Highland Heat

by Jennifer Haymore

  Cam laughed softly. He’d no idea how Mackenzie was going to get back to work. He and Grace had been joined at the hip since their marriage four days ago. Cam had never seen them with anything more than a few feet of separation between them.

  He hoped by the time they left Gretna Green that Mackenzie would have bedded her frequently and vigorously enough to curb some of that need.

  As they approached, Cam slouched deeper into his chair and pasted on the look of casual negligence they’d come to expect from him.

  Mackenzie and Grace slid onto the bench across the table from him. The barmaid had followed and hovered behind. Mackenzie passed Cam the paper—he saw now that it was a letter.

  “You read it, McLeod,” Mackenzie said. “I dinna want to ruin my night.”

  Cam raised his brows and looked down at the letter. It was addressed to both him and Mackenzie, and bore the major’s seal.

  He slid his thumb under the seal and unfolded the paper. The message inside was simple and concise.

  New orders to be received in London—likely will require staying in Town for some time. Part of the assignment will be to ensure safety of Lord P______d, whom I believe has some connections to Sutton. You are required to return to London forthwith.

  Cam swallowed the rest of his ale.

  “Och, I’ll fetch ye another straightaway, sir,” the barmaid said. She turned around with a swish of yellow skirts.

  “Orders?” Grace asked softly. “Are you summoned back to the Knights?”

  “Aye.” Cam studied the letter for another few moments, hoping he hadn’t read wrong. It seemed he hadn’t. Sutton referred to Cam’s father, the Earl of Sutton. Lord P______d was certainly Lord Pinfield, one of his father’s closest friends, and one of the people in this world Cam admired the least.

  He passed the letter back to Mackenzie.

  It sounded like the major intended to use Cam’s family connection to Pinfield in some way. Wonderful. Cam would do a poor job of ensuring that man’s safety. He might end up strangling Pinfield himself.

  God. He felt fissures starting to crack up through his hollow shell. Where was his damned ale?

  Mackenzie and Grace sighed at the same time, and Mackenzie set the letter down. He turned to Grace. “It looks like we’re going to have to cut our honeymoon short, love.”

  She smiled gamely. It was one of the things Cam appreciated about this woman. From what he knew of her, she was highly open and adaptable, which seemed like essential traits if one married a Highland Knight.

  “We knew this might happen,” she said. She squeezed Mackenzie’s hand. “We’ll visit your family another time. Soon, I hope.”

  “Aye, me too,” Mackenzie said.

  “Hear, hear,” Cam agreed, thinking more of limiting his time in the vicinity of Pinfield than Mackenzie’s future visit to his family’s sheep farm.

  “We’ll head south tomorrow, then?” Mackenzie asked.

  “Aye, we should,” Cam said.

  They sat in silence for almost a full minute, each one of them contemplating their change of plans, and all that the near future would hold. Cam wondered why Pinfield needed protection. God knew, the man had many enemies. But they wouldn’t have called the Highland Knights to the task unless there was something dangerous and subversive going on.

  “Well,” Mackenzie finally said, rising and of course taking Grace’s hand as he did so, “we’re off to bed.”

  Grace nodded. “Yes, if we need to leave tomorrow, we should get a good night’s sleep. It’s a long journey from here to London.”

  Mackenzie raised a brow at her. “Don’t expect too much sleep, lass,” he said. “I havena had my fill of you yet.”

  They shared a secret smile, and Mackenzie led her toward the steps leading up to the inn’s rooms.

  Cam sighed. He started to stand, but a yellow figure appeared before him. The barmaid, bearing a frothy tankard of ale.

  “Here ye are, sir,” she said. He liked the sound of her voice. It was light and airy, as if she hadn’t a care in the world. He couldn’t remember the last time he didn’t have any cares. If ever.

  “Bless you,” he said, taking the drink from her and sinking back into his chair.

  She gave him a smile, all saucy flirtation. “I’m about done here for the evenin’. Your room’ll be the one in the corner upstairs, aye?”

  Oh. This was nice. He appreciated a lass who was forward. “Aye,” he said silkily, “that’ll be the very one.”

