"A fitting ending to this delightful Highland trilogy of the cursed Lockhart daughters."
Reviewed by Morgan Chilson
Posted July 5, 2005
Romance Historical
The Lockhart family is in dire straits. They must barter
with their rival, Payton Douglas, to repay money they
borrowed from him. The debt had been sealed by a promise of
Mared Lockhart's hand in marriage if they failed to find
the money to pay Payton. Although he never thought it would
come to that and he's not entirely sure he wants a wife,
Payton has been in love with Mared for years, so he's
pretty happy with the arrangement. But when Mared handles the matter with -- to put it mildly -
-
ill grace, the result is that she's going to work as laird
Payton's housekeeper for a year instead of marrying him.
Payton starts out being very kind and trying to woo the
woman he's loved for so long. But Mared quickly angers him
(she's got a nasty little temper!) and their relationship
deteriorates into disaster. As Mared finds herself tackling
chores she's never considered (she purposely destroys his
laundry because no one would show her how to do it right),
she finds that her hard-headedness may have led her down
the entirely wrong path. I just adored Payton in this book and pretty much wanted to
smack the spoiled, stubborn Mared. But her growth through
this book lends much to its beauty and to the tempestuous
love these two find. I highly recommend Ms. London's latest!
SUMMARY
The Lockhart brothers' quest for an ancient family
heirloom has proved fruitless...and an unpaid loan has
left them indebted to their rival, Payton Douglas. With no
recourse, the Lockharts offer Payton their most valuable
commodity: their sister Mared's hand in marriage. Raised to despise the Douglas name, Mared outwardly agrees
to the marital bargain for the sake of her family;
secretly, she concocts a plan to ensure Payton will not
wish to marry her. Seeing the handsome, virile laird
Payton face-to-face, however, threatens a centuries-long
enmity — and awakens Mared's deepest desires. But she will
not be swayed. Choosing to repay her family's debt by
working as his housekeeper instead of wedding him, she
finds herself inexorably drawn to the man she vowed to
resist. Then a profound discovery changes
everything....Now, no longer bound by a promise to her
family, Mared must let her heart decide if the laird
Payton is the enemy of past legend — or if he holds the
key to a future filled with a passion beyond her wildest
dreams.
ExcerptChapter OneEilean Ros, The Trossachs of the Scottish Highlands Payton Douglas was surrounded by the enemy, his back
against the wall...or hearth, as it were. The Lockharts
advanced on him with an anxious look in their eyes, and he
wondered how they had managed to gain entry, today in
particular, when he was entertaining some very important
men from Glasgow. Men who were, at this very moment,
rather deep in their cups, having sampled the barley-bree
Scotch whiskey distilled here, on his estate, Eilean Ros. But his enemies were desperate and, by their own
confession, in quite a predicament, for they'd been caught
completely unawares when their dear friend, Hugh
MacAlister, had purloined their priceless family heirloom —
a gold statue of a beastie with ruby eyes — right out
from under their noses. Griffin Lockhart, from whom the beastie had been stolen,
had just argued passionately that while this outrageous
insult would be avenged in due time, at the moment, it
seemed that MacAlister's actions had left the entire
Lockhart family near to penniless and faced with the
forced betrothal of their only daughter, Mared, to the man
who had lent them a princely sum to retrieve the beastie:
Payton Douglas. The very same Payton Douglas who stood with his back
against the cold hearth, eyeing the only one of the five
Lockharts in his study who seemed inordinately relaxed.
