Dare to Love a Scot by Dayna Quince

Author:Dayna Quince
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2018-11-05T18:00:00+00:00

LACHY WALKED Prim back to the castle before the early rays of dawn touched the sky. Returning to his cottage, he opened the book Shamus had given him and began to read. The journal went back to 1383. Lachy flipped through tales of petty battles, raids, and takeovers, before turning to the last pages in frustration. It was there he found passages from his father.

Drunken rants, it looked like, and he’d read those later, but what interested him most were his grandfather’s entries. His father’s father had detailed the struggles of his clansmen—how they had hung on to the last of their pride with desperate and boney fingers. Their livelihood had been slowly slipped away, and their children became sick, with no doctor in the area to tend to them. Those who were able to work had to search elsewhere, ultimately leaving their home village, which only hurt the clan more. There was no baker for bread, no butcher for meat, and no smithy to shoe horses, and the like. Little by little, Lachy’s people had faded into the mist.

But his grandfather still held hope that one day they would come together again.

THERE WILL ALWAYS BE times of worry and strife. It is the will of the clan to endure these times, and know that they pass like seasons, if only we hold on and do not give up. I’ve begged my clansmen to not give up. It isn’t in our nature, but as time has passed, their warrior hearts have softened. The blood of Elias Dennehy has been spread too thin over the centuries, and times have changed. My own son, his head is filled with dreams of foreign travels and painting exotic things, and not of his duties to the clan. The times of chieftains is waning, and I don’t know how to salvage it. I, too, am weakened. I pray to the Lord, and I pray to Elias himself, but the only real thing I can do is something that betrays the clan itself.

Dennehy Castle has stood tall for centuries, taken by the will of Elias himself for the price of his heart. But as I watch my people suffer, I have no other way to save them short of selling my soul to the devil himself, and I fear that may be exactly what I’m doing. The earl is not trustworthy, that I can tell, and he’s agreed to my terms. He will lease the castle for an agreeable sum, and for the near future, at least, I can keep my fellow clansmen from starving...

LEASE.

Lachy read the passage again, his skin prickling.

Lease. It was written clearly in his grandfather’s hand. Not a sale. The castle was not sold to the Earl of Cassel, but leased!

Blood rushed to Lachy’s head, and his forehead grew hot.

Bloody hell, how in the devil had the old duke then purchased it in 1780? Maybe he hadn’t. Maybe the Duke of Ablehill had never owned it at all?

Where was the lease agreement?

Lachy’s mind buzzed with questions, but he didn’t know where to find the answers.

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