Chapter 1
MacCallan Castle
Highlands
1795
As the first daughter of the late Duke of Roxburgh, Lady Honoria MacCallan had always been coddled by her brothers, wrapped in cotton wool and shielded from the world. As a young girl, she had adored their attention, even at times when she wanted to wrench their hair from their very heads.
As a woman of twenty, she refused to be coddled any longer.
Sadly, the situation was not that simple. Two years ago, a horrific twist of fate had changed all of their lives. They had lost a brother, Ewan, who had sustained a fatal blow to his head in a fighting match, heaving his last breath in Adair’s arms, the oldest and current Duke of Roxburgh. A rare occurrence, the doctor had announced, and nobody’s fault. Ewan had been unlucky.
The mighty twelve had been reduced to eleven.
Ever since that day, Honoria and her sister Isla had been leashed to the castle grounds. A leash, Honoria thought bitterly, about to snap if pulled any tighter.
She glared up at her brothers with hands firmly planted on her hips. Four of them were present. Happily, the others were elsewhere.
“Don’t be looking at me like that, lass. You cannot travel with us to Edinburgh.’Tis a matter for adults,” Adair said in his usual throaty drawl.
His soft, coffee-colored eyes held no hint of remorse—only firm conviction. That he was the most indulgent of all her brothers made it all the more infuriating for him to rebuff her request for the hundredth time.
“Iaman adult!” Honoria exploded, hands fisting at her side. “I have been for ages now!”
Adair dragged a hand through his chestnut hair, tinged with several different ranges of red, much like her own and most of her siblings. Only Isla and Boyd flaunted copper hair.
“You are still a wee lass to us,” Adair answered.
Honoria flung her glare to Duncan, who, unlike the rest of the brood, had a peaceful nature about him. It infuriated her that both Adair and Duncan refused to listen to reason on this. “You cannot be serious; I am old enough to travel with you.”
“Aye, but who will watch over Isla?” Gregor asked in a low, reasonable voice.
Honoria leveled him with a not-so-reasonable glare. “Hugh is staying behind.” Which was a miracle, truly. Hugh—her twin and the youngest male in the family—was a rare choice to leave in charge. Duncan or Boyd normally stayed behind to supervise the general run of things.
“Isla needs her sister,” Duncan insisted.
Honoria scowled up at him. His soothing tone was doing everything but soothing her. Isla and Hugh were old enough to boil their own darn potatoes. But nay, what her brother wasn’t saying was that they did notwanther to accompany them while they traveled to Edinburgh. Which was all Honoria had wanted to do ever since she read her first Robert Burns poem at sixteen.
She wanted to trace the steps of her favorite artists and study their work. She longed to breathe in the city’s culture and society, rub elbows with ladies that shared the same interests. And over the past two years, with the walls of the castle closing in on her, her desire grew fiercer. Her desire, however, was one her brothers refused to indulge.
Rats, the lot of them.
“I am not a tiny wee lass too delicate to travel such an arduous road,” she snapped, her amber eyes lifting to meet Adair’s.
“We will take you when Isla is older,” Callum supplied, drawing her gaze, attempting his famous knee-wobbling smile.
Honoria was not in the mood. Neither was she one of his simpering sweethearts who swooned at his feet at the mere hint of a grin. “And how old is that?” she demanded. “Thirty-seven?”
“Honoria,” Adair warned.
“There are plenty of servants to watch over Isla,” Honoria argued, redirecting her icy gaze to him. “And she is nearing her eighteenth birthday—not an infant, either.”
Adair sighed. “We have business to attend to, lass. We cannot take you sightseeing. Why not find yourself a young lad to marry instead of engrossing yourself with the lives of dead people and senseless musings?”
“Don’t forget those paintings of hers,” Callum put in with a shudder. “A husband will do you good, lass.”
The barbs hit home.
