The Devil's Laird Read online

  “Oh my. Look!” Siena pointed. “It is no longer black,” Siena said in amazement. She remembered the conversation they had a long time ago.

  “Do you suppose that one day you’ll paint the walls of Black Dawn white again?” Siena asked.

  Roderick sighed. “One day when I can put the past completely behind me.”

  Siena gave him a small smile, hoping that one day the castle would once again be white and their awful past behind them.

  “Did you know about this?”

  “Aye.” Roderick smiled, then said. “They have worked hard, my love, to restore the castle back to White Dawn. I ken it would please ye. The past is behind us and only good times lie ahead.”

  “Thank you,” she said, leaning over to kiss him. “Let’s go home.”

  When they rode through the gates people were cheering that their laird and lady were home once more. Standing on the steps of the great hall was everyone Siena loved.

  Agatha was beaming, and Michael was jumping up and down waving. Elen was smoking her pipe and someone had brought her a chair since she was 105, but she was smiling, and Roderick’s brothers were surrounded by their men who were cheering.

  At last, Siena had found what she’d always wanted. A family who loved and wanted her.

  Who could ask for more?

  And if they didn’t behave, then she had her magic stones and she’d simply turn them all into frogs.

  The Stones

  I thought that everyone would like to see Lady Siena’s magic stones that have been sitting on my desk while I wrote the book.

  Sneak Peek

  If you would like to see how a Scottish Lass handles a cowboy - look for SOUTHERN SEDUCTION on sale now.

  Here is a sneak peek of the first chapter.

  Texas Territory 1835

  ’Twas never good to lie . . . but sometimes necessary, Shannon McKinley reasoned.

  Even if it was only a small lie . . . Well, in her eyes, ’twas small. Yet the farther Shannon traveled into this unknown land, the more she doubted her own sanity.

  Suddenly, the stagecoach hit a rut, sending her and the other two passengers up to the roof and back down with resounding thuds. Shannon’s bottom was now numb after two days of riding in this wooden crate.

  She’d never dreamed the Texas Territory was so far away from civilization. She’d been gazing out the window most of the day and hadn’t seen anything that remotely resembled human life. Then again, perhaps, isolation was better for her because Mr. Griffin couldn’t easily put her on a train if he was displeased that his mail-order nanny was much younger than what he’d advertised for.

  Had it really been three weeks since she’d bid her cousin Jocelyn goodbye in New York? If Shannon closed her eyes, she could still picture Jocelyn and Brooke as the three of them stood by the rail of the ship, wondering what America would hold for them. Each of them had wanted their own adventure in America after leaving England. However, Shannon hadn’t realized her adventure would take forever to begin.

  The stagecoach hit another hole in the dirt road, but she didn’t complain. What good would it do? However, she couldn’t say the same about her two matronly traveling companions. They had complained constantly and were now threatening to lynch Shorty, their driver.

  “I do believe Shorty has hit every blessed rock and hole in the road since we left Louisiana,” Thelma complained as she straightened her sky-blue bonnet which kept slipping farther sideways with every bounce. “Why we have to ride in a mail coach is beyond me.”

  Emma glanced at her sister. “Possibly ‘cause it’s the only transportation into the Texas Territory other than on horseback and you, sister dear, have trouble walking, much less riding. You wouldn’t last a mile on a horse.”

  “I’ll have you know that I'm still younger than you, Emma dear,” Thelma protested. “So don’t you go getting uppity on me. I’d probably do just fine.”

  “You’re only younger by two years. You'll be seventy before you know it. Remember, with age comes wisdom.”

  Shannon listened to the two elderly sisters bicker. She was growing accustomed to their bickering. It seemed to be what they liked to do best, and their presence most certainly had made the long trip much more bearable.

  Thelma and Emma Miller were spinsters who lived with a third sister in Cottonwood. Together they ran the dry goods store. If these women were sixty-eight and seventy, Shannon wondered how old their other sister, Rose, was. However, if all the town’s residents were as boisterous as these two, life would be very interesting in Cottonwood.

