Saved by The Duke’s Embrace (Preview)

Chapter One

The Highlands, Scotland

Bryana could hear her name being said repeatedly but couldn’t deduce if it was in her dream or actual bedchamber. Many a time, she had been fooled by waking dreams that appeared to spill into reality, befuddling her senses. Why, just a month ago she had had an entire conversation with her best friend while upright in bed, only to realise moments later that Eilidh was likely asleep in her own bed miles away and she was, in fact, alone. If I’m considering ma state of wakefulness, then surely I am awake? But who would be in ma bedchamber at this time? She kept her eyes closed, listening carefully. If she were indeed in that blurry space between the dream world and full awareness, then opening her eyes would prove fruitless.

“Bree!”

Alastair? She let out a soundless cry when one of her unruly curls were tugged, bringing her into a sitting position. Rubbing the tender spot on her head, she glowered at her brother.

“Ye dinnae have tae pull ma hair so hard!”

He only grinned. “Ye sleep like the dead, ye know. I must have called ye a dozen times, but still, ye would nae wake up. Did ye drink one of Mòrag’s sleeping draughts, lass?”

She answered him by grabbing one of her pillows and hitting him square on the head. He chuckled quietly, tossing it back to her.

“There’s nae need tae be violent, ye know.”

“I will do as I please!” she snapped back.

“I see I have awakened the wee piseag from her sleep.”

Bryana was not the sensitive sort that would cry when called an unsavoury name in the heat of an argument but being referred to as a little kitten seemed a great crime.

“I’ll show ye a wee one!” she said, waving her fist. “I dare ye tae repeat it.”

“Yer red hair is a clear indication of yer temper, lass, and all fer a bit of playfulness.”

Huffing, she crossed her arms. “What would ye be wanting with me? ’Tis the night, Alastair, and mayhap ye don’t need yer sleep, but our Maw cannae abide by yawns at the morning meal.”

Her mother considered it to be rude and unladylike. Rather too frequently for her liking, she had been forced to stifle a yawn, hiding it behind a steaming cup of tea or biting into crusty bread covered in the butter from their shaggy cows. Mayhap, I should learn tae stop reading into the wee hours of the morning.

“Neither can she abide by yer thick brogue, lass, but ye continue tae speak it.”

Her mother had educated her with all the knowledge that she had gleaned as the daughter of an Earl. She was determined to make her daughter fit into any English court and not stick out like a typical Highlander. Not that she had any prejudice against Highlanders as she had fallen in love with one, willingly giving up her privileged life to become the wife of a laird, but there was much advantage to ‘playing English’, as her father often put it.

“Our Maw isnae here tae hear me. She is fast asleep in her own bed dreaming of new lessons tae spoil ma fun.”

Perhaps that was not the full truth, but it was close enough. Bryana longed to practice target shooting with her bow and arrow, or ride over the moors with the wind sweeping through her hair, or even learning new secrets of the art of herbal medicines with her grandmother. Instead, she usually found herself in the castle’s library studying French, English literature, music, embroidery, the art of hosting a party, and many other useless subjects. One would think that at the age of nine and ten, the lessons would cease, and she would be allowed to live her life as she pleased, but her mother had other grandiose plans in mind.

Alastair nodded sympathetically. “Och, lass, I ken our Maw keeps ye locked up fer hours, but it’s fer yer own good, ye know. A gentle lady’s upbringing is a reflection on the mother, and with Maw being the lady she is, it’s tae be expected of ye.”

“Aye, don’t I know it. I would have preferred tae be born a man and become a Highland warrior like ye. No one would dare tae confine me tae a room.”

Her brother smiled sadly, gently tugging a curl. “A warrior’s life is nae what ye think it is, wee one. Aye, there is glory tae be had, but the cost can be dear.”

Taking her curl back, she crossed her arms again. “Yer the son of the laird and chief, Alastair. One day, ye will lead our people and protect them. Yer also a Highland warrior, a respected man by all. What cost could there be?”

Alastair looked away, his shoulders sagging. Bryana was not accustomed to seeing her brother so forlorn, and … what was the other emotion that had repeatedly flickered across his face? Her annoyance at being woken up had temporarily blinded her to his current mood, but now she was alert.

“Bhràthair, what plagues you?”

