Wake Me With a Kiss: A Fairy Tale Retelling (Regency Fairy Twists Book 1) (3 page)

Today has been a bit
more of a success, Hamish concluded. He’d done little running around after
Rupert—though he had escaped his newly fashioned lead once—and he had not run
into any wild fair-haired lasses who clearly did not like him one bit.

Branson shut the door behind him and held out a hand for his jacket.
Hamish scowled. It would take a good deal of time to get used to being waited
on. Even as an officer in the army, he’d lived basically, sleeping on the
ground many a night and eating what little rations they had.

Unbuttoning his jacket, he handed it over to the butler.

“What time’s dinner?” he asked the rigid-looking man who clearly did not
approve of him one bit.

The butler would be in good company if he met that lass, Hamish supposed.
He’d yet to meet anyone who was thrilled to have a highlander as their new
laird.

“Whatever time you would like it, my laird.”

That was something else to get used to. Him giving the orders. Aye, he’d
been in charge of a small regiment, but he’d had other officers higher up than
him commanding him. He made the decisions with the men, not for them.

“Would Mrs. Finch be able to have it ready for seven?”

“Of course, my laird.” The butler dipped and moved in a silent, stealthy
manner that had Hamish wondering if it was a requirement of butlers to be able
to slip into a room without anyone noticing. The amount of times he’d found
Branson in a room as Hamish cursed to himself about something was beyond
ridiculous.

No wonder the man thought him barbaric.

He couldn’t blame any of them really. The Highland regiments had
garnered a fearsome reputation for themselves after Waterloo, and rightly so.
But while that meant they were admired by many, no one really wanted one as
their laird. Highland warriors were a novelty and nothing more as far as he
could tell. From his brief journey up the country, he had encountered varying
receptions and most swung from welcoming to affronted. A highlander was good
for a quick tale of the war but for nothing more.

He untethered Rupert, who ran off eagerly into the main hall. Baleith Castle
was perfect for the damned dog. Plenty of space for him to run off and cause
mischief. As for Hamish, he found it too large and too empty. The entrance was indicative
of the whole castle with high beamed ceilings, huge portraits, and claymores
and swords on the walls. A few hunting trophies scattered throughout finished
the vision that had likely been his Great, Great Uncle’s and had not been
updated since.

“Must ye let that dog run wild?”

He glanced up at the woman on the balcony above. His insides shriveled a
little.

“It’s his home as much as mine.”
And
not yers.

Marianne had somehow come with the house. His cousin’s long-suffering
mistress, she was refusing to leave, insisting that Cousin Malcolm wanted her
to remain at the castle and, goodness, would he really disobey his cousin’s
wishes?

However, there had been nothing in the will for her save a small sum of
money. Hamish understood well enough that Marianne had expected far more out of
this relationship than money. She had been after a ring. But, alas, Malcolm had
never taken the time to marry her and if the man had any sense, he never would
have done. An ageing beauty, Marianne had all the personality of a doorstop.

Marianne vanished through the arch in the stone, and he heard her
footsteps coming down the spiral stairs. He grimaced to himself. It had been a
good day touring the lands and checking on the herds. He’d finally felt as if he
had achieved something. But a moment in Marianne’s company could change his
mood rapidly. As much as he loathed the idea, he was going to have to offer her
more money to leave.

“Did ye have a good day?” she asked sweetly, her plump lips stretched
into a false smile.

“Aye, excellent.”

She skimmed her gaze over him. “Ye know, as much as us ladies appreciate
a braw highlander, ye need no’ wear yer kilt everywhere. Perhaps people would
receive ye better if ye dressed more…civilly.”

He narrowed his gaze at her, and her eyes widened a little. He did not necessarily
mean to be intimidating, but he had more than had enough of her.

“I’ll dress how I wish, especially in my own home on my own land.”

“Of course.” That smile flickered on her lips again. “I only mean to
help. Naturally, I watched Malcolm fulfill his role and if anyone knows what it
takes to be a laird, it’s me.”

Hamish could not disagree with that. No doubt Marianne did watch him
carefully. He noticed she watched everyone carefully. Calculating and clever
were two words to describe Marianne, which was why he had to be careful.

“I appreciate yer offer, Marianne, but a man must learn to stand on his
own feet. Ye’ll not want to remain here forever, locked away in a castle on yer
own, so I cannae rely on yer assistance. It wouldnae be right.”

