The Highland Earl

by Amy Jarecki

  “I’ll nay deny it, though I did find you most agreeable—someone I could see as my countess.”

  She looked him in the eye and her spine straightened like a valiant soldier. “But you loved your first wife.”

  He nodded. “I did. And now I’ve realized the living must continue on.”

  Her countenance softened and she took another bite of oatcake, sitting thoughtfully while she chewed. “Is your need for coin why you held the post as Secretary of State for Scotland for so long?”

  “Aye. The post afforded me an income to keep Da’s creditors at bay, though not enough to settle the debts.”

  “But what about all the vile legislation put into play by the queen? Did you not vote for the Act of Union?”

  “I did not, but once it was enacted, it was my duty to support it—and sign my name, of course, just as all cabinet ministers were required to do.”

  “I never could have done that.”

  “You are not close to the queen as I. She is insane in her fear of popery, and if left to her own devices, the kingdom would be far worse off. The few of us on her cabinet who support James dare not reveal our positions. When and if the time comes, we could attempt to rescind the act, or convince James to convert to Protestantism.”

  Evelyn’s turquoise eyes brightened. “Is there a chance parliament will rescind?”

  “Nay. In truth the prince has a far better chance of succeeding to the throne if he converts. The problem is convincing him of it.”

  Her teeth scraped her bottom lip. “You’ve tried?”

  “Many attempts have been made.”

  “Oh dear.” Evelyn buried her face in her hands. “And here we sit, both of us accused of treason for trying to do the right thing—tied together in an eternal loveless marriage neither of us wanted.”

  “I beg your pardon?” He brushed a lock of hair away from her forehead. “Och, lass, is that what you think?”

  “I doubt you harbor any affection for me after what I’ve done.”

  He gently smoothed his hand to her shoulder. “Is that so?”

  She splayed her fingers and peered at him. “I hate myself even more. I cannot believe I could have been so entirely gullible.”

  “Or entirely brave.” John pulled her onto his lap. Turning her head, Eve tried to draw away, but he held her fast and inclined his lips to her ear. “Tullibardine told me about your da and the stolen wool you prevented from flooding the market.”

  She shook her head. “I shouldn’t have meddled.”

  “If you hadn’t, many Scottish families would have starved. As the Secretary of State, I personally would have been blamed.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “Ye are a brave woman, Evelyn Erskine, and I am proud to call you my wife.”

  As she raised her chin, she looked him in the eye, her cheeks wet with tears. “You are?”

  “Aye.”

  She cupped his cheek, while a tear streamed down her face. “I never meant to do anything to harm you or the boys.”

  “I ken.” Lowering his gaze to her lips, he reverently kissed her. “But I reckon afore you go off saving the world from evil ever again, you ought to have a word with me about it first. Agreed?”

  She almost smiled. “Yes. Most definitely yes.”

  He kissed each of her eyes. “Well then, shall we start anew? I’m John.”

  Wiping a tear from her cheek, she smiled this time—even chuckled. “I’m Evelyn, but I like it when you call me Eve.”

  “You do?” He gathered her in his arms and stood. “The name quite suits you.”

  “Because in the Bible she led her husband to sin?”

  “Nay.” Kneeling, he laid her on the pallet. “I like it because you are full of life. You are voluptuous and sensual and you give me pleasure. Och, lass, when my heart was heavy and black, you shone a light into my soul.”

  He stretched out beside her and claimed her mouth, his hands exploring her delicious curves, just as he’d longed to do every night while the door between their chambers had remained locked.

  In a maelstrom of kissing and touching and frenzied disrobing, hands groped and caressed, setting John’s skin afire. Off went his doublet and Evelyn’s arisaid. In the midst of nuzzling into her silken throat, his plaid fell away. Shoes dropped. Laces by the dozens sprang apart until John wore only his shirt and Evelyn her shift.

  John drew away, pulled off his shirt, and grasped her hem. “I feel as if I have gone a lifetime without you in my arms, Eve.”

