The Laird’s Angel Read online

  When he turned toward the head table, he didn’t loosen his grip on her hand, but tugged her along with him as he introduced her.

  “Ye ken Gillepatric, my father’s advisor—”

  “And yers, milord,” the old man interrupted, then led with an ingratiating bow.

  Lachlan grunted. “Indeed. And this is my mother, Isla.”

  Mellie smiled and curtsied to the older woman who was so intently studying her.

  Finally, Isla nodded. “Marry this one quick, boy, before she gets away from ye too.”

  The comment was so startling and so unexpected, Mellie shot a glance at Lachlan, only to see his face flush.

  From anger?

  Embarrassment?

  But before she could wonder any further at his reaction, he tugged her on. “This is Owen, my second-in-command and a good friend.”

  The big man held her hand a moment too long, but his wink and smile told her he was happy for his laird’s upcoming marriage.

  Clearing his throat, Lachlan glared at his friend, then gestured Mellie toward their seats. Before she could sit, however, he turned her to face him.

  “And finally…” Reaching out his free arm, he wrapped it around the shoulders of the little girl—Mellie thought she was likely around six years old—who Lachlan had held in his arms in the courtyard when they’d arrived. “This is my daughter, Simone.”

  Mellie had known she was his child the moment she’d first laid eyes on her, and not just because of the affection he showed the lass.

  While her blonde hair was lighter than her father’s, she had the same gray eyes. Those, along with the smattering of freckles across her cheeks and nose, told Mellie she’d grow to be an incredibly beautiful woman, though she was already a very cute little girl.

  Mellie’s mind whirled, trying to remember everything Rosa had told her before she’d left. Lachlan Fraser had only been laird for a few years—two, right?—but had lived here with his family while his older brother had been laird.

  Had Lachlan been married before?

  Nay, surely Rosa would’ve mentioned it.

  Mellie was aware there’d been a betrothal between him and some woman, but it had been broken years ago.

  Simone had to be his natural daughter—a by-blow.

  But the lass’s curtsey was impeccable, which told Mellie Lachlan had done his duty by her, raising her correctly.

  And it was clear he loved her, but who, and where, was her mother?

  “Milady?”

  Simone’s hesitant prompt yanked Mellie’s attention away from her whirling thoughts, and she glanced at Lachlan. The girl’s father was watching her with a carefully neutral expression, as if wondering what she would say and do.

  And in that moment, Mellie knew the truth: Though she was here to investigate—seduce and betray—Simone’s father, she would never give this girl cause to think any less of herself, as Mellie had done for so long.

  So she reached for the lass’s hands, capturing them in hers, and made sure her smile was warm when she met Simone’s eyes. “I am verra pleased to meet ye, Simone. I’ve heard so much about ye.”

  The girl’s eyes flicked up to her father’s, who couldn’t hide the flash of surprise within them. But Mellie hadn’t lied; she had heard the name Simone, several times from Lachlan himself, even if he hadn’t bothered to explain who she was.

  “Aye, Da likes to brag about me.” Simone’s smile was bright when she looked up at Mellie again. “Did he tell ye about the fish I caught?”

  Unable to help the surprised burst of laughter which escaped her lips, Mellie shook her head. “He didnae. Ye’ll have to tell me yerself.”

  Mellie shot a teasing grin his way, without a thought as to how easy it was to feel so carefree around him, only to realize he was glancing between the two of them with a look of concern.

  Though he quickly recovered and offered a smile in return, Mellie had clearly seen the worry.

  Amid the bustle and chaos of seating and serving, Mellie pondered his obvious unease.

  Had he been worried she would reject the girl?

  To his credit, the part she’d been playing—that of the cold, calculating lady-wife—likely would’ve made him think as much.

  But did he really think so poorly of her, he expected she would needlessly hurt an innocent lass?

  Why did that bother her so much?

  She tried to think as if she were Rosa.

  What did she know so far?

  Well, Lachlan’s attention to his daughter—however illegitimate she might be—proved he was a man who understood responsibility.

