Read Online Lucy and Her Scottish Laird by Margo Maguire - Free Book Online Page A

here, as they looked out across their lands in relative safety. At least,
    safety for the times. After all, why build a stone wall if the region was safe from marauders and invading armies? Life had not always been peaceful in the
    borderlands.
     Lucy moved on to the next room, which was empty, then lost track of time exploring the other rooms in the gatehouse. It was eerily simple to put
    herself in the place of the ancient Lady Craigmuir, living and breathing in olden times. Lucy felt something odd about her…a piercing sorrow that
    could only be—
    “Would you like a guided tour, Miss Stillwater?”

 
    Chapter Seven
----
     
    Lucy jumped at the sound of Lord Broxburn’s voice and the otherworldly sensation dissipated. “Oh! You startled me!” She’d been so
    enthralled, she hadn’t even heard him come in.
    He did not apologize as any civilized man would do, but smiled. He moved toward her, taking her elbow and leading her to one of the arrow loops. “It
    is said that the armies of the Earl of Mar mustered his forces just there,” he pointed to the grounds below the gatehouse, “before the Battle
    of Dupplin Moor.”
    “He lost that battle, didn’t he?”
    He chuckled. “You know your history.”
    “’Tis an easy thing to know if one has a passion for it.”
    When she turned to look at him, his face was close enough for her to see flecks of green in his dark eyes. Close enough for her to recall the touch of his
    lips on hers in the dream. “Is it your passion, little Sassanach?”
    His voice was low and intimate, and Lucy had trouble catching her breath. She knew she ought to step back, but her feet would not move. Her body felt hot,
    and the tips of her breasts seemed to be overly sensitive to the slight friction of her clothing over them.
    She swallowed, and he stepped away. Not far, but far enough for her to gather her muddled thoughts.
    “We have a ghost at Craigmuir,” he said.
    She gave a small shake of her head. “A ghost?”
    “Yes. You’ve heard of them…restless spirits that haunt—”
    “Yes, of course I know what ghosts are,” Lucy said irritably. She glanced around, as though the presence she’d sensed would appear at any
    moment. “You say you have one here?”
    “We have two, actually.” His mouth quirked up in a half-smile.
    She took a deep breath, distracted by his mouth. “D-do you know who they are?” It was annoying to be so affected by him. In another day or so
    she wouldn’t even remember dreaming about him.
    He went to one of the windows and looked outside, and Lucy felt her palms dampening inside her gloves. Her gaze locked upon his broad shoulders and
    traveled down to his trim waist. He was quite solid, and strong, too, judging by his ability to carry her aunt up the staircase, then carrying Lucy to her
    bed. Her face heated with the memory of those moments when he’d held her in his arms.
    “For anyone who believes in this sort of thing…the ghosts are said to be an ancestor of mine and her lover.”
    She sensed he knew more, and when he turned to face her, she knew it was not a pleasant story. “Do you know anything about them?”
    * * *
    As it happened, it was not Ian’s sordid family history that haunted him, but his sordid present. His twelfth century grandmother might have been an
    adulteress, but his father was a lying womanizer. Ian didn’t even know if the Broxburn line was true, or if he had descended from Beatrice’s
    lover.
    But what did it matter now? Ian wasn’t legitimate, and his cousin might well be his brother. He managed not to quake at the thought of it.
    “He was Sir Alexander Gordon, a knight in the service of King David.” No doubt he’d cut a dashing figure and had been irresistible to
    Beatrice.
“
Béatrice was little more than a lass when she wed the much older Lord Broxburn – the old family title – far from
    her family and her home in France.”
    “How did they die?” Lucy asked quietly.
    “Her husband ran his sword