Wake Me With a Kiss: A Fairy Tale Retelling (Regency Fairy Twists Book 1) Read online

  “Who are ye?” he demanded.

  Her scowl deepened and she stood, snatching up her basket as though he might be very interested in her lone piece of ham.

  “I asked first.”

  “But yer the trespasser.”

  “I certainly am not!”

  Those mossy green eyes were not so mossy when they stared up at him. In fact, they were becoming more interesting by the moment, and he’d certainly never been interested in moss. Dark green at the center, radiating out to an almost sea green, then finished with a ring of dark color that he supposed had given him that plant-like impression.

  She peered at him as though he was crazed, and he realized he was staring into them for too long.

  “Yer on my land,” he stated.

  Yet again, her gaze ran the length of him. He’d never been so aware of his height and stature before. In battle, his oversized body had been useful—apart from when it came to ducking bullets. But now he felt like an ogre or a giant, come to feast on this wee little lass.

  However, though there was certainly distrust in her gaze, she did not seem frightened of him. In fact, she raised her chin and directed her challenging stare at him.

  “This is the land of the Laird of Baleith.”

  “Aye.”

  She tilted her head. “The laird is six and fifty years.”

  “He was.”

  “Was?”

  “Aye. He died several weeks ago.”

  “He did?” Her eyes widened and she took a stumbling step back. He instinctively reached for her and helped her straighten, but she shook off his touch.

  He flexed the hand that had met her skin. A mild burning sensation had struck him the instant they had touched. He tried to shake it from his mind but he could still feel it, still recall the softness of her skin.

  Hamish opted for looking over her head. Golden strands of hair curled from it in wild disarray. What had once been a braid now looked to be a misshaped wodge of hair. Slightly brighter strands curled around her face, drawing attention to the pointed chin and tightly pressed together lips.

  Damnation, now he was looking at her mouth.

  He forced his attention back to her eyes. Aye, they were far too intriguing but if he continued on the path he was on, he’d end up staring at her figure and he could not allow that.

  “The laird had a fall. He died from his injuries, unfortunately.”

  “I did not know.”

  “Well, now you do.”

  “But why would I not know?”

  “I’m not sure. Do ye know all that goes on around here? Forgive me for not telling ye as soon as he hit his deathbed,” he said, his tone dry.

  “There’s no need to be rude. I am just sure my aunt would have known.”

  “I can be as rude as I like, lass. Yer standing on my land.”

  “You cannot really be a laird. No laird would speak in such a manner.”

  Whoever this stranger was, it was apparent she felt she should know all that occurred on his private land. He chuckled. “Well, this one does.”

  She clutched the basket close. “You should be ashamed, speaking such lies and besmirching the name of a good man.”

  “Aye, Cousin Malcolm was a good man, I shall agree with ye on that, but I dinnae think me speaking the truth counts as besmirching.”

  “Cousin Malcolm?”

  She took several steps back, nearly stumbling again. Though he went to steady her again, she dodged his touch, much to his disappointment. He could not help wonder if it would feel the same, if that strange tingling sensation would strike him again.

  “Aye, Cousin Malcolm. The late laird. Ye remember him? We were just discussing him.”

  “There is no need to be sarcastic.”

  There wasn’t, she was right. And yet he could not help himself. He was not sure why but this lass encouraged it in him. She clearly did not feel he was good enough to be a laird. Frankly, he wasn’t sure he was either. Yet it riled him that she should judge him instantly. Who was she anyway?

  “Ye shall have to forgive my manners,” he said as sincerely as he could. “I understand it is a shock, and I’m a merely lowly highlander to yer eyes. If it’s of any consolation, it was a shock to me too. I never expected to inherit, but, alas, I am the last male heir.”

  She eyed him for several moments, her lips puckered as though she had eaten something sour. At some point, that determined chin and those thin lips had grown appealing. He could not quite think when. Even when all wrinkled into a barely visible pout, he liked them. Her obvious disdain for him could not seem to change that.

