Attired in Highland Gold, page 1
Attired in Highland Gold
Colors of Scandal
Book Fifteen
Sandra Sookoo
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information retrieval and storage system without permission of the author. Likenesses of characters to anyone living or dead is strictly a coincidence.
ATTIRED IN HIGHLAND GOLD © 2022 by Sandra Sookoo
Published by New Independence Books
ISBN- 9798201182717
Contact Information:
sandrasookoo@yahoo.com
newindependencebooks@gmail.com
Visit me at www.sandrasookoo.com
Book Cover Design by The Midnight Muse
https://midnightmusedesigns.com/site2/
Font placement and back cover by: David Sookoo
Publishing History:
First Digital Edition, 2022
Dear Readers,
I have always wanted to do another romance set at Halloween, and so I have in this book. Except, that holiday is called Samhain as the book is set in the Scottish Highlands. It was so much fun researching games and legends.
Also, the heroine in this piece is a mom with two young kids. Combine the twins with ghostly mischief, and you have a recipe for fun... or disaster.
If you’re interested in the lyrics to the lullaby that Caelan sings in this book, I’ve included them at the back of the book. And if you really want to delve into what Caelan’s voice sounds like, I modelled him on Josh Grobin.
I hope you enjoy this romance! I still had much to say once the previous book, Disguised in Tartan, ended. 😊
Sandra
Dedication
Marilyn Parry, words can’t express how much your support and encouragement have meant to me over this past year. Thank you.
Contents
Dear Readers,
Dedication
Blurb
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
Regency-era romances by Sandra Sookoo
Author Bio
Stay in Touch
Blurb
There’s no such thing as perfection but being stuck in the Scottish Highlands with a shot at a dream comes close.
Caelan Stewart—Lord Everly—only son to the Earl of Breckenridge, is in Scotland on a hunting holiday, but when an accidental tumble on a hike gives him a badly sprained ankle and injures his wrist, the remainder of his holiday looks dull... until two red-haired scamps play Halloween tricks on him while he’s preoccupied by their attractive mother.
Widowed two years and still battling grief, American Clara Snyder needs a distraction. Spending several weeks on an estate in the Highlands that will end with a lavish ball on All Hallows Eve might be just the thing. She barely settles into life there with her two small children when an intriguing Scotsman literally falls at her feet... and feelings she thought long dead come alive again.
As Caelan fills his time by bedeviling the intriguing widow and planning a few Samhain tricks, she falls under his spell. Desire grows, as does the bond between him and her children. But he’s not keen on offering up his heart again after the violent death of his first betrothed while Clara is leery of loving someone else for fear they’ll leave. The only way to a happily ever after is to jump in with eyes wide open... and a bit of innocent, ghostly manipulation won’t hurt either.
Chapter One
October 21, 1818
Scottish Highlands
Twenty miles southeast of Aviemore
The first time Caelan Stewart—Lord Everly—stepped onto the terrace of the Buchannan hunting box, he breathed in the crisp clean air of the Highlands and grinned.
This was the country of his grandmother’s people and some of that blood flowed in his veins—a small part but he was glad to claim that. Here in the rolling hills with Castle Buchannan ten miles to the northwest and a loch glimmering blue in the late October sunshine, he felt more connected to his history than ever.
At the age of five and thirty, he’d probably only visited the area twice before, and both times had been as a child or youth. Once he’d attained his majority, other things had kept his focus, and being the Earl of Breckenridge’s only child was a daunting prospect at best. Responsibility rested heavily on his shoulders, especially since his father’s health had slowly declined over the years.
It wouldn’t be long before the man would leave this mortal coil to join Caelan’s mother in the great beyond, thus passing the title of earl to him. Though he’d prepared the bulk of his life for that very thing, he didn’t wish it to come any time soon. At the moment, he enjoyed his freedom all too much.
Which was why he’d arrived in Scotland instead of spending the upcoming holiday season at his father’s estate in Hampfordshire.
Everywhere he looked, breathtaking vistas met his gaze, and though it was a tad chillier than he would have liked, in many ways the air was quite invigorating. The hunting box would be his home for the next several days, at least, then on the thirtieth of the month, everyone would relocate to Castle Buchannan to partake of Samhain festivities as well as a ball. Since two weddings in the family connection had recently concluded—his second cousin Duncan wed Rebecca a couple of weeks ago, and that was quickly followed by one of Duncan’s other cousins—Mathias, who married the daughter of an earl—the sitting laird had decreed the celebrations would continue well through Twelfth Night.
Quite frankly, Caelan looked forward to the change of pace from London. Town had become dull and haunted by unsavory memories he’d rather forget. And since his best friend Donovan had recently wed too, he desperately needed a new distraction.
Why the devil does every single man of my connection want to go and get leg shackled? Having a wife meant a new weakness and heavier responsibilities. Being married meant a great chance for hurt and devastation. Truth be known, Caelan wished for absolutely no part of that in his life again.