  The delicious food she was enjoying said his household was well-run, and if he wasn’t actually running it, then he was ensuring the position went to someone—his mother? The seneschal?—whom he trusted to get the job done.

  The Frasers’ cheers and excitement told Mellie he was well-loved and revered as the laird.

  But it was the memory of what he’d said after that brief kiss—the kiss which she hadn’t planned, and therefore, hadn’t properly enjoyed—which gave her most pause.

  He’d said he’d been glad she’d made an impression on the clan which would one day be hers. He believed this betrothal was real, which meant he thought he’d been introducing the future Lady Fraser to his people.

  That explained his sudden attentiveness and honor when he’d presented her…he wanted her to be well-liked.

  That, more than anything, told Mellie he cared for his clan’s future and was a thoughtful and intelligent ruler.

  Could that sort of man also be a traitor?

  Sainte Vierge, but this is confusing.

  On her left, Lady Isla Fraser kept up a running commentary on the dishes and the people around them, and Mellie tried her best to remember what she was saying, wondering how she would know what was important, and what was irrelevant, to her mission.

  “This trout is well-prepared, but the fish is small. Ye can taste the difference, aye?”

  Mellie murmured her agreement as she watched the servants doling out supper below.

  Isla continued, “Now, when my Cameron was with us, he’d bring in the biggest trout the loch had ever seen! Why, even the monster herself couldn’t eat all of these in one bite!”

  Monster?

  And who in the world was Cameron? Hadn’t her husband’s name been Michael?

  God’s Wounds, but for even a small portion of Rosa’s memory!

  “Aye, that lad was a born fisherman!” Isla continued fondly. “When he returns, he’ll fill our stores for years, I’ll wager.”

  From Mellie’s other side came Lachlan’s murmur, “Just ignore her, lass.”

  Mellie turned to see if he’d been speaking to her, just as he raised his voice so his mother could hear his next words.

  “Ye ken Cameron’s dead, Mother. Father Isaac says ‘tis better for ye to spend yer breath praying for his soul, than hoping for his return.”

  “Bah!”

  Mellie twisted back to see Isla glaring at her son, her eating knife brandished like a sword.

  “Ye just want him to be dead. Ye and yer brothers—ye’re all like that!” She jabbed the air in front of her with such vigor, Mellie leaned away. “Hamish and James and ye, ye’re just jealous of him.”

  On her other side, Gillepatric was trying to quiet her, but Lachlan grunted quietly. “Jealous? Nay, Mother. Never.”

  The woman was clearly addled, stuck in the past with this Cameron person.

  Hoping to distract Isla, Mellie blurted the first question which came to her mind. “Cameron, milady? I thought yer husband was Michael?”

  Mayhap it was the right thing to ask, because Isla sighed happily as she sunk back into her seat and poked at her fish. “Aye, and Michael was a good leader, if a poor husband. Now there was a man who knew what was best for his clan!”

  Did that mean she thought Lachlan—her own son!—was a poor leader?

  Mellie frowned, but kept her attention on the woman, w
illing her to give more information. She was rewarded when the dowager launched into the history of the clan.

  Unfortunately, she began over a hundred years ago, and her rambling not only took up most of the mealtime, but caused Mellie’s attention to wander.

  Finally, the woman got to the relevant history Mellie actually wanted to know about.

  “Michael supported the Comyns, of course, rather than that upstart Bruce who took the throne after murdering poor John the Red.”

  At last!

  Mellie leaned forward, only to be interrupted by Lachlan, who growled a warning.

  “Mother.”

  Isla waved away his irritation. “Posh! Yer brother Hamish would’ve done something about that so-called king, had he lived that long.”

  “Mother, Red Comyn is dead. His line is dead. He will no’ be King of Scotland. Robert the Bruce is the ruler we need, and he has done what no other man could in uniting this country and winning our freedom.”

  Bold, passionate words.

  But had they been said merely for Mellie’s benefit, or did Lachlan truly feel that way?

