To Tame a Wild Heart Read online

  SARAH STUDIED HIM FOR AN INSTANT, THEN LOOKED AWAY,

  her cheeks growing pink. “Colin, I know not what to do. Lord Nicholson has a way of twisting the meaning behind words. I cannot turn him away without appearing surly. Just last night, he took me for a walk into the garden . . .” She trailed off, her hand fluttering to her throat.

  Colin felt heat invade his gut. God knew he’d seduced his share of females, and the thought of Lord Nicholson seducing Sarah made him want to plant a fist into the other man’s finely chiseled mouth. “What did he do to you?”

  “Nothing objectionable. And yet, I felt so flustered. I suspected he wanted to . . . kiss me. At home, I might have aimed a kick at him, but here, everything is so different. The daughter of a duke wouldn’t kick.”

  Silently Colin wished he hadn’t been so successful at making a lady of her. “Lord Nicholson is a rake. He’s well practiced in getting what he wants.”

  “I know that, but how do I send him away without seeming ill-bred?”

  Colin drew her close, knowing with something close to despair that he wasn’t at all different from Lord Nicholson, at least when it came to Sarah. He’d wanted her for so long that the mere brush of her hair against his chin nearly drew a groan from him. “We need to begin some new lessons. Now.”

  Applause for the Novels of

  Tracy Fobes

  DAUGHTER OF DESTINY

  A Romantic Times Top Pick for

  September 2000

  “The mystical blends beautifully with the reality of the Regency world in this fast-paced drama. Tracy Fobes’ refreshing voice, along with her unforgettable characters, allow us to suspend our disbelief — she gives us the chance to truly believe in the magic of love.”

  — Romantic Times

  “This author’s name has become synonymous with quality paranormal romances, and Daughter of Destiny is a perfect example of Fobes’ extreme talent. If you’re looking for something out of the ordinary, compelling, and spellbinding, don’t miss reading this story.”

  — Old Book Barn Gazette

  “This is a hard-to-put-down story with fascinating information about the Druids and their powers. A great novel.”

  — Rendezvous

  “Tracy Fobes is one of the most refreshing voices in the romance world today, and her latest novel shows her skill at writing compelling paranormal romances. Daughter of Destiny is an intriguing mix of passion, magic, and romance.”

  — Writers Write Inc.

  FORBIDDEN GARDEN

  A Romantic Times Top Pick for March 2000

  “Exciting, inventive, spellbinding; Tracy Fobes once more ventures out of the ordinary in Forbidden Garden. The added presence of Darwin and Huxley as characters provides a strong sense of the historical backdrop, as does Anne’s need to be accepted in a male-dominated world. To this, add a touch of the paranormal and you have a book to truly savor.”

  — Romantic Times

  “You’d better set aside plenty of time to read Forbidden Garden to the finish, since once you start this you are in for the duration because it grabs you and doesn’t let go. I couldn’t even think of putting this book down. A not-to-be missed novel by the very talented Tracy Fobes, a woman who comes up with something different and innovative with each book she writes. Brava!”

  — The Belles & Beaux of Romance

  “With novels like Heart of the Dove and Touch Not the Cat, Tracy Fobes is gaining a reputation for exciting historical romances with a twist of the supernatural. Her latest novel, Forbidden Garden, will enhance her prominence. Ms. Fobes has written a winner.”

  — Affaire de Coeur

  “This exquisite and sensual romance is definitely out of this world! I couldn’t put this book down until I’d read the entire thing. For something different, don’t miss this one or Ms. Fobes’ first two works, Touch Not the Cat and Heart of the Dove. I can hardly wait to see what her next theme will be. Bravo, Tracy!”

  — Old Book Barn Gazette

  Books by Tracy Fobes

  Touch Not the Cat

  Heart of the Dove

  Forbidden Garden

  Daughter of Destiny

  To Tame a Wild Heart

  Published by Pocket Books

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  An Original Publication of POCKET BOOKS

  A Sonnet Book published by

  POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  Copyright © 2001 by Tracy Fobes

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce

  this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue

  of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  ISBN 0-7434-1929-4

  Visit Us on The World Wide Web:

  http://www.SimonSays.com

  SONNET Books and colophon are registered trademarks

  of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  Thank you to my mom and dad, who always believed in me and encouraged me to fly; and to my editor, Caroline Tolley of Pocket Books, whose genius for knowing exactly what a story needs is without compare.

  Author’s Note

  Although the Duke of Argyll is an old and revered Scottish title, and the Scottish town of Inveraray forms the Argyll family seat, Edward, Duke of Argyll is a wholly fictitious character invented for the purposes of this story only.

  TO TAME A

  WILD HEART

  Prologue

  Scottish Highlands, 1796

  P hineas Graham was a very proper man who had one chief task: to insure that his employer, His Grace, the Duke of Argyll, lived comfortably and graciously. Renowned for his knowledge on the ceremonies of life, manners, entertaining, household management, and official etiquette, Phineas enjoyed his position as the duke’s most valuable retainer and viewed all of his duties with the utmost gravity.

  But he didn’t always take pleasure in them.

