A Kiss for a Highlander

by Jane Godman

  “Open your eyes. I want to look into them when you succumb,” he murmured, and she did, arching her back. The first spasms hit her in the same instant that Fraser rammed himself hard into her, driving her down into the mattress with his bulk. And Miss Martha Wantage, prim and proper governess, screamed his name over and over as her muscles clenched around him and her hands clasped his buttocks to draw him even deeper.

  The stables at Delacourt Grange were built in three blocks around a central courtyard. Fraser, bored at having nothing to do, had gone there to offer his services to Tom. Jack, determined to regain the strength robbed from him by the redcoat’s bullet, had joined them. He was stripped to the waist, an ugly, very fresh scar marring the smooth sinews of his left shoulder. He lifted and lowered a bag of feed in his left hand. Harry, seated on a barrel, encouraged him to keep going and push his muscles further and harder. Harry’s dog, Beau had stretched himself out nearby and was gnawing contentedly on a marrowbone he had inveigled from Mrs. Glover.

  “Sir Clive is with my father,” Harry said, pulling the corners of his mouth down and thrusting out his chest in a passable impression of their neighbour. “I’m sure he only came to see Rosie, but she hid in her bedchamber and told Mrs. Glover to say she couldn’t find her. He is boring my father with talk of the Jacobites.” Having struck up a close friendship with Fraser, Harry had promptly changed allegiance and become a devoted follower of Bonnie Prince Charlie. “He said the prince’s retreat has been marked by a series of skirmishes. Although he won the victory at Falkirk, King George has sent the Duke of Cumberland deep into Scotland in pursuit, and his tactics of haranguing the Jacobites seems to be paying off. Sir Clive said that both the prince and the duke were converging on a point close to Inverness. Is that not close to your home, Fraser?”

  “It is indeed, lad. And if this nirlie wee feller who calls himself Lord St. Anton will just get a move on with these exercises, ’tis where I’ll be headed as soon as I’m able.”

  “Damn it, man, stop your whining.” Jack laughed, showing even, white teeth. “I’m as weak as a kitten.”

  “Give over. It is only a few short weeks since I took the king’s bullet out of you. These things take time,” Tom said.

  “Och, get it lifted, Lord Jack or, so help me, I’ll gi’ ye such a skelp,” Fraser said, with considerably less sympathy.

  Beau looked up and gave a single warning bark. Fraser followed the dog’s gaze. Sir Clive was standing to one side of the stable block, watching them and listening to their conversation. Unsure of how much he had heard, Fraser cursed under his breath, warning the others into silence. Jack bowed slightly in the visitor’s direction before slipping his shirt back over his head, and Harry rose to busy himself with the currycomb. Fraser grabbed up a bucket of feed.

  “Will I see to Hercules now, Mister Drury?” he asked Tom, using the Derbyshire accent in which Martha had coached him.

  He had a feeling it was already too late, however. From the look on his face, Fraser suspected that Sir Clive now knew exactly who “my cousin Jack” was. He was also sure that Sir Clive also now knew exactly what he must do to ensure that no dangerous Jacobite fugitive from justice would be able to upset his carefully laid plans for Miss Rosie Delacourt’s future. With a sinking feeling, he watched the pompous figure ride away.

  “To the house with you, my fine lord,” he said, turning to Jack. “I’m thinking ’tis a few plans we’ll need to be making.”

  When they entered the doors of Delacourt Grange, however, Rosie came hurtling down the stairs in a manner that would have earned her one of Martha’s sternest rebukes.

  “Is it true? Harry told me Sir Clive saw you…that he knows who you are!”

  Seeing the brief expression of anguish on Jack’s face, Fraser answered for him. “Aye, lass, it looks that way. We’ve lingered overlong and must soon be on our way.”

  “You will go and leave me here all alone?” She turned to Jack, her expression forlorn.

  “I suspect that will not be so for any great length of time, Rosie. I would be very surprised if you were not quickly married.”