  “Bah!” Isla pushed away her trencher. “Had poor James—as the second son—not been killed in that ridiculous war with the English, he’d be laird now. But Cameron—he’s my youngest son, dear”—she said in an aside to Mellie—“he’d be the best of the lot of ye. He’d know exactly who to support in this—”

  “Mother!” Slamming his fist down on the table, Lachlan made most of them jump. “Enough. My brother has been gone for fifteen years, and was too young to survive on his own when he left. Uncle Andrew followed him, but has found no sign of him, and now we’ve had no word from Andrew for years. He’s likely dead too.” Lachlan’s chest heaved and his nostrils flared with the emotion he was trying to control. “Ye just need to accept these facts, Mother,” he finished more gently.

  For a long moment, Isla peered around Mellie at her son. Then her shoulders dropped and she sighed. Glancing down at her trencher, she said, “Ye may be right, lad.”

  Grunting again, Lachlan settled into his chair, but he didn’t seem to be at any more ease.

  Nay, he held himself as if he were…ashamed?

  Ashamed at snapping at his mother?

  On his other side, Simone was chattering about the fish she hoped to catch that week, and how it would rival her Uncle Cameron’s catches she’d heard about. Lachlan would occasionally answer her, but Mellie kept quiet, content to listen and watch.

  And wonder at the undercurrents of unrest here at An Torr.

  * * *

  Two days later, and Lachlan was still thinking about the way he’d snapped at his mother. The memory tasted sour in the back of his throat, and he recognized the sensation: shame.

  The Frasers knew Mother hadn’t been the same since Cameron had run off, and even though Lachlan wasn’t sure if she knew why the lad had run, he did his best to treat her with sympathy. What he’d done the other night at the supper table had not been sympathetic…but mayhap it had finally needed to be said.

  Mellie—and how strange, to think of her that way, although the name suited her—had been sent here by the Queen. Part of him wondered if she was the product of some sort of test.

  The Crown needed to know he was loyal, aye, but was Mellie more than she seemed?

  Aye, ye clot-heid, she is! Remember the alleyway?

  The woman could take on the persona of a chilly noblewoman or a lusty temptress in the blink of an eye. She would be the perfect tool to use in testing his loyalty.

  And on the very night of her arrival at An Torr, she’d had to hear his addled-headed mother spout treasonous drivel.

  Would Mellie relay all of that to the Queen?

  “Da, come on! Faster!”

  Shaking himself from his thoughts, Lachlan smiled as he allowed his lass to tug him along the shore of the loch. “If I’d kenned ye wanted me to run to the baker’s, I’d have told ye to go on without me.”

  “Da!” she whined and rolled her eyes. “Ye said ye were going this way anyhow.”

  He nodded along the shore to where the fishermen were mending their nets. “Nae farther than that.”

  “Well then, we can walk together— Oh!”

  His daughter yanked to a stop, a frown on her face as she saw the figure strolling down the path leading from the village.

  Mellie.

  He’d recognize those curves anywhere.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked in a low voice.

  Did Simone have reason to not want to meet up with Mellie?

  But his worries were unfounded, because the lass swiftly pulled her hand from his and began to tug at her braid, smoothing the loose tendrils into order.

  “What are ye doing?” he murmured, curious.

  “Trying to look nicer for her.” The small freckled face turned up to him. “Am I dirty? Lady Melisandre is always so pretty.”

  With a smile, he reached down and mussed her hair, earning a shriek from her as she ducked out from under his hand.

  “Da!”

  “Ye look beautiful, lass, and Lady Melisandre will think so too.”

  To his surprise, Simone flushed and looked down at her hands. “I want her to like me. I don’ want her to—”

  Alarmed at her serious tone, Lachlan dropped to his haunches and took her hands. “What is it, Simone?”

  Gray eyes so like his own finally lifted and met his.

  “I want her to like me, Da,” she whispered, “so she doesnae go away like my mam did.”

  It was the fear in his daughter’s expression which caused a fist to tighten around his heart.

  “That wasnae yer fault,” he whispered harshly, unable to say the words otherwise. “Yer mother…” He shook his head.

  “Good morning!”

