The Highland Commander

by Amy Jarecki

  He still could feel Maddie’s silk-smooth skin against his fingers, roughened by hours passed on the ship tying knots. Their lips had nearly touched when Miss Agnes returned from the Banqueting House with a tray of food and a servant in tow.

  Good God, the woman’s timing couldn’t have been worse.

  Remembering the dance, Aiden stutter-stepped when the widow placed her small palm against his and promenaded in a circle. He took the opportunity to study the countess’s face. Her eyes were wide set, her nose aristocratically long, and her lips plump—not as bonny as Maddie, but one quick glance down to the woman’s cleavage and her face suddenly seemed lovelier.

  When Aiden turned back to the men’s line, the countess scandalously gripped his fingers and slid his arm across those oh-so-voluptuous breasts.

  He practically moaned aloud.

  Once he returned to the line, a single face stood out at the back of the room.

  Lady Magdalen’s.

  Her eyes bored through him as if he’d committed a sin by enjoying a wee dance. She drew her hand to her chest, and her lips parted. He could even hear her gasp, though that could not be possible given the music and the hum of the crowd.

  Ballocks.

  He absolutely must find more suitable accommodations for the lass and her serving maid—especially if the countess proved to be the woman for whom he’d been searching.

  I should not feel guilty about sending her elsewhere. Maddie didn’t even tell me she was illegitimate. No wonder the earl didn’t mention their relationship at the Hogmanay masque. He had a vested interest in his offspring for certain.

  Again Aiden and the countess moved together to promenade in a circle.

  “Are you not enjoying the dance?” Lady Saxonhurst asked.

  “Very much. It is ever so invigorating.”

  “And the company?” She batted her long black eyelashes, her cheeks sporting quite a bit of rouge.

  He grinned. The countess knew exactly what she was doing and the effect her advances had on him. “I must thank the lord high admiral for introducing us.”

  She let out a wee snort. “’Tis ever so kind of you to say.”

  At the end of the dance, the countess curtsied, keeping her head up and practically spilling out of her bodice. Aiden couldn’t help but stare. He licked his lips—oh, to sink his head between those hills of pillowy softness and implore her to take him to heaven.

  The queen clapped loudly, making the banter in the hall ebb. “Lady Magdalen, would you do me the honor of playing the harp?”

  All eyes shifted to Maddie, who suddenly looked like a doe in the sights of a musket. The man beside her stood and offered his hand.

  Aiden clenched his fists. If that bull-witted boar made one errant move, it would be his last—and he’d best keep his eyes on her face. It hadn’t slipped Aiden’s notice earlier that Maddie’s bodice scooped daringly low—not as low as Lady Saxonhurst’s, but too low for the presence of strangers.

  The countess started back to the dais, grabbing Aiden’s hand with a huff. “It looks as if we’ve no choice but to listen to a bastard Jacobite play a woeful tune.”

  Aiden’s hackles bristled as he followed.

  Lady Saxonhurst sniffed. “Honestly, the urchin should be embarrassed to show her face in Whitehall, what with her father accused of treason, and her questionable birth.”

  “I beg to differ. In fact, I admire Lady Magdalen’s fortitude.” Aiden wasn’t about to crumble and listen to the woman cut down the poor lass in front of everyone in the hall. “Her stepmother is with child and unable to travel. It takes a firm backbone to come to London alone and plea for leniency and justice.”

  “Dear Lord Aiden, you speak as if you have a soft spot for underlings such as she.”

  He gave her a pointed stare. “I believe Lady Magdalen has only the best intentions.”

  “You know the girl?” The countess looked as though she could spit out her teeth.

  “Indeed I do.” Aiden bit his cheek. He’d almost blurted out the fact that Lady Maddie was staying in his father’s apartments. That wouldn’t have turned out well for him or for the lass. “Her father was kind enough to invite the officers of the Royal Mary to a Hogmanay celebration, and we were introduced there.”

  The corner of Lady Saxonhurst’s mouth turned up, somewhere between a sneer and a grin. “Truly? Do not tell me the woman dressed in the frumpy plaid managed to be charming and graceful, else I’ll think you an utter fool.”