“I hardly feel locked away.” She gave a light laugh. “This is my home,
Hamish.”

“
Was
yer home, Marianne,” he
said tightly. “It is mine now and I’d ask ye to remember that.”

“Surely ye dinnae want rid of me already? Ye would be so alone here. And
poor Malcolm.” She drew out a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed her eyes.
“He would have so hated for me to have to leave the place that has been my home
for so long.” The handkerchief vanished back into her mourning dress, and her
smile turned seductive. She sidled closer so that he could smell the sickly
fragrance of violets upon her.

Hamish cast his gaze down her. In spite of the black dress, Marianne’s
figure was spectacular. Her breasts were plump against the fabric and her hips
were perfectly rounded.

He ran his gaze up to her lips. Marianne was a good decade his senior
and the years were beginning to show. Creases lined her lips and her eyes. This
perhaps would not take away from her chestnut beauty had she been a nicer
person but, alas, once he had discovered—very quickly—the sort of person she
was, any remanence of attractiveness vanished.

“Would ye no’ rather I keep you company, Hamish? Ye must have been
alone, without a woman, for a long time during the war.”

He had, it was true. Aside from the occasional French or Spanish woman
looking for company, he had barely felt the touch of a woman during those harsh
years of fighting.

Her hand came to rest on his chest. His heart beat hard, and he prayed
she did not think it was for her. Because, in spite of all her efforts, his
mind had managed to swing to the first woman he had touched since his arrival
home.

The sleeping beauty.

There had been not an ounce of seduction in her and even less civility,
yet he could not deny that moment she had touched him had been the most significant
touch of his life.

Damnation, if he could not erase her from his mind now while the scheming
Marianne attempted to seduce him, would he ever?

There was only one thing for it. He’d have to find the lass again.

“Actually, Marianne, ye can help me.” He moved away from her touch.

“Wonderful. I knew I could help ease yer burdens. What would ye have me
do, Hamish?”

The way her voice dropped low left him in no doubt she was waiting for
an offer to take her to bed. That was never happening, no matter how desperate
he got.

“Do ye know the residents of a house to the west on the other side of
the forest?”

She scowled. “Yes. There’s only one house there. It’s Heath House. Why
should ye care?”

“They are my neighbors, are they no’?”

“Well I suppose…”

“There’s an older woman there and a young girl, I believe.”

Her hazel eyes darkened. “A crazed old lady and some strange young girl,
yes.”

“Did Malcolm no’ spend time with them?”

“He visited occasionally. He was a charitable soul. Goodness knows they
needed it. The house is big but they are without money or connection. Hardly
the sort of people ye should spend yer time with, Hamish, not whilst ye are
trying to make yer mark on the world.”

“What are their names, Marianne?”

“I dinnae see…”

“Their names, please.”

“Mrs. May Merriweather and her niece, Miss Rose.”

Rose. It suited her. Simple yet pretty. “Excellent, thank ye.”

“Ye are not intending to see them, are you?”

“I need to visit my tenants tomorrow. I dinnae think it impertinent of
me to call on them if the lady of the house is home.”

Marianne gave a huff. “They’re not worth ye wasting yer time on, I can
promise you that. Malcolm frequently invited them to dinners and balls but they
refused. Of course, Mrs. Merriweather likely understood that neither of them
were suited to the social events here at the castle. They could hardly compete
with the excellent company we keep here.”

“Aye, well, I dinnae think even I can claim to be able to compete with
them, so perhaps we shall get on just fine.”

Her expression grew bitter. “Ye should think more carefully, Hamish.
There are many expectations upon ye now. Yer no longer a soldier. If ye are to
make friends, ensure ye choose them carefully.”

“I plan to. I assure ye of that.” He gave her a cold look.

She huffed again and threw her chin up in the air. “I am going to
prepare for dinner.”

His cousin’s mistress headed back upstairs and he watched her strut
along the balcony to her bedroom. How much longer he had to feed and house her,
he did not know, but he would talk to his lawyers and get a settlement written
up as soon as he could. Unfortunately, that would mean travelling to Edinburgh,
and he simply did not have the time as yet.

