“You cannot renege on your word.” Prowling in her direction, he pointed and sneered. A demanding tyrant had replaced her good-natured, charming major.
Katrina jutted her chin up a notch despite the unease churning in her stomach.
“I most certainly can. There was never an official betrothal announcement. In fact, you haven’t even asked Papa for my hand.” Where was Papa? Had he retired? Osborne ought to be nearby. Surely someone lurked in the corridor. “You’ll have to find another wealthy woman, God help her.”
“Don’t think I can’t,” Richard said, arrogance lending him an unbecoming air. “I’ve already been approached, but I wanted to do the honorable thing by you. Amanda would have me still.”
Katrina jerked her hand toward the opening. “Please go. Thank God, I discovered your true character before we married. And to think, I really believed I loved you. I’ve been such a stupid, blind fool.”
Richard flinched and swallowed audibly.
“You truly don’t love me any longer?” Pain darkened his eyes, and he sucked in a long breath. Finally, he aimed his gaze at the floor, scrubbing a hand across his forehead. He made a noise, half snort and half caustic laugh. “And I suppose you think yourself in love with Pendergast? I didn’t take you for a fast chit, Katrina.”
The barb didn’t strike home as he’d intended. She was in love with Nic.
“I now know what real love is, and what you and I shared was not pure, unselfish, sacrificing adoration.” Tears burned behind her eyes nonetheless. Bidding farewell to her first love, even if he’d turned out to be a feckless, selfish cawker, hurt. She raised her head and met his gaze square on. At one time, she’d lost herself in his eyes’ warmth and devotion. No longer.
Breaking their gaze, he gave one short, sharp nod.
“Goodbye, Richard,” she whispered thickly, her throat constricted with relief and regret.
Silent and neck bent, he strode from the room. A few moments later, the entry door thudded shut, and she released the breath she held.
Richard was gone. Out of her life for good. A week ago, she’d been sure she’d grow wrinkled and gray with him.
“I suppose I ought to tell my parents I’m not getting married after all.” Yet her feet wouldn’t move. “I’ll probably wind up a daft, bonbon-munching spinster with a parlor full of fat, indulged dogs.”
On cue, Sir Pugsley trotted in and, after snuffling around her skirt, looked up hopefully, his bum wiggling in excitement.
Katrina bundled the dog into her arms, kissing his fawn-colored head as she wandered to the sofa. Sighing, she sank onto the cushion before kicking her slippers off, shutting her eyes, and resting her head. She scratched behind Sir Pugsley’s stubby ears.
“I believe I shall reserve my affections for you in the future, good sir. At least I’m sure you love me, and I needn’t fret you’ll leave me or break my heart.”
“Then there’s no hope for me?”
Katrina jerked upward so swiftly, she launched poor Sir Pugsley off her lap.
He yelped and turned offended button eyes on Nic, still wearing in his evening attire.
What on Earth had Nic meant by that?
“Oh, Pugsley. I’m sorry. Come here.” She held out her hands and wiggled her fingers. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was startled.”
Nic rescued the affronted animal, but instead of passing him to Katrina, he cuddled the dog as he sank onto the sofa beside her. Stretching his muscled legs before him, and running his long fingers over Pugsley’s haunches, Nic cut her a sidelong look.
“Well, Kitty? Is there?”
“I …” She clamped her lower lip between her teeth. Precisely how much had he heard? “I take it you saw Richard leave?”
“Aye.” He crossed his ankles. “Concerned for your safety, Osborne fetched me from the library. He suggested a privateer might be more skilled at ridding the house of unwanted guests than an aging majordomo or your father.”
“Barehanded?” She peered pointedly at Nic’s hands as he petted Sir Pugsley, contentedly curled onto his thighs.
He lifted a shoulder and shifted the dog onto the sofa.
“Your major … marquis might have been an army officer, but I sincerely doubt he’d eagerly go a round with me.” Nic brushed his rough fingers across her cheek before trapping her hand in his, his gaze so loving, it stole her breath. He pressed a hot kiss to her knuckles before turning her hand over and kissing her palm. “You still haven’t answered me, Kitty, love. Do I have a chance with you? Even the remotest one?”