  Arriving at the table, Aiden held the chair for the opinionated woman. “Perhaps things in the north of Scotland are so far removed from London that all Scots appear a tad foolish when they first come to court.” He helped her scoot in, then bent down so his lips were near her ear. “But I assure you, you’re quite mistaken about the Earl Marischal’s daughter. She has the grace of a swan.”

  “Please. She is but his illegitimate daughter—graceful or nay.” Lady Saxonhurst shook her fan beneath his nose.

  He straightened, lips pursed. “I’ll grant you that.”

  With a sniff she reached for her wine. “Many a fallen woman has been gifted with grace, my lord.”

  Aiden clenched his teeth. Perhaps Lady Saxonhurst’s bosoms were not as alluring as he’d first thought. After affecting a pleasant smile and bowing to the queen and her husband, he took his seat. Though hot under the collar, he didn’t want to marry the widow, he just wanted to… ah… learn from her. As long as she kept her mouth shut they ought to be agreeable. And he’d never heard of anyone’s talking while kissing—though if anyone could manage it, he surmised it would be the countess.

  Light music hung above the crowd, and within two ticks of his pocket watch, the hall fell silent.

  The strings of the Celtic harp took on a life of their own as blossoms of harmonies swelled throughout the hall. It was as if Lady Magdalen interpreted the lavish paintings on the ceiling and brought them to life. Aiden closed his eyes, and his toes kept time while his heart soared. How could one person make a single instrument so full of vigor? And the lass had been tucked away in the sleepy burgh of Stonehaven. Who besides her father had heard such utter brilliance? ’Twas like the music of a lark singing above the waterfall at the Glen of the Fairies. Magical and ever so enchanting.

  “At least the little recital will be over soon,” mumbled Lady Saxonhurst, swilling her wine.

  He ignored the woman, though he opened his eyes. Fortunately, everyone else within sight remained riveted by Magdalen’s performance. Goodness, her fingers worked so quickly, they moved in a blur.

  When the tune ended, Aiden sat very still, his tongue dry. The only thing Lady Saxonhurst had been right about was that it had been over soon—too soon.

  To his right the queen led the applause, a favorable smile playing on her lips. Prince George joined in, and soon everyone in the Banqueting House was on their feet applauding, though very politely like true Englishmen and -women. Aiden wanted to shout for more as sailors would do aboard ship, but such an outward display of bravado would be completely unacceptable at Whitehall, especially since he’d been invited to sit at the royal table.

  Then his gut squeezed when the well-dressed man from the back of the Banqueting House greeted Magdalen on the gallery and kissed her hand.

  Clenching his fists, Aiden sat forward. The bloody varlet took his time hovering over the lassie’s hand—no doubt breathing in the same intoxicating fragrance Aiden had enjoyed only moments before entering the hall.

  Pasty, fat codfish.

  The worst thing?

  The bastard didn’t look portly in the slightest. He looked more muscle bound than a bloody ox.

  Prince George nudged Aiden with his elbow. “It appears Lady Magdalen has found an ally in the Earl of Seaforth.”

  He ground his back molars.

  Earl? That amorous bastard had best keep his distance.

  Chapter Eight

  Aiden stared up at the gallery while Seaforth and Lady Magdalen started down the st
airs. After excusing himself, he strode straight through the Banqueting House to the foot of the gallery stairwell. He’d be damned if he’d sit idle while the Earl of Seaforth took the liberty of kissing the innocent lassie’s hand. For the love of God, she was Aiden’s houseguest. He had a duty to protect her from licentious courtiers who saw young maids as their playthings.

  “There you are, m’lady.” As she descended the final step, Aiden took her hand and pulled her behind him, giving a cold stare to Seaforth. “Why did you not tell me you were such a practiced harpist?”

  “You are acquainted with the lady?” asked Seaforth.

  Aiden’s arm muscles flexed beneath his doublet. “Best of friends.”

  Lady Magdalen wrenched her hand free. “Lord Aiden, please allow me to introduce the Earl of Seaforth, Reid MacKenzie.”

  Squaring his shoulders, the wet-eared earl gave Aiden a deprecating once-over. Bloody hell, his face looked younger than a bairn’s bum. “Ah, the sailor.”