Once was quite enough, and he’d barely survived that.
“Will you be woolgathering the rest of the day, mate, or will you come hunting with us?”
His cousin—a few times removed, not that it mattered—Benedict joined him on the terrace. He was Duncan’s older brother, married for years and the father of three children, all under the age of ten. In fact, those hooligans were even now chasing each other about the grass below, playing an intense game of tag if the hoots and calls were any indication.
Caelan snorted as Benedict handed him a rifle. “Of course I choose hunting, but can not a man enjoy the land of his ancestors first?” He tugged at the hem of his brown tweed jacket. “After all, I only just arrived two hours past.” The chill in the air seeped through his woolen breeches, but not enough to make him shiver. Had they gone out at dawn’s first light, it might have been a different story entirely.
“Aye, but do it on your own time. Red stag won’t wait for you to stop mooning about or waxing poetic about the Highlands.”
The four other men of the hunting party laughed alongside Caelan. They were a good lot and ready with jokes or ribbing. No one was immune to their teasing. It was one of the things Caelan enjoyed about being here.
“No mooning allowed, man.” Brody, one of his other cousins, said with a smirk. “It’s bad enough Benedict gave permission for women to join us here.”
The man in question rolled his eyes and made an obscene gesture with his free hand. “Where is the harm if a man wishes to have his wife join him? It’s not as if she’ll be joining the hunt.”
Brody shook his shaggy head. “Cannae live one night apart, eh, even after all those years of marriage?”
A trace of a flush rose up Benedict’s neck. “I can but why should I chance it?” He shrugged and shot Caelan an exasperated look. “Besides, Susan enjoys the chance to be away from the village or even life at the castle. And it gives the bairns an opportunity to wear themselves out.”
One of the other men laughed. “More like you want someone to warm your bed while you’re here. Cannae fault you for that, man.”
The flush deepened. “Perhaps,” he said to more ribald laughter.
A grin tugged at the corners of Caelan’s lips, but he refrained from comment. While it was nice to have a woman at one’s side, once that love was ripped away for whatever reason, a man became leery to invite it in again. Instead, he changed the subject. “I imagine until Duncan and Rebecca return from their wedding trip, you boys have a bit more free time.”
“Ha!” Benedict scoffed. He led the way down a set of stone stairs, away from the terrace to the grass below. Since part of the hunting box was built directly into the hillside, the stairs essentially wound around one side of the edifice. “You’d like to think so, but the old laird has taken it into his noggin to have the castle fitted out for guests the next two months or so. And that means we all have to pitch in. It’s another reason I’ve brought the family to Castle Buchannan.”
Brody snorted. “What the laird says, goes.” He spat
The teasing and complaining between his cousins were amusing, and as Caelan made his way down the steps, he grinned. This was he needed in his life—a group of fellows unconcerned about doing the pretty in London or of chasing skirts—and if that bonding occurred while out hunting, even better. Not that he’d ever brought down so much as a duck let alone a red stag. The sentiment was the same, and the outing was something he’d looked forward to for a long time. Of course, he hoped to make a decent showing while out in the field, but that was beyond his control.
“I’ll have to meet the laird when we retreat to the castle for Samhain. He sounds like a character with many stories to tell.” That was another gem of coming to know his Scottish relatives. And the laird was a cousin twice removed.
“Then be prepared for a dressing down as greeting and then a cutting assessment as to your character and future,” Benedict said with another laugh. “He doesn’t enjoy wasting time and won’t tolerate fools.”
Caelan laughed. “Have you fellows ever known me for a fool?”
One of the other men howled as if that were the funniest joke he’d ever heard. “We don’t know you well at all. You live a posh life in London, far from the ancestral home. Being Scottish is beyond your ken.”
“True, but blood is blood, right?”
Chuckles went around the group.
Brody shook his head. His unkempt black hair waved in the breeze. “There’s a difference in living it and visiting it, mate.” He shot an assessing look at Caelan. “Prove to us that you’re man enough to bag a red stag, then we’ll talk.”
“True enough,” Benedict added with a smirk. “Every good Scottish lad brings home a stag as a coming-of-age gift.” He snorted. “Of course, they’re usually sixteen instead of your advanced years...”
“Get off it.” Caelan gave his cousin a good-natured shove, much to the hilarity of the others. “I’m as much a man as any of you. It makes no difference that I was raised in London. Some of us had other responsibilities.”
Another round of laughter went through the group as they headed into the hills.
Brody poked him in the back with the nose of his rifle. “Ah, then to your elevated way of thinking, we Scots are a simple lot. We operate on the principles of food, sleep, and sex with nothing in between?”
“Why can’t a man have all of those plus a bit of refinement and goals for the future?” For that matter, what were his goals? That sobered him quickly. If he thought to examine his life, he might not like where he was headed. Being alone by the end of his existence was a terrifying thing to contemplate, as was never being remembered.
