Table of Contents
TITLE PAGE
CAST OF CHARACTERS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
INTERIOR ARTWORK
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
EPILOGUE
Other Titles from Stephanie Laurens
About the Author
INTERIOR ARTWORK IS LOCATED
BETWEEN CHAPTER 7 AND CHAPTER 8
and also can be accessed via the TABLE OF CONTENTS
STEPHANIE
LAURENS
A Match for Marcus Cynster
A Cynster Next Generation Novel
This e-book is licensed to you for your personal enjoyment only.
This e-book may not be sold, shared, or given away.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the writer’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
A MATCH FOR MARCUS CYNSTER
Copyright © 2015 by Savdek Management Proprietary Limited
Cover design by Savdek Management Pty. Ltd.
Cover and inside front couple photography and photographic composition
by Period Images © 2015
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
No part of this work may be used, reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without prior permission in writing from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Duty compels her to turn her back on marriage. Fate drives him to protect her come what may. Then love takes a hand in this battle of yearning hearts, stubborn wills, and a match too powerful to deny.
#1 New York Times bestselling author Stephanie Laurens returns to rugged Scotland with a dramatic tale of passionate desire and unwavering devotion.
Restless and impatient, Marcus Cynster waits for Fate to come calling. He knows his destiny lies in the lands surrounding his family home, but what will his future be? Equally importantly, with whom will he share it?
Of one fact he feels certain: his fated bride will not be Niniver Carrick. His elusive neighbor attracts him mightily, yet he feels compelled to protect her—even from himself. Fickle Fate, he’s sure, would never be so kind as to decree that Niniver should be his. The best he can do for them both is to avoid her.
Niniver has vowed to return her clan to prosperity. The epitome of fragile femininity, her delicate and ethereal exterior cloaks a stubborn will and an unflinching devotion to the people in her care. She accepts that in order to achieve her goal, she cannot risk marrying and losing control of the clan’s reins to an inevitably controlling husband. Unfortunately, too many local men see her as their opportunity.
Soon, she’s forced to seek help to get rid of her unwelcome suitors. Powerful and dangerous, Marcus Cynster is perfect for the task. Suppressing her wariness over tangling with a gentleman who so excites her passions, she appeals to him for assistance with her peculiar problem.
Although at first he resists, Marcus discovers that, contrary to his expectations, his fated role is to stand by Niniver’s side and, ultimately, to claim her hand. Yet in order to convince her to be his bride, they must plunge headlong into a journey full of challenges, unforeseen dangers, passion and yearning, until Niniver grasps the essential truth—that she is indeed a match for Marcus Cynster.
A neo-Gothic tale of passionate romance set in the uplands of southwestern Scotland
A Cynster Next Generation Novel – a classic historical romance of 114,000 words.
Praise for the works of Stephanie Laurens
“Stephanie Laurens’ heroines are marvelous tributes to Georgette Heyer: feisty and strong.” Cathy Kelly
“Stephanie Laurens never fails to entertain and charm her readers with vibrant plots, snappy dialogue, and unforgettable characters.” Historical Romance Reviews.
“Stephanie Laurens plays into readers’ fantasies like a master and claims their hearts time and again.” Romantic Times Magazine
A MATCH FOR MARCUS CYNSTER
by Stephanie Laurens
CAST OF CHARACTERS
At Carrick Manor:
Carrick, Niniver Eileen - heroine, the late laird’s third child and only daughter
Carrick, Manachan, Laird Carrick, The Carrick (deceased) - the late Laird of Clan Carrick
Carrick, Nigel - Manachan’s eldest son, last seen at Manachan’s funeral
Carrick, Nolan - Manachan’s second son, succeeds Manachan as laird
Carrick, Norris - Manachan’s fourth child and youngest son
Hildebrand, Miss Hilda (Hildy) - Niniver’s ex-governess, now chaperon
Ferguson - butler
Kennedy, Mrs. - housekeeper
Ella - Niniver’s maid
Edgar - Manachan’s manservant
Gwen - cook
Sean - head stableman
Mitch - stableman
Fred - stableman
Carson - stable lad
Watts, Alice - clan healer
Burns, Faith (deceased) - senior maid
Burns, Joy (deceased) - previous clan healer
On the Carrick Estate:
Bradshaw - clan crop farmer
Forrester - clan crop and timber farmer, kin to Bradshaw
Canning - clan farmer
Phelps - clan farmer
Egan - retired clan farmer and kennel master
Boswell, Clement - clan farmer’s son
Brooks, John - clan farmer’s son
Canning, Jed - clan farmer’s son, brother of Stewart
Canning, Stewart - clan farmer’s son, brother of Jed
Forrester, Liam - clan farmer’s son
Hills, Jem - clan woodcutter’s son
Phelps, Matt - clan farmer’s son
Marsh, Camden - clan farmer’s son
Watts, Martin - clan farmer’s son