The Gaelic word for brother rolled off her tongue as naturally as the English did. Her father was not one to involve himself in her lessons, but he had insisted that she learn their traditional language, thus preserving their old ways. Bryana found it no hardship for she loved the tongue, often seeking her father after dinner to converse with him.

He turned to her. “What makes ye think that? There’s nought tae fash yerself about, Bree.”

She didn’t believe that for a second. “I can see that yer agitated – will ye not tell me why? Ye would nae wake me from ma slumber fer no reason.”

He laughed then, the sound a tad strained. “There is nothing amiss, lass. I only thought tae come here and bother ye like old times.”
“If ye mean tae dip ma hair in honey, or cover ma face in horse manure, or even tie me tae ma bed, I will nae be happy with ye.”

Alastair was the perfect older brother, he truly was. However, he had a playfully wicked streak in him that thought nothing of torturing his younger sister in the name of ‘character building.’ As a result, she was no tattle tale and gave as good as she got. From girlhood into her early young womanhood years, she was known as the ‘Little Terror’ by all the servants for the pranks she would play on an unsuspecting victim. All that had come to an abrupt end when her mother had informed her that such tricks were not acceptable in a young woman, and if she had any hope of marrying a good man, she needed to curb her terrorism. I shall marry fer love. Surely that means that ma husband will love me as I am and not who people think I should be?

“I shall do no such tricks, although I am tempted tae see yer mop of curls stuck tae yer bed.”

For all the tears her hair put her through daily, she was still fond of it. Its red hue had a satisfactory golden thread running through it that lent it a glowing look coveted by many girls of her age. Although they try tae deny it. The tumbling curls and waves flowed down her back, skimming her hips like the painting of Aphrodite arising from the foamy sea. No one knew that she had seen the art in her uncle’s study last winter, and it had better stay that way. Her mother would be positively scandalised to know that her daughter had looked upon the form of a woman with only her hair as coverage.

“Touch ma hair and yer will nae be able tae walk fer a week.”

Alastair touched his chest in mock horror as he sat on her bed. “Ah, no! I live in terror of my wee piseag breaking ma bones.”

She gave him a narrowed look, sizing him up. Her brother was a giant compared to her, with his shoulder-length reddish-brown hair and light blue eyes. He towered in at six foot five and was considered one of the best Highland warriors of his time, if not the best. Bryana was proud of him, more than she would ever admit to him. His head would only grow bigger.

“Never underestimate a determined woman, bhràthair.”

His eyes turned serious rather abruptly, a little knot appearing between his brow. “Never lose this fire within ye, Bree, no matter what happens. Promise me.”

The sudden change was startling, to say the least. “Yer an odd one. I cannae see how I can lose ma fire when yer always up tae no good. ’Tis any wonder I’ve stopped sleeping with one eye open.”

She thought he would laugh, but his expression did not falter from its severe state. What in heaven’s name was his problem? He took her hands in his, searching her eyes.

“Ye know that I love ye, Bree?”

“Do ye mean when yer not plotting ma death?” she said in jest.
A little smile tugged his lips. “Even then. Ye are ma little sister, the most precious thing tae me in the whole world. I need yer tae ken that I will always protect ye, and I will always have yer best interests at heart.”

Releasing her hands from his, she used them to support her as she leaned closer to him, sniffing him. She could only detect the faint smell of ale on his breath.

“What are ye doing?” he asked.

“Are ye drunk?”

“No. I would nae be in yer room if I were drunk. Why would ye think that?”

“Yer acting stranger than usual is all. Yer sure ye never tried tae drink Hamish under the table again?”

Hamish, a fellow warrior, had been a sort of drinking friend for some time now. Mayhap friend is not the right word. They were always in competition with each other, be it in weaponry practise, horse riding, or drinking. Bryana wasn’t keen on the older man, but the women of their clan were fair overcome by his wavy blond hair and eyes that could rival any pot of honey. He was handsome, but she wasn’t in the least bit impressed by him.

Alastair’s eyes darkened. “No. ’Tis nae good playing with the Devil.”
She had to laugh at that, her hand clamping over her mouth when it sounded too loud for the dead of the night.

“Yer favourite pastime is tae play with the Devil, bhràthair. Yer the type of man tae laugh in the face of danger.”

He smiled, ruffling her hair and earning an instant protest from her. “Ye seem tae be keeping count of ma misdeeds, piseag.”

