Lord of the Isles: International Billionaires VIII: The Scots Read Online Free
Author: Caro LaFever
so long?
Her dad’s muffled snoring came from his bedroom and she sighed a breath of relief. She’d dreaded trying to explain to him why she was going to go up to the castle. Now she didn’t have to. Hopefully, she could have a talk with the McPherson, assure herself that there was nothing to worry about, and be back in her warm bed before midnight.
She crept down the stairs and, without a sound, opened the front door and stepped into the night.
The sun had set, yet this far north, the light still glowed dimly, making it easy to navigate the pathway to her destination. She hadn’t come this way since two years ago, when Malcolm McPherson had held his final summer party. She and her dad had followed the line of villagers over the narrow bridge leading into the castle’s inner court. There’d been bagpipes and highland dancers and tables filled with haggis pot pies, fresh salmon, local cheese, and an assortment of raspberries and strawberries.
Iain McPherson hadn’t been there. That had been the only reason she’d agreed to attend.
But everyone had talked about him. His gallantry medals and commendations for bravery and on and on. She’d rolled her eyes a time or two, but she’d kept her mouth shut.
What was the use of fighting a make-believe legend?
The wind was soft tonight, something to be grateful for in Scotland. It took her only fifteen minutes to get to the stone bridge curving across the slender stream. At one time, her dad had told her, there’d been a mighty moat to guard the family against hungry Viking raiders and greedy English kings. Now the only remnants of this castle’s bloody past were the chipped edges of some of the stones where a Viking ax or English arrow had clunked into defiant resistance.
Lilly looked up and up, over the castle wall, over the bulk of stonework sheltering the main hall and public rooms. Her gaze landed on the tallest tower. One lone light glowed from the square window set high in the circle of stone.
“So you’re awake,” she muttered. “Good.”
Marching to the front gate, she eyed the stout wooden double doors. Black steel bars ran in a crisscross on the wood, barring any entry. Above her head loomed the spiked iron grate, a string of daggers ready to block any invader. She sneered at the barriers before turning and stomping past, heading around the arc of the wall. There was more than one way to breach a castle and a man’s defenses.
The dirt trail was faint, as if no one had traveled it for years. Perhaps no one had, since the boy who had showed her this path long ago had left his home for glory.
She didn’t have a clue what she was going to say, but something had to be said.
Not for a second time would she allow a man to wallow in despair to the point he’d do something destructive. The only thing she needed to do was assess the McPherson’s condition. Hopefully, it wasn’t as bad as her vivid imagination had conjured.
She could leave the arrogant man alone and return to her dad’s cottage to sleep in peace.
A little bump of a ridge hid the beach, yet she knew it was there. The private McPherson beach, he’d told her as he led her down this path. Her heart had been beating hard then. Not in anticipation of seeing what he talked about, but for the beauty of knowing a fifteen-year-old boy had been concentrating on her.
She climbed the last of the ridge and took in the real beauty.
The beauty she should have focused on, that long-ago day.
The cove was protected by a harsh outcropping of rock. Her dad fancied himself an amateur geologist and had told her the rock was called Lewiston Gneiss, some of the oldest in the world. Some smart McPherson ancestor had chosen to meld his castle to the crag, making it almost part of the rock itself. Unlike the hard face of the ridge and the looming castle, the sandy shore was all soft, gentle beauty. The sand was white in the gloaming and the waves of the sea washed over it in a nearly silent swish of
Her dad’s muffled snoring came from his bedroom and she sighed a breath of relief. She’d dreaded trying to explain to him why she was going to go up to the castle. Now she didn’t have to. Hopefully, she could have a talk with the McPherson, assure herself that there was nothing to worry about, and be back in her warm bed before midnight.
She crept down the stairs and, without a sound, opened the front door and stepped into the night.
The sun had set, yet this far north, the light still glowed dimly, making it easy to navigate the pathway to her destination. She hadn’t come this way since two years ago, when Malcolm McPherson had held his final summer party. She and her dad had followed the line of villagers over the narrow bridge leading into the castle’s inner court. There’d been bagpipes and highland dancers and tables filled with haggis pot pies, fresh salmon, local cheese, and an assortment of raspberries and strawberries.
Iain McPherson hadn’t been there. That had been the only reason she’d agreed to attend.
But everyone had talked about him. His gallantry medals and commendations for bravery and on and on. She’d rolled her eyes a time or two, but she’d kept her mouth shut.
What was the use of fighting a make-believe legend?
The wind was soft tonight, something to be grateful for in Scotland. It took her only fifteen minutes to get to the stone bridge curving across the slender stream. At one time, her dad had told her, there’d been a mighty moat to guard the family against hungry Viking raiders and greedy English kings. Now the only remnants of this castle’s bloody past were the chipped edges of some of the stones where a Viking ax or English arrow had clunked into defiant resistance.
Lilly looked up and up, over the castle wall, over the bulk of stonework sheltering the main hall and public rooms. Her gaze landed on the tallest tower. One lone light glowed from the square window set high in the circle of stone.
“So you’re awake,” she muttered. “Good.”
Marching to the front gate, she eyed the stout wooden double doors. Black steel bars ran in a crisscross on the wood, barring any entry. Above her head loomed the spiked iron grate, a string of daggers ready to block any invader. She sneered at the barriers before turning and stomping past, heading around the arc of the wall. There was more than one way to breach a castle and a man’s defenses.
The dirt trail was faint, as if no one had traveled it for years. Perhaps no one had, since the boy who had showed her this path long ago had left his home for glory.
She didn’t have a clue what she was going to say, but something had to be said.
Not for a second time would she allow a man to wallow in despair to the point he’d do something destructive. The only thing she needed to do was assess the McPherson’s condition. Hopefully, it wasn’t as bad as her vivid imagination had conjured.
She could leave the arrogant man alone and return to her dad’s cottage to sleep in peace.
A little bump of a ridge hid the beach, yet she knew it was there. The private McPherson beach, he’d told her as he led her down this path. Her heart had been beating hard then. Not in anticipation of seeing what he talked about, but for the beauty of knowing a fifteen-year-old boy had been concentrating on her.
She climbed the last of the ridge and took in the real beauty.
The beauty she should have focused on, that long-ago day.
The cove was protected by a harsh outcropping of rock. Her dad fancied himself an amateur geologist and had told her the rock was called Lewiston Gneiss, some of the oldest in the world. Some smart McPherson ancestor had chosen to meld his castle to the crag, making it almost part of the rock itself. Unlike the hard face of the ridge and the looming castle, the sandy shore was all soft, gentle beauty. The sand was white in the gloaming and the waves of the sea washed over it in a nearly silent swish of
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