  She shook her head. “No, I will not marry.”

  “Ah, Rosie. Don’t say that. I could not bear it if you should feel that way because of me.”

  “I love you, Jack.” A little smile trembled on her lips, and not wanting to intrude, Fraser moved away. “You know that. And—loving you—how could I agree to marry another?”

  “Would that I could ask you.”

  “You can. ’Tis very easy. You have only to say the words.” She smiled up at him. “Ask me, Jack.”

  He took her face between his hands with infinite gentleness. “Rosie, I promise that whatever comes our way, I will return and make you my wife. Will you pledge to wait for me?”

  A single tear trickled down her cheek, but she continued to smile mistily up at him. “If it takes forever, Jack, I will wait for you,” she vowed.

  “You have my word, Rosie. And I have yours.” Jack’s voice cracked on the words. “Now all I have to do is convince your father that I am not the worst villain in Christendom for my part in this. Then, Fraser, we will do as you wish and make our plans.”

  The whole family sat down to dinner together to celebrate Rosie and Jack’s betrothal. Mr. Delacourt, while he could not profess to be happy at the circumstances, liked and admired the man his daughter had chosen. He and Jack had already discussed ways that it might be possible to secure the king’s pardon. The one area on which they could not agree was the final, climactic battle which was approaching. If Jack fought in that, it was hard to believe that King George II could ever forgive him. Despite Mr. Delacourt’s gloomy pronouncements on the subject, the meal was an occasion for laughter and conversation. Although a touch of sadness did invade the proceedings, for the time of parting was now upon them.

  Martha wondered if anyone else present might suspect that her body had recently undergone a remarkable transformation. Could anyone looking at her see that she now existed in a state in which every minute was spent in tightly wound tension and apprehension, because her nerve endings had been awakened to passion beyond belief? Fraser knew it, of course. How could he not? He had been there when she cried out in ecstasy for him. He had felt her internal muscles grip and hold him as if she would never let him go. She forced her eyes across the table to him now and saw that he was watching her face. He grinned at her, enjoying her torment. He was letting her know he was aware that, even with these people around them, all she could think about was him. About how she wanted him to rip her clothes off and force her thighs apart, then bury himself hard and deep inside her. Deep inside her. She wanted to slip underneath him, to climb on top of him, to let him take her from behind as he bent her over the back of the nearest chair. She wanted him slow and gentle, then hard and fast. She just wanted him. Over and over.

  “Is that not so, Martha, my dear?” She realised, in shock, that Cousin Henry was addressing her directly, and she had no idea what he had said. Luckily, Rosie interrupted before she was forced to betray her inattention.

  “But, Papa, I really do not see why it would be unseemly for me to go to Scotland with Jack now. Not when we are to be married anyway.”

  Mr. Delacourt rolled his eyes at Martha, and she endeavoured to explain the situation on his behalf. “Rosie, you know that you cannot be married before Jack leaves for the border, because to do so would obviously alert the clergyman who was asked to conduct the ceremony to his true identity. And you cannot travel unmarried with him into Scotland because of the harm that would do to your reputation.”

  “I don’t care about my reputation.” A stubborn expression descended over her pretty features.

  “No, but I do.” Jack reached for her hand. “You will remain here under your father’s roof until I am able to return and lead you to the altar in the conventional way as a free man, my sweet.”

 
; “But that could take years,” she exclaimed. “In the meantime, you will run off with some bonnie Scots lassie and leave me here to pine away of unrequited love. I just know it.” It took all of Jack’s considerable powers of persuasion to placate her.

  “Word is that the prince is encamped close to Inverness,” Mr. Delacourt said, effectively changing the subject. “There was a failed attempt at Moy to capture him and deliver him up to the Duke of Cumberland as a prisoner. It seems inevitable now that the decisive battle will take place near where he is currently established at Culloden House.”