“I would nae be yer sister if I dinnae do that. I have them all written down ready tae give Ealasaid on yer wedding day.”

Alastair was betrothed to be wed to a daughter of a neighbouring clan, a pretty woman who was already besotted with him.

“Right, ma wedding,” he said a little strangely. He stood up, brushing his hand through his hair. “I have tae go and leave ye tae yer beauty sleep, although I doona ken it’s doing much fer ye.”

She scowled at him. “Speak fer yerself. My looking glass will nae break like yers.”

“Mayhap it would have been better if it did.”

“Ye wish me tae be ugly?”

He only smiled, bending down to kiss her head. “Oidche mhath, piseag.”
“Goodnight,” she returned.

Still a tad baffled by his strange behaviour, she watched him leave her chambers, his shoulders slumped forward. A peculiar feeling stole over her as he silently closed the door.

“I doona ken why, but I feel as though I will nae see him again.”

It was a silly notion at best. Where would he go? Alastair was the pride and joy of the Campbell-Sinclair family, the next chief and laird of their clan. However, the feeling persisted as she settled into bed, nagging at her until she fell into a fitful sleep.

Breaking her fast had to be one of the most pleasurable starts to her day, but today Bryana found herself unable to eat much. Bryana’s handmaiden hovered around her with her brow creased with worry.

“Are ye not feeling well?” Tilda asked. “Ye’ve hardly touched yer food.”

“I’m not feeling hungry.”

The young woman’s eyes widened. “Should I call yer grandmother?”

“No, I’m not ill, Tilly. There’s nae need tae call her.”

“Ah, something is on yer mind. I ken it.”

It was true. She had the feeling that something was not right within the Campbell-Sinclair castle, particularly when her parents and brother did not come down for their morning meal. They always ate together; it was their tradition. Instead, everyone else but them had filled the dining hall. The long table travelling down the large room was tightly packed with men eating away at their meal while holding various conversations with each other. One pair of honey-brown eyes seemed to be looking at her more than was necessary, almost as though they were watching her. She leaned toward her handmaiden, beckoning her to come closer.

“Tilly, is it ma imagination, or is Hamish looking this way far more than necessary?”

“He is always watching ye, miss. ’Tis hardly something new.”
“Watching me?”

The woman nodded. “Mayhap ye haven’t noticed, but his eyes always seek ye as soon as he enters a room. I doona like it.”

That was startling news to her. “Why haven’t ye told me of this before?”
“I doona wish tae worry ye, miss. He behaves hisself, but his eyes are always roaming. The sooner ye marry, the better.”

“Marry? I cannae think of that yet. Ye know that I will marry fer nought but love, and there is nae a man here who can catch ma fancy. Mayhap I will have tae venture further than the Highlands.”

“Mayhap ye can visit yer cousin and wife in Dùn Èideann? There must be plenty of men of husband material there.”

Edinburgh would undoubtedly have a variety of men, but Bryana was not quite ready to yoke herself to someone just yet.

“Alastair is yet tae be married, and I have some time tae go before ’tis required of me.”

At nine and ten, she was of marrying age, but her parents had given her until two and twenty before stepping in and helping her find a suitable husband. As a little girl, she had made them promise that she would marry for love as they did, and not for duty. They had agreed without argument but could not resist adding a time frame to her eventual marriage. Alastair was not as sentimental when it came to love and had wholeheartedly agreed to marry Ealasaid for the good of the clan.
“Two and twenty is not far off, miss, I would feel better if ye were married soon. That Hamish has a hungry look in his eyes.”

“He is the last man I would wish to marry, Tilly. Doona fash yerself.”
Tilda looked unconvinced, but she dropped the topic in favour of coaxing her to eat more of her meal. After a few extra half-hearted bites, Bryana had to put her foot down.

“No more, Tilly. I think I need tae look fer my parents. They never miss a meal with me without letting me know. Even Alastair is nae here, and he always has the appetite of a bear.”

She hadn’t thought of looking for them, but any excuse was needed to stop her handmaiden from shovelling any more food down her throat.
“Verra well, miss. I’ll have Seamus get ye some berries for a wee bite later.”

