Conall: The 93rd Highlanders, Book Two

by Samantha Kane

  She had to go up on to her toes to kiss him properly. His beard was a soft, curly bush against her chin, warm and soothing. She’d been cold for so long, it seemed. Everything about him made her feel warm from the inside out. His arms went tight around her waist and he pressed his mouth against hers. She waited for him to deepen the kiss, but he just held her tighter. It took her a moment to realize he wasn’t sure what to do with her. She almost wept with frustration. God love them both, he was the innocent here. She’d never felt her years more.

  She licked his lips, sliding her tongue between them, praying he’d understand. She was a practical woman, but she wasn’t sure she was up to explaining the facts of life to Conall Fletcher. To her utter relief he opened his mouth and she licked into the heat of him. He was breathing heavy, and even though she couldn’t feel him through their layers of clothes she could tell he wanted her. She nearly shouted for joy. He took control of the kiss almost immediately, a fast learner it would seem. He tasted her like she was the finest wine and for once Avril felt like it, like she was worth savoring. It had been so long since she’d felt this way, like a woman and not a drudge.

  It was over too soon. Conall stiffened in her arms and pushed her away. “I can’t,” he said, panting. He shook his head. “It isn’t right.”

  Avril had still been pliant in his hands, but at his words she became as stiff as he. “Let go,” she demanded harshly. He yanked his hands off her arms and took a step back. “How no?” she asked, dreading his answer. Had she been too forward? She didn’t like the weight that settled in her stomach at the thought of showing the young lieutenant the door. She’d liked him, she had.

  “Because it’s as Munro said,” he answered, surprising her. “I feel like I’m taking advantage of you, Avril. A woman alone, a widow, no way to protect yourself. You needn’t do this to have my protection. You know that, don’t you?”

  She growled in frustration and scooped her bonnet up off her measly, cold cot. “Oh, yes, I know. And no good woman would want to bed you, is that it?” She growled again and shook her fist at him. “You and the captain. Well, I’ve had enough of casting my pearl before swine. The two of you just go ahead and ‘protect’ me,” she said with a sneer. “And while you’re doing that, don’t be minding me out there looking for a man to warm my bed.”

  “Avril,” he said sharply, and she spun around to face him, stopping his words.

  “Don’t be calling me that,” she snapped. “You don’t get that right now. You just threw it away. It’ll be Mrs. Scott to you unless you come to your senses. And if you do, you better hope it’s not too late.” She held open the door. “Out with you. I’ll bring you something to eat and you can freeze your arse off eating it out there.”

  “Did you make the same offer to Munro?” Conall asked angrily, ignoring her dismissal.

  She sniffed regally. “And if I did?”

  Conall stalked over and took her by the arm, and even angry as he seemed, he didn’t hurt her. “Don’t throw words at me,” he growled, his delicious burr raising goose bumps on her skin. “Tell me true. Did you?”

  “Yes, she did.” The captain ducked into her hut again. “Close the door,” he ordered her. Without a thought to disobeying that tone, Avril did as she was told. Munro looked between her and Conall, a scowl on his usually unreadable face. “You’re making a spectacle of yourselves,” he growled. “I’m not the only one who heard what was going on in here.”

  Avril had a bit of trouble breathing, surrounded by the two big Highlanders. One ruddy and dark and tall, the other bright and big, and both angry. She’d never seen two men who wore the kilt and scarlet jacket so well. Conall still had a hand on her arm, and the captain grabbed the other.

  “Let her go,” he ordered Conall. But Conall wasn’t as quick to obey as she’d been.

  “No,” he said clearly. “It’s you who needs to be taking your hands off.”

  The captain couldn’t have looked more shocked if the queen had walked into the hut. “What did you say, boy?”

  “I’m not a boy,” Conall growled. “Did you dishonor her?”

  “What?” Avril ground out. “I’m just after telling you he didn’t.” She drove her shoulder into his chest and shoved him away, forcing him to let go of her. Then she did the same to the captain. “Neither of you is wanting to ‘dishonor’ me,” she said sarcastically. “I’m wishing someone would ask my opinion of it, then, aren’t I?” She pushed them both toward the entrance. “Both of you, outwith. Now.” When they were both out in the cold she stood there, arms akimbo, and glared at them. “And don’t be coming back unless you’re ready to give me what I need.” With that, she stomped back into the hut and yanked the flimsy door closed behind her. “And you’ll be going hungry too,” she called behind her, not caring who heard.