If he didn’t let himself court a woman or even set up a nursery, would those things come to pass eventually?
“Aye, he can, and we’re not the uncouth bunch you assume.” Brody pulled abreast of Caelan. When he turned his head and met his gaze, compassion lurked in those brown depths. “We all have a path to take. Neither is correct; neither is wrong. We are all trying to live in the best way we see fit.”
“And hoping to stave off loneliness,” Benedict added in a quieter voice. “Thus the reason I brought my family with me for this trip.” He clapped a hand to Caelan’s shoulder. “You might think about settling down while you’re in the Highlands, my friend. Lots of people will be in and out of the castle. Perhaps you’ll find an eligible lady to court.”
It was his turn to scoff. “I’m not looking for love.”
Brody nudged him in the ribs with an elbow. “Then have a bit of fun with an ineligible one.”
Heat crept up the back of Caelan’s neck from the second round of ribald teasing and randy suggestions of how to pass the time.
“For now, I plan to concentrate on learning the history of the Highlands as it pertains to my family line. Perhaps indulge in a few Samhain traditions.” He pulled the brim of his slouch-style cap lower over his forehead, for the higher they went in elevation, the colder it became. Next time would require a muffler and a better coat.
“Aye.” Benedict nodded. “The children are looking forward to that as well. Neep lanterns and apple dookin’ especially.”
“And don’t forget the ghost stories,” one of the other men added. “Or the guising.”
“Of course!” His cousin grinned. “Samhain is a grand celebration, and the folks at the castle will do it up right.”
Caelan nodded. “I’ll wager you’re right. Women don’t factor into any of that.”
“Scotsmen never make good monks, friend,” Brody said into the silence. “Got too much personality for a solitary life. Some of the tavern girls in Aviemore aren’t particular about bedmates.”
“I’ll bear that in mind.” Though trysting with a stranger wasn’t high on his priority list either. Over the years he hadn’t been celibate, but he didn’t fancy intercourse with a doxy. There were too many diseases that could kill a man, and he had too much of a future to look forward to.
“Leave him alone, mates. Caelan needs to concentrate on shooting a stag,” Benedict said with a cheeky grin. “If he manages to do that, then we’ll see about how he should celebrate.”
As they climbed higher into the hills with the mountains ahead of them, Caelan was again struck by the beauty of his surroundings. There was something to be said for the Highlands; there was nowhere else on Earth that could compare, and he intended to heartily enjoy his time here while he could. Bushes of purple heather clung to the hills. A few evergreen trees cropped up randomly about the area. Tall grasses rippled in the breeze.
“If you come out in the early mornings, at times there is a mist or fog that hangs low to the ground,” Benedict said as they crested yet another hill. “The clouds pool in the valleys and gives the area a mystical quality. There is truly nothing like it.”
“I look forward to seeing it for myself.” In fact, he planned to spend much of his days hiking and exploring, perhaps ask some of the local tenants for familial stories regarding Samhain. As a jokester and a storyteller, Caelan adored entertaining in that way. Many a night he’d held a crowded drawing room captive with a ghost story or two. When he wasn’t singing, that was.
That particular skill was something he hoped his rough and tumble cousins would never discover about him. Imagine the ribbing he’d receive if they did.
“Hold!” The command, issued in a hiss by Brody, came with his raised hand. “Look.” In the valley ahead, nestled between the hills and the larger, more craggy beginnings of the mountains, a small herd of stag lingered as they munched upon the grass. Two of the deer sported large arrays of antlers while the others—does—didn’t. A few babies were in the group, just past the fawn stage.
“Do we shoot from here?” Caelan had no idea how one went about hunting anything, but it seemed they had a fantastic vantage point.
“No.” Benedict shook his head. “We’ll go higher. The rocks will hide us.” He pointed. “See how one of the bucks is looking our way?” His voice lowered further. “They can hear us as well as see us from this vantage point. Once we go higher, they’ll relax as we’ll appear out of view.”
Brody led the way through the scrubby brush and over rocky terrain. The rest of them followed in a single-file manner. And when the other men kneeled behind bushes or boulders, Caelan did the same.
The herd hadn’t moved from their spot, and from this new height, a tiny pond was visible. No wonder they’d stopped there. Plenty of food and water to be found as well as a stand of trees beyond that would provide cover.
“When do we shoot?”
“When you have a shot properly lined up.” Brody gestured with the nose of his rifle. “And pray you are lucky enough to bag one. Poaching in these parts—as well as all over England—is becoming a huge problem. Damned war with Boney depressed farms and whatnot.”
Caelan’s eyebrows elevated. “I had no idea.”
“No, you wouldn’t, living so high on the instep.” There was no censure in his voice, only a matter-of-fact tone. “Tenant farmers are having a bad time of it just now, so have a care when you return to England.”
