by Amy Jarecki
Oh merciful mercy, he’d used her given name. It rolled with a deep burr like a brook spilling over a waterfall on a lazy summer’s day. In no way could she resist an embrace that spoke more than words could possibly express. He pulled her tightly against his chest, the warmth from his body sending soothing tingles along Charlotte’s spine while her breasts swelled, craving more friction. Allowing herself to rest her head atop that very hard, very protective chest, she closed her eyes and inhaled the spicy masculinity of his scent. If only she could remain cocooned in his arms forever. “Why does this feel so right, when I know it is wrong?”
“Because only God in heaven tells us right from wrong. He kens what’s in our hearts—not kings or queens or government officers.” Hugh lifted her chin with the crook of his forefinger. “Lord Almighty, you’re more beautiful than a rose in spring.”
Charlotte opened her mouth to speak, but before she could utter a sound, Hugh’s gaze dropped to her lips. With her gasp, he pulled her tighter and gently plied her mouth with tantalizing brushes of his lips. Her heart hammered so erratically, Charlotte swooned in his arms as she fervently tried to match his kissing.
Hugh reacted to her efforts with a low growl, as he slipped his tongue inside her mouth and plied her with a tad more pressure.
Every inch of her skin grew alive as she closed her eyes. Oh how blissful his touch, taking her to a place of rapture she never would have dreamed possible. Helpless to resist him, Charlotte gave her all, matching each swirl of the tongue, each tiny taste.
With a throaty sigh, he trailed kisses along her jaw, and Charlotte shivered, reveling in pure ecstasy as he continued down her neck. “I’ve missed you ever so much,” his deep voice rumbled ever so softly. Merely his tenor made her pulse race—her mind swoon.
“And I you,” she replied breathlessly. Charlotte had so much to say and so many questions, but by the stars, she could scarcely gather a single thought. “Ah…I heard your father signed the oath.”
He nuzzled into her tresses. “Aye, though not without difficulty.”
“But it is done now.” She smoothed her fingers across his chin—shaved so close it felt like Holland cloth. “How long do you plan to stay?”
“A fortnight if I’m lucky.” A feral growl pealed from his throat. “I shouldn’t be here at all.”
Oh, how the scent of leather and spice made her insides ignite with fire. “Mr. MacGregor said you’re staying at a guesthouse nearby.”
“Aye, in Inverlochy—far enough away from Fort William’s dragoons.”
“Do you have business affairs here?”
He brushed a wisp of her hair away. Blast, she knew after riding in the coach she’d have flyaways. “Aye.” His eyes grew darker and his tongue tapped the corner of his mouth. “Serious affairs, lass.”
“May I inquire as to the nature of your, ah, dealings?”
He twirled one of her damnable flyaways around his finger, his warm breath caressing her forehead. “Aye, miss.” The treacle in his dark eyes glimmered as his gaze met hers. “The object of my affairs is standing before me at this very moment.”
Chapter Twelve
Hugh’s inner thighs shuddered as he tried to control the torturous throbbing beneath his sporran. Clenching his bum cheeks didn’t help either. God’s teeth, if only Farley and his wife weren’t waiting outside, he could take his time and savor holding Charlotte in his arms. Her full breasts plying his chest were practically enough to send him to the ragged edge of madness. He’d never wanted a woman this much in his life, never experienced a body so supple, a woman whose half-lidded gaze told him how much more she craved from him—how ready she was to experience the heights of passion. Och aye, and Hugh was the man to take her there.
God Almighty, he was hard enough to spill right now.
He sucked in a deep inhale, clearing his head ever so slightly. On the other hand, it was probably best for the lass to have a guardian angel beyond the doors.
Charlotte smiled, her breath coming in short gasps. Aye, Hugh had seen desire written on a woman’s face before, and the focus of her violet eyes upon him made it all the more difficult to maintain control over the deep fire raging in his ballocks.
There wasn’t a padded seat in the chapel, but the altar would do. How could God object to a love as pure and unfettered as theirs? Hugh licked his lips as he contemplated his harebrained idea.
