The landscape changed the moment we came over the mountains. The dreary carriage ride went from bumpy and jarring to halfway pleasant as we made our way onto the main road that led to Braemar.
My father glanced up from his book to stare at me, as was his custom. I hated the white wig, preferring instead his usual ginger locks. But he was playing lord of the manor for all it was worth this day.
“You are Laird and Lady MacKinnon’s guest, and that means I expect you to behave as a guest would.”
He did not fool me for a minute. I knew what he intended. He expected this trip to yield a marriage proposal. Soon I would be eighteen, and on the shelf, so to speak.
I was not opposed to marriage. I knew it was my lot in life—especially being the eldest of five daughters. I just never imagined my family would be in such a hurry to be rid of me.
I was also aware of the rumors circulating throughout our household. I had been told on more than one occasion, from both parents and my siblings, that I was spending far too much time in the company of Thomas, a footman in our home.
The first time I had seen Thomas was when I’d returned from boarding school for the holidays. We’d been attracted to each other—friends and kindred spirits from the moment I saw him sitting on the back stoop, and shooting to his feet the second he saw me, as though he expected to be reprimanded for sitting down. I had smiled and told him to not worry.
Soon we became inseparable, spending his free hours together. I liked him more than a friend, and fancied what our life would be like together. That is until he told me about a young seamstress who worked in a small, nearby village. He had fallen hopelessly in love with her, and they were saving money to one day buy their own parcel of land, to move away, since her father did not approve of Thomas.
I would never reveal his secret. I knew he had been ready to leave when he’d learned I was being sent away for the summer. But I had stopped him, and even lied and told him that I wished to go to Braemar, to see the MacKinnons. I knew they were good friends of the family, and even vaguely recalled the four children, but I had been very young when last we’d met.
In the distance I saw the castle sitting on the small knoll, surrounded by tall fir trees. The castle wasn’t nearly as lovely as my own home, but I preferred the idyllic setting to the somewhat barren landscape of my family’s manor. The river would be a quick walk and I already anticipated I would be spending many hours there.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, I felt my father’s gaze and made eye contact.
His brows instantly furrowed.
I’d always been intimidated by him. A military man, he hated when anyone, particularly a woman, looked him straight in the eye. “For the love of God, Margot, sit up straight.”
It seems I could never do anything right.
“Yes, sir,” I replied, doing as he asked while squeezing my gloved fingers together to keep from screaming.
As the carriage rolled onto the gravel leading onto the castle drive, people stepped out of the castle’s doorway. They were all dressed far more casually than my father and I were, and I breathed an inward sigh of relief.
“Now remember, you speak only when spoken to. You are the MacKinnons’ guest and you shall act accordingly. If I receive word that you are out of line in any way, I will send you to the closest nunnery and you will not see our family again. Is that understood?”
I could not think of a worse fate than being sent to a nunnery. I respected those individuals who so willingly gave their lives to God, but it was not a life for me. I would spend my days yearning for more. I knew that and so as always, I would do as my father said. “Yes, sir.”
I smoothed out the skirts of my floral gown—one of several new dresses my parents had given me, no doubt to impress the man that they wished for me to marry.
My dad exited the carriage first and I could hear him share pleasantries with the MacKinnons.
I forced a smile as I stepped from the carriage.
A middle-aged man with dark hair and blue eyes approached. “Miss Murray. We are so very pleased to have you with us. It has been far too long. How lovely you are.”
Lady MacKinnon was strikingly beautiful—her skin like porcelain, her dark hair worn up. She had such fine features and amazing eyes—brilliant blue eyes that radiated warmth and kindness. “May I call you Margot?” she asked, and I nodded, knowing already that we would get on well.
Two girls ran out, one about my age, the other slightly younger, their smiles welcoming.
“My sons are out hunting now, and you will meet them at dinner.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but my father beat me to it. “She is looking forward to meeting them.”
