Highland Temptation

by Jennifer Haymore

  Between the three of them, MacCallum had the most energy, and he prattled on, first telling Colin about how he’d found Pinfield’s injured man on the side of the road as he’d headed back north. The man had been conscious but disoriented, and MacCallum had put him on his horse and taken him back to Berwick. The old man had given him some coin and ordered him to get his leg looked after, have a hot meal, and reevaluate his choices in life.

  Then MacCallum told his wife about how they’d found Pinfield’s carriage and the accompanying men, and how he’d distracted the group whilst Colin had snuck in and spirited Emilia away.

  “Worked like a charm.” MacCallum grinned broadly.

  “Ye always had quite the mouth on ye,” Mrs. MacCallum said, but she looked proud, and her voice was laden with fondness.

  “What happened after we got out of there?” Colin asked the older man.

  “It took a good few minutes before that pompous arse realized the lass had disappeared, because I kept goin’ on about the dangers of proceedin’ along the road. Finally, he’d had enough, and when he opened the carriage door, he just stood there and gaped for five seconds or so. Meanwhile, I mounted my horse, ready to go. I kept talkin’, though. ‘Well, if ye must insist upon goin’,’ I said, all haughty-like and puttin’ on a bit of an air, ‘I dinna care to watch the slaughter.’ And calmly as you please, I turned the horse and began to ride north. Seconds later, I heard him screech, and everyone jumped to action. But I didna stay to see what came of it.”

  Colin nodded. “Good. I dinna think he’ll be able to track us here.”

  “I doubt it,” MacCallum agreed.

  Mrs. MacCallum patted Colin’s hand. “Ye’re safe here. And ye can stay as long as ye like.”

  “I thank you.” Colin glanced at Emilia, who was gazing into her broth. “A few days, perhaps—until Mrs. Montgomery is well enough to travel.”

  “O’ course.”

  Colin rose. “I should get her to bed,” he said, going to Emilia’s side.

  Mrs. MacCallum clucked. “Och, aye, we dinna want her to be fallin’ face-first into her soup!”

  Colin helped Emilia up, and she gave the old couple a wan smile.

  “Ye’ll be usin’ our bed, long as ye stay,” Mrs. MacCallum informed them.

  “Nay,” Colin said. “We’ll be fine if we just—”

  Mrs. MacCallum gave him a light whack on the shoulder. “You’re our guests and you’ll be sleeping where we put ye. Nae arguments, ye hear?”

  Colin kept his mouth shut and followed Mrs. MacCallum into the bedroom, where he’d awakened from his unconscious state what seemed like a year ago but had just been early this morning. Clean bedclothes covered the heather-stuffed mattress, and the place smelled of fresh hay and lavender.

  Mrs. MacCallum turned down the bedcovers and then rose to face them. “Ye’ll tell me if ye’ll be needin’ anythin’, aye?”

  “Aye,” Colin agreed.

  “Good night, then.”

  “Good night,” Emilia murmured. “And thank you. Thank you so very much.”

  “ ’Tis our pleasure, sweet lass,” Mrs. MacCallum said kindly, and slipped out, closing the door behind her.

  Colin helped Emilia into the bed, then went around to the other side before stripping down to his shirt and climbing in beside her.

  He groaned softly as he turned, pulling her back against his front. It felt so good to lie down, so good to have her body pressed to his once more. He kissed the back of her head.

  “Sleep, mo leannan.”

  She snuggled into him. “You, too,” she murmured. “You must be exhausted.”

  He was. His head felt as if it weighed a thousand pounds. Yet his body was alert, the blood flowed swiftly through his veins, and his concern over Emilia thrummed in his soul. He lay quietly, trying to relax his muscles.

  Several minutes passed. Colin could tell from Emilia’s breathing that she wasn’t asleep, either. She reached back and laid her hand on his thigh. “It’s going to be all right, Colin. We’re safe now,” she murmured. “We’re alive. And we’re together.”

  She was right. He closed his eyes, and finally slipped into a dreamless sleep.

  —

  Six days later, the swelling on Colin’s and Emilia’s faces had diminished completely, leaving ugly bruises. Emilia could chew and talk without pain, and her eyes had brightened. She was slowly returning to herself, her innate strength rising back to the surface.