  This last week’s effort to escort Her Grace, the Duchess of Argyll, to Dunrobin Castle definitely fell into the category of duties he didn’t like.

  Phineas shifted upon his bench atop the landau, his gaze drifting past the primroses and heather that grew in untamed clumps along the edge of the road, to settle upon the cliff edge some twenty feet away. Far below, foaming sprays of water leaped upward along the rocks, battering the shore with a roaring sound, as though the sea were reaching upward to draw the carriage over the edge. And there, deep in the waters of Moray Firth, a ship sailed along the trading route to Inverness. Dutch, by the look of it, Phineas thought idly.

  As far as he was concerned, the driver, who sat next to him on the bench, drove far too close to the edge of the cliff. Ocean spray from below mixed with the dust they’d churned up on the road to create a fine paste that was slowly turning Phineas’s navy livery brown. Bumps and ridges on the road had conspired to send the landau repeatedly into the air and given him a backache. Overall, he didn’t like traveling and suffered it for the duke’s sake only.

  This entire journey had proven particularly vexing. With her constant complaints and questioning, the duchess had been a thorn in Phineas’s side from the very start. She’d demanded they ride at a devilish speed and moaned over every stop they made. A more leisurely pace would have made the journey easier for all, especially the horses. He thanked the good Lord that they’d likely reach Dunrobin Castle before nightfall.

  Despite his pains, Phineas lifted his chin and endured. He winced only slightly when the ca
rriage hit another pothole and a tremendous thud rocked the carriage. Still, when vicious pounding from the carriage compartment sounded beneath his feet, he permitted himself a small sigh.

  “Pull to the side,” a shrill voice commanded from within, “and open this door.”

  The driver, his bearded face as dusty as his livery, steered the carriage to a halt next to a clump of heather. “The awd bitch’s at it again.”

  “Mind your language, sir,” Phineas warned.

  The driver shrugged. “If we keep buggering about like this, we’ll never get tae Dunrobin Castle.”

  Wearily acknowledging his point with a nod, Phineas climbed down from the box. “I’ll speak to her.” He grasped the latch and opened the carriage door.

  A barrage of cool and imperious tones preceded the duchess. She stuck her head out of the door, forcing him to rear back quickly lest they bang fore-heads. The rest of her followed in a cloud of perfume that left Phineas sneezing.

  He offered her a smart bow.

  “You, man.” She poked his surcoat with vigor. “You drive without thought. Indeed, I’ve begun to suspect you aim for every bump and ridge you can find, although for what reason, I cannot say. I’d have a better ride on a swaybacked nag.”

  Phineas didn’t bother to remind her that he wasn’t driving the carriage, but serving as escort. And while he would have liked to tell her that one couldn’t avoid all potholes while driving at the speed she insisted upon, instead, he simply nodded. “My apologies, Your Grace.”

  She studied him with narrowed eyes. Moisture dotted her lily-white brow and two spots of burning pink had bloomed in her cheeks. Phineas braced himself for the onslaught. But when it came, it hadn’t nearly the force he’d been expecting. Apparently their journey had worn her out, too.

  “I am going to be lenient with you, Phineas Graham, because you’re my husband’s most trustworthy retainer. From now on, see that my ride is as smooth as glass.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  She gave a satisfied nod. A moment later, two little faces peered at him from the interior of the landau with the wide, delighted gazes of four-year-olds who’ve had the tedium of their day interrupted by the unexpected. Phineas, who’d always had a soft spot for children, allowed his lips to twitch upward.

  Lady Sarah, the duke and duchess’s daughter, had none of her mother’s damnable ill humor and was, in fact, a sweet-natured little thing whose deportment and manners well befit her station. The other child, Nellie, was the maid’s daughter. Throughout the journey, the maid had attended to the duchess, and little Nellie to Lady Sarah.

  The duchess sighed sharply. “Come out of the carriage, Sarah. Since Graham has forced us to take this break, we might as well stretch our legs.”

  Phineas held out a hand to help the children alight, but the duchess turned such a black frown upon him that he dared not take another step. He climbed back onto the bench and watched them out of the corner of his eye.

  One by one, a harried-looking crew descended, the two little girls looking only slightly fresher than their wilted mothers. Still, the open air and fine Scottish sunshine quickly worked its magic on them, for within minutes they were hopping and laughing about, Lady Sarah’s voice trilling like a robin’s.

  The child sang about riding a cockhorse to Banbury Cross, and then asked her mother question after question about the lady with rings on her fingers and bells on her toes, much to Phineas’s amusement. Nearly pop-eyed, the duchess ripped an emerald ring from her own finger. She shoved it into her daughter’s hand, told her to play with it, and directed Phineas to drive on before the journey killed her.

  Huddled together, the two girls disappeared back into the carriage, the ring passing back and forth between them as each admired the stunning, heart-shaped emerald on their own little fingers. The duchess and her maid brought up the rear. Phineas, weary himself, nodded to the driver, who slapped the reins against the horses’ rumps.

  They were off again.

  The duchess’s warning riding high in his mind, Phineas kept a sharp lookout for bumps and ridges, and pointed them out to the driver. Somehow they managed to keep the ride smooth and the next few miles passed uneventfully. Just after he began fantasizing about pulling up the carriageway to Dunrobin Castle, however, he heard something.