Wisbech, Ed - clan farmer’s son
In or from Glasgow or other towns:
Hemmingses, the family - connections of the Carricks, Thomas’s relatives
Purdy, Mr. - solicitor for the clan
Rafferty, Mr. - agent for Carter Livestock
Quinn, Mr. - agent for Waltham and Sons
At Bidealeigh:
Cynster, Marcus - hero, Lucilla Carrick nee Cynster’s twin brother
Flyte - majordomo
Flyte, Mrs. - housekeeper
Johnny - stableman
Mindy - maid
Earnest - estate foreman
In locality:
Bonham, Carter - local gentleman
Wignell, Milo - local gentleman
McDougal, Ramsey (Mr. Doug) - Highland gentleman currently local
Riddle, Sir Godfrey - local magistrate
Mac - innkeeper of the Tam O’ Shanter Inn in Ayr
Lady, The - local deity
At Casphairn Manor:
Cynster, Lord Richard - Marcus’s father
Cynster, Catriona, Lady Cynster, The Lady of the Vale - Marcus’s mother
Carrick, Thomas - Lucilla’s husband, Manachan’s nephew
Carrick, Lucilla nee Cynster - Thomas’s wife, Marcus’s twin sister
Carrick, Chloe - Thomas and Lucilla’s elder twin daughter
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Carrick, Christina - Thomas and Lucilla’s younger twin daughter
Cynster, Annabelle - Marcus’s younger sister
Cynster, Calvin - Marcus’s younger brother
Cynster, Carter - Marcus’s youngest brother
Algaria (deceased) - Catriona’s and Lucilla’s mentor, kin to Manachan
Polby - butler
Other Cynsters and connections mentioned or at the wedding include:
Cynster, Alasdair - cousin of Richard
Cynster, Demon - cousin of Richard, married to Felicity
Cynster, Felicity - married to Demon
Cynster, Rupert - cousin of Richard
Cynster, Spencer - cousin of Richard
Cynster, Helena, Dowager Duchess of St. Ives - Marcus’s paternal grandmother
Osbaldestone, Therese, Lady - bosom-bow of Helena, longtime family friend
Cynster, Lord Sebastian, Marquess of Earith - Marcus’s cousin
Cynster, Lord Michael - Marcus’s cousin
Cynster, Lady Louisa - Marcus’s cousin
Cynster, Christopher - Marcus’s cousin*
Cynster, Prudence - Marcus’s cousin*
Rawlings, Lady Antonia - Lucilla’s longtime friend
Glencrae, Dominic, Earl of - married to Richard’s cousin Angelica
cousin*= term used loosely; their fathers are first cousins
PROLOGUE
April 1849
The Carrick Estate, Dumfries and Galloway, Scotland
“Miss Niniver? Are you there?”
Niniver Carrick looked up from the silky head of the deerhound she was stroking. Recognizing the speaker’s voice, she inwardly sighed.
Crouched in a pen halfway down old Egan’s barn, she was hidden from Ferguson’s sight. For one fleeting instant, she was tempted to stay where she was, safe in her refuge surrounded by her hounds, but as ever, duty called. Called, hauled, and had her straightening, brushing pieces of hay from her riding habit’s skirts. The pens’ walls had been raised to keep the hounds contained; she lifted her head and peeked over toward the front of the barn. “I’m here. What’s the matter?”
Ferguson, the butler at Carrick Manor, saw her and strode deeper into the barn. A middle-aged man, upright and sober, he was one of the clan elders. “It’s Mister Nolan.”
Although Niniver’s older brother Nolan had succeeded to the title of Laird of Clan Carrick on the death of their father, Manachan Carrick, some ten months before, clan members had yet to change the way they referred to Nolan—a telling point, to Niniver’s mind.
Ferguson halted before the pen in which she stood and fixed his gaze on her face. “Sean sent word that Mister Nolan’s worse than ever. Ranting and raving like one possessed. Bradshaw, Forrester, Phelps, and Canning are there, too. They all think you need to come.”
Niniver stared at Ferguson while she absorbed his words and what they really meant. Shortly after their father’s death, Nolan had ridden up to a narrow ledge on the western side of the Coran of Portmark, one of the minor peaks in the range to the west of the Carrick lands. As that area was uninhabited, Sean, the head stableman, had followed at a distance; he’d reported that Nolan had sat on the ledge and stared out. As the ledge afforded a wide view over Loch Doon and the Rhinns of Kells, everyone had assumed Nolan had gone there to relax and think.
Initially, Nolan’s visits to the ledge had been infrequent, but when he’d started riding in that direction every week, and then twice a week, Sean had followed him again. The side of the ridge was ruffled with folds, making it easy to get close enough to watch Nolan without being seen—and to hear what he said when his visits became a daily occurrence and he’d started rambling aloud.
Then he’d started ranting.
Eventually, he’d taken to raging and raving.
The target of his fury was their eldest brother, Nigel—he who had been convicted in absentia of poisoning their father, and who was also suspected of killing two clan women. A hue and cry had been raised, but Nigel had slipped away without trace; it was believed he’d taken ship for the colonies and had escaped beyond reach.
“All right.” Niniver unlatched the pen’s gate. Carefully keeping the questing hounds back, she slipped out, then reset the latch.