  What a fool he was. He was addled in the head. That was it. The war had damaged him, and now, he could only like women who clearly loathed him.

  “You really are the laird?”

  “Aye. I returned from the war especially to be one.” He smirked.

  “I see.”

  He wasn’t sure what she saw, but at least she was no longer arguing with him that he was not in fact who he said he was.

  A blur of fur barreled toward him, and he turned his head in time to see Rupert scrabble up the lass’s legs. Her sour expression vanished, replaced with one that was utterly compelling. A wide smile and soft eyes greeted the dog as she lifted him up.

  “There you are,” she cooed, letting the dog lick her cheek.

  “Ye damned mutt,” he grumbled. All day searching for him and the animal did not care one bit that he had been worried to death for the dog he had picked up on his way to Scotland. “Ye see a beautiful woman and forget yer master instantly.”

  The woman turned her attention to him. “He’s yours?”

  “Aye. Well, sort of. I picked him up as a stray in Newcastle.”

  She petted the dog’s head. “I thought he looked well though he seemed to be hungry this morning.”

  “He’s always bloody hungry,” he muttered and scowled. “What do ye mean ‘this morning’?”

  She laughed. The sound did odd things to his insides. If he weren’t careful, he’d be staring at her, open-mouthed as if he had never seen a lass before.

  “He caused a little bit of trouble at my aunt’s house this morning. I think he was looking for food so he snuck into the kitchen.”

  Hamish shook his head. “Ye’ll have to forgive him. Rupert has not yet learned how to behave civilly. I have been trying to keep him in the castle until he’s better trained, but he escaped this morning.”

  “Rupert?” She gave the dog a scratch behind the ear. “That’s an odd name for a dog.”

  “I’ve heard worse,” he said tightly, unwilling to explain his choices to this nosey woman.

  “He looks more like a Charlie or…or a Lucky.”

  “Well, he’s Rupert, if the lady has no objections.”

  “I did not mean to…” The dog wriggled from her arms and burrowed his head into the basket. The woman laughed. “I suppose you are still hungry.” She set Rupert down and the sandy-colored animal made quick work of dragging the ham from the basket and gnawing it down to the bone.

  “Was that for him?” he asked.

  “Yes. I was worried he was a stray. Mrs. Shaw frightened him off, so I wanted to make sure he was well.”

  “Well, apart from some very bad manners and the habit of running into places where he does not belong, Rupert is a healthy mutt.”

  She peered at the dog. “He really is a mutt, is he not?”

  “Aye, there’s certainly no breeding in him.” The dog had been matted beyond recognition and riddled with fleas when he had begun following Hamish around. But he could not resist taking him in, cleaning him up, and feeding him. “I think he remembers the days he was starving and now he wants to be fed constantly, fearful of the day he might no’ get a meal again.”

  “Poor thing.” She gave Rupert a good fuss before straightening. “I suppose I ought to return to my aunt’s. It must be past the morning meal.”

  “Aye, well past, I reckon. Ye know, ye should not sleep out here. A
nything could have happened to ye.”

  “I know these lands well. I have never come to harm yet.”

  “Ye should be grateful it was I that happened upon ye and not some ruffian.”

  “Ruffians frequent your land, do they?”

  “Not yet. Only stubborn, sleepy lasses do apparently. But I wouldnae be pleased should ye come to harm on my land.”

  Gaze narrowed into sharp slits, she eyed him. “Well, if you are done insulting me, I shall take myself off of your land and you can be rid of me, my laird.”

  Now why did his title sound like an insult? So far it had simply sounded strange and foreign, but the way she had just said it, she might as well have been calling him the worst of men.

  “See that you do.”

  “Good day to you, my laird.”

  She gave a hasty dip that was no doubt not meant at all genuinely and snatched up her basket. Hamish was forced to grab Rupert before he darted off after the woman. He held the dog tight until she had vanished into the woods and gave him a rough rub on the head. Rupert issued a sort of huffing sound and settled into his hold.