A door slamming echoed through the castle. He shook his head to himself.
Marianne was the sort of woman who expected to have everything given to her
because of her looks. Unfortunately for her, they were fading fast and she
could no longer rely on them. Given that she was hardly a pleasant person to be
around, he doubted she would be able to entice any other man to look after her.
What had Malcolm been thinking, he often wondered.

But, then Malcolm could not have been so very foolish. After all, he
never married the woman.

Hamish took the spiral steps up to his bedroom and began to change for
the evening. This was something else that would take some getting used to. He
was used to remaining in the same clothes for days on end. Now he had someone
to pour his baths and Jefferson, his valet, was becoming increasingly frustrated
with his insistence that he dress himself.

But damn it, he was a grown man, not a child. He did not much like the
idea of anyone other than a woman undressing and dressing him.

One woman in particular.

Rose.

He smiled at the thought of her.

He would call on her tomorrow and try to be a little more charming than
on their first meeting. Perhaps she would still loathe him but if they were to
be neighbors, it was the right thing to do.

Grinning at his reflection, he unbuttoned his waistcoat. Aye, the right
thing to do. Visit the crazed old aunt and introduce himself. Perhaps even
invite her and her niece to dinner. Let the beauty shoot daggers at him over
the dinner table. It would be a lot more pleasant than sitting alone with
Marianne and the butler watching his every move.

Besides, maybe he could convince her he was more than just a rough highlander.

He eyed himself in the mirror, from his stubble chin and tousled hair
down to his hairy chest and thick legs. Perhaps not, but either way, it would
be amusing.

Rose blew a strand of hair from her face. The past few days had insisted
on being breezy and cool. After a morning in the garden, she likely looked like
a haystack. Pausing to admire her work, she stood and gathered the bundles of
herbs, ready for hanging.

Before she could head into the storeroom, Miss Taylor hurried down the
garden path toward her. Rose scowled. From the look of her face, something
terrible had happened, and Miss Taylor rarely looked so harried. None of the
women in Aunt May’s house were the calmest of ladies, but the housekeeper was
usually the one most likely to keep her head.

A knot of dread tangled in her stomach, and she hurried to meet her. “What
is it?”

The housekeeper took a deep breath. “Miss Rose, there’s—there’s a gentleman
here.”

Rose opened her mouth then closed it then opened it again. They never
received visitors. No wonder Miss Taylor was in a flap.

“Who is it?”

“A-A man in a kilt,” she hissed. “I think it’s the laird. I heard tell
he’s a highlander.”

All the blood seemed to rush from her face and fill her boots. Miss
Taylor’s expression turned frantic. “Miss Rose, is all well? Should I send him
away?”

She waved a hand. “No, no, all is well.”

The housekeeper gave a relieved nod and patted her grey-streaked dark
hair and smoothed her plain black outfit. “He is in the drawing room at
present. Your aunt has joined him.”

The blood refused to come back to her face at the thought of her aunt
and that man in the same room together. Rose was never sure if it was because
of some previous experience with men but Aunt May did not like strange men, particularly
well-to-do ones. Her husband had died after a brief marriage, and Rose
suspected it had been more of a relief than anything.

She was surprised her aunt had not tried to chase the highlander out
with a broomstick, but then he was the laird. Even Aunt May would not be so
scandalous as to chase such an important man away.

But what was he doing here? She pressed a hand to her stomach and caught
Miss Taylor looking at her quizzically.

“Come then, we had better meet with this laird,” she said, more to
herself than anything.

Horribly aware her hair was scattered and she was likely an awful mix of
pale and blush, Rose scuffed her boots against the boot scraper by the rear
door before stepping into the house. The housekeeper untied her apron and
bundled it up, but unfortunately, the garment had not protected her gown fully.
There were streaks of mud on the bodice and the hem.

She took a breath. What did it matter if she was a little muddy? The
laird had already seen her with wild hair and a creased gown. And he should not
have called unexpectedly. It was his fault she was having to meet him in such a
state.

Once outside the drawing room, she took another long breath and held it
in whilst forcing a delicate smile to her face. She opened the door, and the
breath left her lungs.

She had wondered if she had begun to enhance his handsomeness in her
mind. If a few days away from meeting him had enabled her to embellish how thick
those thighs were, how intense his eyes could be, or how the cut of his jaw was
like that of sculptures.