  Chapter Two

  Graeme looked at the gray, dirty door, closed as firmly as any gate in his face. It had only been a matter of time. As long as it took for Conall to return, actually. He’d always known that. It was why he’d said no to her repeated offers. He glanced over at Conall, who stood next to him, breathing heavily and glaring first at the hut and then at him. She’d always been for Conall, and Graeme had kept her safe for him. Even safe from himself.

  “What happened while I was gone?” Conall demanded in a low, furious voice.

  “Nothing,” Graeme said simply. He hoped Conall wouldn’t get insubordinate out here. He couldn’t let it go if he did, not like he had inside the tent.

  “Conall!” A man hollered in a loud, angry voice behind them. Graeme turned to see Conall’s oldest brother, Douglas, stalking their way. Conall’s twin brother, Brodie, hurried in his wake. Brodie winked and grinned at Conall. The twins looked so alike but were so different. Conall was quiet, serious, steadfast. Brodie, on the other hand, was a quick joke, a troublemaker and a flirt. Brodie was all flash and gilt. Conall was the real treasure, though few saw it. Graeme did. He thought Avril did too.

  “Dougie,” Conall cried in delight, holding out his hand. Douglas slapped it away.

  “You couldn’t come to see your brothers first?” he angrily demanded. “I had to hear from Ham that you were both back.”

  Conall rubbed his offended hand. “Well, then, Ham came and told you, didn’t he? Sorry to worry you, Mother,” he apologized with mock sincerity. He turned to Brodie, who took his proffered hand and shook it vigorously. “Brodie, you scoundrel. What trouble have you made while I was gone?”

  Brodie gave a belly-shaking laugh, his head thrown back. It was the sort of laugh that invited others to join in, and few could resist it. Graeme resisted. He knew these Fletcher brothers too well. Trouble was brewing.

  “I was chased to ground by the colonel’s lovely daughter,” Brodie told Conall. “She took the whip to me.”

  Conall turned big eyes to Graeme, who nodded. “I barely kept him out of the trenches.”

  “She likes me,” Brodie said with another of his trademark winks. “You watch and see.”

  Douglas smacked him on the back. He was a bigger, rougher version of the twins, with the redheads temper that neither Conall nor Brodie suffered. “Damn fool,” he muttered. “No skirt is worth that, no matter how bonnie she be. One is like another. Don’t be making a fool of yourself over that one. She thinks she’s too good for the likes of you. Remember that.” He turned back to Conall and his scowl grew fiercer. “And is that why you’re here?” he asked. “Chasing Mrs. Scott’s skirts again?”

  Conall’s face was flushed with anger. “You’ll show more respect when you speak of her, or you’ll be meeting my fist.”

  “And who’s the one being disrespectful?” Douglas said in a loud whisper, looking around to see who was listening. “You’re the one sniffing after her as though she was a bitch in heat.” His scowl turned to a glower. “If I find that you’ve taken advantage of the widow, you’ll be black and blue and back at Scutari, brother or no.”

  “You bloody bastard,” Conall said angril
y. “Bitch in heat, indeed. I ought to be laying my fists to you right now, brother or no. Watch your language.” He glanced furtively at the hut and pushed Douglas farther away. “What nonsense are you talking about? You know I’d never take advantage.”

  “Well, I’m ordering you to stay away from her,” Douglas said, and Graeme nearly groaned aloud. Didn’t he know ordering Conall around like that was the same as waving a red flag in a bull’s face?

  “Ordering me to stay away from her?” Conall said in disbelief. “As though you have the right?” He shook his head as he took off his forage cap and passed it to Brodie. Then he shoved up his sleeves. “I’ll lay you out for thinking the worst of Mrs. Scott. You’ve insulted her with your speech and your manner. You’re an uncouth lout, Douglas Fletcher.”