“You do,” Katrina whispered, her focus on his mouth. Lord, how she wanted to taste his lips again. “More than a remote one, actually.”
“Thank God.” Joy lit his face, and he scooped her onto his lap, burying his face in her neck. “I was terrified, more terrified than when I was captured by pirates, that you’d say no.”
Sir Pugsley gave them a disgusted glance and jumped to the floor, where he resumed his nap.
Katrina leaned away. “You were captured by pirates? Real pirates?” She touched his scar. “Is that how you came by this?”
“No, this was the result of another battle, but enough of this talk. I want to talk about us, our future.” He dropped a kiss onto her parted mouth, and she cupped his head, pressing her lips to his.
A deep, gravelly groan echoed deep in his throat, and Nic tilted her into his arms, pillaging her mouth, his tongue exploring—teaching her this new form of sensual play.
Katrina met each stroke of his velvety tongue, squirming to press nearer.
A hard bulge nudged her bum, and he rotated his hips upward.
“See what you do to me?” He pulsed against her bottom before tenderly pressing his forehead to hers.
Clutching him to her, she pressed a fervent kiss to his jaw. “You do the same to me.”
“God, I love you, so desperately, so absolutely, and this vulnerability terrifies me, Kitty. I never expected love, didn’t believe it was real, but each time I saw you, spoke to you, I became more captivated until nothing, no one, mattered as much as you. And the awful emptiness, the burning ache ripping me apart when I thought you belonged to another …”
“Oh, Nic.” She cupped his face, brushing his lips with hers, conveying all the adoration welling in her heart. “I was such an idiot.”
He shuddered against her. “Tell me you love me too. That you’ll marry me, be with me always? I want to fall asleep with you wrapped in my embrace, and wake in the morning the same way.”
“I do love you, and will marry you, even though I know someday you’ll return to the sea. I’ll take the time you can give me and be blissfully happy, grateful for every moment.” She laid her head against his broad chest, listening to his strong heart beating, and a tear escaped her. Even a day without him, let alone months, would be utterly unbearable, but oh, how sweet his homecomings would be. “And when you’re sailing round the world, those memories will keep me warm until I’m in your arms again.”
“I’ll not leave you.” Gently nudging her chin upward with his bent forefinger, Nic searched her face. “How can I leave my heart?”
Tears of joy crept over her cheeks. “You love the sea.”
“I love you more, endlessly, abundantly, incomparably more. I’ll sell The Weeping Siren, take to this duke business, and we’ll raise a family, a whole passel of children to keep my sisters company.” He rested his chin atop her head and chuckled. “I’m truly under your spell, and I confess, it’s wondrous.”
“Don’t sell your schooner. I’ve always wanted to sail to different parts of the world. Perhaps she can be converted into a merchant ship? I know women are discouraged onboard, but could you make an exception for me once in a while, or is that asking too much?” Katrina angled away from him, giving him a flirtatious smile.
“Kitty, love, I’d do anything for you.” He gathered her near, pressing his cheek against hers. “Because you’ve thoroughly and completely tamed this scoundrel’s heart.”
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Epilogue
April 1819
Atlantic Ocean West of England
“Look, Nic.” Katrina leaned over the schooner’s rail and pointed to a water spout off the starboard side. “Is that a whale?”
Wrapping his arms around her from behind, Nic spoke into her hair. “It is. Watch closely. Those are humpbacks, and they swim in pods. They’re migrating right now.”
Before he finished speaking, two more whales surfaced.
“They’re magnificent,” she said, leaning into his strong embrace.
“Indeed.” He kissed the crown of her head and splayed his fingers over her stomach.
“What do you think Aunt Bertie and your sisters are doing right now?” The three had taken to each other like bees to honey, and Chamberdall Court resounded with their laughter. Quite frequently, Aunt Bertie instigated some antic, most recently, teaching Daphne and Delilah to make jam tarts. For days afterward, Cook scolded about the mess they’d made in her kitchen.
