Waiting for the Laird Read online

  Table of Contents

  Excerpt

  Praise for Willa Blair and…

  Waiting for the Laird

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Epilogue

  A word about the author…

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  “Are ye okay?” Ian felt Lara’s ribs expand under his hand as she breathed.

  “I am now,” she murmured. “I could have sprained an ankle, or fallen and hit my head.”

  “You needn’t worry,” he answered softly. “I’ve got you.” Pressed against his hard length, right where he needed her. Though he knew holding her was a mistake, he couldn’t let her go.

  Her face flushed. “You do at that. I…I…” She glanced at the ceiling, then returned her gaze to his. “Thank you…”

  “You’re welcome. I don’t mind a bit,” Ian teased. Her body was firm, yet soft against his. She made no move to escape his embrace. He lowered his gaze to her mouth. Her lips were so close. So tempting.

  Lara’s breath warmed his face. Her gaze met his, then dropped quickly to his mouth.

  He was certain she meant to allow his kiss…and to kiss him back. He parted his lips, drinking in her scent, eager to taste her.

  Something moved in the darkness below them, soundless, but stirring the cool air and whispering across his hands. The back of Ian’s neck prickled.

  Lara stiffened and cocked her head, as if listening.

  “Just a draft,” he murmured. Ian could have sworn it was only moving air, nothing more. He hoped. He’d grown up hearing tales about Cairn Dubh—and its ghost. If Cairn Dubh did have a ghost, this ancient space would be a fine place for it to haunt.

  Praise for Willa Blair and…

  WAITING FOR THE LAIRD: “It’s an absolutely heart-warming story rich with love of family, of memories, of new beginnings, and the fidelity of one most unusual ghost. It’s a delight.”

  ~Chassie West, Edgar- and Anthony-Nominated Author

  ~*~

  HIGHLAND HEALER: “This is a great novel. Lovers of Hannah Howell’s highland novels will love this.”

  ~Romancing the Book

  ~*~

  THE HEALER’S GIFT: “A Highland romance with a truly great hero…the story is compelling…”

  ~InD’Tale Magazine

  ~*~

  HIGHLAND SEER: “…this is different enough from other Highland romances to stand out from the pack. Ms. Blair’s writing style is natural and evocative…”

  ~Romantic Historical Reviews

  ~*~

  HIGHLAND TROTH: “Scottish romance at its best!”

  ~InD’Tale Magazine

  ~*~

  WHEN HIGHLAND LIGHTNING STRIKES: “Ms. Blair is a consummate storyteller…Can’t wait for more from this magical author.”

  ~My Book Addiction and More!

  ~*~

  And for Author Willa Blair: “I thoroughly enjoy Blair’s work and recommend her Scottish love stories to all!”

  ~Eliza Knight, USA Today Bestselling Author

  Waiting for

  the Laird

  by

  Willa Blair

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Waiting for the Laird

  COPYRIGHT © 2016 by Linda Williams

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Kristian Norris

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Fantasy Rose Edition, 2016

  Print ISBN 978-1-5092-1069-5

  Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-1070-1

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To everyone who has ever lost a love.

  May you find another where you least expect it.

  Chapter One

  “If I don’t see some sunshine soon, I’m going to pack up the twins and move back to California!” Lara MacLaren gazed out the window of the tea shop, then back at her friend Becky, who frowned at her as if she’d lost her mind. Well, maybe she had. The past year had been rough. Now that days were noticeably shorter, what little sun there should have been was hiding behind thick clouds, scuttling the emotional progress she’d made over the summer. God, she missed California sunshine.

  “Why on earth would you want to do that?” Becky demanded before taking a tiny bite of her oatcake and venison entrée, then patted her mouth with her napkin. “Sunshine is so ordinary there. Ours is rare and beautiful. Surely you must prefer our sort.”

  Lara snorted at her put-on aristocratic English accent. Becky did part-time clerical work at the estate agent who handled the purchase of Cairn Dubh for Lara and her husband, Angus. Her sense of humor had appealed to Lara, and the two had become occasional lunch and shopping-expedition buddies in the months before Angus’s passing.

  Since then, Lara had been too exhausted by grief, and focused on her nine-year-old twins, to spend much time with her friend, though Becky had tried several times to get her out. A few days ago, she’d invited Lara to meet on Friday for lunch in the village, to get away from the renovation mess at Cairn Dubh. Lara’s improving appetite had convinced her to accept. The timing was perfect since workmen were breaking through a stone wall today into the old north wing. She was happy to get away from the noise and dust for a few hours.

  Lara couldn’t spoil her first social occasion by spending the entire meal complaining about what had happened to her family. She wasn’t sure how to answer Becky’s question without whining, but she had to try.

  “After Angus’s funeral, I thought about staying in California,” she admitted, determined to make light of it. “Even talked to my parents about moving in with them for a while.” She rolled her eyes. “Now there was a truly bad idea…”

  “No doubt,” Becky answered in typical droll Scottish fashion.

