Page 1 of A Temptress in Tartan

Prologue

Falkland Palace, Scotland

August 1st, 1592

Elizabeth Ruthven stood at the edge of a cliff that fell several hundred feet straight down. A short distance from her booted toes was a thin, whisper-sheer cascade of water that tumbled over the broken lip of the precipice, spraying transparent, rainbow-hued mist onto the rocks below. An updraft of wind swooped over her from the moorland. In the distance, like an amber jewel set in a sea of green, was Falkland Palace.

Tears flooded Elizabeth’s eyes, falling to her cheeks momentarily before they were dried in the wind. King James VI and Queen Anne had brokered a truce between the Ruthven and the Douglas clans by forcing her to marry Lachlan Douglas on the morrow—a man she had never met, but whom she was born to detest.

A sad smile came to Elizabeth’s lips. It wasn’t every day a girl turned nineteen. Yet on her birthday, tomorrow, she would be forced to marry a man she did not love and did not even know. A man her father had talked about her whole life as evil incarnate. And now she was supposed to marry this . . . demon . . . when her heart belonged to another?

How did the king and queen imagine this arrangement would succeed? Two sworn enemies with no common ground? The queen had tried to assure Elizabeth that her bridegroom was not evil, and that he was indeed educated, civilized, a gentleman, and a warrior. The king had simply scowled at her and demanded she do as she’d been bid.

Had she been born male, she would not be in this position, she reflected bitterly as she took a look at the empty void below her feet. She wanted Roland Carswell in spite of his faults. She’d been in love with him for the past five years. Elizabeth released a ragged sigh. But she was not male, no one cared that it was Roland she loved, and it did no good to wish for what could not be.

Instead, she would be terrified to be alone every single day with the man she would be forced to marry, waiting for the moment when the bloodshed between their two families erupted anew. And it would continue no matter what the king or queen did to stop it. The hatred between their two families ran too deep for the fighting to end. Which was why she had come to this ledge. Her death would at least prevent her from sacrificing herself on the altar of supposed peace. Elizabeth shifted up on the balls of her feet, ready to jump.

“Is it really as terrible as all that?”

Elizabeth startled at the unexpected sight of a man not ten paces from her on the cliff’s ledge. How had he managed to get so close without her noticing? Then another thought struck her. Was he here to harm her before she could harm herself?

He did not have the ragged look of a thief or a vagrant about him; his white muslin shirt was clean and well fitted to his muscular chest and his breeches were well tailored. His boots were of the finest leather and polished to a high shine. The fading sunlight caught and caressed the man’s features, limning his cheeks and throat with light and tipping his eyelashes with gold. His blue eyes were filled with concern as he inched closer to her.

Blue eyes that seemed ever so familiar. “Stay where you are,” she warned.

He paused and looked over the edge of the cliff before returning his gaze to hers. “It’s a long way down. Before you plunge over the side and to your doom, would you care to talk about what’s bothering you?”

“What’s there to talk about?” Elizabeth said with her fists clenched as tightly as her jaw. “Besides, why do you care?”

They stared at each other for a heartbeat before he replied, “It would be a shame to spoil something so perfect as you.”

Heat came to her cheeks as she looked away, needing a reprieve from his calm, unnerving stare.

The young laird took three steps toward her until her gaze shifted back to him. He was beside her, an arm’s length away. Elizabeth frowned down at the emptiness below her. She wobbled slightly before she sucked in a startled breath and stiffened, stopping her forward momentum.

The blond-haired man met her frown with one of his own. “At least you have the sense to be frightened.”

Elizabeth opened her mouth to argue, but realized he was right. She was frightened, not only of leaping to her death, but also of marrying a stranger. In order to avoid acknowledging the truth, she changed the subject. “May I ask what you are doing out here in the middle of nowhere?”

He studied her for a long moment before he said, “The Lomond Hills are not ‘nowhere’ and nay, you may not.”

Despite her precarious situation, her temper flared and her skin warmed beneath the boldness of his gaze. “If you are going to be rude, then please leave. I would rather not die feeling flummoxed and flighty.”

“You are lucky I am here and not someone who will take advantage of this situation—someone with more time and fewer scruples.”

“You flatter yourself, sir, if you think you could so easily steal my virtue from me.”

“I made no claim to your virtue or anything else.” That calm, unnerving gaze of his held her in its grasp long enough for a flush to spread down her throat. His gaze followed to where the damask of her gown molded over her breasts. His eyes were the same brilliant blue as the sky. They held her in check and she had nowhere to look but into their depths.

It wasn’t until she felt his arm brush against her back and pull her toward him that she realized just how deeply entranced she had allowed herself to become. She drew a startled breath. “Let me go.”

He held her captive in his arms, facing him. “Only if you promise to remove yourself from this ledge and allow me to return you home with your virtue intact.”

He was so close—close enough that she could smell both sunshine and a slight hint of cloves on his skin. She watched as the wind pressed his crisp muslin shirt against his chest and broad shoulders, hinting at a muscled physique beneath. “How dare you,” she stammered, shocked by how affected she was by his nearness. Never had she had such a response to any man before, not even Roland.

“You have a lot of fight left in you for one who was willing to leap from that ledge a few moments ago.”

“I will fight you with my last breath if you do not let me go,” she said tartly. He edged closer, and Elizabeth felt the heat of his eyes rake her again.