The boy was Cook’s youngest son, an impish young lad who followed them around like their shadow. She was fond of him, but not so much his smell. Why did boys and men alike refuse to have a regular bath? That goes for some women, too. Bryana’s mother had taught her the necessity of bathing daily to maintain cleanliness, a routine not widely followed by many others of their clan.

“Thank you. They can be left in ma chamber fer after ma music lesson.”
Tilda curtsied, going towards the kitchen. Bryana went straight to her father’s study, knowing that her parents would likely be there. Mayhap they’re discussing Alastair’s eventual takeover of Papa’s position and responsibilities? Nearing the door, she heard the panicked pitch of her mother’s voice, an unusual sound to her ears. Her father’s voice came next; each word clipped and laced with anger. What on earth had happened? She entered without knocking, knowing that it would earn her a stern scolding, but her fright pushed her to foolish bravery.

“Mama! Papa! What is wrong? You were not present for our meal this morning.”

“A door is there fer a reason, lass,” her father said, his mouth grim.
“Sorry, Papa, but I overheard some of your conversation quite by mistake, and I wanted to know what ails you both. Has something happened?”

“There is no mistake when listening at a door, Bryana,” her mother stated coolly. “’Tis a bad habit to adopt.”

Thoroughly subdued under her mother’s quelling gaze, she dropped her eyes. “My apologies. I was only worried about ye.”

“You,” her mother insisted.

“You,” she repeated dutifully.

The older woman nodded. “Even when under emotional strain, you cannot allow your brogue to get the best of you. People would sooner look down on us with our accent, but a well-cultured voice can take you places.”

Bryana didn’t really want to be anywhere else but Highland territory, but she didn’t say so.

“May I ask why you were absent this morning? I do not see Alastair anywhere as well.”

Her parents looked at each other, stress and strain clear on their dear faces. Icy fingers slid down her spine. Something has happened.
“Best we tell her now than wait fer someone else to,” her father suggested.

Nodding, her mother sighed. “Very well, dear. I think that you must tell her.”

Tell me what? What was going on? She noticed that her father clutched a piece of paper in his weathered and calloused hand, crushing it.
“It seems yer brother has run away with one of the maids.”

Her mouth fell open, instant denial springing to her mind. “That cannae be true!” she cried, slipping back into her brogue. “Alastair would nae do such a thing.”

“It’s true, lass,” her father insisted. “He wrote us a letter in his own handwriting saying that he eloped with her. It seems the lad has forgotten his responsibility tae this family and clan. What will I say tae Leòdhas? Alastair was supposed tae marry his daughter in a few short months!”

The great Campbell chief looked defeated as he touched his clenched hand to his brow. I ken what they are saying, but I cannae believe it. Alastair is nae one tae leave his duties or family like this – there has tae be another reason. She was certain of it.

“Mayhap we can search for him,” she offered. “He might still be within our lands.”

She hoped he was. Her parents seemed to think this a good idea because they called their most discrete men to search for Alastair and whoever the missing maid was. Her father never did say if her brother had mentioned a name in the letter. Who was Alastair so in love with that he was ready to abandon his life to be with her? I ken he was flirtatious, but he never showed any sincere interest in any of them.

“Who is the maid, Papa?”

“I dinnae ken. Alastair did not mention any names, but it will be easy tae find out who she is.”

Three hours later, her father’s words turned out to be true. The only maid unaccounted for was a buxom woman whom Bryana was not aware of as she was fairly new to the castle. The maid had only worked inhouse for several days, an alarming piece of information.

“But this makes no sense!” she cried. “Alastair would hardly leave us for a woman he has only known for a few days! He is nae like that, I tell you.”

“His letter says he is, lass,” her father said with all the resignation of accepting the circumstances. “There is nae use arguing over it; we can only move forward.” He turned to his wife, weariness etched on his face. “Mo chridhe, what do you suggest?”

Her father always spoke to her mother with sweet endearments, but the most frequent one was ‘my heart.’

“Leòdhas is fair enough not to blame us for our son’s mistakes, but this path our son has taken will not only hurt our family strength and image, but also Bryana’s chance of marrying.”

Bryana immediately stood a little straighter. “Any man who judges me on this is not worthy of ma attention.”

Her mother shook her head. “That is not how it works, child. Once our family image is tainted, your image shall be irrevocably tainted as well. People will wish to paint you with the same brush as your brother, believing that if he could run away with a lowly maid rather than marry a respectable girl, then you are liable to do the same. ’Tis not fair, I know, but we cannot change the minds of people. This will be a scandal once it leaves these walls, but I cannot have your future marred by this.”