  She placed two hands flat on the table and leaned toward him, giving him a close view of her cleavage. He couldn’t wait to touch those ample breasts—feel how soft they’d be under his hand.

  “I’m Catriona,” she said to him.

  “McLeod,” he answered. He never told anyone his given name—it seemed too personal. And when someone heard “Camden McLeod” and connected him to the Earl of Sutton, it was irritating as hell.

  “Half an hour, then, McLeod,” she murmured, her breath whispering over his ear.

  “Half an hour,” he agreed.

  Catriona turned, and her backside swayed at him as she walked away.

  Yes. This was what he wanted—what he needed—tonight. He would forget everything but the soft touch this woman could give him.

  That would keep him alive…at least until tomorrow.

  For Lawrence

  Acknowledgments

  With thanks to Kate McKinley…I couldn’t keep writing without you cheering me on. Also to Dawn, Laurie, Luzma, and Cindy, who give me the constant support of true friends. And to the BMMs and Romance Divas—who are always there for me when I need them most.

  BY JENNIFER HAYMORE

  Highland Knights

  A Highlander’s Heart (a novella)

  Highland Heat

  Highland Awakening (coming soon)

  Highland Temptation (coming soon)

  The House of Trent

  The Duchess Hunt

  The Rogue’s Proposal

  The Scoundrel’s Seduction

  The Devil’s Pearl (a Lady Esme novella)

  His for Christmas (a Lady Esme novella)

  One Night with an Earl (a Lady Esme novella)

  PHOTO: KATHY WHITTAKER PHOTOGRAPHY

  USA Today bestselling author JENNIFER HAYMORE is the author of sexy historical and contemporary romance. You can find her in Southern California trying to talk her husband into yet another trip to England, helping her three children with homework while brainstorming a new five-minute dinner menu, or crouched in a corner of the local bookstore writing her next novel. You can find Jennifer Haymore at:

  jenniferhaymore.com

  Facebook.com/​JenniferHaymore-Author

  @jenniferhaymore

  The Editor’s Corner

  Thirty days hath September, April, June, and November…wait, it is November, and Loveswept is releasing some of our best books of the year! Check out these fabulous romances:

  New York Times bestselling author Marquita Valentine releases her second new novel in her Boys of the South spin-off series Take the Fall series with When We Fall, in which a small-town sweetheart takes a chance on the bad boy who’s always been her hottest fantasy. Another Loveswept New York Times bestselling author, Tracy Wolff introduces her new Hotwired series with Accelerate, where a sexy carjacker takes a would-be starlet for the ride of her life. New York Times bestselling author A. Meredith Walters releases a powerful romance akin to The Fault in Our Stars with Butterfly Dreams. Then, welcome to Thistle Bend! A charming series debut from Tracy March, Should’ve Said No introduces a small town where old secrets are revealed—and wounded hearts are opened to new love. And in a short novel, Rebecca Rogers Maher’s Rolling in the Deep, two kindred spirits share a winning lottery ticket—and discover what it really means to get lucky.

  Sports fans were introduced last month to the Aces Hockey series by Kelly Jamieson with Major Misconduct, and this month Kelly releases a holiday romance, Off Limits. Book two in the Recovered Innocence
series by Beth Yarnall features a San Diego investigative team with a soft spot for lost causes and a passion for redemption in Vindicate. And Taking It Off, by USA Today bestselling author Claire Kent, introduces you to Matt Stokes, the sexy-as-sin male stripper and club owner who knows what it really means to bare everything. Jessica Lemmon’s irresistible Lost Boys series kicks off with Fighting for Devlin the story of a good girl who plays by the rules—and the bad boy who brings out her wild side. And in Cecy Robson’s O’Brien Family series debut, two total opposites find that the flames of desire are still smoldering in Once Kissed.

  For historical romance fans, Sharon Cullen’s The Reluctant Duchess ignites as a shy country girl and a hotheaded duke surrender to dangerous temptations. Then it’s on to Scotland for USA Today bestselling author Jennifer Haymore’s Highland Knights and the first book in this new series, Highland Heat, an electrifying tale of class warfare, fierce loyalties, and forbidden love.