  “I know the feeling, mutt. I know the feeling.”

  Chapter Three

  The scent of books surrounded her. Rose inhaled deeply and smiled. At least in the bookshop she would not run into any brazen Scotsmen, nor would she think of them.

  Certainly not. She would not recall his blazing blue eyes or the curl of his black hair. Nor would she think of his thick legs, dusted with hair.

  Shaking her head, she forced her attention to the leather spines, decorated with gold. She only had a little time before Aunt May would want to return home so she needed to find something new to read. She picked up a red book and flicked it open.

  What sort of a man wore Highland dress in the lowlands anyway? Should he not be attempting to blend in rather than stand out? The huge length of him in a kilt had certainly surprised her. As a laird, would he not want to appear respectable?

  She chuckled to herself. Respectable…what an impossibility that would be for that man. He had said he was a soldier. Well, it certainly showed. She did not know many people but she knew gentlemen did not behave as he did, practically insulting her and speaking so coarsely.

  Rose stared at the title page. But, of course, he had looked terribly charming with the dog. The way his giant hand had ruffled its head. Not to mention he had picked Rupert up as a stray. That was certainly admirable and surely meant he had some kindness in him.

  Peering harder at the text, she huffed and slammed it shut before putting it back. Why could she not even enjoy herself in her favorite place in the world? It was all that wild Scotsman’s fault. She had thought of their encounter continuously for the past day. Why she should be so preoccupied with him, she did not know, but she could only conclude it was because she rarely met anyone so disagreeable.

  “Nothing to yer liking, Miss Rose?” the shopkeeper asked.

  She glanced his way. “I am struggling to choose,” she admitted.

  He came out from behind his desk, his long, lanky frame seeming to bend and wave as he did so. Mr. Sherbourne had owned the bookshop since before her arrival in Scotland and had always seemed immensely tall to her, even as she grew. His arms were like thin twigs and all of his clothes never quite fit him properly. But even though he had seemed like a giant to her the first time she had met him many years ago when her aunt had brought her here, he had a kind twinkle in his eye and he had taken to her as soon as he’d realized her love of books.

  The highlander had been tall too, she thought vaguely. Though entirely differently built and he had no soft, inviting twinkle to his eye. His shoulders had stretched impossibly wide, testing the width of his plaid and shirt. Rose doubted Mr. Sherbourne could ever stretch anything.

  “I did get in a few new titles the other day,” he said, drawing her attention to a stack of books on the desk. “There was one I thought ye might like.”

  “Only one?”

  He chuckled. “Well, the others were philosophy.”

  She smiled. “Yes, I suppose those would not interest me much.”

  “I should be heading to Glasgow in a few weeks. If ye have any special requests, I would be delighted to bring ye some books back.”

  “You know what I like, Mr. Sherbourne.”

  “That I do. Exciting tales of daring feats. Which is why I thought ye might like The Mysteries of Udolpho.” He handed it to her. “If ye are still reading history books, I might be able to find something for ye. Ye were reading about Ancient Greece last time, were ye no’?”

  “I was but I think I have had my fill.” She flicked open the book and read the first paragraph. “I think I shall take this but…would you have any books on…” Heat filled her cheeks “on the history of the Highlands?”

  The man beamed at her. “Well, naturally I do. It’s admirable that ye should want to learn about the country in which you live. Of course, Highland history is a little more interesting than that of the Lowlands. I should imagine ye want to read of the many battles and infamous soldiers.”

  Her smile wavered when she considered the soldier she had met yesterday. “Y-yes.”

  “If ye just wait a moment…” Mr. Sherbourne moved past her and deep into the recesses of the small cottage that had been converted into a bookshop.