Seated at his writing desk, she idly twirled a quill pen
as Payton stoically listened to the rather windy speech of
her laird father. Frankly, one could scarcely do anything
but listen when in the company of so many Lockharts. This speech, obviouslyprepared in advance, judging by the
way Lady Lockhart's lips moved in unison with her
husband's, spoke to how Payton, the son of ancestors who
had spilled precious Lockhart blood in every war and time
of strife, would take their only daughter to wife, having
bargained for her in loaning them a substantial sum that
was to be repaid within a year's time. "'Tis the stuff of popular novels!" Lady Lockhart
exclaimed. Behind her, her daughter Mared smiled as she twirled the
pen, as if that analogy amused her. "Frankly, milady, I've never read a novel as befuddling as
this," Payton said. "If I am to understand, do ye mean to
say ye'll no' honor our agreement regarding the loan I
made ye?" That question was met with a burst of nervous, high-
pitched laughter from the four dark-headed Lockharts
standing at this little impromptu meeting: Carson, the
aging laird of what was left of the Lockhart clan; his
lean and graceful lady wife, Aila; their eldest son and
massive soldier, Liam; and his younger brother Griffin,
who was slightly smaller and quite debonair. "Of course no'!" Liam boomed reassuringly. "But surely ye
understand that we couldna have dreamed MacAlister would
betray us so." "As ye've said several times over now. Nevertheless, it
would appear that he did indeed betray ye, and ye owe me a
tidy sum, aye?" The four standing Lockharts looked sheepishly at one
another while Mared sighed and opened a book on his
writing desk, flipping to the first page. Grif quickly stepped forward and smiled charmingly. "If I
may, milord...the problem is that without the beastie,
we've no means to repay yer very generous loan — " "Three thousand pounds," Payton quickly reminded him, "was
more than generous. It was sheer insanity." "Aye, very generous," Grif agreed, casting an anxious
glance at his family. "But we made a wee error, we did,"
he said, holding thumb and index finger together to show
just how wee the error. "I beg yer pardon, but there was no error. Yer father
signed the promissory papers." "That he did," Grif readily agreed. "And we promised
Mared's hand to ye as collateral on yer loan, and...well,
plainly put, Douglas, 'tis no secret how she feels about
ye — ah, that is to say...yer reforms," he said carefully,
and exchanged a look with his mother. "I know well how she feels, Grif," Payton responded
impatiently. Everyone in every glen in the loch region
knew of Mared's objection to marrying a Douglas and of her
vehement displeasure at his introduction of sheep in and
around the lochs. "'Tis no secret she doesna care for a
Douglas. Yer sister, ye might have remarked, is no' a shy
lass." Mared chuckled softly and turned another page in the book
he'd left on the writing desk, On the Winter Production of
Wool and the Timely Shearing of the Na Caorridh Mora, the
Big Sheep. "No," Grif said with a bit of a frown for Mared's
chuckle. "But ye canna fault the lass for being passionate
in her beliefs." Mared looked up from the book then and cocked a brow above
a pair of sparkling green eyes, waiting for his answer. He, in turn, glared at the Lockharts. This was precisely
what was wrong with Mared — she had been reared by this
lot of blockheads. They all believed — with the exception
of Grif, perhaps, and even that was a questionable
assumption—that the sheep he had brought into the lochs
were invading the land historically grazed by their cattle
and thereby pushing the cattle to smaller areas and
smaller numbers and therefore pushing them, the most
exasperating family in all of bloody Scotland, into
poverty. They were right in some respects. But Payton believed
their cattle could not graze properly in the Highlands and
were not, and had never been, a profitable venture. Bloody
fools, the Lockharts, who believed in the old system of
crofting the land and raising lumbering beeves. And when
that did not sustain them, they turned to stealing statues
or some such nonsense from their English cousins. He, on the other hand, believed in a system that allowed a
fair wage to all the men the land could reasonably
support, and sheep herding and, should a man be so
inclined (as he was) — whiskey production. Which was why
he was eager to be done with this nonsense and return to
the four men who might invest a substantial amount of
money in his distillery venture. Grif laughed uneasily again at Payton's stoic
silence. "And...and perhaps our Mared deserves just a wee
bit of pity, aye?" he tried again. "After all, she's got
that wretched curse on her" — Mared nodded emphatically
that she did — "and really, Douglas, can ye honestly
desire her hand in marriage with that curse hanging over
her like a dark cloud?" Payton laughed derisively. "Ach, ye donna believe in that
old curse! No one but crofters who fear fairies and
goblins believe that old tale!" "But ye canna deny that no daughter of a Lockhart has ever
married," Liam quickly put in. "Perhaps it is just as true
that a daughter of a Lockhart willna wed until she's
looked into the belly of the beast." "Do ye think to frighten me with tales of a' diabhal?" he
demanded, ignoring Mared's amused smile as she leaned back
in the chair and idly ran her fingers along the edge of
the writing desk. "Frighten ye!" Lady Lockhart exclaimed, stepping in to put
her hand soothingly on Payton's arm. "No, no, milord, no'
to frighten ye. Just to speak with ye, on Mared's behalf." He checked his tongue and spoke evenly. "Frankly, milady,
I've never known yer Mared no' to speak on her own behalf.
