Perhaps making love should occur first, else how could she possibly concentrate on the letters?
“Was she kneelin’ on all fours or bent over a bed? Or on her side, with him behind her?” he asked, throatily, evidently as aroused as she.
Her mouth went dry at the erotic images his words conjured, and she swallowed in an attempt to cobble together a coherent sentence. “Um, on her side, I believe.
How quickly he’d turned the tables on her, the rake.
“Ah, we’ll try that first, then,” he purred, as he grabbed an apple slice and the letters before wedging his large form onto the bed.
Bethea strongly suspected she’d spend much of the next few weeks naked and exploring all sorts of sexual fantasies with her husband.
What a fantastical thought.
Crunching down on the crisp fruit, he lay the letters in her lap. “Ye open them.”
“But they’re addressed to ye.” It felt intrusive, even with his permission. She’d been taught to respect people’s privacy, and correspondences most certainly were private matters.
“I’ll have nae secrets between us, Bethea.” He pointed a big finger at the less than crisp rectangles. “Whatever they say, we’ll face together.”
How had she been blessed with such a wonderful man? Biting her lower lip, she spread them out atop her thighs. “Which one first?”
Head canted, Camden considered them for a second. “Keane’s.”
Bethea broke the seal with a nail. “Should I read it aloud?”
“Nae. I’ll read it when ye’re finished.” He shook his head and popped the rest of the apple into his mouth.
Bethea quickly scanned the page, then handed it to him.
He did the same. “Well, that’s no’ bad news. Branwen’s feet have healed. Society thinks our elopement verra romantic and nae gossipmongers are banterin’ our names about.”
“And they’ll return to Trentwick by the end of the month.” She refolded the letter and set it aside. “I canna help but think Branwen will be glad for it. We had thought for so long that we wanted to experience the whirl of Edinburgh’s social scene and quickly discovered it wasna as grand as we’d imagined.”
He laid the letter aside and pointed to Bryston. “Bryston’s next, I think.”
She dutifully broke the seal and began reading. Halfway down the page, she gasped and shot Camden an astonished glance. “Sir Walter has been arrested for conspiracy.”
“I suspected as much.” Camden pulled his mouth into a grimace. “When Montieth was tipped off, I kent somethin’ was fishy.” He scratched his forehead. “Sir Walter had insisted we use the mercenaries in our missions, and somethin’ never felt right about it.”
She bit her lip as she finished reading the letter. “Bryston says Montieth was captured a week after he fled Edinburgh, and to save his neck, blathered like a drunken tippler. He says yer letter about yer suspicions regarding Sir Walter helped him convince Montieth it would be in his best interest to talk.”
Camden took it from her and gave a satisfied grunt. “I admit, I’m disappointed in Sir Walter. It just goes to show, men will do any sort of thing for money and power. He had me fooled until The Boar and Brew.”
She leaned into him, nestling her head into the grove of his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I ken ye must be verra disappointed.”
His chest expanded as he drew in a breath. The rhythmic beating of his heart beneath Bethea’s ear brought her the oddest sense of peace.
“I canna say I’m no’, but I’d already decided no’ to continue as an agent, highwayman, or a marauder.” He brought his other arm around to pull her flush to him and kissed her forehead. “I’ve accepted a much more excitin’ and satisfyin’ mission. Playin’ husband to the most entrancin’ woman in Scotland.”
“Keep that up, and we’ll never get to the king’s missive,” she murmured, blinking back tears of joy.
“His Majesty would be most offended to hear ye say it.” He squeezed her waist. “Let’s see what his royal pomposity has to say to me. I confess he’s never deigned to write to me before.”
Bethea dutifully collected the letter. A finger at the royal seal, she hesitated. “Shall I?”
“I told ye. Nae secrets. Open it, Bethea.”
Undeniably curious, she cracked the seal and unfolded the expensive paper. “Och, Camden.” She dropped the paper and threw herself into his arms, crying and laughing at the same time. “He’s awarded ye and Bryston The Most Ancient and Most Noble Order of the Thistle. He has also bestowed estates on ye to thank ye for yer service in apprehending the leaders of the conspiracy against him.”
Joyous tears blurred her vision.
“What?” He straightened, such an expression of complete astonishment on his face, she laughed. “I never expected anything of the sort.”
Of course, he hadn’t. He’d done what he did because he was an honorable man.
Nodding eagerly, she thrust the letter at him. “See for yerself. Ye’re to appear at court as soon as ’tis convenient.”
He read the letter, then, to her astonishment, tossed it onto the floor. “I have a much better award awaitin’ me, right here in this bed. A lass who loves me. Nothin’ else will ever compare.”
Opening his arms, he invited her into his embrace, and she went without hesitation.
“On second thought,” he murmured, yanking the sheets down and positioning her legs to wrap around his waist, “I believe we’ll explore a few more positions with me on the top, wife.”
“Och, that’s a verra good idea, Husband.”