  Books were stacked in every corner while some teetered precariously on wonky wooden shelves. Every inch of space was taken up with books, and when she had first visited with her aunt as a young girl, she had been mesmerized. Her aunt had bought her a few books with beautiful engravings, and her love of books had been secured. Once she could read bigger books, there had been no stopping her.

  The problem was she feared she was going to run out of books to read soon. There was only so much reading one could do and her favorite writers simply could not keep up with her.

  Mr. Sherbourne returned with two books on the battles of the Highlands and one about clan warfare. He handed them over, and she brushed her fingers down the covers. “I shall take them. And this one too.” She lifted the fiction title he had given her. “They shall keep me busy for a while, hopefully.”

  “Indeed. Yer just like me, Miss Rose. We read quicker than writers can write.”

  “Yes.” She sighed. “I shall have to find a new hobby if I am not careful.”

  “I hope not.” Mr. Sherbourne smiled softly, his already creased eyes crinkling further. “I shall return from Glasgow with many new and exciting books for ye to read, I promise.”

  “I look forward to it. Will you put these on my aunt’s account?”

  “Of course. Enjoy yer history lesson, Miss Rose.”

  “Thank you.”

  Books in hand, Rose stepped outside and hugged her shawl about her shoulders. Gone was the beautiful weather of the previous day, replaced with clouds and a cold breeze. Her Aunt May waved a hand in her direction and hastened along.

  “Did you find some books, dear?”

  “Yes, Aunt.” She showed her the titles.

  “Scottish history?” She peered up at her. “I thought you preferred ancient history.”

  “Well, I decided I needed a change.” That blush was on her cheeks again, she just knew it. But simply because she had met a highlander did not mean she was interested because of him. He had merely reminded her that there was a lot she did not know about Scotland. She might have lived here all her life but she was very aware of being English by birth and her aunt was not a native Scot, having moved here shortly before her parents’ deaths with Mrs. Shaw and Miss Taylor.

  “I am sure it will keep you occupied. Are you ready to return home?”

  “Yes. Did you get the fabric you wanted?”

  “I did indeed.” Aunt May gave a bright smile, one that made Rose want to hug her tight. “At an excellent price too.”

  From underneath her cap peeked white curls with a lingering touch of red. Rose had seen a portrait of Aunt May when she was a young girl, and she had be
en quite beautiful. That beauty remained, if in a wrinkled fashion. But her joyful eyes and wide smile never failed to make her seem utterly wonderful to Rose. Here was a woman who had taken in a newborn child when she was far past the age of being a mother herself. She would always be grateful to her for her diligent care.

  “I am glad.” They began their walk back to the house, following the main street past the houses and greeting the few villagers that were out and about.

  The houses in Baleith were close together, their uneven roofs and walls nearly touching in places. Each whitewashed wall was touched with a little mud and dirt, but the houses were tidy and well-kept. Her Aunt May’s house could be considered much grander than all of them, but no one ever treated them any different, in part likely helped by Aunt May’s careful ways. The house could easily hold many servants, but for the two of them, there was no need, and they were not extravagant. Aunt May never discussed her finances, but Rose imagined keeping such a large house was costly enough.

  “Aunt May,” Rose started. “Why did you not tell me there was a new laird at the castle?”

  Her aunt paused and frowned, holding her basket tighter to her side. “I did not really think about it, my dear.”

  “I met him yesterday.”

  Auntie May stopped completely. “You did?”

  “Yes. Did you hear from Miss Taylor about the dog?”

  “I did. They argued for a full morning about it.”

  Rose giggled. “The dog belonged to the new laird it seems.”

  “And you returned it to him?”

  “No, we met accidentally. I had ventured out of the forest in search of the dog.”

  Aunt May sighed, and they continued on up the country lane that led toward the river. “You should not have gone so far. I presume you met this man whilst you were on his land?”

  She gave a sheepish smile. “Perhaps.”

  “Rose, I have given you a lot of freedom. You really must use it sensibly. As much as you are not confined by society like many young ladies, it does not do to spend time with strange young men.”