Lyon's Bride and The Scottish Witch with Bonus Material (Promo e-Books) by Cathy Maxwell

relayed how overjoyed he was at his bounty of having the dashing Horse Guard right there at the table. Neal could remember being that young and involved in every moment of his life. Every day had been an adventure . . . but it wasn’t any longer. Life had become rote, tasteless, unbearable.
    Even with meals prepared by a French chef. And horses and houses and, and, and  . . .
    He hated all the “and’s.”
    Neal wanted something more than possessions and money. He couldn’t help himself. Life had to have more meaning.
    He looked over to his brother. “I can’t,” he told Harry. “I won’t.”

Chapter Four
    T hea looked at the two men seated on opposite sides of the table from each other. Colonel Chattan had placed himself right between her and Jonathan. Her poor son was ready to expire of hero worship, and her other son wished he could climb right across her lap, something she prevented by placing a warning hand on his leg.
    The Chattans were both big-boned, handsome men. The family resemblance was obvious in the dark hair and the intelligent eyes—but there was a great difference between them. Even angry, the colonel appeared more carefree than his brother. There were laugh lines around his mouth and eyes.
    Then again, appearances could be deceiving. She noticed the colonel sat with his right leg outstretched. He obviously favored it, even going so far as to reach down and massage a muscle on the outside of his thigh.
    And there was no humor in the accusatory stare he slid in Thea’s direction.
    She attempted to avoid his glare by focusing on her sons.
    The waiter broke the moment by appearing with plates of food. He asked Colonel Chattan if he wished to join them for dinner. The response was a curt hand motion waving him away.
    Lord Lyon made a great pretense of ignoring his brother’s foul mood. He tasted his chicken and pronounced it delightful. He then looked over at Jonathan’s plate. “You must taste your chicken, Master Jonathan. And you, Master Christopher. Delicious.”
    The boys were too taken with having the colonel at the table to be interested in food.
    Christopher leaned toward Neal. “Is his horse Ajax outside?” he asked in a whisper that could be heard by the whole table.
    “ Of course he’s outside,” Jonathan informed Christopher, as if annoyed by the naivete. “He can’t bring him in here, can he?”
    “What does his horse eat?” Christopher wanted to know, ignoring his brother and addressing himself once again to Neal.
    “I don’t know,” Neal whispered back. “Let’s ask him.” He raised his voice. “Harry, what are you feeding old Ajax nowadays?”
    Christopher was delighted to have a conspirator. “Yes, what do you feed him, sir?” he echoed, and even Jonathan turned to listen, as if the answer was very important.
    Colonel Chattan found himself caught between two young hero worshippers and his argument with Lyon. The colonel was angry, but he wasn’t a churlish man, and Lyon must have known that. Slowly, the colonel unbent a bit of his temper to answer Christopher’s question. “The best hay money can buy.”
    Jonathan quickly jumped in with questions of his own about the life of a Horse Guard: Where do they sleep? Had the colonel been to war? Did Ajax go? Did he have as many horses as Lord Lyon?
    Thea’s mind raced with questions as well. Colonel Chattan was obviously displeased that his brother was contemplating marriage, and that didn’t make sense. A man of Lord Lyon’s rank and position should marry. It was an obligation . . . unless Colonel Chattan wished to be his heir?
    She studied the officer from beneath her lashes. “Don’t do this, Neal. Let it end with us. Let us finish it.” Those were his words. His demands had been more of a plea. An urgent one.
    “You young lads haven’t been eating,” Lyon observed. His good humor had never flagged. “I was hoping Harry would give us a tour of the Horse Guard stables, but we can’t go until