  The cheerful call startled them both, but Lachlan was slow to rise, taking his daughter’s hand back within his as he turned to his betrothed.

  Mellie was radiant this morning, with the wind playing merry hell with her curls, and her tanned cheeks were kissed by the breeze.

  This is how she’d look after a tumble, he was sure of it.

  His cock jumped at the thought.

  He cleared his throat. “Good morning, milady.”

  Mellie’s smiled briefly at him, but quickly dropped her attention, and her smile, to Simone. “Are ye going fishing? I heard ‘tis a good day for it.”

  Simone glanced up at him, as if looking for guidance, and he silently urged her to be herself.

  Mayhap she understood, because she bit her lip, then answered Mellie hesitantly.

  “I…donae ken, milady. The baker’s younger son often lets me go out on the loch with him. I thought…” She swallowed. “Mayhap.”

  Rather than turn her nose up at the idea of a lass fishing, Mellie bent forward slightly. “I’ve heard stories of a monster who lives in the lake. Have ye ever seen her?”

  Emboldened slightly, Simone shook her head, glanced up at her father, then raised her chin. “ ’Tis just a tale, milady. Da says there’s no such thing as monsters, and I believe him.”

  To his surprise, a cloud of sorrow passed briefly over Mellie’s expression, but she hid it by straightening and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

  “Aye,” she agreed, a little too cheerfully. “I cannae imagine a real monster living in such a wee lake anyhow.”

  Simone burst into laughter. “Wee? Loch Ness is huge, milady!”

  Faking a nonchalant shrug, Mellie turned to look at the water, but peeked over her shoulder. “Not compared to where I grew up fishing.”

  His daughter’s chuckles turned to a gasp so quickly, she almost choked. “What?” she sputtered. “Ye fished? Where?”

  It was Mellie’s turn to chuckle when she gestured Simone to stand by her side. “I’m a Lamond and grew up on the Firth of Clyde. Loch Ness is big, aye, but our loch south of here”—she pointed in that direction—“is even bigger. ‘Tis because this is the Highlands, and the mountains dete
rmine where the lakes will be, aye?”

  Simone was nodding eagerly, and when Mellie finished explaining, the lass grabbed hold of the woman’s hand. “Ye are a Lowlander? And yer da let ye fish?”

  “Well, ah…”

  When Mellie lifted her fingernail to her lips and glanced over at Lachlan, he saw hesitation in her gaze and knew it was because of his daughter’s question.

  Well, no matter how or why she was here, he was pledged to marry her, which would make her Simone’s mother of sorts. Let her figure out how to answer the question.

  He raised one brow in challenge, letting her know she was on her own.

  She took a deep breath, curled her hand into a fist, then shrugged.

  Why did he feel as if she’d just accepted his challenge?

  “Well, Simone”—she winked down at the girl—“my da had strong feelings about things a lass should and shouldnae be allowed to do.”

  “Aye,” his daughter agreed, and nodded sagely. “Grandmother is like that. But my da ignores her and lets me do what I please.”

  “No’ quite true, ye wee hellion,” Lachlan was quick to defend his parenting, stepping up beside the pair and scooping up his daughter. “I don’ allow ye to paint mud on the walls. Or eat sweets before dinner.”

  Simone sighed and rolled her eyes. “Or practice with a sword bigger than my foot. Or stay up all night. Or climb that big tree in the bailey. Or go out on the loch all alone.”

  Chuckling, he tweaked her nose. “ ’Tis glad I am ye remember the rules.”

  “Da!” she whined. Then, with a gasp, she twisted in his arms, so that one elbow was resting on his shoulder, and she was facing Mellie once more. “How’d ye go fishing then, milady?”

  “Mellie,” the woman corrected, and reached out to tap his daughter on her wee nose.

  The motion seemed so natural, none of them recoiled; in fact, Simone giggled.

  Not for the first time, Lachlan wondered what it would be like if he could find a wife who might cherish his lass as much as he did.

  Could Melisandre Lamond, who seemed both haughty and earthy, be that woman?

  Who was she really?