And quite articulately at that." "Oh! How kindly put, sir!" Mared said sweetly, breaking
her silence for the first time since appearing in his
study. "Ye willna honor the loan, is that it, lass?" Payton asked
her directly. "The Lockharts honor their debts, sir," Lady Lockhart
interjected as she gave Mared a withering look. "But we
need more time. Just a wee bit more time to find Mr.
MacAlister." "How much time?" "Ten months," Lady Lockhart said quickly. "In addition to
the two remaining, of course." Another year? With a sigh of impatience, Payton shoved a
hand through his hair. He had no idea what to say to them,
really. He had no idea how he felt about all of it —
asking for Mared's hand as collateral on the loan had been
an impetuous act, spurred by her devilish smile that
afternoon in his parlor. Like the Lockharts, he never
believed it would all come to this. He wasn't entirely
certain he wanted a wife. He looked at her now, as she
obviously took pleasure in his discomfort, and thought he
certainly must be a madman to want this one as a wife. But the truth, as much as he was loath to admit it, was
that he adored Mared Lockhart. He always had. In the four months since Grif's return to Scotland, Payton
had not asked about the loan or pressed the issue of
marriage. But now that very little more than two months
remained in their agreement — the Lockharts had been given
a year to repay the money he had loaned them, or give
Mared over for marriage — they wanted more time? "No," he said decisively. "Ye canna ask this of me — I
have given ye a significant sum of money that ye've
obviously squandered — " "No' squandered!" Grif objected. "What ye did with it is no concern of mine, but ye canna
repay me as we agreed, and thereby, ye leave me no choice." "Land," Grif said quickly. "We can repay ye in land." Payton considered that for a moment. It was a plausible
option, but not terribly desirable. The Lockhart land was
separated from his estate by the mountain Ben Cluaran. If
he were to take land to repay the debt they owed him, it
would leave them with precious little to farm. And it
would be near to impossible for him to make much use of
that land, separated from his estate as it was, for the
manpower required to farm it would be far costlier than
the yield. The only way it would be of use to him was if
he could put sheep on it, and he rather doubted the
Lockharts would allow it, what with their stubborn love of
cows. He shook his head and looked at the laird. "Ye agreed to
my terms, Lockhart. I'll ask that ye set a date for the
betrothal." Mared's smile suddenly faded. She slapped the book shut
and looked at her father, as did everyone else in that
stuffy room. Carson thoughtfully rubbed his chin, then
sighed wearily. "We shall set the date a year and a day
from whence the loan was made, then," he said after a
moment. "Carson!" Lady Lockhart cried. "Ach, mo ghraidh, he's right, ye know he is! We agreed to
the terms of the loan, as did Mared — " "Under considerable duress, Father!" Mared interjected. "Aye, perhaps," he said, turning to look at her. "But ye
agreed all the same. We knew there was a possibility Grif
wouldna succeed, and now we must honor our word, daughter.
