The Laird's Stolen Bride: The Anvil Brides Trilogy, #2

By Erin Grace

Helene Fairwater will do anything to escape her bleak future.

But when her open window leads to something other than her intended fate, she will be forced to choose between an unexpected stranger or return to her brother's vicious grasp.

Duncan Kirkpatrick is seeking vengeance for the murder of his brother, when the key to that plan falls right into his arms.

But, when Duncan steals Helene away to fulfil his revenge, his plans threaten to unravel as he realises it's his heart that's in danger of being stolen.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Erin Grace
• Release date: Jul 29, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393230472

Book preview

Chapter 1

Snowflakes drifted through the large, open window; the delicate wisps of ice caught on the chill breeze of a moonlit night.

Helene inhaled a deep breath and let out a misty sigh.

She should close the window, she should. The draft could make her catch her death, but cold didn’t concern her—Lord Billingsworth did.

A soft smile lit her lips as the icy flecks landed gently upon her hand, then transformed into tiny glistening pools.

If only she could become a snowflake and float away on the winter wind.

She reached out to close the pane and winced at the sharp twinge along her arm. A large bruise, one of many her brother had inflicted over the past few days, stood out against her pale skin.

Richard didn’t always beat her, but when he was in his cups he became someone she didn’t recognize. And since the death of their father, he had steadily began drinking more with each passing day. The modest amount he’d inherited had been quickly frittered away, along with the last shreds of their tenuous relationship.

On more than one occasion, he’d slapped her face when he’d considered she’d spoken out of turn or expressed an opinion that was not his own.

Richard had always been a selfish brute, but being only her half-brother meant he’d cared about her even less.

And, yesterday had been no exception.

She gently rubbed her cold arms and paced before the window.

Several weeks ago, Richard had arranged a most advantageous marriage—at least, it would have been if it was anyone else getting married but her. When he’d told her about the arrangement, she’d tried to run away twice, but was caught out both times.

To say her brother wasn’t pleased was an understatement.

With his excessive gambling debts and overdue accounts from his many tailors and gentlemen’s clubs, he’d been drinking heavily for weeks. In short, he hadn’t a feather to fly with, and her refusal to marry the aging Lord Billingsworth had only inflamed the situation.

The man was old enough to be her grandfather and had already put two wives into the ground—not a single son produced from either of them.

At thirty-five, his only daughter, Eugenie, was eleven years her senior, and had already made it abundantly clear she didn’t approve of the match, fearing it would make her a laughingstock in social circles.

Despite this, neither Richard nor His Lordship could be swayed to change their minds. She could only guess that Billingsworth had settled a large amount on her, money her brother would have welcomed gladly.

She frowned at her delicate hands. How she wished she were taller, stronger…braver. Instead, she was rather petite and, to her chagrin, nothing more than a coward.

For a long moment, she stared at the frosty windowsill, her heartbeat racing.

Her attempts at running away had failed miserably, resulting in nothing but horrid beatings from her brother, each one worse than the last.

She glanced at the enormous, gilt-edged mirror on the wall and sighed at another dark patch across her back. A leather strap that time.

She’d refused to be fitted for her wedding gown, so Richard had dragged her into his library, pushed her into a chair, and struck her for being defiant. Though terrified, she’d looked up at him, trying so not to show any fear, but he’d promised much worse punishment if she didn’t capitulate and wear the wretched gown.

With a sigh, she turned away from the mirror and stood by the window.

He was always mindful not to strike her face.

She wiped away a warm tear trickling down her cheek, inhaled a deep breath and held her chin firm. Crying? She’d thought that nonsense finished long ago. Knowing the satisfaction her brother enjoyed at the sight, she’d made a solemn vow to herself never to let the tears fall again—at least, whenever he was around.

Rubbing her arms, she paced the room as she couldn’t possibly sleep.

Over by her bed, a wooden stand held her wedding dress, a creation of lemon silk and roses. It would be pretty if she could wear it for any other reason. Richard rarely allowed her pin money to spend on anything fashionable. As it was, she couldn’t bear the thought of even touching it.

In fact, the only other clothes in the entire room was the muslin nightrail she wore, as Richard wanted to make certain she’d no warm clothes in which to make another escape.

She stopped by the window, reached out and struggled once again to close it, but the rusty hinge was unwilling, or unable, to move. Blasted thing.

Frustrated, she tried again until her fingers ached, and fresh tears ran down her face once more. But it wasn’t the window’s stubbornness making her cry, it was the thought of her impending wedding tomorrow morning. And, with servants posted outside her door, she was trapped.

Her future, as dismal as it was, seemed set.