  “That’s Major Fletcher to you, Lieutenant,” Douglas said, whipping off his own hat and handing it to Brodie, who then wisely stepped back. He started to unbuckle his scabbard to remove his sword and Graeme sighed inwardly. This wouldn’t be the first Fletcher brother brawl he’d had to break up. Young Brodie was no help at all.

  “Major Fletcher,” Graeme barked. “Shall I have to report this misconduct?”

  Douglas made a face and growled. “You wouldn’t dare. Ach, you’re always taking up for him, Munro. You don’t know the scamp like I do. He’ll make trouble for her, and hasn’t she got enough?”

  “He’ll do nothing of the kind, and I hardly think scamp is an apt description,” Graeme said calmly. “He’s a man, not a boy, or so he tells me. He certainly acts like one. Held his own at Balaclava now, didn’t he? If he’s old enough to fight and die for queen and country, by God, he’s old enough to know the difference between right and wrong, particularly in the case of Mrs. Scott, for whom he has great affection.”

  “And it’s that affection that’s worrying me,” Douglas said. “A man can forget right and wrong when affection clouds his judgment.” The look he was giving Graeme was too knowing for Graeme’s peace of mind. Did the eldest Fletcher suspect his feelings for young Conall? Or for Mrs. Scott? Graeme forced himself to meet Douglas’s gaze unflinchingly.

  “That may often be the case,” Graeme conceded, “but not in this instance. Conall may be young, but he knows his own mind and he minds what he’s about. You can’t order him about in matters such as this, brother or no. He’s a man, and you have to let him make his own decisions.”

  “Ach, away ye go,” Douglas said dismissively with a disgusted look. “The boy has you fooled, Graeme, and you’ll rue the day you took up for him, mark my words.”

  “And fine words they are for your brother,” Brodie chastised, handing their hats back. “’Tis me you’re thinking of, Douglas, not Conall. Isn’t he the considerate one of the two of us? The one who always made my wrongs right, or so Mum said. He wouldn’t cross a sparrow, and Mrs. Scott is certainly made of sterner stuff.”

  “It’s true,” Conall said. “I wouldn’t hurt her for the world. I swear it, brother.”

  Douglas slapped his hat against his leg as he regarded Conall from under lowered brows. “Aye,” he said with a sigh. “Don’t I know it. Sorry I am, Connie, for taking after you like that. It’s hard to forget you’re not a lad anymore.” He reached out and shook Conall’s hand, and then to Graeme’s surprise shook his as well.

  “Thank you, Graeme, for once again being the voice of reason.” He turned abruptly and began to walk off. “Come see me later,” he called out to Conall over his shoulder. “Brodie, with me.”

  Brodie skipped after his brother, spinning around to run backward as he gave them a jaunty salute. Then he raced to catch up with his older brother.

  Graeme started to turn away when Conall stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. Graeme froze at the contact, heat racing down his arm to his fingertips. He felt his cheeks warm. “Munro,” Conall said. “Many thanks for taking up for me like that, especially considering my behavior today.”

  Graeme turned slowly, breaking Conall’s hold on his shoulder. “It was the truth.”

  “I appreciate the support and the respect you gave me.” Conall smiled ruefully. “I’ll try to deserve it.”

  “I know you will,” Graeme told him, staring over Conall’s shoulder, afraid if he met his eyes he’d give too much away. “You do already.” He couldn’t resist Conall’s pull and finally looked at him. Why this man? God knew, redheaded, blue-eyed Scotsmen were abundant here. But none like Conall, none with his sense of loyalty and bravery and honest emotion. “It’s more than respect,” he said. Without waiting for a response, he walked off, leaving Conall staring after him.

  “And you’re back,” Avril said with disgust, standing there holding back the door of the hut with one hand, the other hand on her hip. “It’s only hours since I sent you off. Checking up on me, are you?” She stepped out of the way and waved a hand at the empty interior of the hut. “No men here. Just me. As usual.” She let the door go, but Munro caught it and stepped inside before letting it close behind him. Avril let him in. Truth told, she’d missed his conversation. He’d been her constant companion since Conall had gotten hurt and been shipped off to Scutari.

  “I missed you.”

  She turned slowly and faced the captain. Never once had he admitted any sort of feeling for her. Now Conall was back and he was practically declaring himself.