Ye must do so, as well." Lady Lockhart gasped. "'Tis too late, Aila," Carson said gruffly. "What else is
left to her, then? Douglas is the only man in the parish
who puts no stock in fairies and goblins and will have
her!" That did not soothe Lady Lockhart or Mared, whose
expression grew quite murderous. "Ye must no' fear yer welfare, lass," Payton softly
assured her. "On my honor, I will always treat ye well." "Ach, how can ye pretend so?" she demanded. "The Douglases
and the Lockharts have been sworn enemies for hundreds of
years!" "Ye donna understand, Payton Douglas!" Lady Lockhart
insisted firmly. "'Tis no' Mared's welfare that we fear —
'tis yer welfare." She said it so earnestly that Payton couldn't help but
laugh. "I donna fear her," he laughingly assured
her. "Ye've nothing to fear, then, for she canna hurt me,"
he said and laughed again at Mared's glower. She had come to her feet, was standing behind the desk
with her arms folded implacably across her trim middle. "I
willna marry ye, Payton Douglas." "Mared!" Lady Lockhart cried. But Payton chuckled and thought that it might be fun to
tame the fire in her in his bed. "Aye, ye will, Mared. And
as there is nothing further to discuss, please excuse me.
I've guests," he said, and with a curt nod to the
impossible Lockharts, he strode out of the stuffy room,
smiling inwardly at the thought of Mared in his bed. That night, in her room high above the study in the old
tower, Mared was busily at work. Her spirit was far from broken. Her family could think of nothing to save her, blast the
lot of them, but she'd not lie idle. Even now, in the
stillness of the night, in her drafty chambers of the even
draftier old castle, Mared wrote two letters by the light
of a single candle while the rest of them slept. The first was directed to Miss Beitris Crowley, the
daughter of the solicitor in Aberfoyle. Mared had
befriended her, had taken long, chatty walks with her
along the banks of Loch Ard, across from Eilean Ros,
assessing her suitability as the future Lady Douglas. Aye. The future Lady Douglas. Mared had come to the conclusion that perhaps if the
odious and highly objectionable Laird Douglas had another,
more charming alternative to her, he might forgive the
ridiculous terms of the loan and take to wife a woman more
suitable for him in temperament and mien. She had
suggested as much to him; he had laughed and responded
that any woman, old or young, fat or thin, rich or poor,
would be better suited to him in temperament and mien than
she was, and seemed to think himself quite the wit for
having said it. Mared was determined to prove it to him, with or without
Beitris's help. Beitris, she had discovered, was painfully
shy, particularly in the company of Laird Douglas. She'd
put Beitris in his path a dozen times at least, and the
lass had still not gained as much as a kiss. He terrified
her. Of course he did — he was a creature who had
obviously climbed out of the loch. "He's awfully big, is he no'?" Beitris had asked Mared in
a fearful tone of voice one afternoon after they
had "happened" to encounter him in Aberfoyle. The man
seemed to have that effect on all the young women around
the lochs, Mared had noticed.
You must, she wrote to Miss Crowley, remember that polite
conversation will take you only so far. A man should like
to know that he is well thought of, and that he, above all
others, holds your coveted esteem. Remember too that a man
enjoys the chance to be gallant, but you must create an
opportunity for him to be so, for rarely are men so
clever, left to their own devices, to create such
opportunities. Perhaps you might drop your linen in his
company, or fumble with your parasol and allow him to
rescue you....
Mared was fond of Beitris, she truly was, but sometimes
Beitris seemed rather dense when it came to flirting. She
had not, Mared surmised, been courted outright. Not that Mared had been courted outright, either. There
was not a man around the lochs who wasn't deathly afraid
of her, given the blasted curse that followed her, but
she'd witnessed the many colorful and courtly romances of
her brother Griffin, who had, with varying degrees of
success, she heard tell, attempted to bed almost every
lass in the lochs before he went off to London and brought
back a wife. That made her reasonably well versed in the
mechanics of courting...at least more so than Beitris. She finished her instructions to Beitris and sealed the
letter with a drop of wax. She then gritted her teeth and
picked up her pen.
