Lucy and Her Scottish Laird Read Online Free PDF Page B

were areas in need of repair.
    The library was one of the original rooms of the keep, located not far from the great hall. Its door was closed, but Ian pushed through and went inside.
    The library had always been Ian’s favorite place in the castle. It was in the library that he’d been able to hide from his mother, or rather
    – the duchess – while his father conducted business with his steward. There was where Ian had escaped his nurse, the harshest woman in all the
    borderlands, second only to the duchess.
    Fortunately, his early education had taken place in this room, usually in the presence of his father, else the duchess would have made certain his lessons
    were punctuated by a switch to his backside on a daily basis, at least.
    He gave out a mirthless chuckle. Now he understood why she hated him so. And why his father had had to protect him.
    Drizzly light came through the mullioned windows on one side of the room. The other three walls were lined with books from floor to ceiling. The room
    smelled ancient and intriguing – like home to Ian.
    His father sat in a chair near the windows with his head on the desk next to an empty decanter of Scotch. He had been emptying quite a fair number of
    bottles of late.
    Ian dropped the portfolio on the desk. “Father.”
    The duke did not react until Ian put his hand on his shoulder. “Your Grace.”
    “Huh? What is it?”
    “Father, there was a carriage accident on the Edinburgh road,” he said. “Lord Kildrum and his family. There were injuries, so I brought
    them here.”
    His father gave a quiet, drunken snuffle as though it was of no consequence to him, having guests in the house, or that his old friend had been hurt.
    “Lockhart will deal with them.”
    “Dr. Henderson is on his way.”
    The duke waved him off, as though he were as insignificant as a fly.
    Which Ian knew was true. A bastard had no rights as a son or heir. But it seemed the duke and duchess had substantiated the fiction of his birth very well.
    There was no going back now.
    “So you will not go up and personally offer your hospitality to Kildrum and his wife?”
    His father barely grunted.
    Ian wondered how long the duke could continue these bouts of drinking to the point of unconsciousness, and why he’d decided to drown himself in
    liquor in recent weeks. It’s not as though anything in his life had changed.
    Or had it? Was there something else his father was keeping from him? Or had his revelation of Ian’s bastardy been enough to cause him to seek
    oblivion in drink? His steward, Alastair MacAdams, had not mentioned anything other than a precipitous decline in income from the tenants and the
    Brickworks. Perhaps it was something personal…far more personal.
    Ian placed the portfolio on the desk. “What is in these papers I took to your solicitor in Selkirk, Father?”
    The duke made an incomprehensible noise.
    “Craigmuir,” he said more firmly. “The papers I took to Mr. Drummond in Selkirk. What were they?” Ian had taken them to Drummond
    & Son as a favor to his father, and since they were fastened with the duke’s seal, he had not examined them.
    But as he gazed down at his drunken father, he realized the duke was hardly competent in his current condition. Ian needed to take charge of the
    estate’s affairs.
    The duke looked up at Ian now, his cheeks slack, his eyes rheumy. Everyone had always said how lucky Ian was to be the very image of his handsome father.
    But Ian wasn’t quite sure he wanted that honor now. “You did no’ break the seal?”
    Ian crossed his arms over his chest. His father knew very well he had not. It had never been in his nature to pry into private affairs. Until now.
    “It is my new will,” the duke said.
    “Good Christ, Craigmuir,” Ian said. “Open it.”
    * * *
    The bedroom door was open and a white-haired, slightly stooped gentleman came inside with the butler. “Are you the doctor?” Lucy asked.
    “Henderson,” he replied with a nod.