My dearest Dwight,
Ye are in my thoughts every day. ’Twould have been easier if I had no’ met ye on yer recent visit, but I am happy we had the chance to ken what love could be.
I ken ye will be married by the time this letter reaches ye, and I have tried to force myself to no’ correspond with ye, but I feel ’tis my duty to let ye ken that I am with child. I dinnae expect or want any help, my laird will look after me, but I felt it dishonest no’ to let ye ken ye would have a child born soon.
Please dinnae worry for me. I am happy to have a precious life to remember what we shared.
Always,
Catriona
After placing the letter on the bed, she took a sip of her wine as a tear trailed down her cheek. Despite how hard the confession must have been for Finlay’s mother—knowing nothing could change the course of events—she still had told the earl the truth.
Folding the letter and placing it back in the trunk, Blair returned to Finlay’s bedchamber, brushed her hair, and decided to let go of the resentment. She wanted to know that kind of love for her husband, and if it was to happen, she needed to tell him the truth.
If he didn’t know how important it was to her that she be useful, he would never give her the chance.
It was late enough that everyone should be in bed. She didn’t bother changing into a gown, because she had to do this before she lost her nerve. She didn’t even stop to don slippers before she was navigating the dark hall and descending the steps.
As she pushed in the door, she almost stopped, panicked by the sudden fear Finlay might laugh at her like the men and her father had at her mother that day in the hall. But she had to do this now, before he left.
Finlay looked up from his desk. She averted her gaze and noticed he’d been studying the books again. If she was able to take a peek, she might be able to make a comment and show him how competent she was.
“I thought ye were in bed.” His ragged voice traveled over her.
“Nae, I have something I need to tell ye.” After sliding fully into the room, she shut the door behind her and moved toward the big wooden desk that made her feel miles away from Finlay.
“Wait.” He indicated she should sit as he rose and came around the desk, easing into the chair next to her. “Let me apologize. I didnae want ye to find out the way ye did that I would be leaving. I wanted to tell ye myself.”
“Why didnae ye?” She scrutinized the hands she’d folded in her lap, afraid of what he’d say, but then thought herself silly and reinitiated contact.
“I thought we would be alone tonight, and I could tell ye over the meal.”
“Why do ye no’ want me to go with ye?” Her heart lurched, and she realized she was hurt that he’d want to leave her. Not only did he not trust her with his books, but he didn’t have faith in her to be a good ambassador to the king.
He took her hand. “I do want ye to come, but ye cannae. ’Tis no’ safe in Oxford. This area is relatively peaceful, but the English are in the midst of a civil war, and ’tis raging on to the south.”
She didn’t say anything—she was torn between feeling cherished and too sheltered.
“I want ye here, where I ken there are people to take care of ye if something happens to me.”
But what if something happened to him? Her pulse quickened. “Why do ye have to go?”
“My father and the king wish it, but I promise I will be there and back quickly. I willnae dally anywhere, because I have ye to come home to.” Tugging her hand, he drew her toward him, pulling her out of her seat and into his lap, his arm coiling around her to pin her to his chest. His free hand landed on her thigh. His head nuzzled hers. “I dinnae want to leave ye, and I’ve got so much here that needs to get done.”
Warmth radiated from his hand into her leg, and she shivered at the feeling that began to take bud in her core. “Promise ye will come back to me soon, and I’ll promise ye to take care of things here for ye.”
“Aye, ’tis a deal.” His smile was genuine.
“And before I forget,” he continued, “please dinnae go out on the grounds without someone with ye.”
“Why?”
“I dinnae ken our neighbors yet, and with this war going on ’tis hard to ken who is friend or foe. I just want to ken you are safe until I return.” His brow creased, and she found herself wanting to erase the worry that had settled into his eyes.
She was about to tell him she could manage the estate in his absence, but his head tilted and his lips claimed hers, and she turned her whole body into the embrace. Her chest tightened. The peaks of her breasts became engorged and full, seeking out the friction of his hard muscles. Everything but his touch receded from her mind.
Their tongues met in a clash of need and something more than desire—it was stark and tangible, a feeling of trust and an odd acknowledgement of a new fear…being without each other. It was as if they had to soak up this moment because any time apart was too long, like they wouldn’t be able to breathe without each other until they were joined again.
As his tongue swirled around hers, mingling and stealing her senses, Finlay’s hand drifted down the soft material of her shift. When he reached the hem of the material, his fingers slipped beneath, and she sighed at the connection, but it wasn’t enough.
He broke the kiss.
When she opened her eyes, his gaze immersed in hers. She was captivated by the rapture his dilated hazel eyes promised in their depths.
“I want to be inside ye, wife.” His husky words sent need coursing through her, and all she could do was nod that she desired the same.
Without releasing his hold on her, he stood then gently slid her to the floor. Unbelting his plaid, he let it fall, then kicked off his boots and removed the rest of his clothing while she stood and watched the sculpted body that had taught her true pleasure could be had between a man and a woman.
But they were in his study. “We dinnae have a bed.”
His grin was slow and mischievous, making gooseflesh rise on her fevered flesh. “’Tis nae need.”