The older woman began to pace the study, her lips thinned into a straight line. What was her mother thinking? It would not be such a terrible thing to remain unmarried if all the men thought in such a way. Furthermore, she was confident that there was a man who would look past a family scandal and love her. Such men existed, did they not? Mamò believes that I shall marry a man for love, and she is never wrong. Her grandmother was considered one of the wisest women in their clan, and many regarded her as having the Sight.

Her mother came to a stop before her husband, a look passing between them. Bryana did not like their expressions at all. This does not bode well for me. They turned to her at the same time, their faces grim. Her belly lurched, then dropped like a rock.

“Why do ye both look at me like that?”

Her father hung his head. “We’re sorry, lass. There is nae another way.”
Blood rushed to her ears, pounding away. “What do you mean, Papa?”
“Perhaps you should sit, child,” her mother suggested.

“No, I doona wish to sit,” she returned.

“Very well,” her mother sighed. “I know that we promised you three more years before we would step in to find your husband, but under these strenuous circumstances, we can no longer be held to it.”

Her legs threatened to buckle under her, but somehow, she remained standing, her gaze steady on her parents. She knew what they were saying to her, but she needed them to come out and say it plainly.
“What do you mean?”

“If you are married soon, not only will we secure your future, but it may also work to lessen the scandal your brother visited upon us. Your father and I believe that this is the best course to take.”

How had they managed to reach that decision when she had been standing with them for the past three hours? Then again, her parents had always been able to communicate with each other without words. They were so in tune with one another that often they would finish each other’s sentences. This is what she had always wanted for herself, but it appeared that they were taking her dream away from her.

Bryana shook her head. “But there is no one I wish tae marry now.”

“Necessity must come first, lass,” her father said, his voice barely above a whisper.

His pained voice made everything seem worse, as though he too could not believe the path they had to take. Horror stole over her, threatening to turn her into a raving woman if she did not control herself.
“No,” she said weakly. “Ye both promised me.”

The thought of marrying anyone she was not in love with sounded like a death sentence. Her mother took a step forward with her hand held out, but Bryana quickly stepped out of reach. They did not get to destroy her dream and comfort her at the same time. Her hand falling to her side, the older woman sought one of her husband’s instead.

“Sometimes promises are broken, Bryana,” she explained. “’Tis for the good of your future and our family. We will begin looking for the most eligible bachelors today.”

Blocking her ears, she gave her parents one last look and fled to the only person who would know how to fix this mess. Mamò will have a solution. I know she will. Her grandmother would never allow her light to be snuffed out for the sake of saving the family. There had to be another way, there just had to be. But what if there wasn’t? A sob of despair escaped her trembling lips, urging her to run faster. Alastair, what have you done?

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“Saved by The Duke’s Embrace” is an Amazon Best-Selling novel, check it out here!

When Scottish lass Bryana Campbell-Sinclair flees her home to escape an unwanted marriage, she seeks refuge as the chaperone of an overpowering duke’s sister. Her new identity as a widowed Englishwoman should give her the protection she needs, but suddenly it’s her heart that is left unguarded from the duke’s mesmerising gaze. Will she surrender to his liberating embrace, even if that means risking it all, including her valuable disguise?

Gordon Ashbrook, the Duke of Clement, immediately distrusts his sister’s choice of chaperone. Bryana may be a widow, but she is still far too beautiful and young to be anything but trouble. The more time he spends with her, the more the lines between servant and master blur, until he finds that he can no longer trust his own judgement. His heart has a winning shot of convincing him to surrender to his feelings… but will he ever manage to set his own pride aside?

When the fate that Bryana so desperately tried to avoid finds her, she is forced to choose between the man she secretly loves and her duty to her family. To make matters worse, Gordon is also torn between the traditional world he grew up in and the enlightening one he discovered through his love for Bryana. With so many obstacles threatening to tear them apart, can they overcome them all to be together? Will their love prove strong enough to shatter every piece of threatening prejudice and intimidation around them?

“Saved by The Duke’s Embrace” is a historical romance novel of approximately 60,000 words. No cheating, no cliffhangers, and a guaranteed happily ever after.

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