Epilogue
Trentwick Castle
Scottish Highlands
8 August 1721
Holding a bouquet of heather, ivy, and roses, Bethea beamed as Keane walked Branwen down Trentwick Castles’s small, but beautiful chapel. Her sister had found love, too.
She glanced at the tall, handsome man she’d called husband for the past four and a half months.
His loving gaze bathed her, as he no doubt remembered their unromantic, rushed ceremony in The Boar and Brew Inn. Beside Camden, Bryston couldn’t tear his gaze off his bride, but neither had Branwen shifted her focus from her soon-to-be husband.
Elena and Cora, wearing matching purple gowns and carrying baskets of flower petals which they tossed before them, preceded Branwen. When they reached the end of the aisle, Marjorie beckoned them to sit with her, and giggling, they complied.
Bethea shifted slightly, taking in the assembled wedding guests. All of their closest friends were here, and her heart was full to overflowing.
Graeme and Berget Kennedy shared a pew with Liam and Emeline MacKay. Behind them, cousins Logan and Mayra Rutherford, and Coburn and Arieen Wallace smiled as they watched the bride’s progression.
On the chapel’s other side, Broden McGregor had his arm draped about Kendra’s shoulders, and Quinn and Skye Catherwood shared a quick kiss.
Despite the odds, all of these couples had found true love in a time when marriages of convenience and arranged marriages were the norm.
Camden caught her eye again and mouthed, “I love ye.” His gaze held a hot promise Bethea couldn’t wait to explore. As impossible as it seemed, she grew to love him more every day.
As Branwen and Bryston exchanged their vows, Bethea’s attention never left Camden. Their gazes remained entwined as if it were them reaffirming their commitment to each other.
Shortly, the jovial cleric was naming Branwen and Bryston husband and wife, and Bryston drew his bride into his arms.
Amidst well-wishes, Branwen and her new husband made their way down the aisle, and Bethea stepped to meet Camden. Her emotions high, she blinked back happy tears. “And here I worried Branwen and I would end up old tabbies.”
He placed her arm in the crook of his elbow, and as always, a thrill of awareness coursed through her. When she was old and gray, she’d feel the same way about him. He was her other half.
“I’m sorry ye didna have a nice ceremony,
Bethea.” True chagrin shone in his eyes.
She smiled and shook her head. Her white and lavender gown rustled around her ankles as they stepped outside into a stunning Highland morning. “I’m nae sorry, Camden. Ye rescued me, and how many lasses can say they married their hero?”
A rueful smile tilted his mouth, and a mischievous gleam lit his blue eyes. “Well, there’s Emeline, Berget, Arieen—”
She elbowed him in the side. “Ye ken what I mean.”
“Aye, I do.”
He glanced around at the guests congratulating the newlyweds as the crowd merged toward Trentwick for the wedding breakfast. Catching her hand in his, he hurried her around to the back of the chapel.
“What are ye doin?” she asked, hiking her gown up to keep from tripping. “We’ll be missed, Camden.”
Once out of sight, he gave her a wolfish grin and advanced upon her, until her back was against the chapel’s cool stones. They felt gloriously cool, as the day promised to be warm.
“Camden?”
When he met her gaze, his a sexy promise, lust coursed through her, turning her joints to jelly. Lord, he could undo her with his gaze.
“I promised ye I’d take ye against a wall, lass.”
“Indeed, ye did.”
And with the birds chirping, the grasses and leaves rustling in the summer breeze, and the fading voices of the wedding party and guests, Camden proved—very thoroughly—precisely how enjoyable a feat that was.
The End
Author’s Note
Thank you for reading TO MARRY A HIGHLAND MARAUDER, the seventh book in my HEART OF SCOT series.
For the authentic history buffs among you, I completely contrived the whole business about a conspiracy to overthrow King George I. While it’s true he wasn’t a popular king, and there were some minor Jacobite risings during his reign, everything I wrote regarding a list of Scots peers and lairds was pure fabrication.
The information about Easter and Wester Roads being the main passages into Edinburgh is true. It’s also true there was a walking path called Leith Walk, which wasn’t open to wheeled traffic until much later in the 17th century.
Unlike England, where divorces were almost impossible to acquire, divorces were somewhat easier to obtain in Scotland. As with any divorce, particularly for the woman involved, scandal always accompanied the dissolution of a marriage.
I hope you found a few hours of enjoyment with Camden and Bethea. If so, please consider leaving a review. I’d appreciate it very much!
Hugs,
Collette
About the Author
USA Today Bestselling, award-winning author COLLETTE CAMERON® scribbles Scottish and Regency historical romance novels featuring dashing rogues, rakes, and scoundrels and the strong heroines who reform them. Blessed with an overactive and witty muse that won’t stop whispering new romantic romps in her ear, she’s lived in Oregon her entire life. Although she dreams of living in Scotland part-time. A confessed Cadbury chocoholic, you’ll always find a dash of inspiration and a pinch of humor in her sweet-to-spicy timeless romances®.
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To Marry a Highland Marauder Page 13