Christ. She’s no alehouse tart, and I’ll not treat her like one.
“Hugh?” she uttered his given name for the first time.
The seductive breathlessness of her voice reignited his deep yearning to possess her in a carnal way. “Aye?” he rasped.
“I want to see you again.”
A low growl rumbled in his throat. “Rest assured I’ll find a way to hold you in my arms every day I am here.”
“But how?” She bit her bottom lip. “’Tis terribly embarrassing to admit…ah…but my father has given his permission to Doctor Munro to court me.”
Though aware of this fact, a vise clamped around Hugh’s heart as well as his gut. He abhorred the thought of anyone placing their hands on his woman. If the physician had been nearby, Hugh would gladly challenge the cur to a duel of swords. He forced himself to lower his arms and step away. God’s bones, she wasn’t his—not yet. “Have you enjoyed Munro’s…ah…affections?” Simply uttering the man’s name made the blood pulsing through his veins turn to ice.
The curls at her temples bounced with her shaking head. “I’ve repeatedly told him no, but the physician is awfully persistent. And then…” Her eyes shifted aside.
“Yes?”
“My father insists it’s a good match. But I—I.” She cupped her face in her hands and murmured a sob. “My life is such an utter mess.”
Hugh stepped nearer and again wrapped his arms around her—a wee bit less passionately this time. Damn, he was being selfish wooing the lass. Aye, he might be the heir to the chieftainship of Glencoe, but presently he lived in a longhouse with a dirt floor and nothing but a few ramshackle pieces of furniture and a wee hearth with a rickety grill to cook upon.
He smoothed his hand up and down her back. “You are a fine woman—a delicate lady bred for a life of privilege. Would you prefer it if I left you be?” He felt as if he’d taken a dagger to his own heart, but Hugh forced himself to continue. “A man like Munro can support you in grand style—mayhap in a city like Edinburgh.” The last place Hugh wanted to live was behind the walls of a city where humanity crammed into tiny apartments and tossed their shite out the window when the bell rang at one after the nooning hour.
But Hugh wanted her so goddamned badly, he was willing to risk everything to hear her confess the desire he knew she held in her heart. Too often their attraction had connected as if lightning arced between them. Never in his life had he experienced such a powerful need for a woman and, by God, he’d seen enough to know she shared the same passion. He held his breath and watched as he opened his arms and allowed Charlotte to step back.
She tipped up her chin, a look of determination in her eyes—so bloody beautiful, Hugh had to force himself not to place his palms to her cheeks and shower her with adoring kisses. Before she spoke, Charlotte inhaled deeply. “No. I meant what I said—I do want to see you again, ever so much,” her voice trailed off as she crossed her arms and turned her back as if troubled. “But I cannot ask you to take such considerable risks. No, I could not live with myself if something happened to you because of me.”
Jesus, the woman feared for his safety? Hugh placed his palm on her shoulder and kneaded. “You needn’t worry about me, lass.”
“My father is a reasonable man, but even he has his limits. And the times are so perilous. Papa is desperately writing to London every day to encourage the king’s advisors to remain at peace, but there are officers in the fort who would undermine my father at their first opportunity.”
Hugh squeezed his fingers. “Are you afraid?”
“For you?” Charlotte faced
him. “Most definitely. You met Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton. He’s a snake, that one.”
“I recall.” His eyebrows waggled with his grin. “But a man like Hamilton is not to be feared. He’s the one who is afraid. I’ve seen it in other men. His own hatred eats away his insides.” Hugh reached for the lovely hand. Bless it, the softness of her fingers nearly made him groan with his need to have her hands upon his flesh. “What harm would it cause if Hamilton found out about us?” His voice grew huskier with his every word.
The corners of her mouth pulled down. “I fear he’d find a way to use our alliance against my father. And Papa would be forced to do something rash—mayhap even send me away.”