After all, she wasn’t some princess in a tower waiting to be rescued by a handsome prince. Nor would she be saved by a guardian angel. No. She’d learned long ago that fairy tales were wishful thinking and never meant to come true.

With trembling fingers, she dragged a small chair to the window ledge, sniffed back her tears, then swallowed hard.

Time to be brave.

With the early winter snow falling in earnest, Duncan Kirkpatrick stood in the darkness on a ledge outside the open window, soft light streaming out. For some time, he’d watched as a woman struggled to close the stubborn pane.

If he were a gentleman, he’d offer to help, but he had other plans for that window and found the fact it was indeed open very much to his advantage.

Besides, he’d never considered himself much of a gentleman.

He shifted his stance on the ledge, waiting for the right moment to climb inside. He needed to find his quarry, then leave before he was noticed. The last thing he wanted was a maid screaming an alert to the entire household.

An icy breeze picked up and swirled a frosty ribbon of snowflakes around his body. Cold never bothered him much. In fact, compared to where he lived in Scotland, the English winters seemed rather pleasant.

Wait. Now what was she doing?

His brow furrowed as a tiny, pale hand gripped the window frame, then the rest of her thinly-clad body followed and stood on the edge of the sill.

Ah, Hell. A scowl met his lips as he quietly shifted closer to her. Was the woman daft? If she wasn’t careful, she’d slip and fall to her death.

But just as he was thinking of the ways he should reprimand the lass, she turned to him, her wide blue eyes trimmed with red, then gazed out into the night. She’d been crying?

A twinge of guilt rippled through him at the sight of a woman so clearly distraught.

Ah, for God’s sake, man. Why even care? She wasn’t the one he’d come for. Was she? Then again, she wasn’t dressed like any maid. And, it was clear she hadn’t noticed him there in the dark, or she surely would have panicked. Not many women would expect to find a stranger outside their window.

Fine, golden hair fell about her face, as the hint of a smile curled her lips. In her thin, flowing gown he could be forgiven for mistaking her for an angel about to rise into the night.

Not quite the woman he’d been expecting, not that he’d given her looks much thought. All he’d wanted was to steal Lord Farrowe’s sister Helene. And, though he’d only watched her from afar, up close this lass looked nothing like her cowardly bastard of a brother. But, aye, it must be her.

Then she let go the frame, closed her eyes and teetered on the ledge, snow falling upon her slender body.

For the first time, something akin to fear filled his chest. Hell. She was going to jump? No!

He couldn’t let that happen. Revenge would nae be served with a dead body at his feet—and he blamed for murder.

As she raised a foot and stepped from the sill, he pushed out hard from the ledge and caught her within his grasp, his arms enveloping her in his tight embrace. Heaven help him if she didn’t weight more than a sparrow.

With a heavy thud, the wind was knocked from his lungs and sparks glittered before his eyes, as a thick bed of snow cocooned him and his unexpected catch.

As his thoughts cleared, he blinked and looked up at the ledge before realising where he’d fallen.

Lord, he must be as daft as the woman.

As he lay in the cold, still calm, the breath returned to his body and the beat of his heart drummed in his ears, but the woman lay motionless against him.

Head pounding, he glanced down at the mop of blonde hair entangled within his fingers. Sure enough, he’d caught her, but was the lass all right?

Cold and damp began to seep into his clothes. He must get them both out of the snow.

He moved his legs and hissed in pain. Oh, Hell. Something had cut his left thigh.

The woman shifted suddenly and clutched tight to his shirt. Please… Please, don’t let me go.

Her pleading voice startled him. Easy now, lass. He tried to release his grip on her, but she buried her face against his chest and latched onto him tight like a stray cat with claws. You are on the ground now.

Don’t let go.

I’m nae letting you go. If she was indeed Helene, then he’d come to steal her away and nothing would stay him from his purpose, but her reaction had caught him off guard. Surely she’d come to her senses and begin to panic? But, you will nae scream? Understand?

She gently nodded her head and held him even tighter as he pushed up from the ground and on to his feet.

He held her with his right arm and gritted his teeth as he brushed off the red snow and examined his left thigh. Sure enough, blood trickled from a jagged cut across his skin and began to clot into icy lumps down his leg.

He glanced up at the open window, then at the ground. Must have been something sharp in the garden bed below and he was fortunate enough not to have landed on it with his back.

She reached up around his neck and rested her face against his shoulder.

I won’t scream. Just please take me away.

She wanted to go with him?

Perhaps the lass really was daft? He’d expected some sort of struggle, some sort of fight, or even shouting at the very least. But the way she held onto him, she seemed determined for him to take her.