“Please, come in,” Laird MacKinnon said as two servants rushed past us and picked up my trunk.
Laird MacKinnon lifted a brow at my father. “Will you not be staying, Marcus?”
My father shook his head. “Nay, I must return home immediately…though I do have time for a brandy.”
Of course he had time for a brandy. He always had time to drink.
The youngest MacKinnon daughter had given up her room during her visit, telling me that she was happy to share with her sister, and I was grateful for her generosity.
As I settled into my room, I heard my father’s booming voice as he talked about himself. What did I expect? After all, he was his own favorite subject.
I watched him leave an hour later. He had not even bothered to say goodbye.
I stood at the window and watched as the carriage took him away, back home. It was strange how much relief I felt at seeing the carriage diminish into a spot on the horizon. I lay my hands against my tightly corseted waist and released the breath I’d been unconsciously holding.
I nearly stepped away from the window when I saw two riders approach. They waved as they passed the carriage, and I watched with anticipation the closer they came. Both men carried bows and arrows, and had some kind of small animal hanging from the saddle. They were young men—both with dark hair, one wearing his tresses longer, rakishly.
I smiled.
Ian and Duncan. The beautiful MacKinnon brothers.
Duncan glanced up at the window and my breath caught in my throat. I knew I should step away, but I didn’t. He lifted his hand and waved. Instinctively, I waved back. Following his gaze, Ian looked up at the window.
He didn’t wave, but instead gave a curt nod…and flashed a smile that made my heart skip a beat.
I could feel heat race up my neck to my cheeks.
Anticipation rushing through me, I stepped away from the window and went to the wardrobe. Lady MacKinnon had said that supper would be at five o’clock. A servant had already come in and unloaded my things, putting my dresses in a wardrobe.
I nearly wore the same gown I’d arrived in, but it was so crumpled that I changed, wearing a simple, yet stylish, light green dress.
Ian’s youngest sister came to get me, and we walked into the dining room.
Ian stood at the fireplace, talking to his brother.
Dressed in charcoal breeches, knee-high black boots and a navy shirt, Ian looked the epitome of the son of the Scottish laird that he was. “Miss Murray, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he said, coming toward me in long strides. He lifted my hand and kissed the tops of my fingers.
A delicious shiver rushed along my spine.
I remembered every story I had ever heard about him. How at the age of fifteen he had seduced the very married twenty-one-year-old Duchess of Lancaster. The woman had taken one look at him and been tongue-tied all night. It was said the two had began a heated love affair. I had doubted the rumors before, but now I could understand how the young duchess could have fallen head over heels in love with the handsome young Scot. His brilliant blue eyes were amazing, in such contrast to the dark, nearly black hair that fell to his collar and curled. His lips curved, flashing a wolfish smile that revealed straight white teeth. He had the kind of face I yearned to stare at and study for hours on end.
And apparently I was staring, because I heard Ian’s sisters giggle.
“It is a pleasure, sir,” I said after too long a pause.
“Please, let there be no formality between us. Call me Ian.”
I nodded. “Very well, Ian.”
“And may I call you Margot?”
“You may.”
His brother approached and gave a formal bow. He was handsome as well—his hair not quite as dark nor as long, and his eyes a forest green.
“Welcome to Braemar Castle.”
“Thank you,” I replied.
A servant walked in, a lovely girl with long brown hair and mysterious dark eyes. Seeing me, she hesitated, and then forced a smile. When our gazes met, I could see the anger there, and felt hatred coming off her in waves.
“Laria,” another servant hissed at the girl, and she blinked and moved quickly, pouring wine into the goblets.
Laria watched me closely, something I was unaccustomed to in my household, where my father made sure the servants used a separate entrance and were to be “invisible” to family and guests. A flogging would be in place for any servant who did otherwise. This servant would have been released from duty immediately.
I tried to remember if I had seen her before when the family had come to visit, but I did not recall her.
