Page 9 of The Highlander's Princess Bride
The carriage jostled through the curve, then straightened out and ran smoothly along a surprisingly well-maintained road. As if sensing the end of their journey, the horses picked up the pace.
Victoria craned a bit and she saw it. “Goodness. That’s quite like . . .”
“Something out of a fairy tale?” Alec said with a grin.
“I suppose so,” she said with a ghost of a laugh.
But Kinglas was not like the ones portrayed in the happier tales, where the handsome prince swept his bride off to a lovely white confection with elegant spires and rose-laden bowers. No, this particular castle, while imposing, was grim and gothic, with smoky-colored stone and a tall tower house surrounded by guard walls and battlements. It was no home for a fairy-tale princess or happy endings, of that she felt sure.
Then it’s a good thing you’re not really a princess, isn’t it?
Victoria couldn’t hold back a wry smile at the thought. It was fine with her. As long as the rooms weren’t too damp or the chimneys didn’t smoke, she would be satisfied.
“It’s not exactly Sleeping Beauty’s bower,” Alec said, echoing her thoughts, “but it’s comfortable enough. Things were rather neglected while Arnprior was away during the war, but he’s working to correct that. He’s a terrifyingly efficient man, so you’ll not be living in a groaning old pile of stones.”
“That’s good to know,” she said, smiling.
A few minutes later, they were bowling through a set of scrolled iron gates and past a neat-looking gatehouse. The horses trotted up a graveled drive lined by tall conifers and bordered by open lawn. There were no ornamental gardens as far as she could tell. The lawns ran in broad sweeps around the castle and down to the loch, its whitecaps glinting in the late afternoon sun. The dramatic and severe view seemed entirely fitting for the tower of gray stone that brooded over the landscape.
The carriage slowed through a wide archway in the outer wall of the castle. When they passed abruptly into shadow, Victoria shivered.
Alec frowned. “Are you cold?”
“I’m fine. Just a bit nervous, I expect.”
He pressed her hand. “You needn’t be. Highlanders are famous for their hospitality.”
A moment later, a groom opened the carriage door and set the step. Alec hopped out and then handed her down to the cobblestones of the inner courtyard.
Victoria paused, taking a sniff of the bracing air. “It smells like the ocean, but that’s impossible.”
“This particular loch is salt water,” Alec said. “It runs directly down to the sea.”
She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment as longing swept through her. She’d spent her childhood near the sea and missed it when she’d been at school in Lincoln and then in positions in country manor houses. The familiar, tangy scent felt like home, and something inside her seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.
“I’ve always loved the . . .” She paused when Alec held up a warning hand. Behind her, she heard the firm tread of boot heels on the stone.
“Ah, there you are, Arnprior,” Alec said.
Mentally bracing herself, Victoria smiled as she turned to greet her new employer. Her smile then wobbled on her lips as she took in the tall man, garbed in well-fitting breeches and a dark blue riding coat.
Arnprior was muscular and broad-shouldered, and seemed at first glance as grim and imposing as the keep in which they stood. His long-legged, athletic stride devoured the space between them, and he came to a halt directly in front of her. Victoria was rather tall herself, but she had to look up to meet his gaze. When she did so, all the moisture in her mouth evaporated, apparently taking flight along with the air from her lungs.
The earl’s eyes were a startling, steely blue, made all the more piercing by his tanned complexion and hair so dark it looked black. She had a vague impression of slashing cheekbones, a high-bridged, Roman nose, and a hard but sensual mouth. But it was his gaze that held her attention. It studied her, seeming to strip away her defenses and expose her for the pretender that she was.
After all, shewaspretending to be an ordinary English governess and not the by-blow of a barmaid and a future king, as well as a woman who just might end up in prison or swinging from the gallows if things didn’t go her way.
Given its history, she supposed Scotland was as good a place as any to be a great pretender.
For a long, magnetic moment, she and Arnprior stared at each other. Then his gaze moved to Alec. Victoria mentally staggered, as if she’d been held captive by some invisible bond and then suddenly released.
“Arnprior, it’s bloody good to see you,” Alec said, thrusting out his hand.
The earl didn’t exactly smile, but the severe cast to his countenance lightened a shade. “You had good travels, I hope? I’m pleased you were able to reach Kinglas before nightfall.”
His voice was deep and rather rough, with a slight Highland burr. As a musician, Victoria was well attuned to voices. Something about Arnprior’s appealed to her greatly, though it made no sense, given the brusque manner in which he spoke.
“We were happy to hit Arnprior lands.” Alec winked at Victoria. “As were our backsides.”