Nic chuckled, his breath warming Katrina’s head. “Probably into some sort of mischief, if I know my aunt. I still cannot fathom she’d been hoping for years to bring us together.”
Katrina giggled. “That certainly explains why she regaled me with titillating tales of your adventures each time I visited, was thrilled when I agreed to help you find a bride, and why she didn’t fuss when you moved her to our house.”
“Crafty old bird.” Affection laced his voice, and she sighed in pure contentment.
The sun dangled low on the western horizon, the sky a myriad of yellow, peach, and burnished hues. Soon, they’d make their way to the captain’s cabin for dinner. Anticipation sluiced her as an altogether different kind of hunger welled.
Trailing her fingers across his sturdy hands clasped at her middle, Katrina arched her neck to peek at him, and he promptly slid his hands beneath her cloak and cupped her breasts. She bit her lip against a moan when he tweaked her turgid nipples. “Perhaps we might watch the sunset from your … our cabin?”
Gads, she sounded wanton.
They would reach England in a few days, and Nic would step into his ducal role full-time. This journey, a belated wedding trip to the tropics, was his farewell voyage. She’d protested that he couldn’t forsake sailing, but he’d been adamant, especially when she’d revealed her delicate condition.
“Aye, and perhaps we’ll work up an appetite for our supper beforehand.” Nic turned her until she faced him and, amidst his crew’s hoots and catcalls, kissed her soundly. Nic grinned as he looped her hand through his crooked elbow. “Cease your disrespect, or I’ll toss your sorry arses in the hold for the night.”
“Aye, aye, Cap’n,” echoed round the deck, followed by a chorus of laughter.
“They adore you, Nic. Are you sure you want to give this up? Won’t you regret it?”
“No. This was my life before I gave you my heart.” He opened the cabin door and waited for her to enter before closing the strip and shoving the bolt home. “Now, Kitty, love, I want to make a new life with you.” He bent and kissed her flat stomach. “And this little one, and the others to follow.”
Dear God, she loved this rugged, unpolished man. Unfastening the frogs at her throat, she meandered to the impressive bed dominating the cabin. After tossing her cloak on a nearby chair, she turned her back, smiling coyly over her shoulder. “And what do privateers do to the women whose hearts they capture?”
In four long strides, Nic crossed to Katrina. He scooped her into his arms and, after laying her on the coverlet, slid her skirts up her thighs to her waist. “They love them, until the breath leaves their body, and afterward, ever into eternity.”
The End
collettecameron.com
Highlander’s Redemption
The Sinclair Brothers Trilogy
Book Two
Emma Prince
Chapter One
Scottish Borderlands
Late June, 1307
“I leave on the morrow for Cumberland.”
Jossalyn’s breath caught in her throat, but she kept her eyes downcast and her tongue still. She sensed her brother was already in a foul mood, and her questions always seemed to annoy him. She had learned over the years how to avoid his rage—or at least she had become better at it. Lord Raef Warren was as unpredictable as the weather here in the Borderlands.
She waited, her hands clasped in front of her, while her brother moved to the other side of his huge oak desk and shuffled the papers that lay strewn across it. Finally, he continued.
“The King is believed to be ill, which means that I may be able to leverage a Barony at last.”
This had her snapping her head up. Despite the years of practice biting her tongue, she opened her mouth without thinking. “I could help! I could try to heal—”
His hand slammed against the top of the desk, rattling his ink pot and causing her to jump.
“Silence! How dare you insinuate that you could help the King, and with your little herbs, no less!”
She had done it now. His rage would boil over, and he would take it out on her. She tensed, waiting for him to dart like lightning from behind the desk and strike her.
Instead, he smoothed back his sandy blond hair with one hand, inhaling through his nose to try to calm himself. “The only reason I called you here was to let you know that I would be away and to warn you not to disobey me.” He stepped back around the desk toward her, his glaring eyes locked on hers. “But if you defy me one more time, sister, I will name you a witch and have you burned alive, blood relation be damned.” His voice was calm, but deadly so.