“What?” she asked, but his hands were on the material at her waist, pulling up and drawing the shift over her head. He tossed it to the ground. She really had to do something about how careless he was with their clothing.
His mouth was on her neck as his hands closed around her waist, pulling her up and against his body. Their flesh touched, igniting the part of her that didn’t give a damn about what was on the floor.
She felt as if she were falling into him until she realized he was sitting back in the chair, pulling her along with him. She was in his lap, but this time nothing separated their skin as it touched so intimately. Prying her legs apart, he let his fingers slide up her thigh and delve up to her apex. One finger moved in circles on the sensitive nub above her slit. She bowed into the touch as his lips came crashing down on hers.
His finger dipped into her slick opening, coaxing that odd mewling sound from her that she couldn’t control. He pulled out, slow, once, then in and out again. Then two fingers were inside her, pumping ever so casually as his thumb came up to touch her nub and circle again.
Sensations of pleasure bursting from his attentions, she was about to fall into oblivion when he removed his hand, and she was left wanting while he continued to caress her mouth with his.
Drawing back, she let her heated gaze fall on him. “Please,” she whispered.
His smile indicated he knew what she needed, but instead he loosened his grip, and she wanted to cry.
“Put one leg on each side of me.” He lifted her with both hands as she swung a leg around to straddle him. He drew her close once again, her wet passage flush to the base of his penis. She was almost eye level with him in this position, but he still had to dip slightly when his lips sought out her neck, closing down on the sensitive flesh and sucking.
She felt the sigh in her throat as she buried her breasts in his chest, seeking more, seeking everything. He bit down, scraping his
teeth lightly against the place where her pulse throbbed and heated, then he sucked again, and she moaned aloud.
Hands tightened on her hips, and suddenly he was lifting her. His cock sprung out, and he lowered her slowly onto it, stretching and filling her until she rested in his lap, and he impaled her so deeply she thought it might be too much.
Instead of moving, his hands pinned her on him. His eyes met hers, and what she saw there was a need that must be reflected in her own gaze. Something deep in the core of her heart called out “yes,” said that this was where she belonged and her husband owned her in a way no other ever could.
His hips rocked from side to side, and as he moved inside her, the sensitive spot above her opening rubbed against him. Then she was rocking, too, her hips circling his as she held onto his shoulders. The ride pulled her under a tide of desire, making the world blur, and then it went black until colors and sensations burst in her head. Flinging her head back, she inhaled sharply as the ecstasy peaked, and she screamed, “Finlay.”
The waves still crashed around her as hands grasped her rear and pulled her closer and closer. He continued to pump into her, and then he was panting and gasping like she had been. His staff throbbed inside her as her channel clenched, milking him and sating them both.
Resting her head on his chest, she was boneless and spent. She hugged him with one arm, while her other hand slid through the dark curls on his chest.
“I’ve become accustomed to being beside ye at night.”
A contented sigh escaped her throat at his heartfelt words. “I dinnae want ye to go.”
“I don’t want to leave ye, but I promise, ’twill no’ be gone too long.”
She nodded, but she couldn’t shake the apprehension the thought of his absence brought.
Chapter Twenty-One
Waking in the early dawn hours with Blair in his arms, Finlay claimed her body once more before whispering, “I’ll make all due haste.”
He pulled her in for a last kiss, before reluctantly letting her go and climbing from the bed. He thought he saw a mist in her eyes as she said, “Be safe.”
He smiled and kissed her again before dressing and rushing out the door.
The journey took days and was miserable, he and his brother taking turns throwing barbs at each other. His father questioned him about Blair then his mother with a curiosity that said he was still haunted by the lass who had stolen his heart all those years ago.
The closer they got to Oxford, the direr the situation appeared. Businesses were shuttered, and men hung from ropes on the sides of the roads, some with signs that read roundheads, indicating they supported Parliament, and others that said he chose the king.
A wall stood around the school, one that had not been there when he’d been forced to attend. Upon getting closer, he could see ragged men and boys carefully hefting rocks in place to bolster the king’s defenses.
“Who goes there?” a guard with dark circles under his eyes shouted as they drew closer.
“Dwight Quinton, the Earl of Middlesbrough, and my sons. I request an audience with King Charles to give him news he would wish to hear.”
The guard looked to another, that one nodding his approval, and they were allowed to pass. Inside, bodies were piled high near one edge of the fence, with men digging next to the heap. An unhealthy smell permeated the area. A man with a death mask, one with a long beak to preserve a physician’s health, entered a home. Wailing escaped from the inside before the door could be shut.
“The less time we are here, Father, the better. Let’s deliver our news and be on our way,” Finlay said.
His father bobbed and looked away from the gruesome scenes. They’d heard that the fighting to the south had escalated, but no one had warned them of diseases.
Once they saw the horses stabled, they made their way into the narrow halls of the school, while the priest headed for the chapel. At one time this place had been a torture to him, now King Charles was sequestered here with sick men, overcrowded rooms, and dwindling supplies. The scene was horrible, and he hated that he was bringing even more bad news.
