The Duke's Scottish Lass (Brethren of Stone 0.50)

She’d asked the same question several times and he’d given her his best answer each and every time. “They won’t come home, I am afraid. But it doesn’t mean that they won’t keep loving ye.”

Her eyes swelled with tears and, thoughtless to the onlookers, he swung her up into his arms. He heard a gasp from someone in the crowd and his eyes narrowed, searching for the offender? Did they expect him to eat his own sister alive? Bloody hell, they thought him the devil but it was them feeding off his grief now. These people seemed to garner joy from hearsay and rumors about his family rather than acknowledge their accomplishments and care.

And all these people had attended the wake. Ate his food and drank his wine. It only made them bolder in their derision.

This was one of the reasons he wished he didn’t have to take his father’s title. To be earl of the realm, responsible for this ungrateful lot. It made his blood boil.

Handing Arianna to his brother, Blair, he stepped up to the graves and carefully laid both dirt and salt on each. Standing once again, he returned to his siblings and took Arianna’s hand as they left the Kirkyard.

He didn’t look back at the crowd, his own disgust making his shoulders hard, his body tense. He longed for the solitude of his home, to close the doors and find solace in quiet grief.

But as they walked to the gates, a carriage sat just outside.

“Who goes there?” His voice boomed, sadness and irritation making it sharp. He heard several titters from behind him in the crowd that followed.

A man stepped out of the carriage. He was well dressed and graceful, his dark hair streaked with silver, his posture upright. “My lord,” his voice, always pleasant to the ear, soothed Stone now. It was his father’s solicitor, though Stone supposed that Allister McLaren was now his solicitor.

“Good to see ye,” Stone’s tone changed instantly, softened, mellowed. This man had been a friend to his family since he was a child. Stone walked the rest of the way up the drive, the procession behind him continuing toward the village just beyond.

“I apologize for not arriving in time for the burial. We’ve had our own circumstances to tend.” Allister’s face pinched in a way that Stone had never seen.

“Circumstances?” he asked. He knew they must be serious for Allister to have not been here. He’d long been a faithful friend.

Allister’s brow drew together. “I have lost my wife, I am afraid.” Pain hunched the man’s shoulders.

“I am verra sorry fer yer loss.” Stone clapped the man on the shoulder.

Allister shook his head. “Thank ye, son. It’s been difficult fer both of us.”

Stone noted that Allister said us. He’d used we before.

A motion at the door of the carriage, caught his eye and he snapped his gaze up, as Allister reached his hand out.

He first noted her fingers, creamy skin and long, tapered digits gently grasped Allister’s. He let his eyes wander up the slender-sleeved arm to the delicate curve of her shoulder and thin column of her neck. Tendrils of blonde hair were loosely pulled away from her face. And what a face. Delicate petal-pink lips were set off by the ivory of her skin. Her pert little nose wrinkled ever so slightly as his gaze snapped to her large brown eyes.

“I’d like you to meet my daughter, Eliza.” Allister gestured toward her as she stepped from the carriage.

She looked back at him and her eyes narrowed as her lips pressed together. He was used to the reaction. “A pleasure,” she replied, her tone devoid of emotion.

“Eliza, this is Lord Alban.” Allister tucked his daughter’s hand into his elbow.

Stone gave a nod of acknowledgement. “The pleasure is mine,” he said even as her eyes cast away from his.

When he was younger, he’d stared at his reflection in the loche trying to understand why people responded so adversely to him. He wasn’t hideous and he prided himself on being fair, responsible, even level-headed. He rarely lost his temper.

His mother had told him that he had a look of hardness. She didn’t mean it with any malice. She said his father had the same look and it made people wary, afraid. She’d held him close and told him that once people got to know him, they’d see the real man underneath. Just like she had with his father.

He loved his mother dearly, but that was complete horse shit.

* * *

Eliza took a steadying breath. How did one greet the devil?

Very carefully, she answered herself.

He looked exactly as she imagined. Like Aries, the god of war, might have. He was a massive man, with giant shoulders and bugling muscles. His face was set in hard, craggy lines that spoke of power and determination. The severe scowl that turned down his lips and pulled at his brow were almost frightening. The only features that softened him at all were his penetrating blue eyes and full curve of his mouth.

She looked away, not able to stare at them any longer and found that her stomach tingled with nerves. There was something unsettling about him. Most likely his devilish ways.