The Honorable Laird Douglas, Greatest Ruler in All the
Land...
Perhaps a bit dramatic, but she hardly cared. She wrote
on, requesting the honor of calling on his cousin, Sarah
Douglas, who, according to gossips in Aberfoyle, had come
to Eilean Ros for the summer. Mared's eyes narrowed as she read her letter one last
time. Satisfied that her writing revealed nothing more
than proper civility, she sealed it with a drop of wax,
put it carefully on her vanity, and blew out the candle.
As she slipped into her bed, a smile curved her lips. She didn't give a damn about their agreement. She'd not
marry that man. How could she? Marrying him would be admitting defeat, and
she was not prepared to do that. Besides, her dream of
returning to Edinburgh was very much alive within her. It
was that dream that had sustained her in the last few
years. She'd spent a fortnight in Edinburgh ten or so years ago,
before the family fortune had begun to disappear. It had
been a magical place, teeming with people and arts and it
seemed there was a soiree or gathering every night. Yet
the best part about it was that no one in Edinburgh knew
of or believed in old curses. They treated her as a
person. Not like here in the lochs, where everyone looked
at her as some sort of witch. She'd even had a pair of potential suitors in her short
time there, and was convinced that, in Edinburgh, her
whole life would change. No, she'd not marry Payton Douglas and remain in the lochs
all of her days, where her life was so wretchedly
confined. Every word she uttered publicly was guarded,
every path she took hidden from superstitious eyes. It
would be a joy to live in Edinburgh. It would be a joy to
simply live! Mared fell asleep thinking of Edinburgh. But she dreamed
she was walking along the banks of Loch Ard, in the
company of a young man with golden hair who smiled at her
and stole kisses from her. They walked until they came
upon a rowdy crowd. When Mared moved closer to see what
they were shouting about, she realized that they were to
witness an execution. She looked up to the gallows and with a start recognized
the first Lady of Lockhart, the beauty who had sacrificed
all for love. Her hands were tied behind her back, and she
was kneeling at a chopping block. Next to her was her lover, Livingstone, with a noose
around his neck. As Mared watched in horror, the executioner hanged her
lady's lover. And as he twisted beside her, they lay the
Lady of Lockhart's head on the block. As the executioner
lifted his blade, she screamed, "Fuirich do mi!" Wait for me.... The blade came down and Lady Lockhart's head dropped to
the ground and rolled to Mared's feet. Mared screamed and
looked around for her beau, but she was suddenly alone.
Yet her scream had drawn the attention of the crowd, and
they turned on her, recognizing her as the daughter of
Lady Lockhart. The accursed one, they said. Spawned by the
devil and left to live with the devil. "A daughter born of a Lockhart will no' marry until she's
looked into the belly of the beast!" an old woman spat at
her, and the crowd began to chant that she must look into
the belly of the beast as they advanced on her. Screaming, Mared ran with the murderous crowd on her
heels. She ran until she reached the river, where the
crowd kept coming for her, until Mared fell in. The water
closed over her head and she sank to the murky bottom,
struggling to free herself of her clothing. But she
couldn't hold her breath, and she was choking for air. With a gasp, Mared suddenly rose up in her bed, her hands
at her throat, and the bed linens twisted around her body.
Her forehead was wet with perspiration. She caught her breath, took several deep breaths more,
then slowly untangled herself from the bed linens.
Unsteadily, she stood, walked to the hearth to stoke it as
she willed her heart to stop pounding. The dream had shaken her badly. It always did. Payton Douglas would not hold her here. She would not be
held captive in a land where she was despised. She would
escape the lochs for Edinburgh and nothing would stop her.
What do you think about this review?
Comments
No comments posted.
Registered users may leave comments.
Log in or register now!
|