  There had been no sign or word of Lord Pinfield and his men. If Pinfield was smart—and he was—he would have gone into hiding, knowing that by now Emilia’s accusations would be public knowledge. There was an article about him in the Times that MacCallum had brought from the village yesterday, stating that he was a dangerous traitor and that he had disappeared, first heading north but then vanishing seemingly without a trace. It spoke of a massive manhunt being organized to find him.

  The Times further listed the associates of Pinfield who were wanted under suspicion of treason—nearly all the names Emilia had originally given to Colin. The Highland Knights had wasted no time. As soon as they’d received that letter, they must have flown into action, collecting evidence and rounding up the traitors.

  Colin would have usually been in the center of it all—but now his primary concern was Emilia. Ensuring her recovery and her safety mattered more than anything to him.

  She was doing well. Early this morning, they’d made love, then as she’d lain in his arms, she’d said, “I think I’m ready.”

  “Ready for what?”

  “To go home. To London.”

  He was quiet for a moment. She was going to be all right, and there was no reason to infringe on the MacCallums’ hospitality any longer. Though Colin was going to make damn sure they were well recompensed for all they’d done for him and Emilia.

  “The court will need my help to build the case against the traitors.”

  She was right. The information she had would be invaluable in ensuring those men received justice. “Aye,” he’d agreed. “We’ll go. This morning.”

  Now he was outside, hitching the pair of horses to the phaeton, and MacCallum clapped his hand to Colin’s shoulder.

  “I ken ye’re no’ a Montgomery, lad,” he said in a low voice.

  Colin turned to him, frowning.

  “Those Sassenachs who took the lass—they weren’t highwaymen, neither.”

  Colin nodded slowly. He’d actually wondered why the man hadn’t brought this up earlier. It was rather obvious that Pinfield and his henchmen were something other than common highwaymen.

  The older man stared at him, his blue eyes bright in the morning sunlight. “I ken they weren’t good men, aye? Especially after seeing how ill-used yer lass was.”

  “They aren’t good men,” Colin agreed in a low voice.

  MacCallum studied him. “I believe you. But the man who was inside the carriage—he was an English lord, was he no’?”

  “He was.”

  MacCallum blew out a breath. “Which one?”

  “It’s best I dinna tell you, sir,” Colin said, but he was certain the older man would figure it out soon enough.

  A deep groove appeared between the older man’s brows. “ ’Tis wise no’ to anger English lords, lad. The English have an appetite for revenge. They’re more like to slaughter ye than forgive ye.”

  This was a Scot, Colin realized, who had been raised in the aftermath of the massacre at Culloden and the defeat of Bonnie Prince Charlie. Colin knew from his own experience that some things were difficult to forget.

  He leaned forward and spoke quietly. “My real name is Sir Colin Stirling.”

  MacCallum stared at him for a moment, then recognition lit his eyes. “The MP’s lad?”

  Colin smiled. It shouldn’t surprise him that the man would remember a Scottish politician from years back. “Aye. I was in the army for many years, but now I work in service to the Crown.”

  “And the lass?”

&
nbsp; “I’m protecting her.”

  “She’s no’ yer wife, is she?”

  How the hell had the man ferreted that out? He tilted his head, gave MacCallum a warning look. “Not yet. But she soon will be, if I’ve anything to say about it.”

  MacCallum nodded slowly. “And she is amenable?”

  “I havna asked her yet.”

  MacCallum’s eyebrows rose. “Why not? What’re ye waitin’ for?”

  “Well…” He hesitated, then shrugged. “It hasna seemed like the best time.”

  MacCallum clapped his hand over Colin’s shoulder once again. “Lad, no time is the best time. If ye love the lass well enough to marry her, then ye must ask her first, aye?”

  Colin turned back to the horse. “Aye,” he agreed under his breath.

  MacCallum was right. It was time he made his feelings and his hopes for the future known to Emilia.

  Still, he’d never told a woman he wanted to spend his life with her. The thought made him nervous in a way he’d never been before.