Jossalyn lowered her head once more, giving her brother what he wanted—her utter submission. But if she had met his stare, her eyes would have revealed her defiance. She was not broken or cowed, no matter what Raef might think.
A little piece of her heart squeezed at the thought. She had been sneaking to the village outside Dunbraes Castle for years, tending to the people unfortunate enough to be under the rule of her power-hungry brother. Yes, she had been discovered a few times—and had borne his rages, insults, and even his fists—but it was worth it to help people, to save lives with her healing abilities.
“Perhaps this visit to the traveling court will give me the opportunity to marry you off as well. Then you’ll be someone else’s problem,” he said coolly. “Who knows, it may even help me toward my Barony. I hear the Earl of Suffolk is looking for a new bride. Someone young.”
Her stomach twisted, but she forced herself not to react. Her brother had made mention of arranging for her marriage before—after all, she had just turned twenty—but his threat about the Earl made her nauseated. The Earl of Suffolk had visited Dunbraes several months ago to discuss the mounting war between England and Scotland. He was old enough to be her grandfather, and had already worn through three wives. The first night of his visit, he had become so drunk on the castle’s store of fine wine that he had tried to grab Jossalyn. When she had twisted out of his clawing hands, he proceeded to vomit on her slippers.
She swallowed. “How long will you be gone?”
He grabbed her chin, forcing her eyes to meet his. “Likely only two weeks, but it depends if the King dies or not,” he said bluntly. “And don’t get any ideas about making one of your little trips to the village, sister. I will have you watched and followed. I can’t have my best bargaining chip with the Earl getting into anything…unseemly.”
Her heart sank, but she didn’t let the mask of meekness slip from her face. His hazel eyes bore into her for a moment longer, seemingly trying to reinforce his threats. He didn’t need to, though. Jossalyn knew from years of experience that her brother wouldn’t hesitate to punish her, should she defy him.
“That is all,” he said finally, releasing her chin and turning his back on her.
She curtsied despite the fact that he couldn’t see her then silently crept out of his study and toward her chamber. As she walked up the stone steps toward her door, she felt
a shadow following her and glanced over her shoulder. One of her brother’s soldiers, Gordon, trailed her from several feet back. He stopped when she did but merely stared back at her, his coarse face and dull eyes flat in his obedience to Raef’s order to follow her.
So this was to be her hound while her brother was away. Gordon was hulking and imposing, but at least he wasn’t particularly bright. Perhaps she could still find a way to do her work in the village while Raef was in Cumberland. It would probably have to involve some discomfort for Gordon, unfortunately.
She turned back up the stairs toward her chamber, her mind running over her most potent herbal laxatives.
Chapter Two
You are to stay no longer than a week, collecting as much intelligence as you can.
The words burned into Garrick’s mind, along with his older brother Robert’s serious tone as he had said them. Garrick had been chewing on his Laird’s words like a bitter cud for the entirety of the week-long journey from the Sinclair clan holdings at Roslin in the farthest northeast corner of Scotland all the way to the Borderlands. Despite Garrick’s protestations, Robert thought it best to send him to the border to conduct a covert information gathering mission—along with Robert’s right-hand man, Burke Sinclair.
But Garrick worked alone.
He always had, and except for this mission, he always would. If Robert hadn’t invoked his authority as Laird of the Sinclairs, Garrick would have rejected the mission outright. He was needed elsewhere. Then again, his King, Robert the Bruce, had also agreed to lend Garrick for the operation, and he couldn’t very well go against his Laird and his King. So here he was, stuck with Burke, a distant cousin and clansman, a mere day’s ride from Raef Warren’s Borderland holding at Dunbraes.
He spat over the neck of his large warhorse as they continued to move quietly through the dense forest. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to help the Scottish cause for independence. In fact, he had devoted his life to it. He had fought in every major battle of the last ten years, and in quite a few minor ones as well, first with his brother defending Sinclair lands, and later, alongside Robert the Bruce. It was more the idea that he could only collect information. He had to “blend in,” as his brother had ordered, and talk with locals about what they were hearing.
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