  “Eve,” she repeated on a sigh, stilling his hand. “Let me gaze upon you for a moment.”

  He grinned. Aye, he was harder than steel, and having her eyes rake down his body was like having her take him in hand.

  “You’re beautiful beyond words,” she said, coyly inching the shift to her thighs.

  Unable to resist, John grasped the linen and pulled it over her head. “I’m nay half as bonny as you, mo leanan.”

  The soft Holland cloth floated to the pile of discarded clothing as their bare bodies joined together in a frantic tangle of limbs, tongues, gasps, and heat so warm John could swear steam sizzled between them.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Stretching, Evelyn awoke with a satiated sigh. She reached out for John, but he wasn’t there. He’d never been beside her in the morning. But somehow, this time emptiness didn’t fill her breast, perhaps because she’d been aware of him keeping her warm throughout the night—a delight which had never happened before, either. She rolled over and looked across the cottage. Even the roughness of it didn’t bother her. And as sunshine streamed in from around the edges of the door, warmth spilled through her.

  At long last she no longer had secrets to harbor from her husband. He’d forgiven her. He’d bared his soul to her. And never in a hundred years would she have believed they had so much in common.

  She pushed to her feet and found two oatcakes on the table with a cup of water. Nibbling one, she turned full circle. John had stoked the fire and the coals glowed red hot. Against one wall hung cooking utensils and a broom. Near the door there was a bow and a quiver of arrows. She finished the oatcake and moved to examine the bow, still strung taut. Beside the arrows were two leather pouches, one filled with lead musket balls and another containing black powder. At least the hunters who frequented this place were serious about hunting.

  The door opened and John strode in, his chest bare, his muscles flexing from the weight of a cast-iron pot filled with water. “Sleeping Beauty awakes.” Droplets of water streamed from his shoulder-length hair, making his skin glisten all the way down to the kilt belted low across his hips.

  Scraping her teeth over her bottom lip, Evelyn homed in on the trail of tawny hair leading from his navel and disappearing beneath the wool. She glanced to the pallet, wishing it were nightfall. Oh, how glorious it would be to smooth her hands over the damp curls on his chest—magnificent and scandalous. She fanned her face as if to fan away her errant thoughts. “Have you been for a swim?”

  “A wee dip, aye.” He grinned, setting the kettle atop the fire. “’Tis near freezing. But I thought you’d rather bathe with a bit of warm water.”

  “That’s very thoughtful of you.”

  “But then…” Waggling his brows mischievously, John held his hands to the blaze and rubbed them. “There’s a stone beside the loch—hollowed like a bath with enough room for us both.”

  She chuckled. “You do not mean for us to disrobe out in the open?”

  “Why not? There isn’t another soul around for miles.”

  “But we’re wanted. We could be set upon by dragoons at any moment.”

  “Not if I ken Tullibardine.”

  “And what of hunters? How many people know of this place?”

  “Not many, I reckon. These lands belong to the Graham laird, and he’s too old to enjoy them.”

  “But you and the marquis have been here before.”

  “Years ago. With Graham himself.” John moved behind Evelyn and ran his fingers
through her hair while his lips touched her ear. “Come bathe with me, mo leannan. I will protect you from the silkies of the forest.”

  Leaning her head back, she melted against him. “I do not believe in silkies.”

  Warm lips tickled her neck as his hands slipped around her waist. “Then you have nothing to worry yourself about.”

  Eve rested her head against John’s chest as his fingers swirled across her breasts. “’Tis scandalous,” she said breathlessly, her resistance holding by a thread.

  “Nay, ’tis the way of the Highlands, lassie. And though we cannot stay by Loch Katrine forever, I aim to show you a wee bit o’ what it is like to be free from the burden of nobility.”

  By the time the water was simmering, Evelyn wouldn’t have been able to refuse John if it were blizzarding outside. In fact, her flesh was so steamy hot she welcomed stepping outside into the cool breeze wearing only her shift.