Confused by her reaction, he lifted her into his arms, and as he trudged across the snow-covered yard, he glanced down at the trembling body clinging to him. What else in heaven’s name could make her so frightened, if it wasn’t him?

And, hell if he could ignore her warmth through the cold, or the way the subtle scent of rose soap seemed to weave a web around his senses. He let out a deep sigh.

Distraction was the last thing he needed.

Through the shadows, he made his way to a small grassy mound where his tethered horse was waiting under the shelter of a tree.

Woman, look at me. In the fleeting moonlight, he touched under her chin and swallowed as two blue-grey eyes tentatively looked up through long lashes and met his gaze. Are you hurt?

No. With her voice almost a whisper as she kept eye contact with him, he couldn’t help but think there something sad and pleading within the pale blue depths. I suppose I have you to thank for saving me?

Surprised by her accusing tone, he frowned. Aye. You do.

I was afraid of that. She glanced around as if finally realising where she was and who was holding her. But, why? Why did you save me? I assume you’re not a guardian angel?

His brow furrowed. What a strange question.

I’m nae an angel, guardian or otherwise. And, you forced me to save you. Why did you jump?

Her mouth opened as if she were about to speak, then she shook her head and looked away as if pained. Perhaps she was injured after all?

What was the lass hiding?

Never mind my reasons. Now, take me with you.

You’re not going anywhere until you answer me this. Are you Lord Farrowe’s sister?

She looked toward the house, then shook her head.

Never mind taking me with you then, just let me go. She struggled within his grasp and fought to be free, but he held her tight against him. Please. Just let me leave this place.

Answer me, woman. Are you Lord Farrowe’s sister or nae? Determined, he turned her to face him once more.

Yes. Damn you, yes. A spark of blue fire lit in the once solemn eyes and he nodded with satisfaction. She was the one he’d come for. And, I suppose you will take me back to him now?

In his arms, her body wilted as though in defeat, but she didn’t cry.

Nae. He lifted her slight frame up and sat her on his horse, then mounted upon the blanket behind her. I won’t be taking you inside.

She glanced back at him, worry and confusion now etched into what he could only call a beautiful face.

You won’t? Then what are you going to do with me?

He grabbed the reins, wrapped one arm around her waist and nudged his horse forward into the night. Marry you.

Chapter 2

Numb with cold, Helene shivered as the snow melted through her nightgown, causing the frigid, damp fabric to stick to her skin. She may well have survived her fall but now there seemed every chance of freezing to death on horseback.

Was this to be her punishment for trying to escape from her life?

She shuddered and tried rubbing her hands together, but it was difficult task whilst trying to balance on the horse. No doubt she may have been warmer if she’d allowed herself to rest back against the man, but she refused to touch him, her back now aching from the effort.

Every time he’d put his arm around her, she’d pushed it away.

Here. A heavy woollen blanket suddenly draped over her head, back and shoulders. Put this around you.

What was this?

Her shaky fingers held up the edge of the cloth, the moonlight revealing a shadowy tartan design. He’d given her a plaid?

She shouldn’t accept it. Shouldn’t accept any kindness from a man she doesn’t know, but he had saved her, and it had been her choice to go with him—at least for now.

Indeed, she could have fought him, could have screamed for help. But the kind of help waiting for her inside Farrowe Lodge was what she dreaded most.

The thought of Richard holding a leather strap appeared in her mind, made her heart race.

No. She had made her choice and good or bad, she would see it out. There was no going back.

Indeed, her rescuer may be no angel, but perhaps…perhaps he’d been Heaven sent to help her after all?

But, marry her? No. Surely he hadn’t meant what he’d said? Why would he? They were strangers to each other. Though if he wasn’t in the employ of her brother, just what had he been doing outside her window when she fell?

A trickle of guilt, colder than the snow, ran along her spine as she considered what she’d tried to do. Her dear mother had taught her life was precious, and she felt ashamed that she’d tried to end it—and this man had caught her, risked his own life.

Are you warm enough?

Yes. Thank you. Shaken from her thoughts, the whisper stole from her lips as she clasped the blanket tight around her and fought to stop her teeth from chattering. But, oh that plaid was glorious. And, with it came the scent of chopped wood, leather, and something earthy that enveloped her in warmth as much as the cloth did. You must think ill of me for what I had done.

It is nae my place to judge you.

Perhaps, but I haven’t even asked your name. Nor have I thanked you for saving me.

His armed wrapped around her waist, only this time there seemed little point in fighting it or him.

Certainly, she held some fears, but it was either start to trust the man or return to Farrowe Lodge.

My name is Duncan Kirkpatrick, and your thanks aren’t needed.

A gasp escaped her at the warmth of his breath along her ear and the husky sound of his voice. There was