  Shannon tried to make herself comfortable on the hard bench seat. If it hadn't been for the good sisters, she would’ve ended up wandering lost around St. Louis after she'd gotten off the train. She was looking for a coach similar to the ones they had back home -- something sleek and black with soft cushions instead of this hard wood. However, she’d quickly discovered the only way to get to the Texas Territory was by mail coach or horseback.

  She glanced out the window. “Ye know, I've not seen any sign o' life all day. Are ye sure somebody lives out here?”

  Thelma chuckled. “This is the West, honey. The Texas Territory is just being settled, and we’re probably lucky we ain’t run into any Indians by now. You know, it's still a part of Mexico, not the United States. Still, the Americans outnumber the Mexican settlers now, and there’s talk of independence.”

  “I huv tae admit I dinna know much about yer country. 'Tis my first time in America.”

  “You’ll learn, dear,” Thelma said, patting her knee.

  Emma reached over and touched Shannon’s hand. “Well, we're mighty glad to have you,” Emma said. “Don't hear many odd accents around here. Where did you say you’re from, dear?”

  Shannon smiled at Emma before answering. “Scotland,” she said proudly, appreciating the woman’s motherly ways.

  “Do you have family in Cottonwood?” Emma asked.

  “No. I've accepted a job tae be the nanny fer Mr. Griffin's children.”

  “The Griffin children,” both women said at the same time.

  Shannon nodded.

  Thelma and Emma exchanged wide-eyed looks. “You poor thing,” Thelma said.

  “Why do ye say that?”

  Thelma shook her head. “Those youngsters are a handful.”

  “Their ma died two years ago, poor things,” Emma added. “And since then they have been through six nannies.”

  “Interesting,” Shannon said. She’d been a little concerned when the women had given each other funny looks, but what children were not a handful? “I'm sure ‘tis hard on them without their mother.”

  “It is,” Thelma agreed with a nod. “Their father could be the problem, though. You see, Luke loved his wife very much. Never seen a man so dedicated. He still mourns Ruth.”

  “'Tis perfectly common tae mourn a loved one.”

  “Don’t know of any man mourning for two years.” Thelma arched her fine brow. “Especially with young‘uns.”

  Emma shifted and glanced quickly around as if someone were eavesdropping on them. “Now, I'm not one to gossip, you understand.” She paused and waited for Shannon to nod before proceeding. “I think Luke pushes his children away from him because they remind him of their mother.”

  “'Tis verra sad,” Shannon murmured with a sorrowful shake of her head. What would it be like to have a man love her like Mr. Griffin loved his wife? She sighed, figuring she’d never know.

  Her da had told her more than once that no man would want someone who was as homely as she was. Especially with her god-awful red hair. Shannon pushed his words away and concentrated on the present. “What happened tae their mother?”

  “Ruth came from back East and was used to city life. She was too delicate to live in Texas and couldn’t adjust to the harsh environment. Must say, she stayed sick all the time. And then one day, Ruth took to her bed and never got up again,” Emma said with a sad shake of her head. “She was such a pretty little thing.”<
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  “Surprises me that Luke would hire you,” Thelma interjected. “You're mighty small yourself.”

  “But I'm not frail,” Shannon informed them.

  They both raised their eyebrows in doubt.

  “’Tis true. I'm a bit tougher than I appear.” Shannon insisted with a defiant tilt of her chin.

  Emma reached over and patted Shannon's knee again. “We sure hope so. However, if things get bad for you, you're welcome to come and stay with us for a spell. We like you.”

  Shannon smiled her thanks to the kind ladies, then turned to stare out the window. Just how bad could it get? she wondered. Were the children truly holy terrors?

  Mr. Griffin’s letter had said his children were adorable. Could he have lied just as she had lied to him?

