The Fearless Highlander (Highland Defender Book 1)

by Amy Jarecki

  Not a servant moved, not a word was whispered while she moved the bow back and forth across the strings, her fingers never pausing. The notes rose painfully high and woefully low, louder and louder the song grew, until all at once a note rang out so low it could hardly be heard. After one last refrain of gut-wrenching sadness, complete and utter silence filled the hall.

  A tear leaking from his eye, Sir Robert led the applause. “Did you ken she could make a fiddle sing like that?”

  Hugh shook his head. “’Tis the first time I’ve ever heard her play.”

  ***

  After Charlotte had come down from the gallery, Hugh was already gone. She’d politely excused herself and was met in her chamber by Alice.

  The young maid stood and curtsied. “I hope you don’t mind. Mrs. MacCallum assigned me to be your chambermaid whilst you’re visiting Castle Stalker.”

  Charlotte smiled and took a seat on the vanity stool in front of the mirror. “I’m delighted. Mrs. MacCallum is too somber and I fear the others are worried I’ll pull a pistol from my sleeve and shoot them.”

  Alice removed a hairpin. “Do you have one?”

  “A pistol?” Charlotte chuckled. “Heavens, no.”

  “How long do you figure you’ll be here?”

  Well aware any information about Hugh that managed to seep through the castle walls could result in his capture—or worse, she shrugged. “Not sure. So many supplies are needed, it could be a long time before we’re ready to go back.”

  “And you’re planning to return to the mountains with him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?” Now that Alice had removed all the pins, she took a brush to Charlotte’s tresses. “You do not need to hide.”

  “I suppose that’s the way with love.”

  Alice sighed. “I kent there had to be a fairy tale in the making.”

  “Yes, though presently it seems more like a nightmare.”

  A loud bang came from the next room. Gasping, Charlotte whipped around toward the noise. “What was that?”

  “Not sure. ’Tis Mr. MacIain’s chamber. Would you like me to go rap on his door?”

  Hugh was in the next room? Charlotte’s heart skipped a beat, though she feigned calmness. “No—that should not be necessary.” She stood. “Please help me out of my gown.”

  Alice proved as efficient at unlacing as she was at lacing, and soon left Charlotte standing alone in her chamber, wrapped in the red dressing gown.

  All the while there had been more noise—thuds, as if Hugh were pounding his fist into the mattress—or the furniture—or Lord knew what else.

  A suppressed yowl rumbled through the walls. Was he hurt? Would he be all right?

  Charlotte wrung her hands and paced.

  Would he want my succor? He doesn’t seem to appreciate anything I do. He hated my violin. I just know it. I cannot do anything to please him.

  The yowl came again, wrenching her heart.

  Should I return to Fort William and leave him to pick up the pieces while I wait in my father’s house like a hypocrite?

  She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead.

  Dear Lord, why did this have to happen?

  Muffled grunts of pain seeped through the walls. Charlotte could take no more. Tightening the belt around her waist, she tiptoed to the next door and hesitated. If she knocked, he’d send her away for certain. With a burst of courage, she pulled up on the latch and slipped inside.

  Lit only by a candle on the mantel, Charlotte blinked taking in the furnishings. Hugh lay curled on the bed, his fists hiding his face. His chest bare, he wore only a plaid around his waist. Tension radiated off him as if his every muscle were pulled taut. Deep growls came from his throat—expressing the agony she knew twisted his insides until they could not withstand another turn.

  “Hugh,” she whispered, keeping her back against the door.

  Shuddering he looked up. “Leave me.”

  She moved closer, crossing her arms over her chest. “I want to help.”

  He sat up and slammed his fist into the bed. “Can you not see I need no help?”

  “Please tell me what you want me to do. It seems my every action pushes you further away.”

  He shook his head.

  “Please.”

  “Do you want to take on your father’s army? Do you want to march against William of Orange?”

  She bit her bottom lip and closed the distance until she stood before him. “I want to make you happy.”

  He didn’t meet her gaze. “I fear a man with a black heart is incapable of happiness.”

  “But we have each other. Isn’t that a place to start rebuilding?” Reaching out, she touched his cheek.

  Hugh pulled away so fiercely, Charlotte recoiled as if he’d issued a slap. “Do you hate me?”

  “Yes—no.” Hugh stood and marched to the hearth. “It is not you I hate.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “Can you not understand?” He remained facing the fire. “I have a clan looking to me for guidance. I have nothing, not even one piece of silver I can give you. Christ, Charlotte, you are a well-bred lass who’s lived in comfort all her life. I cannot ask you to camp in the hills like a wild animal, and your willingness to do so only serves to make me feel like the basest scoundrel who ever walked the Highlands.”

