Her Highness and the Highlander: A Princess Brides Romance by Tracy Anne Warren
Authors: Tracy Anne Warren
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careworn cheeks wet with tears,
her eyes begging him not to leave, even if she understood his reason for it.
In spite of the rift, he’d held fast to his decision. He had no great love for the
English himself, but there’d been nothing for him in Skye. Why couldn’t his father
have understood that? The idea of studying the law made him shudder, and the notion
of him as a clergyman was so absurd as to be laughable. Fishing wasn’t a gentleman’s
occupation; neither was raising sheep. As for farming, one could only manage a few
crops for the table, certainly not enough to make a living wage.
No, in spite of a few lingering regrets—most especially the fact that he had not been
able to mend his differences with his father before his death—he knew he’d chosen
the right path—the only path that made sense for him.
But that life was done now too and he had his future to decide. Being home again would
help him do it—or at least he hoped it would.
Pulling the wadded-up shirt out of his valise again, he shook it out so he could attempt
to fold it in a more travel-worthy way. As he did, a thick vellum envelope fell out
of the luggage and onto the floor. Bending, he picked it up, reading once more the
engraved direction on its front.
Sutton and Sutton, Esquires, Solicitors, London.
Hmmph.
He couldn’t imagine what they wanted with him, and the letter certainly didn’t elucidate
what the matter might be about. Likely the summons had to do with another tedious
technical detail associated with his father’s will that he’d been dealing with for
the past three years. He’d thought the matter concluded, but apparently not. Odd that
a new set of solicitors were involved rather than the ones with whom he generally
dealt. But he supposed certain types of legalities were referred out to other colleagues
as the need required.
Most annoying of all was the fact that the letter asked him to appear in person at
their offices in London; they needed to discuss a matter that was of a “highly important
and personal nature.” Experience had taught him that such issues were invariably deemed
“highly important” no matter how trivial they might actually prove to be. As for the
issue being personal, of course it was personal, since it involved his late father.
Well, he would pay the lawyers a visit when he felt like making the trip south again.
Right now he was northbound, and northbound he would be.
Tucking the letter underneath an extra pair of trews, he set about once again folding
the shirt that was causing him so much difficulty. As he did, his thoughts wandered
to the night just past and the young woman in whose bed he had slept.
A slight smile ghosted over his face as he recalled how delightfully soft she had
felt in his arms and how lovely she’d looked when he’d awakened this morning. He supposed
he ought to have roused her to explain that he was departing, but after the night
she’d had he didn’t have the heart to interrupt her slumber.
He’d written her a note instead that he planned to leavewith the maid before he departed. Inside, he’d included a sum of money that should
enable her to purchase a seat on the coach to London, with a bit extra for overnight
lodgings and food.
His years of military service had been reasonably profitable, enough so that he could
afford to spare the funds to help an occasional wayward soul.
As for Mercedes’s fears…well, he didn’t doubt the sincerity of her fright; the cause
of her alarm was another matter though.
Over breakfast in the common room this morning, he’d had the occasion to speak to
Mr. McCrawber, a blacksmith who also served as the local constable and justice of
the peace. The other man had scratched his thinning patch of carroty hair and scrunched
his pencil slash eyebrows in perplexity when Daniel had inquired about highwaymen
and an attack on the main road south.
“Canna say I
her eyes begging him not to leave, even if she understood his reason for it.
In spite of the rift, he’d held fast to his decision. He had no great love for the
English himself, but there’d been nothing for him in Skye. Why couldn’t his father
have understood that? The idea of studying the law made him shudder, and the notion
of him as a clergyman was so absurd as to be laughable. Fishing wasn’t a gentleman’s
occupation; neither was raising sheep. As for farming, one could only manage a few
crops for the table, certainly not enough to make a living wage.
No, in spite of a few lingering regrets—most especially the fact that he had not been
able to mend his differences with his father before his death—he knew he’d chosen
the right path—the only path that made sense for him.
But that life was done now too and he had his future to decide. Being home again would
help him do it—or at least he hoped it would.
Pulling the wadded-up shirt out of his valise again, he shook it out so he could attempt
to fold it in a more travel-worthy way. As he did, a thick vellum envelope fell out
of the luggage and onto the floor. Bending, he picked it up, reading once more the
engraved direction on its front.
Sutton and Sutton, Esquires, Solicitors, London.
Hmmph.
He couldn’t imagine what they wanted with him, and the letter certainly didn’t elucidate
what the matter might be about. Likely the summons had to do with another tedious
technical detail associated with his father’s will that he’d been dealing with for
the past three years. He’d thought the matter concluded, but apparently not. Odd that
a new set of solicitors were involved rather than the ones with whom he generally
dealt. But he supposed certain types of legalities were referred out to other colleagues
as the need required.
Most annoying of all was the fact that the letter asked him to appear in person at
their offices in London; they needed to discuss a matter that was of a “highly important
and personal nature.” Experience had taught him that such issues were invariably deemed
“highly important” no matter how trivial they might actually prove to be. As for the
issue being personal, of course it was personal, since it involved his late father.
Well, he would pay the lawyers a visit when he felt like making the trip south again.
Right now he was northbound, and northbound he would be.
Tucking the letter underneath an extra pair of trews, he set about once again folding
the shirt that was causing him so much difficulty. As he did, his thoughts wandered
to the night just past and the young woman in whose bed he had slept.
A slight smile ghosted over his face as he recalled how delightfully soft she had
felt in his arms and how lovely she’d looked when he’d awakened this morning. He supposed
he ought to have roused her to explain that he was departing, but after the night
she’d had he didn’t have the heart to interrupt her slumber.
He’d written her a note instead that he planned to leavewith the maid before he departed. Inside, he’d included a sum of money that should
enable her to purchase a seat on the coach to London, with a bit extra for overnight
lodgings and food.
His years of military service had been reasonably profitable, enough so that he could
afford to spare the funds to help an occasional wayward soul.
As for Mercedes’s fears…well, he didn’t doubt the sincerity of her fright; the cause
of her alarm was another matter though.
Over breakfast in the common room this morning, he’d had the occasion to speak to
Mr. McCrawber, a blacksmith who also served as the local constable and justice of
the peace. The other man had scratched his thinning patch of carroty hair and scrunched
his pencil slash eyebrows in perplexity when Daniel had inquired about highwaymen
and an attack on the main road south.
“Canna say I
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