Apparently she had not lied to herself. In truth, it seemed she was
guilty of downplaying his attractiveness. He filled the fragile chair, his
large body looking out of place in the delicate blue decor. Here was a man who
belonged on the mountains with rocks and heather as his only decor.

He stood and she took in the sight of him in his kilt, waistcoat, and
jacket. The long socks merely drew one’s eye up those tree trunks of legs and
the buttons of his waistcoat dragged her gaze higher, higher, until their gazes
locked. She swallowed.

The laird bowed and Rose managed a shaky dip.

“My laird, this is my niece, Miss Merriweather. I believe you met by
accident the other day,” Aunt May said.

Rose hardly looked at her aunt. How could she when the strangest smile sat
on the laird’s lips. It was a smile that she would have thought would be
reserved for people he was truly fond of. Not a great, big beaming smile, but a
tender one that gently curved his mouth.

“It’s a pleasure to be formally introduced,” the laird said. “I’m Hamish
McTavish, Laird of Baleith.”

Hamish. It suited him. Strong and straightforward. At least now she
would no longer have to think of him as just the laird or the man in the kilt
or the devastatingly attractive highlander.

Not that she had ever thought of him as that.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you properly, my laird. What brings you here?”

She sat next to her aunt on the sofa, finally aware of the way her aunt
watched her closely. She would have to be careful. Aunt May had already
expressed some disapproval of the man and had not been keen on meeting him. Not
that she was overly keen, of course, but they had to at least be polite.

“I’ve been meeting with my tenants today.” He smiled at Aunt May. “I’ve
been trying to get to know all of them though, of course, there are many, so it’s
quite a task.”

Rose glanced at her aunt to see a strange sort of shock on her face.
Perhaps her aunt was also taken in by the incredible presence of him. She had
been aware he was quite the man when they had met but there was something about
having him in a small room that increased his presence, as though he should not
be contained in four walls.

“Anyway, I thought it prudent to visit with my nearest neighbors. My
estate manager tells me ye had quite the friendship with my cousin.”

“Oh, I would not say it was a friendship as such. More like pleasant acquaintances.”
Her aunt flicked open her fan and waved it in front of her face.

Aunt May’s cheeks had reddened. They normally did when she was not quite
telling the truth. They were not great friends with the late laird but Laird Malcolm
had been good to them, bringing them fresh eggs and meat on occasion. He had
been keen to keep a good relationship with his neighbors as did Hamish, it
seemed, so why would her aunt want to dissuade that idea?

“Well, I should very much like to cultivate a friendship between us. I’m
new to the area and in need of guidance. I have no doubt ye know most of the
families here. Ye are certainly well spoken of.”

The fan began fluttering at a furious pace. That was a lie too, though
she could not say she knew that from Hamish’s expression, as it was entirely
open and charming—quite unlike the man she had met a few days ago. However,
whilst Aunt May was well-liked and everyone was pleasant to them, they were
considered odd—these four women tucked away by the forest, only coming out to
buy books and fabric and never socializing with the good people of Baleith.

If Hamish had been asking about them, he would know this.

“I am sure a man like yourself does not need help,” Rose put in as her
aunt searched the room with her gaze as though the right words might pop out
from behind the curtains.

“All men need help, whether they want to admit it or no’,” he said with
a grin.

“Well, I am sure we will try our best, but my niece and I do not spend
much time with the local families. We like our own company. I fear we would be
frightfully boring to you.”

Aunt May finally spoke the truth, but Rose could not help cringe
inwardly. Hamish must think them the oddest people. In truth, there was many a
time she questioned their existence. Was she to spend the rest of her days
learning from books and pottering around the forest? Whenever she suggested
that her life was a little dull, Aunt May grew extremely upset and thus, Rose
rarely complained. After all, she could not be more grateful to the woman who
had raised her.

He glanced at the book Rose had carelessly left on the drawing desk. “Ye
like history, Mrs. Merriweather?” He noted the title and a smile tugged his
lips. Inwardly, Rose groaned.

Her aunt shook her head. “That is Miss Merriweather. She is usually keen
on Greek history, but it seems she has decided to take more of an interest in
local history.”

Rose lowered her glance to her lap. “One should always learn about the
country in which they live,” she said quietly.

