A Scot Mess: A comedy of errors Read online

  A Scot Mess

  A comedy of errors

  Caroline Lee

  Contents

  About This Book

  Other Books by Caroline Lee

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Copyright

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Epilogue

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  SNEAK PEEK

  About This Book

  Laird Oliphant’s sons have no choice but to get married.

  Without an heir, the laird has gathered his sons—his six illegitimate sons, all born in the same year—and declared whoever presents him with a grandson first, will become the next Highland Laird.

  Reactions are...mixed.

  But to Finn Oliphant, this is exactly the news he’s been hoping for. You see, Finn has already chosen his future wife: the vivacious and intelligent Fiona MacIan, whom he fell in love with the previous year. He knows she’s in love with him as well, so this whole “marriage ultimatum” thing should be easy-peasy. He’ll simply invite Fiona to Oliphant Castle to sign all the betrothal contracts and… Bam! Done! They can get on with the baby-making!

  Except…

  It’s not that Fiona is getting cold feet, exactly. She’s fairly certain she loves Finn. Mostly. Well, verra likely, at least. But she’s never been the most self-confident woman, especially compared to her sister—her identical twin sister—whom Finn happens to mistake for Fiona upon their arrival at his keep, which is super-awkward all around.

  The idea of marrying Finn makes her feel all warm and giddy—hopefully that’s just lust, not the ague—but how can she be certain he truly wants her, and not just any woman?

  It’s hard enough to be certain of anything on Oliphant land, especially with Finn’s mad Aunt Agatha spreading rumors, five potential brothers-in-law offering terrible advice, and a mysterious ghostly drummer keeping the entire keep awake at all hours.

  And mayhap Finn should’ve mentioned his identical twin brother as well? That information likely would have saved everyone a lot of headache…and a lot of heartbreak.

  Finn and Fiona have plenty to learn about themselves, and one another, before they can be certain this marriage is a good idea. But unfortunately, they’re running out of time. Dun-dun-duuuuuuuun!

  Warning… This comedy of errors is not for anyone who can’t handle the following: plenty of naughty scenes, more than a few anachronistic jokes, and an embarrassing number of mistaken-identity gags. Only pick up this book if you have a sense of humor. You’ve been warned.

  Other Books by Caroline Lee

  Want the scoop on new books? Join Caroline’s Cohort, an exclusive reader group! Or sign up for my mailing list by texting “Caroline” to 42828 to get started!

  Steamy Scottish Historicals:

  The Sinclair Jewels (4 books)

  The Highland Angels (4 books)

  The Hots for Scots (7 books)

  Sensual Historical Westerns:

  Black Aces (3 books)

  Sunset Valley (3 books)

  Everland Ever After (10 books)

  The Sweet Cheyenne Quartet (6 books)

  Sweet Contemporary Westerns

  Quinn Valley Ranch (5 books)

  River’s End Ranch (14 books)

  Click here to find a complete list of Caroline’s books.

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  Prologue

  The moment he’d set eyes on her, he’d known she was someone special.

  He had been passing through the marketplace at Wick, having finished his transaction, and was heading for a tavern for supper, which had been recommended by the merchant he’d just been haggling with. Finn Oliphant was hungry and his steps were determined.

  But hearing her voice stopped him in his tracks.

  She had been arguing with a cloth seller for a bolt of green velvet. She’d been confident and certain of her righteousness as she haggled, and that sense of surety in her voice had piqued his interest.

  But when she’d turned, triumphantly struggling with the cloth she now owned, he’d found himself instantly lost in the sparkle of those perfect blue eyes.

  Offering to help her with the heavy bolt had been instinctual, and by the time he’d walked her to the wagon she’d brought to market, he was half in love.

  Despite her status as a laird’s sister, Fiona MacIan was not proud or haughty. She and her guard—an older man, who had the most unusual method of cursing—traveled weekly to surrounding markets to suss out the best deals for the MacIans’ limited coin.

  Over meat pies, once she agreed to join him for supper, she and Finn had swapped stories and laughter over the many deals they’d made with merchants, mostly to their advantages.

  He’d been utterly captivated by her zest for life, her willingness to work, and her complete selflessness. She’d blushed prettily when he’d complimented her, and when he’d kissed her, she’d responded exactly the way he’d hoped.

  They’d managed to avoid her guard for the rest of the evening and had spent the time wrapped in each other’s arms in the hayloft of the tavern’s stables.

  Oh, Finn hadn’t compromised her, despite how desperately aroused she’d made him…but they’d spent the time learning about one another’s pasts, tasting one another’s lips, and planning for a future together.

  The next day, Fiona twisted in her seat at the front of the wagon to blow him a kiss as she headed away from Wick.

  Finn had stood there in the road, watching her until she was out of sight. He suspected he should feel sad, should feel bereft, knowing winter would be upon them soon and chances to travel would be limited.

  But he felt none of those things.

  Instead, his heart was soaring, flying.

  Despite his lack of release last night, he’d never spent a happier time in a woman’s arms.