  Carrying the soap and a drying cloth they’d purchased in Callander, she followed as he gingerly carried the heavy kettle—using his shirt to keep from singeing his fingers. Evelyn’s heart skipped a beat while she admired the muscles flexing in his back. They stopped at the shore upon the soft, rounded stones with cool water lapping at their toes. Indeed, atop an enormous stone a hollow had been etched by years of rain and snow.

  John grinned—devilish, endearing, irresistible. “’Tis better than a copper pot.”

  “And big enough for two.”

  After adding the steaming water, it took only a flick of his fingers for John to release his belt and drop his kilt to the ground.

  Evelyn gasped. “I’ll never grow tired of seeing you disrobed.”

  He coaxed her shift over her head and let it fall to the ground. Then he grasped her hands and stood back. “Nor I with you. You are like manna to my soul.”

  Sweeping her into his arms, he placed her in the water. “Not too hot?”

  “Perfect.”

  John slid in, the water only coming to the tops of his thighs. “I reckon we needed another kettle.”

  She reached for him. “I think there is ample water for the both of us.”

  He pulled her onto his lap, coaxing her knees apart until she straddled him. The cool breeze enlivened her as John enveloped her in his powerful arms. She cupped his face and kissed him, their bodies melding in a torrent of passion.

  “Let me wash you afore the water grows cold,” he growled.

  “I like kissing you better,” she whispered, breathless.

  But who knew how diverting bathing could be—especially when Evelyn’s husband was wielding the soap. Torturously, he lathered every inch of her skin, swirling the bar in a rhythmic pattern while the breeze made gooseflesh spring across her flesh. She in turn did the same to him, avoiding his member until the very end. His very hard, very-difficult-to-ignore member.

  When at last she wrapped her fingers around his shaft, John threw his head back with a roar. “You will be the death of me.”

  Encouraged, Evelyn watched the rapture on his face as she moved her hand up and down as he’d shown her. He growled and moved with her rhythm as his passion escalated.

  Suddenly, John’s eyes flashed wide. “Impale me, wife.”

  He lifted her by the arms as she coaxed herself to slide over him. Barely joined, Evelyn held very still as they gazed into each other’s eyes. No words were spoken as she took him into her body ever so slowly until he was buried to his hilt.

  While she watched his face, his blue eyes shining in the sunlight, she rocked her hips in tandem with his powerful thrusts. The forest surrounding them disappeared, and all that was left were Eve and John, making love under the sunlit sky while the breeze took them to the pinnacle of no return.

  John had never felt so alive in his life. “I should have been born a crofter,” he said, filling his sporran with a handful of musket balls.

  Evelyn slung the bow and quiver of arrows over her shoulder. “Why do you say that?”

  “I love the Highlands.” He led her outdoors and raised his arms, turning full circle. “I love the freedom, the fresh air, and being shed of endless responsibility.”

  “But wouldn’t you eventually miss London and court?”

  “I’d be happy if I never laid eyes on Kensington Palace again in all my days.”

  “But you’re renowned for your political prowess.”

  “I have no interest in it. I only became involved at court to pay my father’s debts. And thanks to you, I am shed of that yoke.” He climbed higher up into the hills. “Of the both of us, I reckon you’d make the better statesman.”

  “Why on earth would you say such a thing?”

  “Because you fiercely stand by your convictions.”

  “Right, and look where my strong-mindedness got us.”

  “Perhaps, but with the right training, you’d be marvelous. That women aren’t allowed is a folly.”

  “A moment while I stop and fan my face.”

  “What? Do you believe me to be like the rest of my peers? Gentlemen only. Women must stay home and raise the bairns.”

  “’Tis just I’ve never heard you speak so liberally.”

  “Perhaps it is on account of the mountain air, but believe me, if Anne Stuart can sit on the throne of Britain, you ought to be fully qualified to sit on her cabinet. My oath, you are far more in tune with the issues of our countrymen than most of the nobility.”