  I don’t want this month to end! But the good news is December is upon us with more fabulous Loveswept titles. Until then…

  Happy Romance!

  Gina Wachtel

  Associate Publisher

  Read on for an excerpt from

  Highland Awakening

  A Highland Knights Novel

  by Jennifer Haymore

  Available from Loveswept

  Chapter 1

  Camden McLeod stood at attention, his stance stiff and his arms straight at his sides. All his senses were on alert: his eyes focused, his hands poised to retrieve his pistol or his dirk in a fraction of a second. He listened for any suspicious noises while at the same time trying to ignore the sounds of grunts and pants emanating from behind the closed door at his back.

  His gaze moved around the tiny anteroom. It brimmed with sumptuous décor, from the white-painted and gold-trimmed door that opened into the corridor, to the plush Aubusson carpet that dominated the floor, to the red-velvet-covered settee that spanned the length of one wall.

  Of course, Pinfield only chose the best. The best horses, the best brandy, the best damned whorehouse in all of London. Not to mention the most skilled men in England to protect him from danger.

  Which was why Cam was here, armed to the teeth and standing guard at the closed door of one of the many elegant bedrooms in Mrs. Trickelbank’s high-class brothel. The Highland Knights, the elite mercenary group of which Cam was a member, were guarding the viscount as part of a larger operation to quell a violent subversive group demanding massive parliamentary reform. Pinfield, a member of the House of Lords and outspoken about his goal to quell any and all potential uprisings, had been receiving so many death threats from the group that he had been granted the Knights’ protection twenty-four hours a day.

  Unfortunately, it was Cam’s assigned week for evening duty.

  “Oh yes, my lord. Yes! There!” The girl’s high-pitched squeal was followed by the groaning complaint of the mattress as its occupants thrashed about.

  Cam pasted a stony look on his face and crossed his arms over his chest. He tried to ignore the sounds of the bed-sport, but it wasn’t easy. He concentrated on the closed door in front of him rather than the one behind him, and other noises emerged: the muted sounds of quick footsteps in the corridor, and low but urgent female voices.

  Cam stiffened when the footsteps stopped, and the voices grew louder.

  “But who—?” one of the females began to say. The handle turned. Cam’s hand flew to his pistol just as the door burst open. Two women stood at the threshold. He knew one of them—Mrs. Trickelbank, the mistress of this place. The other wore a hooded cloak and stood in a shadow with her head down, her hands clasped around a small book she held tightly to her middle. Cam could see just enough of her body shape to know that she was female, and of the slope of her cheek to conclude that she was young.

  Probably one of Mrs. Trickelbank’s girls who’d been out at a client’s for the evening. Perhaps the book was some kind of means to keep records of her conquests.

  He dropped his hand from his weapon and locked eyes with Mrs. Trickelbank, who knew full well that Lord Pinfield required privacy while he conducted his “business.”

  “Sorry, lad,” the older woman said briskly, ignoring his pointed look. She grasped the cloaked woman’s shoulders and thrust her into the antechamber. The woman stumbled inside, and would have tumbled headlong into Cam had he not reached up and caught her by grabbing her upper arms. She made a low sound of distress as he held her at arm’s length and looked over her shoulder to raise a brow at Mrs. Trickelbank.

  She gave him a pursed-lip grin and brushed a lock of her graying hair back, tucking it efficiently into her chignon as she said, “Be a peach and keep an eye on the lass for a minute, will you, Mr. McLeod? I’ve a problem with one of the newer girls and Mountebank. You know how he is.”

  Cam gave an inward sigh. Oh yes. He knew Mountebank well. Cam’s charge, Lord Pinfield, was a run-of-the-mill profligate. Mountebank, on the other hand, was a perverse bastard.

  He gave a short nod of agreement. “Go on, then,” he said, his voice a quiet rasp.

  “That’s right, plum nubbins,” Pinfield said gleefully from beyond the door at Cam’s back. “Bounce upon me. Bounce! Bounce!”