“For loving a Highlander?” He’d best tread with care or he’d lose Charlotte before he’d had a chance to woo her. Lord, the government party grew more unreasonable by the day. He led her to a pew and gestured to the seat. “Your father would do that?”
She took a seat and scooted along the pew. “If provoked by that dastard. Some of the men are haters and feed on the rubbish spewing from Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton’s mouth. I cannot even allow myself to consider what he’d try to do to you as well.”
Hugh rubbed his hand over his throat. They’d find an excuse to send him to the gallows especially if anyone figured out he’d been a guest in Fort William’s pit—and all for loving a lass who was supposed to be in love with a physician. “Och, I did not come here to worry about a pack of miserable officers. I’ll find a way to see you, no matter what.” He slid onto the pew beside the lass and laced his fingers through hers.
She squeezed his hand. “It grows worse. I take the evening meal at the officer’s table, and you wouldn’t believe the horrible things they discuss.”
“Like?”
Closing her eyes, she drew a hand over her mouth. “I cannot utter it.”
“Let me guess.” He leaned close to her ear, nearly losing his thought for her heady fragrance attacking his senses. “They’re none too fond of Highlanders or the Highland ways,” he managed in a low burr.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“They think all Catholics should abandon their religion and become Protestant because that’s what the king commands.”
“Yes.”
“And I imagine they have nothing good to say about Clan Iain Abrach of Glencoe because our lands border with Argyll and Breadalbane.” Hugh closed his eyes and inhaled. God, he’d heard all of these distorted biases a hundred times or more when taunted by the guards during his incarceration in the bloody pit.
She nodded, moving her hand over her heart. “The Campbells have the king’s ear—and more so the Master of Stair.”
A lump tightened in Hugh’s gut. “Because they are earls.”
“Yes, and they have embraced the Protestant faith.” She cringed again.
“Do you think that’s important?” Hugh asked, holding her hand tighter, lifting her fingers to his lips.
“I believe an individual’s relationship with God is personal. ’Tis different for everyone.” She leaned into his shoulder, a warm and loving gesture. “I know ’tis blasphemous for me to say, but I do not believe a person’s religion can change depending on who occupies the throne.”
A slow breath of air whistled through Hugh’s lips. “If only you were in John Dalrymple’s place as Master of Stair, the times mightn’t be so precarious.”
She chuckled. “If only a woman could be allowed to hold such an esteemed office.”
Hugh nuzzled through ringlets and the lace of her bonnet, and pressed his lips to her ear. “In all the world there is only one woman who has ever stirred my blood the way you have done, Charlotte. Let us speak of this no more and enjoy our moments together.”
“Yes.” Turning her head, she inclined her lips toward his. “I shall think of the evil lurking outside this sanctuary no longer.”
As her eyelids fluttered closed, Hugh closed the gap and captured her mouth. A very fast learner, Charlotte returned his kiss with a wee moan while joining his tongue in a magical dance. It only took a wee tug to puller her onto his lap. She nestled atop him as if made to be there, combing her fingers through his hair. The soft cushion of her buttocks molded against his hardened thighs through layers of skirts and wool. Hugh slid his hand down to her hem and held it there, the idea of running his hand up a silken leg made him grow harder than the bronze cross atop the altar.
God’s bones, the damned cross shining across the nave is worse than an accusing glare from Ma.
Hugh closed his eyes and deepened his kiss while letting the hem drop.
Taking in a deep breath, Charlotte rested her forehead against his. “I am powerless to resist you.”
He slipped his hand across the back of her sultry hips. “Me as well—more than you know.”
“I go to the market on Wednesdays. Will you be there?”
Hell, it was only Monday. “Aye.” He winked. “And I’ll find a way to steal a kiss on the morrow as well.”
“But—”
He didn’t let her object, sealing his promise with another claiming kiss.
***
Charlotte’s fingers trembled as she tried to embroider perfect heather blooms on a kerchief she’d started to make for Hugh. Her insides still fluttered from the titillating liaison she’d had with the handsome Highlander in the chapel, though she hadn’t seen him today as he’d promised. Regardless of her mild disappointment, she would venture to the market on the morrow and he’d definitely agreed to be there. Surely he would have had difficulty arranging another meeting so soon—not to mention persuading Emma to play along this time would have taken nothing less than a direct order from the colonel.