  “Staking your claim, eh?” she asked suspiciously. “Since you’ve not taken advantage of what I’ve offered, I can’t figure out what you’re about. Trying to make Conall jealous?”

  “No.”

  She waited in vain for him to say more, suddenly remembering most of their conversations had been her talking and him grunting every now and then. “Not going to tell me, then, I see,” she said. “You’ve always been one for your secrets.” She sighed. “Well, don’t be hoping Conall will show up. By now he’s realized I’m a tart and there’s prettier, younger, more virtuous women about, and more fitting to his station.”

  “No, there aren’t.” Munro looked at her with those eyes of his. In the dim light of the stove he ought to have been menacing, with his dark coloring and size, but she didn’t fear him. Never had. He was fierce, it was true, but he’d always been kind and gentle with her.

  “Flattery will get you everywhere,” she said sarcastically, and had the pleasure of seeing a small grin on his face. This one didn’t smile often. “Here, then,” she said, “give me your coat. I can see plain you’ve got a button coming loose.”

  He looked down, and for a moment she had a flash of what he might have looked like as a boy. Without another word he began to unbuckle his scabbard. She turned away. She didn’t know what she’d do, honestly, if she were to watch him undress even that much. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes and prayed for strength.

  “Here,” he said. She turned and took his jacket from him. He’d taken off his gloves, and when their bare hands met she shivered. She barely glanced at his chest, now covered by just a thin shirt.

  “Take this,” she told him, grabbing her one blanket off her cot. “It’s not much, but it’ll warm you.”

  “Thank you,” he said.

  She sat down on a small stool someone had given her. One of her soldiers. There were many who came to her for the little things, like cooking and mending. She didn’t mind. They paid her, and she was storing the coins away for passage back home.

  She pulled out needle and thread from her small box of sundries and began to work. The silence between them was easy, as though he sat and watched her work often. She supposed he had done so the past couple of months as they both waited for Conall to come back. Now that he had, she’d thought the captain would disappear. She was glad he hadn’t. There was a steadiness and a calm about him that made her think everything would be all right. She hadn’t thought that in many a long year.

  “I wish you would let me find you better quarters,” he said. “The French have dug huts of a sort. They’re far warmer than this one. I could get someone to dig one for you.
Or a tent. A nice big one.”

  “Oh, you’ll be getting me a marquis tent?” she asked with a laugh. “I’d be too far away from the Ninety Third, then, wouldn’t I? And the ground is too frozen for digging now.” She smiled at him as she stitched. Several of the buttons on his double-breasted jacket were loose. “You weren’t a farmer, were you?” she asked, curious about his background. He’d never said much about it.

  He shook his head, pulling her blanket tighter about himself. She idly wondered if it would smell like him when she wrapped it around herself tonight. She hoped so.

  “No,” he answered her, to her surprise. “My father was a professor of history.”

  She stopped sewing and blew on her fingers to warm them up. “A professor?” she exclaimed. “So you’ve got schooling, then? What are you doing here?”

  He laughed. “I’m not really sure,” he admitted ruefully. “It just seemed like a good idea at the time.” He gestured to the jacket in her lap. “And I liked the scarlet.”

  “Ah, laddie, we all like the scarlet.” He laughed with her.

  “Mrs. Scott.” Their laughter died at the sound of Conall’s voice outside the tent. They just sat and stared at each other for a second or two. Avril’s heart began to beat fast and hard, and she wasn’t sure why. It didn’t feel like fear. It was the same way she’d felt earlier today, when they were surrounding her in her tent.

  Munro slowly stood up, never breaking his stare.

  “Come in,” she called out quickly, afraid of what he’d do or say. Why was she afraid all of a sudden? He always retreated when things got too intimate between them, and he’d retreated today when Conall had returned.

  Conall came into the tent and stopped short when he saw Munro there. His back stiffened. “Munro,” he greeted him cautiously. He turned and bowed his head slightly. “Mrs. Scott. I hope I’m not intruding.” He was being very formal. Avril felt out of her depth.

  “Lieutenant,” she said just as formally. “I’m mending the captain’s jacket for him. What can I do for you?”