She could guess why she’d been summoned. Like the others named, she’d been up to the ledge before and had heard the tone of Nolan’s ranting. He spoke to Nigel as if their brother was there, and he clearly blamed Nigel for all the difficulties the clan currently faced—the difficulties that, as laird, it was now Nolan’s responsibility to deal with. To improve and rectify.
Nolan had accepted the mantle of laird readily. If anything, Niniver would have said he’d been keen to show that he was up to the task. But as the weeks and months had passed… If she had to describe what she’d seen in Nolan, she would say he had crumbled under the weight.
She and Norris, the youngest of her three brothers, had never been that close to Nigel and Nolan, who were older by more than five years. Yet over the last eight or so months, Nolan had retreated even further from them, much like a crab backing deeper into its shell. The gulf between her and Norris, and Nolan, was now a gaping chasm, impossible to bridge. She’d given up trying.
Walking out of the barn, she glanced at Ferguson. The heads of four clan families—Bradshaw, Forrester, Phelps, and Canning—were already at the ledge. Ferguson was another clan elder. Five votes on the clan council constituted a majority. Niniver had a strong suspicion over why they wanted her there.
She pulled her riding gloves from her pocket. “Are you returning to the manor, or will you come, too?”
“The others asked me to come,” Ferguson said, “so I’ll ride along with you.”
And that, she thought, confirmed it. Unsurprisingly, the clan had grown skeptical of Nolan’s ability to manage and lead; they were preparing to confront him, possibly to take the lairdship from him, and they wanted her—his sister, but also the next oldest member of the main Carrick line—there as a witness.
Pausing to lift her face to the spring sun, she closed her eyes, breathed in, then out. All she felt was a sense of inevitability, of being on a road from which there was no turning aside. With an inward sigh, she opened her eyes. Setting her lips, she strode for her big bay gelding, Oswald, waiting placidly by the fence. “In that case, let’s go.”
* * *
After leaving Oswald tethered with the other horses a little way away, Niniver joined her clansmen in the fold to the south of the narrow ledge on which Nolan was pacing.
Bradshaw, Phelps, Canning, and Forrester greeted her politely. Phelps and Bradshaw had brought their sons. After exchanging quiet hellos and nodding to Sean and the young groom he’d brought with him, she joined the others in studying Nolan.
The rock ledge on which he paced was a little way down from the ridgeline, at an elevation slightly below their position. He strode agitatedly back and forth, half the time turned away from them. They only saw his face when he swung around, yet his attention remained elsewhere; he never looked their way. A stiff breeze was blowing from the northwest, making it unlikely he would hear them even if they called, but the breeze carried his words to them clearly.
She hadn’t set eyes on him for the last week; he’d taken to eating his meals in the library and avoiding all contact, not only with her and Norris but with the household in general. Now, as she looked across the shoulder of the ridge that lay between them, what she saw shocked her.
Over the last months, Nolan had been growing more furtive, his expression more hunted—more haunted. Now he looked like a caricature of a madman, his eyes wild and staring, his hair—once as fair as hers but now lank and dull—standing out from his skull at odd angles. His complexion, normally as pale as hers, was red and blotchy.
Previously, he’d always dressed well—not just neatly but expensively. Now his clothes looked as if he’d slept in them for days.
Even more disturbing was the way he walked—jerkily, abruptly, li
ke a puppet whose strings were being manipulated by some amateur puppeteer, with Nolan himself no longer in control.
As for the words that spewed from his lips…
“You bloody bastard! How was I to know it would be like this? But you knew, didn’t you? You knew, and you never said anything! So now I’m here, trying to cope, and they’re all watching and expecting me to be like Papa and make it all work—and it’s hopeless! There’s nothing there!” Nolan clutched at his hair, gripping and tugging, his face contorting with effort and pain. “Aargh!” He released his grip; Niniver saw several pale strands drift from his fingers.
Nolan’s voice lowered, darker and grating. “I can’t do this. This wasn’t what I planned. I can’t go on pretending, and I’m trapped! Trapped, I tell you!” His jaw set. He ground out the words “This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.”
His tone was ghastly; none of those watching could have had any doubt they were witnessing a descent into madness.
Niniver swept up her skirts and swung toward the path to the ridgeline. The path to the ledge lay ten yards further on.
Ferguson looked at her. “Where are you going?”
She glanced at Nolan. “I’m going to talk to him.”
“You can’t do that.” Canning looked appalled. “He’s beyond reasoning with.”
“I know, but I have to try.” Niniver met Canning’s gaze. “We all know where this is leading, but he is my brother. If I can calm him down, we can all leave and ride back to the manor without a struggle.”
None of the men liked it, but none of them had the right to gainsay her.
She took another step.
Sean moved to follow her. “I’ll come with you.”
She glanced at him. “No. If he sees you, he’ll erupt—you know what his temper’s like. Bad enough he’s in this state—we don’t need that, as well.”
Sean stared at her stonily, every bit as stubborn as she. “We can’t let you face him alone. I’ll hang back if you promise to keep your distance from him.”