  —

  As they were preparing to leave, Emilia impulsively turned to her notebook and carefully tore a page out. It was a sketch she’d made of Mr. and Mrs. MacCallum one morning as they’d bent over the newspaper, their heads touching intimately.

  Her gray brows raised, Mrs. MacCallum took it from her, then laughed aloud. “Why, lass! I kent you scribbled in that book o’ yers, but ye didna tell me you possessed such a talent.” She clutched the sheet to her chest and tears brimmed in her bright blue eyes when she looked back at Emilia. “I’ll cherish it forever, lass. I’ll look at it and remember yer bonny face.”

  Emilia threw her arms around the older woman. “Thank you so much,” she said. “Thank you for everything.”

  The day was dull and dreary, the sky like lead as they rode south. Six hours into the journey, they stopped for a brief bite to eat at the edge of a stream. Like before, they laid out a plaid and ate sitting upon it. Emilia couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened the last time they’d stopped like this. How close their connection had been. How everything had changed for her at that moment. How she had become his.

  She gazed at Colin as he chewed a bite of bread; then, brushing his hands together, he rose and stretched. Looking down at her, he said, “I’m going to wash up a bit.”

  She nodded and watched him as he stripped off his coat and shirt, revealing his upper body, so powerfully strong and masculine, her breath hitched. He turned and strode to the river’s edge, the weak sun highlighting the silvery lines of scars on his back.

  The bank was muddy, and he froze as soon as he stepped into the soft muck. He stood there for a few seconds, but then he didn’t move. The seconds stretched on to a minute, and he’d been standing still, staring into the water, unmoving.

  Her heart in her throat, Emilia slowly stood. “Colin?” she called uncertainly.

  No answer.

  She walked slowly toward him. “Colin, I’m right here. What’s wrong?”

  But he didn’t seem to hear her. Suddenly, he lurched backward, stumbling as if he’d received a powerful punch to the stomach. He fell in the mud but scrambled backward, calling, “Nay. Nay. I canna…I’m sorry. God…” He groaned. “So damn sorry.”

  “Colin!” she shouted now, even though she was only a few feet away.

  “Go,” he moaned. “Go on now, lad…Ye must go…”

  Lad? “Colin, it’s me, Emilia. You’re…” What was happening? She didn’t know…but this was just like one of his nightmares. “You’re only dreaming,” she told him. “Do you hear me? It’s only a dream.”

  “A…” His hands dropped, flat at his sides in the mud. Blinking, he looked up at her. “Archie,” he said raggedly, then he frowned, clearly not recognizing her.

  Who on earth was Archie? “I’m not Archie,” she told him. “I’m Emilia.”

  He stood, eyes narrowed, looking all around and turning in a slow circle, until his gaze finally landed on her again. He stared at her, still no recognition in his eyes. She needed to keep talking. “It’s me, Colin. You’re just having a dream. It’s naught but a dream…”

  She didn’t stop, assuring him that whatever it was wasn’t real—that he was real and she was, and there was no one else.

  Ever so slowly, recognition dawned in his expression, and he turned, scanning their environs once again. He swallowed hard, his throat moving, but his lips were pressed tightly together, and he was so pale, she thought he might faint.

  She went to him, holding her hands out. “It’s just me, my love,” she murmured.

  He shook his head, “Nay.” His voice was crackly and raw.

  “Yes. It’s just me.”

  “I…” He closed his eyes, allowing her to wrap her arms around him, mud be damned. She laid her cheek on his bare chest. His skin was hot, his heart galloping.

  But soon, his hands went to her upper arms, and he gently pushed her back. She looked into his face, and didn’t like his expression.

  “I just saw a dead man,” he rasped out. “I stepped into the mud, and it sucked at my shoes just like the mud at Waterloo, and…”

  “And what?” she whispered. “Tell me. It’s all right.”

  He swallowed again. Beads of sweat had bubbled out at his temples, and he was still so pale, she thought he might fall over. “He came to me. Archie MacNab. He was an ensign, only sixteen years old. I…I told him on the march the day before the battle that I’d watch out for him, and when ’twas all over, we’d ride to Edinburgh, I’d buy him a dram, and we’d toast to Bonaparte’s end.”