  “We'll be in Cottonwood in about an hour, ladies,” Shorty shouted from up top. She was sure Shorty must have a last name, but since arriving in St. Louis, she heard many men referred to by some nickname or other. Nothing formal like she was used to, and she definitely hadn’t heard any titles. It seemed no one here had one.

  She remembered one man at the St. Louis post office was referred to as Rattlesnake. Shannon didn’t want to know how he’d earned such a name. Just the sound of it made her shiver. She hated snakes.

  She most certainly was going to make sure she didn’t end up with a nickname. Several strangers had already called her Red because of her hair, which she hadn’t appreciated at all.

  She could be touchy about her hair. God must have given her this odd color for some reason, but she’d yet to figure out why.

  Just another hour, Shannon thought with relief, then she could get out of these cramped quarters. She turned back to the window and gazed at the countryside. The land wasn't exactly what she’d pictured. It was nothing like the beautiful, lush green hills in her Highlands. Instead, what she’d seen of Texas was brown and flat with few trees. And the dust . . . that was definitely something she would have to get used to. Even now, the temperatures were much warmer than she was accustomed to, and it was autumn. She wondered what summers were like in Texas if it was still hot.

  Mr. Griffin had come to live in Texas from St. Louis, so he must have seen something promising in this land. What would Mr. Griffin be like? Pleasant, she hoped. From his letters and what the sisters had said, he sounded like a nice man who had cared for his wife. His penmanship had been beautiful, so she figured he was educated. However, she wasn’t going to worry about Mr. Griffin for the moment. Shannon would do as she always had: face the problem head on once it presented itself. For all she knew, Emma and Thelma could be exaggerating.

  Besides, if Shannon could handle men and their childish ways, she was sure she could handle one heartbroken rancher and his children. Two children shouldn't be that difficult.

  Strange, she thought, she was traveling through hostile land, yet she felt safe. Way out here, her father would never be able to find her. And that was the way she wanted it. Just the thought of Angus McKinley made her shudder as though she were cold. 'Twas hard to believe that he was her da. He'd never shown her any kind of love. Just the opposite. He was a cruel mon.

  Her mother had been English and her father was a Highlander, so, of course, the Highlands were where she’d grown up. Shannon couldn't say that she'd had a happy childhood. Most of it had been spent in fear of her drunken, domineering da. She could remember begging her mother to leave their home, but she had insisted that it was her duty to stay.

  Angus was a mean drunk, bullying the weak and the small. Elizabeth, Shannon’s mother, had tried to protect her from being beaten, and most of the time she’d been successful, hiding Shannon when Angus was in a foul mood.

  However, the morning she'd found her mother lying cold and still at the foot of the stone stairs, Shannon knew her father had been responsible. He claimed he'd never touched Elizabeth, and maybe he hadn’t, but she was still dead. He’d pointed out that her mother might have tripped on her gown and fallen during the night, but Shannon had seen the bruises on her mother's arms and around her neck, and she knew . . .

  Shannon had felt guilty that her mother had suffered and she hadn’t been able to help her. Perhaps, if she'd been with her mother, she could have pushed Angus away, and then he'd have been the one at the foot of the stairs.

  Things had grown worse after her mother’s death. When Shannon was alone with her da, she had endured the beatings her mother had protected her from. However, once she’d turned seventeen, something in her had snapped, and she’d warned her da that if he ever placed a hand on her again she would kill him.

  He had simply laughed.

  But she'd meant every word.

  It didn’t take long for Shannon to realize that Angus could easily kill her before she had a chance to defend herself. So she ran with the help of Douglas, one of her da’s men, who’d enabled her escape to England. Later she learned that Douglas had been killed when Angus had discovered his ruse.

  In England she’d found refuge with her uncle Jackson Montgomery, Duke of Devonshire. Jackson, her mother's brother, had been a good man.

  “Why are you frowning so, dear?” Thelma asked.

  Slowly, Shannon turned from the window. She felt dead inside when she thought of her da. “I was thinkin' about my home.”