The way she watched Ian though made me realize where the anger came from.
She desired Ian.
“Riley.”
I woke up. The sheets were tangled around my hips, and it was morning.
Anne Marie sat at the edge of my bed, her form nearly transparent. I could see straight through her.
“Anne Marie,” I whispered.
“Hello, my dear.”
Tears burned the backs of my eyes.
“Do you remember?” Anne Marie asked. “Do you remember when you were Margot Murray?”
The information hit me like a ton of bricks.
I
had been Margot Murray during Ian’s lifetime? No wonder I had felt so drawn to the castle upon coming to Braemar. I’d felt an unmistakable pull that I’d never quite understood. In fact, I’d been drawn to the castle the first day, where I had cut myself on the very lawns…and where Ian had made himself known to me in this lifetime.
No wonder we’d had such chemistry.
My mind raced. And I had known Laria in that life. I wish I wouldn’t have woken up. I wish I could have seen more.
“When you go to sleep at night, ask for the information to come,” Anne Marie said with a soft smile. “Ask to see more of that life, to answer questions you may have.”
Was it really that simple? I wondered, remembering the connection we’d had back in that life. It was the same feeling I’d had when I had met Kade.
Chapter 11
Megan sat a bowl of chocolate ice cream in front of her little brother. Only five years old, he looked nothing at all like Megan. He had platinum blond hair and clear blue eyes, and they also had different last names. In fact, he looked like he could be Cass’s little brother instead of Megan’s.
Her mom had been getting ready for work in the only bathroom in the trailer that sat on the family friend’s property. I could tell Megan was embarrassed the second we walked in, grabbing three empty beer bottles off the coffee table, and emptying an overflowing ashtray into the full trashcan. “Jesus, like it would bloody kill her to clean up after herself.”
Her brother glanced at her, large blue eyes wide. “You want me to help you clean?”
She ruffled his hair and smiled. “No, you just eat your ice cream.”
Immediately, he relaxed, sitting back on the well-worn orange couch and digging into his ice cream.
She motioned for me to follow her into the dining room, where I took a seat in one of the three chairs at the small table. Megan decided her house would be the best place to discuss the specifics about Saturday’s search for Laria’s grave. Plus, she had to watch her little brother again while her mom worked.
“I’m glad we have a few minutes before everyone else shows up,” she said, taking a seat across from me, glancing toward her brother, who was completely consumed with the cartoon he was watching.
“I’m freaking out a bit, and I had some questions for you. Questions I’ve been afraid to ask until now.”
“You can ask me anything.”
“Can she kill me?” she blurted, keeping her voice low enough that her brother couldn’t hear.
I swallowed past the knot in my throat. “I don’t know.”
“That’s hardly reassuring.”
I wasn’t going to lie to her. All my friends had seen what had happened at the football game last night.
Something hit the floor with a bang in another room. “Motherfucker,” a woman shouted, and my eyes widened.
Megan closed her eyes and sighed. “She’s so embarrassing.”
“I can’t find a goddamn thing in this house!” her mom shouted. “What bloody time is it, Megan?”
“Quarter ’til, Mum.”
This was the first time I was meeting Megan’s mom and I was anxious. She hadn’t talked about her much.
A petite, overly-tanned woman, with thin bleached hair that fell to the middle of her back, walked out into the dining room wearing skin-tight jeans and a white wife-beater with a black bra underneath. A pair of black motorcycle boots finished off the outfit.
“You’re wearing my jeans again,” Megan said, sounding disgusted.
I’d always been amused when I saw an older woman trying to look younger by wearing clothes from the junior department, but I’d never really known that mom personally…until now. Megan had forewarned me about her mom acting like she was young. In her prime, she must have been a total hottie, but time and a hard life had caught up with her.
She grabbed a pack of menthol cigarettes off the kitchen counter, pulled a cigarette out with a French manicured finger and lit it. She breathed the smoke in deeply and released it through her nose.