  The Countess of Mar rapidly patted her hands over her heart. “Thank you. Your confidence in me is inspiring—and very forward thinking.”

  Something ahead moved through the brush. Stopping, John focused and held up his palm.

  “What is it?” Evelyn whispered.

  Unsure, he crept forward, raising his flintlock. As his foot fell with his next step, a rabbit sprang from the heather. John took aim as the animal jumped in a zigzag pattern and dipped behind a clump of brush.

  A hiss filled the air.

  “Got it,” Evelyn said, standing below with her bow.

  John looked from the woman to where she’d been behind him when he’d held up his palm. He hadn’t heard a single footstep. “How did you end up down there?”

  Her Ladyship grinned and slung her weapon over her shoulder as if she were an archery champion. “When you started forward, I circled around. We hunt in Nottingham, I’ll have you know, and it was likely the rabbit would run—just as he did. Thank heavens I went the right direction.” She pointed. “But I’m not touching the creature.”

  John did the honors. “Who kent my wife was a sharpshooter? For that I’ll clean the wee beastie as well.”

  He started off—heading for the top of the peak. “If you see a wild pig, shoot it.”

  “Now?”

  “Why not now?”

  “Because we have a rabbit for our supper. We ought to go back to the cottage and cook it.”

  “We will, but first I want to show you something.”

  “What would that be?”

  “You’ll see in a moment.”

  As he stepped out from the forest and climbed up the rocks, he set the rabbit down and offered Evelyn his hand. “Feast your eyes, lass. We’re atop Ben A’an. Not Scotland’s highest mountain, but from here you can see the expanse of Loch Katrine.”

  Her Ladyship’s turquoise eyes glistened like never before. “My word—and not another human being in sight.”

  “These mountains are covered with snow from October to May, but after the melt there’s no place on earth bonnier.”

  Green hills sloped dramatically to the sparkling blue water.

  Evelyn walked forward and stood on the precipice of the mountain, the wind picking up her skirts and hair, making them sail like a bird in flight. She stretched out her arms and closed her eyes, fearless of the height. “I feel like I’m flying!”

  John stepped behind her and secured her waist. “Ye are flying, lass. Flying with the eagles.”

  “Can we stay here forever?”

  He slid his hands aro
und her waist. “You’d be happy living in a hovel?”

  “Yes.” Laughing, she turned her face to the sun. “Perhaps we could make some improvements.”

  “Now there’s an idea. I’ll scrap the plans for Alloa and we’ll build here—though we may have a bit of difficulty finding laborers.”

  Leaning against him, she giggled. “It is a grand plan.”

  “If only.”

  They stood for a time, Eve wrapped in his embrace while they gazed out over the splendor of the mountain loch. “What plans have you for Alloa?” she asked.

  “I sketched some architectural drawings to add a manor on to the tower when I was at university.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’ve never been able to build my dream because my purse strings were tied.”

  “But now you are free to do so.”

  “Aye, if we are able to clear our names.”

  “Is architecture an interest?”

  “It is. Had I not been beholden to the crown, the manor would have already been built—along with matching stables. And my canal would have been finished years ago.”

  “The canal was your idea?”

  “Mm-hmm, and it is the most important project.”

  “Because it saves labor?”

  “And ferries the coal to the river far more efficiently.”

  Evelyn turned and cupped his face in her hands. “You are an amazing man.”

  “I’m no different from any other, I suppose.” He kissed her. “But it is you who never cease to surprise me. Do you ken what else?”

  She shook her head.

  “In this moment there’s no place I’d rather be than in your arms.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Nine days in the Highlands had passed as if it were but a flicker in the night sky. As he tied the horses to a post outside the cottage, John now sported a full beard, blonder in color than his light-brown hair. The whiskers made him look nothing like an earl, and everything like a rugged Highlander—so entirely different from Evelyn’s first impression of him clad in a suit of silk at the royal ball in London.

  She watched as he stooped to pick up her sidesaddle. “Wait a moment.” Goodness, why hadn’t she thought of this sooner?