  “Naval officer,” Aiden corrected. “Commander aboard the Royal Mary.”

  “A Scottish frigate?” asked Seaforth.

  Aiden folded his arms and tipped up his chin. “Aye.”

  Seaforth glanced to the lass. “And how have the pair of you become acquainted?”

  “Lord Aiden and the Royal Mary officers attended a Hogmanay masque at Dunnottar.”

  Stepping in, Aiden blocked Maddie from Seaforth’s view. “And the lady is in my care.”

  “Your care?” Seaforth scoffed, closing the distance so they were nose to nose, though Seaforth was forced to crane his neck. At six foot two, Aiden was a good inch taller.

  Aiden didn’t blink. The earl had no idea he could meet his end if he did not proceed wisely. “Someone must be responsible for her welfare whilst her father is incarcerated.”

  “But why you?”

  Shoving between the two men, the lady cleared her throat. “Lord Aiden was kind enough to come to my rescue when my coach threw a wheel at Blackwall Port.”

  Aiden bowed. “Lady Magdalen, the hour is growing late, and I’m sure Miss Agnes will be anxious as to your whereabouts.”

  Maddie gave a defiant blink, then let out a long breath. “I suppose it is late.” She looked to Seaforth. “Do not forget you agreed to accompany me at the Tower on the morrow, m’lord.”

  “How could I forget such a delight, m’lady?” He collected her hand and again hovered over it for far too long, planting a sloppy kiss. Then he tipped his head to Aiden. “It has been a pleasure, Lord Aiden.”

  Aiden moved in front of the lady. “The pleasure is mine, m’lord.”

  Stepping beside him, Lady Magdalen rested her hand on Aiden’s elbow. “You were a bit short with the earl.”

  “Was I?” Aiden led her away at a quick pace, heading through a long passageway. “Do you allow every man you meet to ply your hand with adoring kisses?”

  “I beg your pardon?” Maddie’s voice shot up as she shuffled her feet alongside him. “It would have been rude of me to pull away.”

  This woman had him tied in knots. Aye, he’d aimed to find an education in the boudoir, but that didn’t mean Lady Magdalen was fair game for any passerby. Damnation, his cravat was too bloody tight. “The earl was clearly smitten—who wouldn’t be when faced with a woman as bonny as you?”

  “So what do you recommend I do when a gentleman kisses my hand?”

  “Don’t look so bloody bonny, for starters.” He couldn’t help his scowl.

  She yanked her hand away from his elbow. “You are making absolutely no sense at all. Would you prefer me to draw bags under my eyes with charcoal and drool whilst I’m at court?”

  “Oh please, you ken what I mean.”

  She stopped directly in front of a window embrasure. “No, I do not. You are speaking as if it is a crime for a lady to try to look her best. Furthermore, you sound more controlling than a father.”

  “I—”

  “You told me yourself you haven’t much time to help me. What do you expect me to do? Grovel on my knees in front of the queen and beg for clemency? Ask her to release my father on the grounds that he’s a good man?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “If you didn’t hear Her Majesty, I am a bastard. Not only that, I have no choice but to make as many alliances as I can to help my father. Lord Seaforth said he is Da’s ally.”

  “But—”

  “And you are the son of the Duke of Atholl. I have no doubt your father was not among the welcoming parties in Edinburgh.” She shoved his shoulder. “Was he?”

  Aiden’s cravat was definitely far too tight. “No. With the news of James’s arrival, my father would have barred the gates of Blair Castle.” He looked both ways down the empty passageway, then encouraged her deeper into the embrasure, lowering his voice to a whisper. “But that doesn’t mean I would have. Had I not been aboard the Royal Mary, I would have taken the Atholl army and stood beside your da.”

  She blinked, coughing out a guffaw. “Why did you not tell me that before?”

  “Because certain things are best left unspoken,” he whispered loudly, backing her against the wall. For the love of God, she had to be the bonniest creature he’d ever seen. Aye, he’d dreamed of kissing her while enduring endless nights at sea. And now, as she stamped her foot and grew more indignant, the smoldering fire in his loins burst into a raging flame.

  How could a man resist such temptation? His hands slipped to her waist, so small he could nearly touch his fingertips together.

