THE KILTED GROOM

A Scottish Romance

LAUREN SMITH

CONTENTS

Foreword

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

About the Author

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

Copyright © 2025 Lauren Smith

All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitutes unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at lauren@laurensmithbooks.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

ISBN:978-1-967219-99-5 (e-book edition)

ISBN: 978-1-967219-00-1 (print edition)

FOREWORD

Hello my lovely readers!

Thank you so much for diving into The Kilted Groom! This novella was a delightful, emotional story that captured my heart! It was previously part of a set of stories grouped around the theme of an antique ring.

Naturally I had to work in some history (one my passions), and my love for Scotland. I hope you all enjoy this story! I plan to write more stories in the future involving weddings and Scotland as a theme, so please be sure to sign up for newsletter (which is linked at the end) and to follow me on the social media links provided at the end as well so you don’t miss any news!

CHAPTER 1

This is insane.

Ainsley Hazelwood’s headlights could barely eke out anything on the black rain-soaked road. The deluge that had swept over her car in the last hour made it impossible to see past the sharp glints of rain on her windshield. She’d left Glasgow hours ago, and she swore the storm had followed her.

She gripped the steering wheel tighter as she glanced at the GPS on her rental car before returning her eyes to the road … or where the road used to be. She couldn’t distinguish between the side gulleys and the center pavement any longer, even with her high beams on. Driving through Scotland in the middle of the night without a clue where she was going was completely insane. The address for the bed-and-breakfast she was trying to find still didn’t show up on the digital map. All she could do was set the address for the village of Greystone and hope she’d get close enough to locate the inn.

Rain sluiced down the windshield as the storm deepened. The dirt road, which was once solid, turned into mud … mud that was trapping her car. The vehicle slowed—and no matter how hard she pressed the gas pedal, the car only inched along. A few dreadful moments later, it stopped; the car rocking backward as it settled deep into the mud.

Ainsley curled her fingers tight around the steering wheel as a wave of grief and frustration hit her out of nowhere. She pressed the hazard-lights button on her dashboard, wishing she could do something, anything else instead of cry, which was very much what she wanted to do if she didn’t find a way out of this mess.

“I don’t even want to be here,” she breathed in the dark, and lowered her head until it pressed into the steering wheel. Hot tears leaked out of her tightly closed eyes, and she choked on a sob.

The only reason she was here was that her grandmother, Agatha, the woman who had raised her, had died and left behind a small fortune—with strings attached. Ainsley was supposed to return an old ring to a family in Scotland. The ring had been in her family since 1917, but Ainsley hadn’t learned about it until her grandmother had passed away. She glared at her purse, which held the little blue velvet box containing the antique ring. She wanted to throw it out the window, forget why she was here, and just go home. But returning that ring to Scotland had been her grandmother’s last wish, and she couldn’t turn that down.

“Gran, I need you,” Ainsley whispered as she lifted her head and wiped her tears away with shaking hands. She shouldn’t be falling apart like this. She was twenty-eight, a grownup for God’s sake. But grief had a way of taking her back to when she was a child, reminding her how much it hurt to lose those she loved.

She glanced again at her purse, which held not only the antique ring but more importantly, the letter her grandmother had written to her. Ainsley had read it so many times in the last week, she’d memorized it. Parts of her grandmother’s words came back to her, almost as if the woman’s spirit was here in the car.

I know you will miss me terribly, but we both know it was time for me to go. You will feel alone, but you aren’t. You have a great talent for making friends wherever you go—which is why I must ask you to do this one thing for me. In this box, you will find a ring, a very old one. It belonged to my great-great-grandmother, Saoirse. It was to be her wedding ring… She asked for someone in our family to return the ring to Scotland so old ghosts may finally rest. It will be an adventure for you, one I believe your heart truly needs. And perhaps, when it is done, you’ll discover your path in life again.

Ainsley remembered the moment she’d first seen her grandmother’s words on that piece of paper. The scrawling penmanship, once so elegant and perfect, had turned slightly spidery from Gran’s shaking hand as her health and strength failed her toward the end. When Ainsley had received the note and the box from her grandmother’s attorney, it felt like her heart had broken all over again.

“Why did you never tell me about this?” Ainsley asked, even though she knew no one would answer. She found it strangely comforting to talk to her grandmother as though the beloved woman was still there, listening. Sometimes she swore she could still smell Gran’s lilac perfume and feel the light touch of a hand upon her cheek. It made her feel insane, just like agreeing to come here when her grandmother’s attorney had explained the stipulation of the ring’s return to Scotland that was written into Gran’s will.

Unable to resist the compulsion a moment longer, she took the ring box out of the purse and opened it. Sliding the ring onto her finger, she stared at it. The fine hairs on the back of her neck rose and she felt… A deep sense of love, followed by an unbearable sorrow, seemed to flow from the ring into her. What had this ring seen? What ages had it lived through? What hands had it graced? She wished she knew more about her family. Gran had always been quiet about things when it came to family, probably because losing her daughter, Ainsley’s mother, had brought them both so much pain.