  “And I must go there before the battle commences.” Fraser’s deep tones cut across any other conversation, silencing them all. “My home is near Culloden. I’ll not have my people fighting for a cause that is mine while I hide away here in England. I must go as soon as Jack is able to leave.”

  Martha stared at him in horror. She knew, of course, that he had to go. February had passed and each day spent here brought danger closer. But the reality of his going suddenly hit her like a blow to her stomach. Fraser met her gaze with a question in his eyes. Before either of them could speak, the door flew open and Mrs. Glover rushed in, her face red and her eyes wide in terror.

  “Soldiers!” she gasped, pointing a shaking finger in the direction of the window. “Dozens of them…coming across the fields.”

  “Get up into the attic. Both of you. Jack, you know where the hidden room is. Stay there until I come for you,” Tom said to Jack and Fraser. When the big Scotsman didn’t move, he gave him a shove. “Now. Go.” Reluctantly, Fraser followed Jack out into the hall and up the stairs. He turned back with his foot on the first step.

  “Martha?” She paused in the midst of the flurry of activity around her and looked at him through the open door. “Take care.”

  “I will.” She gave him a quick, reassuring smile, and he followed Jack. Martha turned back into the chaos of the dining room and drew in a deep breath. “Rosie, Mrs. Glover, quickly, help me to clear Jack’s and Fraser’s dishes so that there is no trace of them here at the table.” They had just completed that task when a heavy pounding on the door made them all start.

  “What is the meaning of this intrusion, Captain Overton?” Mr. Delacourt asked, with a touch of frost in his mild voice when Mrs. Glover ushered the captain into the room. “You have searched my property once. Surely that was sufficient to assure yourself that I am not harbouring a dangerous criminal. Must my family and I also be interrupted as we eat our dinner while you and what appears to be half the county’s militia pound on our door?”

  Captain Overton’s manner was distinctly less conciliatory this time. “Your pardon, sir. But I have received information from a very reliable source that, not only have you been sheltering Lord St. Anton since the battle at Swarkestone Bridge, you have also had another gentleman—none other than a dangerous highlander—staying here as well.”

  “Was it by any chance Sir Clive Sheridan who gave you this information?” Rosie asked quietly. The captain, noticing her for the first time, blinked as this vision of loveliness smiled sweetly up at him. “I only ask because I think Sir Clive may be a little put out that I have not responded to his advances.” She lowered her eyes shyly. “I think perhaps this might be his way of avenging himself upon my family. I am only sorry that your time has been wasted on this nonsense, Captain.”

  Resolutely, the captain turned away from the wide grey eyes that were uplifted to his at the end of this speech. “My orders are to search the house and the grounds again, sir. You and your family will oblige me by remaining in this room until my investigation is complete.”

  “Well, how long will you be?” Harry asked. “I have to walk my dog each evening. He will be most restless if I keep him waiting.”

  “And I have matters to attend to in my own house,” Martha said, attempting to infuse a touch of impatience into her voice. “This is really most inconvenient.”

  “Stop wasting my time!” Captain Overton’s voice cracked out sharply, stunning them all into silence. Beau gave a low, warning growl. “And shut that hound up unless you want me to do it with my boot. Let us get one thing settled. I have not come here to negotiate with you. My men will search your property, and they will take as long about it as is necessary. Now, if you will excuse me…” He gave a stiff little bow and backed out of the room.

  Rosie exhaled slowly. “Detestable man,” she muttered.

  “He is following his orders, my dear,” Mr. Delacourt said.

  “I meant Sir Clive. Will they search the attics, Tom?”

  “Unless they are completely stupid—and I don’t see any reason to doubt Overton’s intellect—they will. But Jack and Fraser are concealed in the hidden room behind the attics. They should be safe. We will all just have to wait it out.”

  “Should be?” she exclaimed, twisting her hands in her lap. “Oh, I can’t bear it.”

  “Well, you must,” Martha said calmly. “We all must. Harry, isn’t there a deck of cards in the bureau over there? Let us play a hand or two to while away the time.”