  Emma shifted over to the other bench so she could sit beside Shannon. She slipped an arm around her shoulders. “It’s only natural that you'll be homesick.”

  Shannon gave the women a small smile. There was little chance that she’d be homesick. Nonetheless, she remained mum. She didn’t want to explain her past to women she barely knew.

  “What the hell!” Shorty swore from up top.

  Shannon glanced out the window. “Looks like a town up ahead.”

  The stage pulled to an abrupt stop, nearly throwing her from her seat. Dust swirled around the stage so thickly that Shannon had to jerk her head back inside to avoid a mouth full of grit.

  Thelma peered out the window on her side. “I believe we’re finally home,” she said. “But I wonder why Shorty stopped way out here on the edge of town? The post office is down the road a ways.”

  They didn't have long to wonder because Shorty yanked open the door. “Ladies, appears there’s a gunfight going on in town, so we better not get too close. Wouldn’t want to see anybody hurt or nothing.”

  “A gunfight?” Thelma said, stepping out of the stage, followed by Emma, who added, “What in the world . . .”

  “Ladies! Get back in the stage!” Shorty barked.

  Well, Shannon surely wasn't going to stay in this stuffy box one minute longer than she had to, so she followed the ladies out the door.

  Shorty grumbled and hastened alongside her.

  Shannon’s steps quickened. It appeared that her quest for excitement was already starting . . . a real live gunfight.

  They moved down the boardwalk, careful not to get in danger’s way, but close enough that they could see what was happening. Sure enough, two men were squaring off in the middle of the street and there was a crowd gathered on the boardwalks to watch.

  The man whose back was to her was several inches taller than his opponent. He made a striking figure from behind. His shirt stretched across his broad shoulders and he was dressed all in black. Usually, the bad guy wore black, or so she’d read. This was certainly how she’d pictured a cowboy to look.

  “I wonder why they are fightin’?” Shannon asked.

  “Could be anything,” Shorty answered. “Sometimes it’s just the way a man looks at you.”

  Emma and Thelma strolled over to stand beside them. “This isn’t the way we'd like to introduce you to our little town, but out here men and guns are plentiful, so I guess you’d best get used to it, honey.”

  “'Tis the same at home,” Shannon said. “Only ‘tis broad swords they use fer weapons.” She glanced back at the combatants in the middle of the dusty dirt street. “After this is over, I'll huv tae send word tae Mr. Griffin that I’ve arriv
ed.”

  Emma gave her a strange smile. “No need, honey.”

  Confused, Shannon turned to Emma. Something vaguely disturbing tugged at her, warning her that she wasn’t going to like the answer to her next question. “Why?”

  “Because Luke Griffin is the tall one out there.” Emma nodded toward the street. “He’s the one dressed in black.”

  Speechless, Shannon let her gaze wander over the man. She became aware of the tension and energy about his body that made her think of an animal ready to attack.

  So this was her employer. Was the mon crazy? He could be killed and leave his children orphaned. He could be killed and she’d be without a job.

  Then what would she do?

  About the Author

  Brenda Jernigan is a bestselling author. Her books have been nominated for many awards - Book Seller’s Best Award, The Maggie Award, and The Holt Medallion Award. Publishers Weekly said, “Brenda Jernigan writes Romance, Adventure and Magic.”

  She grew up living the life of a tomboy – climbing trees, playing ball, and excluding starry-eyed romance from her daily repertoire. Brenda discovered the love of books while taking her son to Story Hour at the local library -- she was hooked. She set an ambitious goal and began work on her first novel. She continued to write six more novels in rapid succession. She figured having the same birthday as Ernest Hemingway couldn’t hurt.

  She is a member of RWA, NINC, PAN, PASIC, and Outreach International Romance Writers where she was President.

  Her books have been printed in several languages and her last book “Southern Seduction” written under the name of Alexandria Scott was printed in Russian.

  If you have read and enjoyed the book, please leave a review on the vendor’s webpage. Nothing sells books more than word of mouth. Thank you in advance for reading my books.