“Aye, though I would have thought Lowland history would have been more
intriguing to ye.” Her gaze shot up to his and she knew then he understood why
she had been interested in Highland history. It was because she had been
intrigued by
him
.

“I—”

Hamish held up a hand, a crease appearing between his dark brows. “Do ye
smell smoke?”

Rose straightened and took a sniff. “I do.” She stood to open the door
to the drawing room and a cloud of grey smoke flew in. She gasped.

“Good God, a fire.” He stood. “Come, ladies, out of the house now. I
shall investigate.”

“Oh no, I am sure there is no need. You had better leave, my laird. We
shall see to this.” Aunt May tried to usher him out.

“Not at all. I wouldnae leave ye in such a time.” He motioned to the
door. “Out with ye now.”

Aunt May opened her mouth to protest but as the smoke continued to
billow into the room, she finally stood.

“Come on, Aunt,” Rose urged, taking her arm. She could not fathom why
her aunt would not wish to leave immediately. She only hoped Miss Taylor and Mrs.
Shaw were safe.

They piled outside and she sucked in a grateful gulp of clean air.
Glancing around, she could not see either the housekeeper or the cook. The
gardener peered at the house, his eyes wide.

“What’s happened ‘ere?”

“Have you seen Miss Taylor or Mrs. Shaw?”

He shook his head. “Is it a fire?”

Hamish nodded. “These women, they’re in the house?”

“Yes,” Rose said, gripping Aunt May’s hand.

Her aunt waved her free hand. “I am sure they are fine.”

“We must be sure,” Rose insisted. Why was her aunt not more concerned?
Why was she not fretting that their house may burn to the ground?

“Aye, we must.” Hamish tugged off his jacket and looked to the gardener.
“I’ll investigate. Gather some water—and sand if you have some. If we can
tackle it, we must.” Pulling free his neckcloth, he covered his mouth and
darted back into the house.

“Be careful,” Rose called but she did not think he’d heard.

For many anxious moments, they waited. Rose’s heart beat hard in her
chest while she watched the door for any sign of them. She whirled at the sight
of Miss Taylor coming around the back of the house.

“Is Mrs. Shaw with you?”

“No. She was in the kitchen last I looked.”

The most likely place that the fire had started. Rose put a hand to her
mouth. “Oh goodness. What of the laird?” Rose pressed the housekeeper.

“I was in the orangery. Is he in there?”

“Yes,” Rose replied, aware her voice trembled. “Oh dear.”

Miss Taylor peered at Rose and Rose bit her lip. Had she given away her…no,
they could not be feelings. Her whatever they were toward the laird to the
housekeeper. Her mild interest. Yes, that’s what it was. He was simply someone new
and different, and she was curious. Besides, she would not wish death on her
enemy—not that she had any. One had to know people to have enemies.

So, there it was. Her fear for him was entirely warranted and natural.

“I am sure all will be well,” Aunt May said brightly.

“Aunt May, our house could burn down!”

“Nonsense, dear. It’s just a little smoke.”

Rose huffed out a breath. How could her aunt by so blithely unaware of
the danger the laird and Mrs. Shaw were in?

A figure emerged from the smoke.

“Mrs. Shaw!” Rose dashed over to the entranceway.

Her face was blackened with smoke and her white apron covered in black
smudges. The laird followed her out and uncovered his mouth. Mrs. Shaw gave a
delicate cough but seemed otherwise unharmed.

Hamish waved a hand at the gardener. “Just a small oven fire. Nothing to
be concerned about.” He turned his attention to Rose and her aunt. “Looks as
though ye willnae be eating yer freshly baked bread today though.”

“All that smoke was from burnt bread?” Rose asked.

“Aye, seems that way. Give it an hour or so and the smoke will clear.
There’s no danger, but I fear the smoke will linger in the house for a wee
while.”

Aunt May gave a smile that was far too odd for Rose’s liking, as though
she was quite pleased Mrs. Shaw had nearly burned the house down.

“I am sorry for the disturbance, my laird, but not to worry. We shall
have the house aired soon enough. At least it is a dry day. My niece and I
shall spend time in the garden.”

Rose noted her aunt did not offer Hamish an invitation to stay.

“Of course. Ye enjoy yer afternoon, ladies. I shall return in a few
days. I’d very much like to offer ye an invitation to dinner once I have everything
in hand at the castle.”