  “Oh, Martha, must you always be so cold and practical?” Rosie wailed. “I don’t know how you can remain so calm and unfeeling. But then I suppose ’tis easy for you. After all, you do not have someone you love in danger up in the attic.”

  Martha regarded her steadily over the top of her spectacles for a moment. Rosie could not have hurt her more if she had flayed her face open with a horsewhip. But Rosie couldn’t know that Martha wanted nothing more in that moment than to find an outlet for her own feelings. She longed for the luxury that Rosie had of allowing the gnawing panic that consumed her to show openly. A razor-sharp sword of fear sliced through her resolve and tried to shred her outward composure. All she could think of was that Fraser was in danger and she could do nothing to help him. The thought played on a persistent, agonising loop in her mind. The hand that held the pack of cards shook, and she lowered it quickly.

  She must concentrate on making everything appear normal. They all must. Things were bad enough anyway, but if Captain Overton glimpsed any nervousness in them, he would rip the house apart. That was what she could do to help Fraser. She could make this a scene of normality so that the captain’s suspicions were lulled. Pushing her spectacles up her nose in the gesture she always used to steady her nerves, she smiled at Rosie with an attempt at reassurance.

  “Indeed, I am so very fortunate to have no man to care for and worry about, am I not, Rosie?”

  Slipping back into the role of demure old maid that had stood her in good stead for so long, she picked up the cards. With a hand that was now steady, she began to shuffle. Turning to Harry, who was casting increasingly troubled glances toward the ceiling, she said gently, “You decide. What shall we play?”

  Chapter Eleven

  The hour was well advanced, and they had been yawning over the cards on and off for several hours. The footsteps of the soldiers pounding through the rooms around and above them punctuated their conversation.

  “Why are they still here? They have checked each room over and over,” Rosie asked.

  “To make us sweat,” Tom said. “They are showing us that they can stay here all night if need be.”

  “Do you have your gun with you, Tom?” Rosie threw down a card at random.

  “If you are going to play at all, play properly,” Harry said reproachfully, scooping up her discard and displaying a winning hand.

  “Yes, I have carried my old flintlock with me since Swarkestone.” Tom pointed to where he had placed it on top of the bureau near the door. “When the Jacobites invaded, I was worried that deserters might turn to robbery and looting. I thought it best to stay armed in case I needed to defend the household.”

  Rosie studied the gun with interest. “Do you keep it loaded at all times?”

  “Yes, but of course it carries only one shot. It is probably more use to me as
a cudgel.”

  “Why all these questions about the gun, Rosie? It is not as if Tom is going to use it.” Mr. Delacourt raised his brows at his daughter’s flushed face.

  “I just wondered if Tom would be able to go to Jack’s aid should the soldiers discover him.” She tossed her head defiantly.

  “I would imagine that, if it came to a fight, Fraser might be of more help with his dirk. We must hope that no such eventuality occurs, however, since it would inevitably result in Jack and Fraser’s arrest,” Mr. Delacourt commented, and silence reigned once more.

  At long last, Captain Overton reappeared in the doorway. He was clearly vexed to be forced into another admission of failure, and his eyes were narrowed as they scanned the room. It seemed to Martha that the captain’s gaze rested on her face for just a fraction longer than necessary. Telling herself that she was being foolish, she willed herself to return his stare calmly. Soon—pray God—this nightmare would end and she would be safe in Fraser’s arms again.

  “My men and I will leave you now, sir,” Captain Overton was saying, with a curt bow to Mr. Delacourt. “I give you good night, ladies.”

  When the front door had closed behind him, Rosie bounded up from her chair. “I must go up and tell Jack they have gone.”

  “Not so fast, Rosie,” Martha warned. “Let us be quite certain they are gone.”

  Tom twitched the curtain aside and watched the soldiers depart. “To say there were dozens of soldiers was an exaggeration on Mrs. Glover’s part. There are mayhap fifteen of them altogether.”