  Plum nubbins? Cam fought not to roll his eyes heavenward. The cloaked woman made another small sound of distress, and her arms tensed under his hands. All rather odd, considering she must be quite familiar with sounds like these. Chuckling, Mrs. Trickelbank disappeared, closing the door softly behind her.

  Without releasing the woman, Cam looked down at her for the first time. She peeked up at him from beneath her hood with wide brown eyes that sparkled with amber flecks. Golden candlelight splashed over smooth olive skin colored faintly across the cheekbones with a flush. Her scent—it was so different from the usual fleshy odors of this place. It was sweet and fresh, evoking sun-swept meadows and crisp country air.

  She was clearly not one of Mrs. Trickelbank’s girls—not yet, at least. He knew most of them, but more than that, he knew the jaded look in their eyes. This woman, she was…pure. Fresh. Hell, she was virginal. She would be none of those things for very long if she remained in a place like this.

  She was also quite beautiful, but not in the traditional sense of the word. Taken separately, her features would not be considered attractive—her cheekbones a bit too broad, her nose and eyes too large, her brows too thick, her mouth too wide. But somehow, arranged upon her face, they came together in a way that captured a man’s attention. Striking—that was what she was.

  Cam gazed down at her for a long moment, unable to move. Combatting a sudden sensation that coursed through him. Sadness…or regret…or something like that. He sure as hell didn’t want to put a name to it.

  He shook himself inwardly and dropped his hands, taking a step back from her. He didn’t even know this woman. If she chose to become one of Mrs. Trickelbank’s high-priced whores, it was of no consequence to him.

  She swallowed hard and looked down, her lashes fluttering. “Sorry,” she whispered.

  He frowned. “What for?”

  “For intruding upon you and your…ah…solitude?”

  She spoke like a lady. Intriguing.

  He gave a low laugh and then revealed how he spoke as well—like a Scottish gentleman, which ultimately wasn’t fair to her, since he really wasn’t one. “Aye, well, I generally prefer my solitude to be more solitary.”

  As if to punctuate his statement, a high-pitched giggle emanated from behind him.

  The woman took a hesitant step backward, her gaze flickering toward the door blocked by his body. “I…uh…er…”

  Still clutching that book to herself, she dropped her gaze to the floor, as though the leather toes of her boots poking out of her floor-length black wool cape were the most fascinating things in the world. Her shoulders shuddered as she drew in a long breath. He could see only a bit of her skin, where the candlelight brushed her cheek. It had turned bright pink.
>
  His lips twisted into a wry grin. What did she think? That he intended to tear off her clothes and drag her to the floor right here, right now?

  Yes!

  His body made the command, shouting it in his head as if through a bullhorn. He squeezed his hands into fists at his sides as images tumbled through his mind. Tossing away that drab brown woolen cloak. Thrusting his hands into her hair. Dragging her to the floor, flipping up those skirts, and discovering the treasures that lay beneath…

  Hell, he was on duty. He shouldn’t have even allowed that thought—any of those thoughts—to enter his head.

  He thrust them out. They weren’t so easily deterred, though. They still crowded the edges of his mind, nudging, trying to find a way back in.

  He clenched his jaw and reached forward, tilting her chin up. He would merely reassure her.

  “I won’t bother you,” she said, her words rapid and breathy. Her face had turned a deep, alluring shade of pink. “I’ll just wait for Mrs. Trickelbank—”

  “You dinna bother me,” he said, his voice rough. Though she should bother him. She was a distraction from his duty, and he shouldn’t have allowed her to step one foot inside this little room.

  Her skin…it was impossibly soft. Instinctively, his fingers moved in tiny circles under her chin, as if he might drink in that softness through his fingertips.

  “And I wilna bite.” His lips curled. “Unless you give me permission to, that is.”

  Energy shimmered from her…when he stood close to her like this, he could feel it, skipping off her in waves of light and sweetness, insinuating beneath his skin, making him feel…alive.

  He kept a firm hold on her chin and reached up his other hand to push her hood down. “You dinna need this in here.”