Kieran Kramer - If You Give A Girl A Viscount

She took a step away from him. “Lord Lumley,” she said in the same cool, confident tone she’d employed the day before when she’d reminded him of his duty to help her. “I’m not in the market for flirtation. And you know that a wager like that is not only inappropriate but ridiculous. No matter what, both of us will be involved in the kiss. So there is no incentive to win.”

“Yes,” he said, “but initiating it will be awkward for the loser, don’t you think?”

“I suspect you wouldn’t feel awkward in the least. You’re a rogue. You’ve said so yourself.”

“I suppose I am,” he said, tugging on his line. He’d caught his first trout. “But I can’t help wanting to foist that awkwardness upon you . I’d quite like to see how you’d handle the matter.”

She pursed her lips. “I don’t approve of this wager. Move on to the next idea, please.”

“I dare you,” he said.

She kept ignoring him. In fact, she pulled in another fish. “I’m going to win, no matter what.”

He liked how she wouldn’t meet his gaze yet didn’t seem coy in the least.

“You only think you will,” he said back.

Another minute went by.

“I thought you Highland girls had more spunk.” He yanked in another trout and put it in the bag. “Although who can blame you for backing down? I’m winning, after all.”

“It’s a go,” she finally said, her profile stern, her brow furrowed. “And only because you can’t challenge a Highland girl’s spunk. When the sun rises over that branch”—she pointed to a beech tree—“the contest is over. But the kiss will be brief, and no one shall ever know.”

“Done,” he said.

Not a word passed between them as they cast their lines. She was concentrating. He could tell. She was anxious to best him.

He pulled in another fish.

She got two.

Within a half hour, they were neck and neck.

She sighed. “I suppose you can’t fish and contemplate ideas for raising four hundred pounds, all at the same time?”

She looked at him with a spark of challenge in her eyes.

“You supposed wrong,” he answered. “It’s been on my mind since the first moment you mentioned it. It’s why I’m here, after all.”

The sun was baking the grass dry. Soon, it would rise above the beech tree’s branch, which extended like a long arm over the water.

“What ideas have you?” She sounded anxious to know.

“The most important thing is to identify a source of the four hundred pounds,” he said. “We’re here in a remote corner of Scotland. Who here has that sort of money? The next question to ask is: why would they hand it over to us?”

Miss Montgomery attached another worm to her hook. “The villagers and farmers aren’t well off in the least. Even if they pooled their resources, I’m sure they wouldn’t have that amount. And then there’s Mr. Beebs, the overseer at the Keep. He’s been there for several years. He might as well be the owner himself. But he’s not. So I don’t think he has the funds.”

“Who does own the Keep?”

“Mr. Beebs is very quiet and doesn’t talk about them. Probably because absentee property owners aren’t looked fondly upon by the locals. They became quite prolific after the Clearances, of course.”

Charlie looked up at the fortress on the side of Ben Fennon. The Keep was a spectacular example of castle architecture. Its windows sparkled, the grounds were immaculate, and the building itself, with its scarlet pennants waving stiffly in the Highland breezes, had a general air of prosperity about it.

“Mr. Beebs’s employers must spare no expense to keep it looking so fine,” Charlie guessed.

“True, and it’s why the village endures his presence. Occasionally, he employs local help to maintain the castle and its grounds, although many times he resorts to using craftsman and laborers from Edinburgh, Glasgow, or even England, depending on the project.”

“Have you been inside?”

“No. But according to the villagers who’ve had that privilege, the interior’s as lavish now as it was back then. Hester says it used to be a showpiece—the heart and soul of Glen Dewey. But since Mr. Beebs took up residence, no one visits anymore. The Highland games and the subsequent ceilidh —all held on the Keep’s grounds—ceased, as well.”

“That’s a shame.” And Charlie truly felt it was. “Can you not hold the festivities at Castle Vandemere?”

“I suppose we could, although it wouldn’t be the same. We cling to the side of a cliff here, and our grounds aren’t nearly as extensive as those at the Keep. Vandemere itself is small and snug, more charming than the Keep, in my opinion, but it’s hardly adequate for a ceilidh grand enough for all of Glen Dewey to attend. But you’re right. The Keep’s inaccessibility is all the more reason to keep Vandemere from crumbling. The locals need some reminder of our history and a recollection of the traditions that bind us. It’s no accident that since Mr. Beebs has been in residence, village morale is the lowest it’s ever been.”

While she was speaking, she caught another trout.

She was now in the lead.

Charlie attended to his own line, baiting it with the largest worm he could find in the flannel bag. “All right, then. No one here has four hundred pounds. We’ll have to go outside Glen Dewey to find it, perhaps to wealthy folk who don’t know about its treasures. People like those travelers at Brawton who dropped me nearby.”

“Yes,” said Miss Montgomery.

“Do they stalk deer in Brawton?” He pulled in two more trout. He was winning now.

Miss Montgomery shook her head. “It has only fishing to recommend it.”

“They certainly don’t have Joe’s whisky, either.” Just remembering how good it was made Charlie happy.

“Nor has Brawton ever had a Highland games,” Miss Montgomery said.

“Do they have any castles there?” Suddenly, Charlie was praying they didn’t.

“No.”

He saw Miss Montgomery’s eyes gleam with something … he hoped something along the lines of what he was thinking. “You said yourself at dinner last night—Glen Dewey has all that’s best about the Highlands.”

She nodded vigorously. “But we’ve no inn. We’re not set up to host visitors, especially lots of them at once.”

“But that’s what you need—many visitors at once. Rich ones. People who’ll pay to stay somewhere in style. People who want … the Highland experience.”

“I like that,” she said. “The Highland experience. Perhaps they could stay with us at Castle Vandemere.”

“It’s too small.”

She winced. “And it’s not very grand. Not at the moment.”

Something zinged between them. A flash of understanding.

“We need a place like the Keep,” Charlie said.

Miss Montgomery said it, too, at the very same time.

And then he noticed that the sun was over the branch of the beech tree.

“I won,” the viscount said, a slow grin spreading over his face.

Daisy was so excited about the idea forming in her head, she didn’t know what he was talking about.

“I won the bet,” he explained further, and held up the sack of trout.

“Oh, that.” She whirled away from him to stare at the Keep. Was it the solution to her money woes? “We’ll worry about the bet later. Let’s think about the Keep. Can we borrow it?”

It was an outrageous idea.

“You can always ask.” Lord Lumley grabbed her wrist. “And we won’t think about the bet later. Now’s more like it.”

She looked over her shoulder at him. “But the bet’s not important—not in the least.”

“Which is why we need to get it out of the way. I won’t be able to fully concentrate on the task at hand while it’s hanging in the air between us.”