They were guided down the halls to a chamber that boasted an elaborate scrollwork desk and walls lined with old tomes. A large southern-facing window drenched the room in light. Likely, the office had belonged to the chancellor prior to the king’s residence.
When they stood before the king, everyone else was shooed from the room. “Ah, Dwight. It is good to see you, old friend.”
“I am happy to see you as well, Your Majesty.” The men clasped each other on the shoulder and hugged. Years of the king visiting their dinner table came rushing back, along with the time his father had taken them to London to dine with the king.
“Oh, and you have brought two of your sons to see me.”
“Yes, Your Majesty, I have.”
The door burst in. A flurry of skirts rushed toward the king. Finlay made to block the path and protect him, but recognition dawned just before he stepped in front of the queen.
“Give us a moment, please.” Grabbing the king’s hand, Henrietta Maria of France pulled her husband into an alcove and whispered something in his ear. They had an animated conversation then embraced tightly. The king nodded to his wife and gave her a kiss. Paying them no heed, she rushed from the room.
It was said Charles and Henrietta were madly in love, and the rumors appeared to be true. It was one of the reasons the Puritans had turned on the king—his wife was Catholic, and they were terrified of her influence on him. That was the reason the couple had chosen to hide the birth of Robbie, since they were raising him Catholic. What a tremendous sacrifice.
Finlay couldn’t imagine giving up a child, especially after what he’d gone through as a youth. He felt a kinship to the young man who had accompanied him from Cameron lands, the prince without a proper home.
Returning to his desk, the king gave the earl a brighter smile than he had moments earlier. “So we were talking about sons.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. One of them brings news of Scotland. Do you remember Finlay Cameron?”
The king gave him a pleased smile. “Of course I remember him. And did I hear that you recently married?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Who is the lucky lady?” King Charles leaned back in his chair, a broad grin on his face.
“Blair Macnab.”
The king’s brow tightened. “The Macnab laird’s daughter?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
The king mulled the news. “Good choice, good choice. I approve. You never know what her father is thinking, but I hear he’s in poor health and his son has sworn fealty to me. It is good to shore up alliances with the Macnabs.”
Finlay bowed, relieved the king was happy with his marriage.
“Let’s hear the news. What are our neighbors in the north up to while the people in England throw themselves on each other’s blades?”
“I’m afraid it is not good news.” Finlay fought to keep his Scottish brogue in check, possibly just from being in these horrid halls where he’d been ridiculed during his most impressionable years.
“I have heard rumors but nothing of real substance, so go on. I am prepared.”
“The Puritans are working with the Scottish Parliament to draft a Solemn League and Covenant. The Scottish Parliament plans to ratify it and make it law next month.”
The king nodded. He seemed familiar with the treaty.
“The English Parliament has agreed to sign it and help enforce the provisions if the Covenanter clans of Scotland send troops to help support their cause.”
A sharp intake of breath greeted his news. “So far, to the north we have been winning. If the Covenanters are successful and send reinforcements to the English Parliament, they could cut off all supplies from that direction.” Sitting straighter, Charles folded his arms then pulled at his beard. A tired gaze roamed the room, apparently looking for solutions. “How long do you think we have?”
“Af
ter it’s signed in Scotland, if my sources are correct, in a couple more weeks the English Parliament will stamp their approval on it. I would say troops could be leaving Scotland as soon as the end of September.”
“This news is most distressing but will be useful. When my nephew Rupert returns, we will discuss strategy.”
They discussed the war for another hour. Once the sun started dipping low in the sky, the king stood to dismiss them.
After giving the earl an embrace, he shook Thomas’s hand then turned to him. “May I speak with you alone, Mr. Cameron?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Shock registered on his brother’s face, but Finlay couldn’t blame him. He was just as stunned the king asked for an audience with the bastard son of an earl.
Finlay waited as they shuffled from the room. His father looked back over his shoulder. “We’ll be retrieving the horses.”
Finlay gave the king his full attention.
“Please, sit,” King Charles instructed, and he obeyed. “I would like to pen a letter to your laird. Please assure me it will arrive to him safe and unopened.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. I will make it my priority. I must stop in Middlesbrough to retrieve my wife and a group of Cameron men who need to return to Scotland as well. The letter will be safe in numbers.”
“You may do so, but do not tarry too long. The Lochiel must receive this message.” He’d never heard anyone in England address Lachlan by the same title the people of the Cameron clan did.
The king pulled out a sheet of paper and went to work. While he sat, keeping his eyes averted from the message, he wondered if the king knew his son was one of the men at Catriona House. He assumed, based on the queen’s visit and the king’s subsequent show of pride, the priest had shared the news.
After sealing the letter, Charles stood. “Do not tell anyone you have this. It is best kept secret.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. I swear to deliver the message, and not another soul will ken it exists.”
“Good. You may go, and may God be with you.”
“And also with you, Your Majesty.”
Finlay bowed and left the room, understanding the King of England had a common bond with his laird from the Highlands of Scotland because of a young man they both cared for, but whose very existence could destroy the monarchy.
Highland Salvation Page 18