Free In Your Wildest Scottish Dreams by Karen Ranney

they’d set off for Savannah, with a stop at Nassau to make sure Lucy was settled.
    On his outgoing trip from Georgia he’d be carrying cotton and mail, bound for Nassau. After a few days with Lucy, he’d run the blockade again, intent on furnishing his fellow southerners with those commodities needed to survive the war.
    He’d received word from his first mate that the weapons and ammunition had arrived, ready to load. His crew was waiting. The Raven would be handed over to him in a week, and the money transferred to Cameron and Company.
    The plan, however, was marred by only one thing: Lucy.
    In England, she’d been demure and accommodating,reminding him of the women he knew. She smiled often, was gracious to people and polite to a fault.
    She’d been the sweetest thing in England. He’d found himself besotted on the spot. Never having believed in love at first sight, he found it strange he should be afflicted in such a manner. But she had bright sparkling eyes and the most enchanting smile. He knew his sisters and mother would adore her when they met.
    Something happened on their arrival in Scotland. She’d become querulous and argumentative. She hated Scotland. She hated the idea of living in America.
    He wasn’t sure what she did like, but he knew for certain what annoyed her.
    Lucy was providing the kind of problem he wasn’t sure he could handle. Give him an entire fleet of Union ships trying to block his way and he’d sail right through them.
    Give him a complaining woman, however, and he wasn’t sure what to do.

Chapter 8
     
    W hen they arrived back at Hillshead, a carriage was in the drive. Glynis suspected it belonged to Lennox since the side lamps had been replaced by brass anchor lanterns.
    Her stomach shouldn’t clench at the sight. Nor should her palms become damp.
    In the last seven years she’d met the President of the United States, along with numerous dignitaries. She’d been forced to deal with cabinet secretaries and their wives. More than one British diplomat’s wife, as well as Mrs. Lincoln, had attempted to intimidate her.
    Lennox wasn’t going to succeed where they’d failed.
    “I won’t be any time at all, Glynis,” her mother said.
    She nodded, grateful not to have to escort Lucy into Hillshead. The woman grated on her. But she smiled and made her farewells with a grace she’d been taught and had practiced over the years.
    A few minutes later the door opened and she moved her skirt aside, thinking it was her mother returning as quickly as she’d promised. Instead of Eleanor, however, Lennox entered the carriage, his size making the space feel even more confined.
    In Washington she could converse about a variety of inane subjects. The skill left her as he settled on the opposite seat, staring at her as if she were a creature from the depths of Loch Lomond.
    He took his time perusing her, from the top of her hair, which wasn’t as neat as it had been this morning, to her shoes, muddy from the excursion through the Botanic Gardens. She was certain she was wrinkled as well. The deep mauve fabric with the embroidered collar and cuffs was a pleasing dress, but it was designed for a woman to sit in the parlor and read, not an entire day of sightseeing and exploration.
    Did he think her changed? Or would she be forever ten years old to him, dressed in a soiled pinafore and climbing a tree? Did he recall when she raced Rainbow, her pony, down the river road? Or what about the time she’d been tossed off another horse, only to land in the mud unhurt and furious that he’d witnessed the whole thing?
    She firmed her lips so they didn’t tremble, forcing herself to return his stare.
    Even now, at the end of the day, he looked like he’d just left his chamber and was about to go to the yard, not returning from it. His shirt was white and crisp below his dark blue jacket. His trousers bore a crease but not one speck of dust. His black shoes gleamed with a shine.
    “Have you finished