Several years ago, Isla had overheard her governess, Miss Farnsworth, use those adjectives to describe her to the housekeeper—“Lady Isla? Ah, she is a timid, compliant girl. She never gives me a whisper of trouble.”
Isla had beamed at the compliment. At the pride in Miss Farnsworth’s voice. She had immediately looked up both words in Dr. Johnson’sDictionary of the English Language, wanting to understand these praiseworthy attributes of her person.
COMPLIANT: Yielding; bending.
TIMID: Fearful; wanting courage.
Isla had glared at the definitions.
Yielding.
Bending.
Fearful.
Wanting courage.
Thiswas what Miss Farnsworth found noble in Isla? That she allowed her personality to be molded like clay? That she lived her life in cowardice and fear?
The portrayal of her person was anything but flattering.
Peeking between the gravestones, Isla knew ignoring Mr. Balfour would be thetimid, compliantthing to do.
But today, as she faced down all fifteen of her years, Isla found she no longer wished to bepassive—a kissing-cousin totimidandcompliant.
And so, she pushed off the church wall and crossed the graveyard.
Mr. Balfour whirled at the sound of her pelisse brushing the low-cut lawn.
Their eyes caught and held as Isla continued to approach.
Blushing, he scrambled to his feet. He scrubbed his cheeks with his coat sleeve, but the tear streaks remained, smudging the skin beneath his red-rimmed gray eyes.
He was . . .
Oh, dear.
He was handsome.
Tall and lanky, he topped her by several inches, but the soft down on his cheeks proclaimed him to be a boy still. And though his hair was decidedly ginger, his skin lacked the ruddy tones and freckles of a typical redhead. His features looked to be chiseled in marble—sharp jawline, long nose, wide cheekbones, square chin bisected by a deep cleft.
Only his lips, she noted, appeared soft and full. The sort that made one wonder how they would feel to kiss.
She blushed at the indecent thought.
Isla had no memory of studying Tavish Balfour before now. She knew only that he was a Balfour and therefore to be avoided.
The animosity between their families was the stuff of legends. The Kinseys and the Balfours had once been family in truth—both lines descended from twin brothers born to Robert Balfour, Lord Cairnfell, over two hundred years past. Back then, Lord Cairnfell had ruled his lands from atop Cairnfell itself, a rocky crag jutting upward from the gentle fields of Angus.
The twin brothers, Daniel and David, fought side-by-side with King Charles II during the Great Civil War, and His Majesty rewarded them handsomely. Daniel, the elder brother, was given the title of Earl of Northcairn, after the river that ran through the traditional family lands north of Cairnfell. David, younger by only nine minutes, was granted the title Earl of Southcairn, in honor of the river that ran south of Cairnfell. Southcairn was also granted a large swath of land around his namesake river.
It should have been harmonious—brothers thriving on adjacent properties, the height of Cairnfell rising between them. However, each brother felt slighted by oversights in the king’s generosity and blamed the opposite party. Though Northcairn had been elevated to an earldom and granted money to build a new castle, he had been given no additional territory. Southcairn, however, had received new lands and property, all of it more arable and productive than his brother’s.
And so, twin brothers who had played together—fought together, defended king and country together—became bitter rivals. Two centuriesof backstabbing, betrayal, and contention followed. The sort of vitriol only a family could sustain.
Southcairn had used his wealth to marry into the English aristocracy, change his surname, and climb to the title of Duke of Grayburn.
Northcairn had built Castle Balfour north of Cairnfell and upheld the family’s tradition of laird and clan, shepherding their people.