Twin dots of light appeared in the distance ahead of her, and she fought down a wave of panic mixed with relief as she realized it was another car headed her way. What if this person was a serial killer? That was nuts! The odds of that would be low, right? Her mouth formed a grim line as she watched the approaching headlights. She would either get help or get murdered at this time of night.

“I should have stayed in Cincinnati,” she muttered. She could have continued her work at her PR firm, focused on her meetings the next morning. But she’d quit that job to do this … to run away to Scotland on a mission for her dead grandmother. Her chest suddenly tightened, and it was hard to breathe. She closed her eyes for an instant, inhaling through her nose and out from her mouth, counting her breaths to calm herself.

The other vehicle, a forest-green Land Rover, stopped, facing the opposite direction on the road. The driver rolled down his window and waved his arm for her to do the same. She rolled her window down, getting a better look at the man.

“Car trouble?” a deep Scottish voice rumbled. She peered up at a shockingly handsome man with dark brown hair and light-colored eyes. He seemed to be in his late twenties or perhaps his early thirties, and his dark hair, slightly long, fell into his eyes.

“Er … yeah. I got stuck in the mud. No all-wheel-drive, I guess,” Ainsley called back over the pelting rain.

“Ahh. I see. Where are ye headed?” he asked.

“Um…” She hesitated a moment, praying this man was not a serial killer before she decided to trust him. “To the Thistle and Briar Inn? It supposed to be near Inveraray? Do you know how far that is?”

The Scottish man’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. “Let me guess, the GPS didna recognize the address?”

“Exactly! It just kept telling me the general direction, but once I hit the bridge, I wasn’t sure if I missed the inn or even the town.”

“I ken the place, lass. I can call a truck to tow ye, but it would likely take a few hours.”

She winced at the thought of spending more time stuck in the dark. It left her feeling far too vulnerable.

The man’s eyes softened. “By yer accent, I ken ye must be far from home. I lived here all my life, lass. I just left Greystone and wouldna mind taking ye back that way, if ye wish. If it’d make ye feel better, ye can even call the local police and have them on the line while I drive ye. ’Tis dark and if I was a woman, I wouldna trust a strange man.”

Something about him seemed so genuine. She swore she almost heard her grandmother’s voice whisper, “Trust him.”

Ainsley studied the man and his expensive vehicle. Hopefully he wasn’t an axe murderer or something. She decided she would trust him. She didn’t want to stay here all night, waiting on a tow truck.

“Okay. I have a suitcase—”

“Not to worry,” the man said. “I’ll fetch it for you, lass.”

The man got out of his car, and she had a chance to see that he wore a green-and-black plaid button-up shirt and jeans, which fit his legs perfectly to show off his muscles without being too tight. He leapt down into the mud without a care for his black boots.

“Will ye pop the boot for me, lass?” he called out as he approached the back of her rental car.

“Boot?” Oh, right, the trunk. She hit the trunk button, and the man pulled her suitcase out. It was one of those big rolling suitcases, but he carried it with ease while holding it well away from the mud. With his other hand, he opened his own trunk. He set her suitcase inside and turned back to her.

When she started to open the door and get out, he halted her with a hand.

“Wait for me,” he cautioned as he approached the car and opened her door. “Ye have the rest of yer belongings?”

She grabbed her purse and her backpack and gave him a nod. He quickly took her purse and backpack and put them in his backseat, then opened the passenger door on the other side of his car before returning to her.

“Now, let me carry ye.” He bent and before she could argue, he’d scooped her up in his arms. She squealed and grabbed his neck, making him chuckle. “I willna drop ye,” he promised.

It was strange … and delightful to be carried like this. She’d never had a boyfriend who’d just picked her up like she weighed nothing and carried her about. But given that this man was built like one of those sexy Highlands warriors from her favorite TV series, she shouldn’t have been surprised. Take his shirt and give him a sword, and she’d swoon on the spot.

“Sorry ye’re getting wet, lass,” he murmured as he reached his car and set her in the passenger seat. “But I figured ye would rather be a bit wet than a bit muddy, eh?”

“Definitely,” she agreed. Her green sweater was damp with rainwater, but she didn’t care.

She’d brought a rain jacket, but she’d left it deep in her suitcase because she hadn’t really given a thought to the weather. Now she knew she was paying for her lack of planning with frigid temperatures and downpours. The icy water soaked through her sweater and jeans until she was shaking from that damp, chilly weight of it.

Her rescuer locked her rental car and then returned to his own vehicle. As he climbed into the driver seat, he handed her a thick, green woolen blanket that had been sitting folded up over the center console between the two front seats.

“Put this on yer lap.” Then he cranked the heat on the car and turned her seat heater on. “The inn is only a few miles from here,” he murmured as he turned around to face the way he’d come.