A Romance Book Series Set In Historical Scotland

Lowland Romance by Helen Susan Swift

Series Excerpt

The snow came on the seventh day, and the cold cottage became positively Baltic with ice forming on the inside of the window and my breath coming in clouds. I forced myself to leave its meagre shelter to drag in peat from the stack outside, and I looked anew at these once-friendly Pentland Hills.

Now, they were stark and drear and bitter. Snow has the ability to harden the edges of hills and increase their apparent height, so I was a dwarf in a landscape fashioned by winter giants. Even with Mr. Kemp's cloak on, I was cold, but there was no peat left in the house, and I had to gather fuel from the outside stack. That meant using a spade to break the surface frost and taking the blocks, piece by piece, inside the house. That was a hard job, my dears, so don't let anybody tell you that country life was idyllic in the old days. It was hard work, pure and simple, and to be lax was to freeze or starve. I thought I might do both that morning when I realised there was no water left.

If I had been sensible, I would have melted some of the abundant snow, but instead, I took the pail and walked down to the burn, slithering and falling with nearly every step. Women's boots, you know, are not designed for hard usage. Men's boots, however, are and I felt a new kind of chill when I saw the unmistakable imprint of a man's foot in the snow. It was a large footprint, and two of the nails in the heel, I remember, were slightly askew.

I had thought myself safe in this remote cottage, then I recalled that shadowy shape I had seen the day I saw Louise with that Frenchman. I was obviously not alone out here, and how desperately I wished Willie Kemp would appear to take me somewhere less dangerous, where I had some company and there were no strange men haunting the heights.

“Oh, Mr. Kemp,” I breathed. “Please come soon!”

The burn was beyond freezing, so cold I could barely put my hand in it, but needs must, so I broke the surface ice, dipped in the pail, and scooped up enough water for my needs. As you can imagine, I was not happy, but as my tears only froze on my cheeks, I soon stopped crying, save for the odd sniff or two, and carried on.

It is hard to describe my feelings at that time. Did I regret leaving Aunt Elspeth's house? Well, yes. Very much, and I was very tempted to go back, but my stubborn pride bade me remain. Did I regret running from a marriage to John Forres? Yes, when I considered the alternative was a lifetime of suffering and toil; marriage is only part of your life, my dears, and very few marriages are conducted on the basis of equality and constant romance. Some are, mind, and if you can find a man that will give you that then dig your nails in deep and hang on for grim death.

However, at that minute, with my feet wet and cold, my breath clouding uncomfortably around my face, and a bucket of freezing water slopping around my legs, romance was the last thing on my mind. Whatever the future held, living like some mediaeval peasant was not my ideal choice, and I resolved to escape from this life of drudgery as quickly as I could. I had been in this rural idyll for a week, you see, and that was more than enough for me.

Stamping my feet to keep them warm, I headed back to the cottage. I had perhaps a hundred yards to walk, all uphill, and carrying a full pail of water. Of course, I slipped, and of course, I fell, and of course, the contents of that pail cascaded over me.

Now, ordinarily, such a scene would be funny as long as it happened to somebody else, but when you are living out in the wild, and you have to create your own heat, such an event is serious. I lay on the ground for just an instant before rising and hurrying as quickly as I could back to the cottage.

By the time I reached the front door, my fingers and toes were numb and most other parts were not far behind, so I piled peat and wood on the still-smouldering fire with no thought about saving some for the evening and began to strip off my clothes. I knew I had to get warm as quickly as I could, or pneumonia might set in, so I wasted no time, peeling off my clothes and leaving them strewn around the room. Normally a maid would be there to tidy up after me, but not this time. You have no idea how we depend on servants until they are not there.

I am here to tell you, my dears, there is no fire quite as warming as a peat fire flame. It is gentle and kindly yet gives a heat that seeps into your bones. Coal is somehow harsher, and poor-quality coal can spit and spark, which is not advisable when you are crouching a foot away from the flames in the same state of innocence as Eve.

Strangely, I was quite enjoying the warmth when the door opened, and Mr. Kemp walked in. He later claimed he had knocked, but I was never sure whether to believe him or not, but my initial reaction was to cover myself. I immediately realised the irony, that he should catch me in the same state of undress, and for a similar reason, that I had caught him in, then I also remembered my thoughts on that occasion.

After my initial embarrassment, I had enjoyed the novel view, and indeed that incident remains one of my fondest memories, something I unlock from its cabinet on the cold winter's nights. After all, I am an old lady now, so must be allowed to indulge in my fantasies. Do not allow pointless guilt to ruin your life, my dears; we all share the same feelings, to a greater or lesser degree, and despite what propriety would force upon us, I think it is natural to savour the attractions of the opposite sex; if it were not, then there would be no babies born and where would that leave us all?

I saw the same shock displayed on Mr. Kemp's face as I remember feeling myself, but rather than cringe away, I stood proud. After all, if I had pleasurable memories, then, surely, he must also be allowed the same. My, but I was a proud hussy , was I not? Holding his eyes, I dropped my hands to my side.

“Mr. Kemp,” I said, as formally as if we were in Aunt Elspeth's withdrawing room. I dropped in a curtsey, aware his eyes had strayed from mine for more than a fraction of a second.

He turned around quickly, covering his face. “A thousand apologies,” he said, and it was the first, and I believe the only, time I heard him stutter.

“Mr. Kemp,” I said, in charge of the situation for once. “There is no need to apologise. But please close the door.”