  “In my defense, I worried that the unfinished parts of the house, which was most of it back then, weren’t safe for Amy and Alexander. And Scotland is a very long way from my family and friends.”

  “So what brought ye back? I’ve always wondered. You hadn’t lived here, what, six months, before…”

  “Angus died. Yes, I can say it.” She waved a hand and sighed. “He died really young. Of a stroke, of all things. In California, on a business trip. Convenient for our families, certainly. I’m not sure he would have chosen to be buried there once he moved us here, but there he remains.” She crossed her arms, kicking herself for opening the door to this conversation.

  “But not you and the twins,” Becky prompted.

  Though reluctant, Lara supposed now was as good a time as any to get some of the last year off her chest. Becky’s gaze was warm, concerned and comforting, as if she really wanted to know. Lara had avoided sharing the details for months, and Becky had to be curious.


  “I suppose the reason is that I’d come to love the house, the area, and,” she paused and smiled at Becky, “the people. I’m not sure how it happened, but Angus’s vision became mine, too. I couldn’t bear to leave any part of Cairn Dubh in ruins. Every time I considered staying in California, something drew me back to Scotland and to making Angus’s dream come true.” She shook her head and glanced out the window at the clouds. “It doesn’t make sense, I know.”

  Becky reached across the small table and squeezed her hand, pulling Lara’s gaze back to her.

  “I’m glad you chose to stay,” she said with a lift to her lips. Her smile widened as she let go of Lara’s hand and leaned back. “It took you some time, but you’ve found a good man to finish the restoration. The work is well underway. By spring, it should be done, and everything will look brighter.” Becky cast a narrow glance at the lowering sky outside. “I can’t wait for that, either.”

  Lara thought back over the past year while she traced circles on the white tablecloth. Despite her best intentions, she’d found everything about the project too heavy a weight to carry alone. Being the general contractor was Angus’s area of expertise, not hers. Once she accepted she had too much to learn to be effective, she knew what she had to do. In early June, she had finally gone through the paperwork Angus accumulated during his search for a general contractor, though he’d eventually decided to run the renovation himself.

  “Did you know Ian has almost no online presence?” Before she’d decided on architect Ian Paterson, she’d searched the web for information about the contractors Angus had considered, to round out what she learned in Angus’s files. “He’s got a business website with lots of information about past restorations. Before and after photos and glowing reviews from previous clients, but not much about him, other than what he needs to establish his qualifications.”

  Elsewhere online, she found the same bare-bones education and work history he’d provided on the resume in Angus’s files, and little else. Ian did not have a social media presence—not that she could find. “I felt like a stalker and hated prying…”

  “It was necessary. Best you know who you’re dealing with,” Becky reassured her.

  “Well, clearly, the man spends very little time online. Does he live in this century, or is he lost in the past with the buildings he restores?”

  Becky laughed at that.

  Lara couldn’t help but join in, then she sobered. “He won’t say much about himself, even now. But he won me over when he said he could imagine how hard it must be for me and the twins to live with Angus’s dream unfinished.”

  “Ach, lass…that sounds just like him.”

  Though she was committed—and Ian had a contract—Lara was glad to hear her intuition about him confirmed. He might have been the only architect to call her back and meet with her, but something about him appealed to her, so she’d hired him on the spot. He’d spent the past four months completing the last two rooms Angus started in the main part of the house and its upstairs guest rooms. He’d also finished the south wing, where the family bedrooms were, which had been built shortly after the main house. He took the work seriously and made sure the craftsmen he hired did, too.

  “I believe I made a good decision, yes.” Lara finished her tea and set the cup aside. “With his help, I’m making progress on what Angus and I started together…” Her throat closed suddenly, and she couldn’t go on.

  Becky nodded in sympathy and finished the sentence for her. “…To make a home out of an old ruin.”

  ****

  “There he is again!”

  Peals of childish laughter echoed through the halls of Lara MacLaren’s Scottish manor house, Cairn Dubh, punctuating the cadence of running feet.

  Since getting home from school, Amy and Alex had been whispering about “it” when they thought she couldn’t hear. When they knew she could overhear them, they used their twin-speak, a verbal shorthand that made them nearly unintelligible, even when they were standing right in front of her. It drove her batty, but their closeness also warmed her. She supposed keeping secrets from her was one of the ways they comforted each other since their father suddenly passed away.

  If only she had a twin to comfort her.

  But, of course, she did—two of them—when they weren’t driving her to distraction.

  “Be careful, you two!” Lara didn’t know what set them off this time, but the unseasonably warm weather in the Highlands had recently turned to cold and snow. With Halloween approaching, it would be easy to imagine ghosts and goblins in a centuries-old place like this. Most likely, a mouse had taken up residence. The stray cat who’d moved in with the cold weather probably chased the mouse into its hole with the twins in hot pursuit.