  Aye, Fiona MacIan was heading away from him, but that mattered not.

  Because, somehow, he was going to make that woman his wife.

  Chapter One

  Laird Oliphant’s sons were hungover.

  At least, most of them were.

  Finn certainly was and currently had his chin propped up on his fist, his elbow resting on the trestle table in the great hall, and was attempting to do the math.

  Alistair wasn’t hungover, of course, because the man never took the time away from his work to have any fun. And ‘twas hard to tell with Malcolm, their most scholarly brother. He was muttering to himself as he doodled designs for something—an innovative new ploughshare? A siege weapon? A brooch for Duncan to smith?—in the spilled ale in front of him.

  So that was two of the brothers, leaving four.

  Finn squinted, trying to ignore the growing noise as the household woke for the day.

  Six minus two was four, aye?

  Aye.

  He blew out a breath, wishing he had some ale for his parched throat. Or water, barring aught else.

  So aye, it would be factual to state that most of Laird Oliphant’s sons were hungover.

  But of course, they had no proof there weren’t more sons out there somewhere. Da prided himself on having gathered all of his known bastards under his roof, making sure they were raised right. And he’d always said that, after siring three sets of twins in less than a year, he’
d vowed to keep his cock tucked inside his kilt where it belonged.

  Right up until that disastrous marriage of his, at least.

  “What has ye looking so suspicious?”

  Finn startled, then winced when the movement sent a spike of pain through his forehead. Scowling, he turned to his twin.

  “What?”

  Duncan’s head was propped against the stone wall behind him, and he scowled right back. “Ye’re glaring at the world as if”—he paused to swallow, his voice even more gravelly than usual—“as if the ghostly drummer of Oliphant Castle is banging on the inside of yer skull. Or as if ye’ve come up with a scheme to save us from Da’s ultimatum.”

  Save them?

  When Da had handed him the means to achieve his fondest wish?

  Finn stopped himself before he could snort in derision, knowing it wouldn’t help his head.

  “Nay.” He finally managed to make his tongue work properly. “I mean, aye, the drummer is pounding inside my head.”

  Duncan’s eyes closed. “He was pounding all last night too. Did ye no’ hear him? By St. Simon’s left earlobe, ‘tis annoying. Can’t even leave a man to bemoan his fate in peace.”

  Despite his headache, Finn’s brows lifted in surprise.

  Dunc had heard the drummer?

  Not everyone did, but Finn had heard him so often over the last half-year, he thought he was the only one doomed to have disrupted sleep.

  “I was—” Wait, what had Finn been thinking of? Oh, aye. “I was doing maths.”

  “God help us, he’s doing maths,” came a groan from his other side.

  Rocque was lying face-down, his head in his arms. Finn hadn’t realized their largest brother was awake, much less cognizant.

  He poked the man. “Was that ye, Rocque?”

  “Nay,” Rocque mumbled. “No’ if ye’re doing maths.”

  It was Malcolm who answered his twin, offering a teasing grin as he looked up from his doodles. “Come now, Rocque, we’ve been over this. Mathematics isnae to be feared. ‘Tis a useful skill, and one ye use every day.” He shifted forward on his bench, propping his elbows on either side of his smeared drawing and lacing his fingers together. “Two bannock cakes plus two bannock cakes makes—”

  “A man no’ shit for a week?” Finn supplied.

  Malcolm’s eyes crinkled as he tried not to smile. “And if Kiergan has six women who are willing to screw him senseless, and there are seven days in a week, how many women can he—”

  “Shut up, Mal,” Rocque growled, not lifting his head from his arms.

  Duncan pushed himself upright. “One each night?” he offered.

  “Excellent!” Malcolm beamed. “And none on Sunday, which is the Lord’s Day.”

  “Aye, nae fornicating on the Lord’s Day.” Finn elbowed his twin in the side. “ ’Tis for loving yer own hand.”

  Duncan rolled his eyes, then winced and dropped his head to his hand. “ ’Tis the only loving we’re likely to have, if Da has his way.”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake, he wants ye to marry, no’ become celibate.” Kiergan’s words drifted up from the bench on the other side of Malcolm. “There is a difference.”

  Finn stretched forward, but even then could only see his brother’s cocked knee where it rested against the table. “I was wondering where ye’d gone.”

  “From the pounding of my head, I’d say Hell,” Kiergan murmured.

  “What in damnation do ye mean, he wants ye to marry?” Rocque finally lifted his head from the table. “Are ye no’ one of his sons? Were ye no’ included in his order?”

  One of Kiergan’s fingers rose above the table. “Ah, but ye see, ‘tis where we differ. I have nae intention of following said orders.”

  Rocque snorted and reached across the table, grabbing the flagon of ale from beside his twin. “Good luck,” he muttered, before lifting the drink to his lips.

  “Have ye no’ had enough?” Malcolm asked, his teasing turning to concern.

  All the Oliphants knew this particular set of twins were the closest, even though they couldn’t be more dissimilar. They’d come into the laird’s care the latest, having been raised until the age of twelve by a distant relative, who wanted naught to do with the lads.

