little one.”

“You must stay away from him, Rose. For your own good.” Aunt May flicked
open the gate and barged through.

Rose stomped after her, slamming the gate shut. “For my own good? Why
must it be for my own good? Why must I always remain away from people? You will
not even let me spend time with the village ladies.”

Aunt May’s expression softened. “You will never be one of them, Rose. I
would hate to see you hurt. As for the laird…a man in his position has many
expectations upon him. He will have much to think on and many duties to fulfill.
He will hardly have time for you.”

“I do not want his time.”

Her eyebrows arched. “Really, my dear?”

“I do not,” Rose insisted. “In fact, he was quite disagreeable.”

“So you wish us to visit with a disagreeable man?”

“I merely thought we should fulfill our duties, as kind neighbors. Once
that is done, I would happily never see the man again.”

Her aunt gave another sigh, though Rose could not quite figure out why
the idea of visiting him vexed her so. She had been quite excited when the
previous laird had generously given them his time.

“We shall see,” Aunt May said so quietly Rose nearly missed it.

Rose scowled and tried to crush the wild butterflies that seemed to have
landed in her stomach at the thought of seeing the laird again. What
foolishness was this?