Rather than have him escape into the cold, I forestalled him by walking past, naked as I was, and pushing the door to.

“Mr. Kemp,” I said again. “Do you not like what you see?”

Now, my dears, you may think me bold to the point of wanton, a shameless hussy and anything but a gentlewoman, but my generation lived by different rules. This present queen and her German husband, Albert something-or-other-that-I-cannot-pronounce, have changed the nature of society. We had none of your stuffiness. We believed that life was for living, and we played fast and loose with chance. Gambling was a passion, and we could gamble with our emotions and lives as easily as with cards, dice, and money.

Still with his back turned, Mr. Kemp said nothing.

“Did you not hear me, Mr. Kemp?” I took the two steps toward him, put my hand on his shoulder and spun him around. Now, that should have been an impossible task, for he was a tall man and as strong as any blacksmith born but it seemed the simple pressure from my forefinger was enough. He turned toward me with one hand still covering his eyes.

“Mr. Kemp,” I said, and I could hear a strange huskiness in my voice I had never heard before. “Am I to accept the fact that you find the sight of me offensive?”

“Indeed, no,” he said. “Quite the reverse, but it is not right that I should look…”

“In what way is it not right?” I asked, but then I knew Mr. Kemp was a gentleman in the true and proper sense of the word. He had walked in on me when I was at my most vulnerable, and he took no advantage.

“My dear Miss Lamont,” he said, and I swear there was a tremor in his voice. “Pray cover yourself.”

I stepped back, rustled the dry clothes I had placed on the table, and said, “There you are.”

When he uncovered his eyes, I was as naked as before.

“Miss Lamont!”

But this time I was too quick for him and held his hands before he could raise them to his face. Again, it was strange how a weak woman like me could control such a powerful man.

He looked at me frankly as I watched his eyes, and only when I was ready did I turn and walk slowly to my dry clothes. His hands were still by his side when he reached the table, but he was not smiling. There was nothing to frighten a girl in that solemn, thoughtful face.

“Indeed, I do like what I see,” he told me frankly. “And there is nothing offensive to my eyes.”

“Then we are equally matched.” I was still in command of the situation. “For I liked what I saw in your shed by the loch.”

I had expected him to colour up as he had done before, but instead, he gave that slow smile. “You are the only woman to have ever seen me like that save my mother.”

“Ah.” I smiled back as I began to dress. I had no fear, you see, that he would attempt to ravish me, and no embarrassment at all in front of Willie Kemp. You should never have fear or embarrassment with the man you love, my dears, and if you have either, then I ask you to examine your love thoroughly, for something is not right. “Unfortunately, I cannot say the same. You are not the first of your sex to see me as nature intended.”

“No?” His head came up at once, as I had hoped it would, but he was too much of a gentleman to enquire further.

I allowed the thought to torment him a little longer as I completed hauling on my underthings and moved on to the next layer of clothing. “I have three brothers,” I said and enjoyed the sudden relaxation of his face. I completed his education with a smile, a twist of my hips I learned from Louise, and a few significant words. “But they are the only ones to have seen me au naturelle, and not for many years.”

There was warm light behind his eyes now, and I needed only say one more thing to capture him completely, I thought.

“I do not intend any other man, save you, to see me in a state of undress.”

Was that not as good as a marriage proposal? Was I not hinting as hard as I could that I wanted to marry him, despite our difference in social standing?

“Many men would be sorry to hear you say that.” Willie Kemp made a gallant attempt at a compliment but again sidestepped the main question. Would that man never commit himself to me?

I completed my dressing with my first feeling of humiliation that day. “I am glad that you have finally arrived, Mr. Kemp.” It was difficult to regain my dignity only seconds after offering him everything that I had, but I tried my best. “For there is a strange man lurking around this cottage.”

“Is there?” Mr. Kemp raised his eyebrows. He seemed more comfortable speaking with a fully dressed woman. “What sort of strange man, Miss Lamont, and when did you see him?”

“I have not seen him,” I admitted, “but I thought I saw someone in the hills a few days ago, and there was a footprint in the snow.”

“You saw a footprint in the snow!” Mr. Kemp shook his head. I swear he was mocking me. “And was this footprint also lurking around the cottage?”

It was obvious Mr. Kemp was not taking my position seriously.

“It could have been anyone,” I said, quite desperate to make him understand the danger I could have been in. “A murderer, even a Frenchman!”

Mr. Kemp gave his slow smile. “It was neither,” he said. “Believe me, I would hear about any strangers lurking about your cottage.”

Strangely, as soon as he said those words, I knew it was true. For a mechanic, Mr. Kemp had a presence I could not fathom. He could certainly put on as many airs and graces as an English factory owner or a Highland cattle drover. “That is reassuring,” I said, making my voice as cold as the weather outside, “but I would dearly have liked to see you when I was living in terror.”

“I am here now,” Mr. Kemp pointed out, quite truthfully. “And if you would stop looking for an argument for a moment, I will tell you why.”

I stopped at once, for that was the first time Mr. Kemp had ever raised his voice in my presence. “Yes, Mr. Kemp?”

“Your Mr. Forres, John Forres, has declared that he will never stop looking for you. He says that he intends to marry nobody else but you, ever.”

It must have been a minute before I could speak. “I had hoped that he would lose interest,” I said faintly.

“It appears not,” Mr. Kemp told me.

“Then what are we to do, Mr. Kemp?” I waited for his solution. The cottage I was in afforded proof of his resilience, and I knew he would have some plan in mind.