  The lovely warm fire in the hearth made it hard to leave the library, but she knew her twins. She set aside her book and shrugged on a sweater. Past the dining room and kitchen, the “hallway to nowhere” that used to end at a blank wall now led to the new opening into the unheated part of the house—the last stage of the entire renovation project.

  Ian and his workmen cut an access into it this morning. Before he left for the weekend, he taped plastic sheeting over the gap in the wall to keep the heat in the restored main house. But as a barrier against the twins, mere plastic was worse than useless. He needn’t have bothered.

  Calling out, “Amy! Alexander! Get back here this instant!” she hurried in the direction of the twins’ voices. Since they constantly traded off the nicknames Trouble and Double-Trouble, she had no doubt they’d ignored Ian’s advice and her orders to stay out of that wing until he declared it structurally sound and safe. The twins, like most kids their age, could be curious and heedless of danger.

  “Aw, Mom!” Amy’s voice echoed up the hallway, dripping with disdain for her parent’s concern. The older by three minutes, she had her father’s adventurous nature, the same drive that had them living in an old ruin in Scotland instead of on the beach in California. “We have a flashlight.”

  Lara laid a hand against the stone arch at the entrance to the hallway, reluctant to venture past the warm glow of the kitchen lights painting the hallway walls. “I don’t care if Ian left on overhead lights in there. Get back here, right now. Ian said to stay out of there.”

  “There’s nothing in here,” Amy argued. “Come see!”

  The change in her daughter’s tone from disagreement to invitation was so heartening, Lara actually took a few steps down the hall. But unless the twins started screaming, she couldn’t bring herself to go through the plastic barrier into the dark. No telling what might actually be lurking there. She shuddered at the idea of a ghost roaming the halls. Granted, being superstitious about this old estate seemed…silly. She wasn’t afraid, exactly. She just didn’t like dark places. Trying not to communicate her concern too strongly, she kept her tone light when she responded. “If there’s nothing in there, then there’s nothing to see. Come on, kids.” When they didn’t respond right away, she added more sharply, “Now!”

  “We’re coming.” That from Alexander.

  She could picture Alex, ever the peacemaker, grabbing his sister’s hand. Bless him. Left to her own devices, Amy would balk, but Alex had a way with her that prevented a lot of mother-daughter battles since they’d lost Angus.

  She stepped back into the kitchen and pulled a bottle of milk from the refrigerator. She was reaching for a saucepan when the twins appeared, covered in dust and, in Amy’s case, defiance. Alex held the flashlight. Lara guessed he’d threatened to leave Amy behind in the dark.

  Whatever worked.

  “Ian told you not to go in there,” she scolded. “And now look at you. You’ve got dirt and dust all over you, and you’re tracking it on my clean floor.”

  They both studied the floor tiles.

  “Look,” she said, setting aside the saucepan and planting her hands on her hips, “I don’t care about a little dirt, but I do care about both of you. I don’t want something to happen to you
.” Maybe laying on the guilt would work where ordering them to stay out had not. “Promise me you won’t go back in there until Ian says it’s safe.”

  Alex nodded first, then Amy.

  Okay, maybe they’d pay attention this time. Chances were slim, but she could hope—and keep her mommy radar set on max. Time for a little positive reinforcement. “So, now that you’re straight on the rules, anybody up for hot chocolate?”

  Their heads snapped up, and they glanced at each other, blinking in the kitchen’s overhead light, then back to her. She could almost hear them thinking, All right! She’s not that mad.

  “I am!” Alex elbowed his sister in the side. “Amy is, too.”

  Amy nodded.

  Well, good. “Go get cleaned up. Your cocoa will be ready by the time you get back.”

  Alex dropped the flashlight on the counter, and the twins took off at a run for their rooms.

  Lara got out the cocoa, sugar, and vanilla, mixed the ingredients together with the milk in the saucepan, and set it on the stove to heat, her mind still on what might lie beyond the flimsy plastic barrier.

  The three-story manor had been unoccupied for decades until she and her late husband bought it. Angus had some romantic notion about his family hailing from this part of Scotland, though more than a century ago, they left to make their fortune in America. The moment he’d laid eyes on the ancient stone of the seventeenth century wing anchoring the north side, he’d fallen in love with the old ruin. The restoration, not to mention paying the taxes, was possible only because of Angus’s family money. Renovations on the eighteenth century main house and south wing went on for months to finish enough livable space for them to move into last summer. The eat-in kitchen and their bedrooms had been first on his list. Knowing her love of books, he’d finished the library soon after. Angus had done some of the work, but mostly he’d managed the numerous contractors needed to bring an estate like this back to habitable condition. Late last September, he started renovating the dining hall and a neighboring room she planned to use as a parlor.

  Ian finished them.