  Magdalen inhaled sharply. “M’lord?”

  “Aye?” he growled, his tongue slipping across his lips as he enjoyed watching the rise and fall of her breasts with her quick breaths—breasts creamier and more enticing by far than the countess’s.

  “Y-y-you think me bonny?”

  Had she only just realized what he’d said when they’d started down the passageway? “Any man who isn’t blinded by your radiance the moment he walks into a room is utterly blind.”

  When she parted her lips to speak, he silenced her. With a slight dip of his chin, he captured her mouth and plundered it with reckless abandon. He slid his hands up her spine and drew her body into his. Oh yes, this was exactly what he’d been craving since he watched her from across the avenue in Blackwall.

  With a wee moan, the lady turned to butter in his arms, matching his kiss with slow and rhythmic caresses of her tongue as if the harp music still swirled around them. Out of his mind with desire, he thrust his hips forward. Oh yes, yes, yes. Even though through layers of wool, he met soft woman.

  Oh aye.

  His cock was stiffer than the hilt of his sword. Back and forth he ground the ridge of his erection against her skirts as his breathing sped. Each languid swirl of his tongue filled his chest with unquenchable desire and shot directly through his aching loins.

  Heaven help him, if he wasn’t in a public passageway, he’d tug up her skirts and slip between her legs. Yes, yes, yes, this was what he’d been waiting for. Forget the widow, he wanted to be inside Magdalen Keith. He wanted her to be the one to take him to the pinnacle of ecstasy.

  She arched against him. His cock throbbed, leaking seed as he ground himself into her.

  “Lord Aiden?” a woman’s voice said from behind.

  Aiden jerked away, running a hand over his mouth and turning. “Lady Saxonhurst.” Devil have it, he sounded like an adolescent lad.

  The countess smirked. “That rather looks like fun, though I suggest you find a bedchamber to finish swiving the tart.”

  Damn, he knew he should have kept his mouth shut until behind the doors of his apartments. “Forgive—”

  Covering her mouth, Lady Magdalen rushed past them and dashed down the passageway.

  With a guttural chuckle, the widow sauntered forward and cupped his ballocks. Aiden gasped. His cock was about ready to explode—and this woman knew it. His knees buckled and he braced himself against the wall in the nick of time.

  The woman smirked with a teasing chuckle.
“If you tire of the wench, my apartments are on the riverside, third floor.” Then she pressed her breasts against him and smashed a kiss to his lips.

  Aiden stood dumbstruck, every muscle in his body tense. On one hand, he ought to shove the arrogant countess up against the wall and give her exactly what she wanted—experienced or nay; the position of her hand told him all he had to do was tug up her skirts and slip inside. That’s what MacPherson would do without a second thought. On the other hand, the woman Aiden wanted to kiss, the woman he wanted in his arms and every inch of whose succulent flesh he wanted to explore, had fled down the passageway.

  The countess laughed. “You should see your face, Murray. ’Tis priceless.”

  Breaking from the widow’s grasp, he bowed, collecting a modicum of composure. “Before I was interrupted, I intended to apologize for my brazen behavior.”

  “Hmm. It must have been that dreary Celtic harp. I noticed several gentlemen appeared smitten.”

  How on earth could this woman be so utterly wrong about everything? Pursuing the conversation further would only serve to incite Aiden’s ire. Doubtless the countess didn’t care for bastards, especially bonny bastard females. What she didn’t seem to understand was that her cutting remarks only made her appear malicious and very unattractive.

  “If you’ll pardon me, I’d best head for my chamber, m’lady.”

  Lady Saxonhurst made an exaggerated roll of her hand. “Carry on then.”

  “Is everything well, m’lady?” asked Agnes as soon as Maddie entered her chamber.

  Maddie sucked in a deep breath and hid her face in her hands. Agnes might be a servant, but the woman was the closest thing to a mother she had ever known. She couldn’t admit that she’d thoroughly enjoyed kissing Lord Aiden in the window embrasure—that the two occasions she’d kissed him made up the highlight of her miserable life. She couldn’t admit how impassioned she’d grown, how she’d swooned when he wrapped her in his arms and pressed his very hard, masculine body against her.