  They’d been accepted with open arms by William Oliphant’s other bastard sons, but scholarly Malcolm and bull-chested Rocque had a special bond.

  But, God love him, Malcolm apparently didn’t know the best cure for a hangover.

  “ ’Twill do him good,” Finn said, reaching for the flagon and pulling it away from Rocque. “And me too.”

  Greedily, he drank down the ale, relishing in the way the cool liquid eased his dry throat. But when Dunc nudged him, Finn sighed into the mug and passed the ale to his twin, knowing the poor man needed it more than him.

  After all, Duncan—all of them—had just found out they had to marry, and soon.

  Last night, after supper, Da had bid Nessa goodnight and sent her up to her chambers, citing her recent loss as part of his command. Their sister had glared at them all, but when Da had refused to relent, she’d huffed mightily and stomped upstairs, shooed along by daft Aunt Agatha. Then Da had turned to all of them.

  “Well, my lads,” he’d begun, in that great booming voice of his, “ye ken I have nae legitimate sons, and I refuse to allow that sniveling cousin of mine the lairdship after I’m gone. ‘Twill have to be one of ye.”

  All six of them had sat straight up in their seats at that, exchanging glances. Alistair had looked intrigued, but then, he’d always been more interested in running the clan than the rest of them. Duncan had looked horrified; Rocque interested; Malcolm concerned; and Kiergan…?

  Well, Kiergan had burst out laughing.

  “How will ye choose, Da?” the rakish brother of theirs had called out, lifting his ale in salute. “And how will ye convince the clan to accept one of us?”

  William Oliphant had smiled then, a chilling smile, which told Finn he had a plan.

  A smile which should’ve told them what was coming. A smile which should’ve warned them they wouldn’t like his meddling.

  “ ’Tis simple, lads,” Da had said casually, leaning back in his great wooden chair. “Ye’ll all marry before the summer’s over. The first one of ye to present me with a grandson, will be the next chieftain.”

  Kiergan had quit laughing then.

  The arguments had been over quickly, when it was clear Da wasn’t joking. He intended them all to marry and start producing bairns for him to bounce on his knee, and the first one with a son would become laird.

  Finn doubted he was the only one of the six Oliphant bastards who was wondering if he wanted a son.

  Or a lairdship.

  However, he knew he was the only one who had been pleased by Da’s decision, because now Finn had a path to the future he wanted.

  Marriage to Fiona MacIan.

  So when Da had made his escape, and the whisky had started flowing, Finn hadn’t been mourning his lost bachelorhood, nay. But he’d always been an affable sort and had wanted to support his brothers in their misery.

  At least, that’s what he’d told himself.

  When the cock had crowed that morning, he’d wondered if mayhap it’d been ill-advised to drink so heavily.

  But now that his throat was cooled, and the smell of porridge wafted from the undercroft and kitchens, Finn decided he didn’t feel all that badly after all.

  “Are ye lads ready to break yer fast?”

  Moira, the housekeeper, stood behind Malcolm, holding a tray, one brow cocked disapprovingly. When Rocque groaned, one corner of her lips pulled up.

  “I brought simple bread and water, but I could be convinced to fetch ye some poached fish. In berry sauce. And oysters. And jellied eels. And some fragrant aged cheese to—”

  “Cease, woman!” Duncan called, dropping his head into his hands once more. “For the love of God, only bread, please.”

  Smirking openly now, Moira leaned over
Kiergan to thump the tray in front of them. “Only bread? Nae oysters or eel sauce or elderberry jam?”

  Beside Finn, Rocque made an ill noise and lowered his forehead to his arms again. Malcolm, however, smiled brightly up at the plump woman who’d fussed over all of them since they’d arrived at Oliphant Castle.

  “Thank ye, dear Moira,” he said politely, grabbing a hunk of the bread and tossing another to Finn. “Ye heard of our fate?”

  The way the housekeeper nodded made Finn wonder—as he bit into the warm brown bread—if she’d known Da’s plans before the rest of them.

  “I think ‘tis a fine idea, although the laird makes a dangerous wager.”

  “Aye,” Finn agreed. “He might end up with Kiergan as the next Oliphant.”

  “Never!” came the impassioned claim from the bench. “I’ll no’ jump to marry some lass just because Da dangles a prize I dinnae even want in front of my nose!” His hand rose again, reaching for the table. “Now, one of ye louts pass me some of that bread.”

  Moira nudged the bench with her knee. “Why no’ sit up and join the rest of the living?”

  “Because,” Kiergan groaned, “I dinnae think my back is working this morning, and my head is much more comfortable lying here. Ale, please?”

  As Finn broke off a piece of the bread and passed it to his twin—Duncan snatched it out of his hand with a grateful grunt, but didn’t lift his head—Moira caught the eye of a serving wench.

  “Ale here, Minnie! And if any of these clot-heids pinch yer bottom, remind them they’re to be married soon!”

  As Rocque groaned again, Kiergan shook his finger at the woman they all viewed as a second mother—those that still had mothers in the first place, at least.