  Tears gleamed in his eyes, the pain there so sharp it cut through her heart. She wanted to scream in rage and rail at war, at Napoleon Bonaparte and Wellington, at everyone and everything that had caused Colin such wretched pain.

  “But…he was killed.” His voice was nothing more than a rasp now, and his shoulders shook. “He died, and I just saw him. Here now.” He looked around, searching once again for the lad from his vision. “He…was covered in blood…his guts…” He swallowed and shook his head, unwilling to finish the rest of that sentence. He passed a shaky hand over his sweating forehead. “He told me I was a liar…That I didna watch out for him. That I…that I…let him die.”

  “I know that isn’t true,” she said softly.

  His lips twisted angrily. “It is true. I let him die. I watched it happen…And I couldna—” He made a low, choking noise and bent his head, covering his face with his hands.

  “There’s no one else here,” she reassured him. “It was only a dream. A waking dream. It wasn’t real.”

  “I saw him.” His chest rose up and down with his heavy, rapid breaths. “Because I’m mad.”

  “No—”

  “I’m mad. I have visions, Emilia. I see the dead, and they speak to me. I’m a danger to you. I keep thinking that everything’ll be all right, that I can do this, be with you, but he came…he came to remind me that it’s impossible. I’m mad. You mustn’t call me your love. You canna love me.”

  Oh no. No, no, no. She wasn’t going to allow this. “I can and I do,” she said firmly.

  He closed his eyes and said on a near groan, “Nay.”

  “Aye,” she snapped. She breathed in and out through tight lips. “Now remove your kilt,” she ordered. “We’ll need to wash it. I’ll go fetch your clean one.”

  She turned to go, but he grabbed her arm, stopping her. She looked up at him, anger buzzing through her, knowing that fierceness gleamed in her eyes.

  “You are not mad, Colin. I love you, and nothing will make me stop. Nothing. I will not let them beat us. I will slay your wretched demons, one by one if I must, but I will not let them tear you away from me, do you hear me?”

  He stared at her. Slowly, he nodded. Then he released her arm and touched her cheek lightly with a fingertip. “You’re a ferocious warrior, Emilia. I’m lucky to have you. So damned lucky.”

  He pulled her to him, then framed her face in his big hands and
kissed her so desperately, it was as if he were starved for a taste of her.

  Chapter 19

  Emilia wrapped her arms around him and kissed him back, her anger simmering like hot oil inside her. Suddenly, he yanked back and picked her up. Clutching her against him, he stalked back to where their plaid lay on a patch of grass. He kicked the remains of their food away, then laid her down upon the plaid.

  There were no long, languid kisses. No teasing until she squirmed, which had become a habit of his. Instead, hovering over her, he yanked up her skirts, then pushed his muddied kilt out of the way, and in one move sank his long, rigid length into her.

  Emilia would have had it no other way. She arched up to meet him, gasping in pleasure as he easily slid deep into her.

  “Jesus God, you’re already wet for me,” he said on a growl.

  “Always,” she replied, her own voice coming out in a hiss. “Always.”

  He slammed into her again and again until their breaths sawed through the chilly air. They were one, breathing as one, surging together, rising to their peaks at the same time.

  Leaning on one arm, Colin grabbed her hand and pushed it between them. “Stroke yourself, Emilia,” he gritted out.

  She did, sliding her fingers over the nub just above her entrance as he pushed into her, stroking her fingers over that oh-so-sensitive spot. She began to moan. Their breaths misted in the heavy air. Her channel tightened around him, clasping him in a firm grip, pulsing over him, and his body tensed, his shaft lengthening impossibly until she felt like he touched every part of her.

  It crashed over her like a violent storm, pleasure grabbing her and shaking her in its grip. Her back arched, and her mouth opened in a silent scream.

  “Emilia,” she heard Colin groan as if from far away. “God, Emilia.”

  He was a solid mass of muscle over her and in her, and she shook and trembled, completely helpless in the grip of orgasm. He pulsed and shuddered inside her, and she realized that for the first time he hadn’t pulled away when he came. For the first time, he was coming inside her, and she could feel his seed deep. The sensation set her off again, and this time even her mind floated in ecstasy, disconnecting her from where she was, even what she was. She was a vessel of pleasure. Nothing else existed.