“You’ve appeared in good humor the past two days,” said Papa from his writing desk.
Charlotte sat upright, her eyes popping wide. Does he suspect something? One of her shoulders ticked up as she feigned a bored expression. “Truly? One must make the best of Scotland’s long winters, I suppose.”
“Well, ’tis good to see someone happy in this damnable fort.”
Charlotte gasped at the creak of a floorboard beyond the door. “What was that?”
Papa shrugged. “A servant, no doubt.”
True, it could have even been Emma climbing the stairs to make ready for Charlotte to change into her nightdress. But then, Emma usually used the servant’s stairs at the rear of the house. Oh well, if Papa wasn’t bothered, she’d let it pass.
Reaching for a missive, Father perused the letter, his head shaking along with a low grumble.
“What is it?” She leaned forward as if she could peer over his shoulder from across the room. Papa kept a tight lip about the missives that came from his superiors in Edinburgh and London—he even locked all of his correspondence in an oaken chest that sat in the center of the sideboard. As an additional measure, he carried the only key around his neck. Charlotte kept her nose out of his affairs. All her life, he’d made it clear that as an officer of the crown, he had a duty to keep confidential all information, disseminating details only when necessary to inform his subordinates of information consummate with their rank.
He frowned and folded the letter. “’Tis nothing to concern you, my dear.”
“Is the Master of Stair happy with the number of clan chieftains who pledged the oath?”
“I doubt the Master would be happy if half the clans under my jurisdiction pulled up roots and sailed for the Americas.”
“Why?” Charlotte set aside her embroidery. “Does he want to claim the land for himself?”
A rueful snort blew through Papa’s nose. “I do believe that man would prefer to see sheep take over the Highlands.”
“How awful. I do hope you are jesting.”
“I wish I were.” Da carried a handful of missives to the sideboard and opened the box.
“Is there anything you can do to make him see reason? Has he ever been up here?”
“Unfortunately, no. The Master relies on reports from his cabinet min
isters who are all peers with vast estates. He even listens less and less to the pleadings of the Scottish Parliament, preferring Breadalbane and Argyll who have established residences in London to bend his ear.”
Charlotte had heard of the two Campbell earls—they had a great many enemies, and Hugh’s clan was in the middle of it. “Are they not to be trusted?”
Papa locked the strongbox and sighed. “They are powerful men, intent on growing their wealth. If I’ve learned nothing during my two assignments in Fort William, the clans and the men who lead them are more interested in their own lands and affairs than anything else. Anything that will help them increase their own wealth and power is appealing.”
“But isn’t that the way throughout Britain?” Charlotte asked with a sarcastic edge to her voice. “Is there an earl in the kingdom who is a true philanthropist?”
Scratching his grey-stubbled chin, Papa shook his head. “I cannot think of a one.”
Though not surprising, the news left Charlotte unsettled, and she resorted to rephrasing her first question. “So, if the Master of Stair’s missives reflect displeasure with the Highland chieftain’s support for King William, is he planning retaliation? Is that why the number of troops at the fort have doubled?”
Holding up his palms, Papa crossed the room. “You are too perceptive, my dear—such observations must be kept mum.” He pulled Charlotte to her feet, looking a tad disconcerted. “Let us say he’s not taking any chances. If my letters requesting amicable encounters are heeded, the growing army in this region will only serve as a reminder that we will not tolerate an uprising like the one led by Bonnie Dundee. The king wants to make it utterly clear that all action against his sovereignty will be met with a wall of force.”
Her stomach fluttered with hope. “So, those who signed the oath are indemnified?”
“I suppose they are, as long as they keep their noses clean.” Papa led her to the door. “But I do believe it is time for you to retire, my dear. You mustn’t let this worry you in the slightest. This is army business and I’m doing everything possible to maintain peace.”