  Hoofbeats.

  Many of them. Moving quickly.

  Behind them, but coming closer.

  Phineas craned his neck and saw a great cloud of dust following behind several men atop horses. Alarm flickered through him. The road they were traveling on led to only one place: Dunrobin Castle. Had some great catastrophe occurred? Or had the group of men a more sinister purpose? The dour part of his nature insisted upon the second option.

  The Highlands, Phineas knew, had been unsettled for many years now. Clan chieftains were routing their clansmen from their ancestral homes to provide more grazing land for sheep, because sheep made more of a profit than farmers. The Countess of Sutherland, for whom they were bound to visit, had cleared more land of its tenants than any other aristocrat, earning the eternal hatred of most Highlanders. Indeed, they were currently traveling over Sutherland lands. Were these men who were following them a band of Highlanders, intent on revenge against the countess?

  Their pursuers drew closer. Sackcloths covered their faces. Only their eyes were visible. The alarm in Phineas hardened into fear.

  “Do you have a pistol?” he shouted into the driver’s ear.

  “Nay, sir, I didna bring one.” The driver urged the horses into a faster pace.

  At first, they began to outdistance the highwaymen. But their victory was short-lived. Phineas risked a glance backward and watched the lead brig-and draw a pistol from his belt. Moments later, the sound of a shot cracked across the moors.

  The carriage surged forward, then began to sway back and forth at mad angles. The sound of that pistol shot, Phineas realized, had whipped their horses into a frenzy. His hands began to shake and he acknowledged that they were hip deep in trouble.

  The driver struggled with the reins, trying to regain control of the horses, but he might as well try to harness a whirlwind. The horses dragged them over a giant pothole. Their carriage flew into the air before settling down again. Phineas heard the duchess’s shrill cry over the sound of the pounding hooves and the carriage’s creaking timbers.

  He squeezed his eyes shut, and then opened them. They were in God’s hands now.

  The highwaymen drew abreast on either side of the carriage. Phineas saw their mean clothes, their worn tack, and the pistols they’d shoved into their belts. Tattered plaid sashes declared their alliance to the Sutherland clan, the people who had suffered clearances the most. Their eyes held the grim light of vengeance.

  The largest man had a gray beard that flowed like dirty snow from under the sackcloth. He yanked a pistol from beneath his plaid and motioned for Phineas to stop the carriage. At the same time, the road turned toward the left, moving dangerously close to the cliff edge. The driver heaved mightily on the reins, trying to halt their momentum.

  The horses had other ideas. They refused to obey. The carriage veered crazily toward the edge of the cliff, and for a second Phineas thought they would go over. Instead, they righted themselves and barreled down the road, hitting another bump and taking to the air before slamming down again.

  His heart in his throat, Phineas saw that the road curved to the left again. He knew the horses couldn’t navigate the curve safely . . . the carriage was moving too fast. In seconds it would become a coffin. Thinking of the two little girls trapped within its leather squabs, he grabbed the reins along with the driver and helped him pull.

  He was too late.

  Just as the carriage hurtled over the edge of the cliff, Phineas threw himself off the driver’s bench. He had a sensation of sailing through the air. When he hit the ground, it was as though God himself had sent a giant hand into his midsection, driving the air from his lungs, stunning him with one mighty blow. />
  He lay there groaning, eyes closed.

  The highwaymen drew up beside him with a great cloud of dust and volley of hoofbeats.

  “Holy Mother,” one of them muttered. “We’ve done it now.”

  “We were just supposed tae stop them and deliver a warning,” another voice cried.

  “The countess won’t rest until she’s hung every one o’ us,” a third man said.

  “Do ye think any o’ them are alive?”

  “Are ye daft? Who could survive a fall like that?”

  “Should we check?”

  Phineas, his head ringing, struggled to pull air into his lungs.

  A few seconds later, the sound of a low whistle broke the quiet. “They must have tried tae jump from the carriage. Look at her, just laying there.”

  “Aye, she’s dead. Both o’ them are dead. The sea will take the bodies.”

  “What about ’im?”

  Phineas sensed rather than saw them move to his side. One of them grabbed his shirtfront, lifted him, and then dropped him again. His head banged against the ground, rousing a fresh wave of pain.

  “He’s only half dead. We don’t want any witnesses. Finish the job, Angus.”

  Phineas heard shuffling and low conversation. Someone stooped close to him and rolled him toward the edge of the cliff. Suddenly, the earth beneath him disappeared. He tumbled downward like a rag doll. Rocks and boulders smashed into him. Just as he began to lose consciousness, his back slammed into something very hard.

  The air puffing from his lungs, he stopped tumbling.

  He risked opening one eye.

  He’d landed on a ledge.

  Above him, bushes thrust their scraggly trunks out of the cliff. He couldn’t see the edge that he’d fallen from or the Highlanders. And if he couldn’t see them, then they couldn’t see him. Would they look for him, to make sure he was dead? Sweat popped out on his brow. His neck aching, he scanned the ledge for a crevice to hide in.