  She clutched her arms tighter around her ribcage. “So you’re pushing me away because you think I cannot take the hard times?”

  “Dammit, Charlotte I cannot give you the attention you need when I have so many other mouths to feed.”

  “And I am consuming precious food that could sustain someone else.” Dejected, she moved to the bed and sat. “Someone who does not have the option of a warm house inside a fortress like Fort William?”

  “Exactly.”

  She again clutched her arms across her ribcage, curling over. “And here I thought you loved me. I thought we had something special. Bless it, you asked me to be your wife and I accepted because I fell in love with a man who saw what he wanted and let nothing stand in his way until he got it. I saw a man of power and strength, a man that could pull through anything.”

  She stood and skirted toward the door.

  Hugh faced her. “Charlotte, I—”

  “No. I see now that I was wrong. You are going to allow this tragedy to eat away at your insides until there is nothing left.” With a stamp of her foot, she dashed the distance to the door. Grasping the latch, she pulled it open.

  Hugh’s gigantic hand clapped against the wood and slammed it shut. “If you think I’m giving up on us so easily, you are sorely mistaken.” His lips brushed her ear, his voice but a low growl.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Catching Charlotte’s scent, Hugh scarcely contained himself from ripping off the dressing gown she had cinched tight around her waist. Her back still to him while his hands trapped her against the door, his cock thrust against her soft buttocks as he lowered his mouth to her ear. “You want a broken man for a husband? A man who can give you nothing—not even a farthing?” Heat rose up the back of his neck. Christ, he hated himself as much as he hated the disaster he’d been thrust into. “It is my responsibility to care for my clan. It is my responsibility to keep them alive while God Almighty pummels us with the worst snows the Highlands have ever witnessed.”

  “You think I need nice things?” Holy Mary, the woman bucked against him, shoving her pillow-soft buttocks into his erection. “I have slept on a dirt floor for you. I have tended your mother using my own petticoat. I. Have. Endured taunts and threats from those people you have sworn to protect.” She jutted against him harder this time—her hips pure torture to Hugh’s resolve. “Can you not push it through that thick skull of yours that all of it has been for you? I would give you my last crumb—my last thread of clothing because you are my world. Wherever you are, that is where I want to be.”

  “Char—”

  She spun around and faced him, tears glistening on he
r cheeks—so goddamned bonny, his thighs shuddered. “If it would ease your burden to send me back to my father I will go, but know I will only do so out of my love for you.”

  Words caught in the back of Hugh’s throat. He was such a goddamned dolt. He clutched her cheeks between his palms dipping his head to take what he’d coveted since she’d walked into the room. His mouth fell over hers with a deep, carnal moan. Thrusting his tongue between her lips, he slid his hands down her back and pulled her tight until her rounded breasts molded into his chest, her mons jutted against him and a deep moan erupted from her throat. How she could turn molten in his arms after he’d acted so barbarously, he couldn’t fathom, but there she was, melting in his arms, and by God he would worship her this night. For days he had fought his urge to bare that creamy white skin and savor her long silken legs as they wrapped around him.

  Every time he looked at her in the shieling, it tied him in knots. If he touched her, everyone watched. If he kissed her, the heat of Og’s stare alone was enough to stifle even the most ardent of desires.

  “I need you,” he whispered. “More than the air I breathe, I need you.”

  She swirled her tight little hips right where he craved her most. “Then take me.”

  Mayhap the lass needed this as much as he. By the naughty pressure of her mons against him, he needed no more encouragement. With a rumbling moan he swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed. Settling into the pillows, Charlotte’s hair sprawled everywhere like a temptress’ mane. Lord, she even lifted her arms above her head with a heavy-lidded stare. She was ripe and ready, and God knew his entire being had ached to take her for far too long.

  He leaned over her, supporting his weight on his arms. “You are mine, Charlotte.”

  She threaded her fingers through his hair, her lips shimmering with moistness. “I am. Truly, I am.”

  No, he could no longer deny the lust thrumming through his blood or his deep-seated desire to bury himself inside her. Hugh’s breathing sped as he untied her sash and spread open the dressing gown, revealing a crisp linen nightdress. “When you came down for the evening meal I wanted to throw you over my shoulder and haul you above stairs.”

  “Mm,” she chuckled, untying the ribbon and opening the neck of her nightdress. “I thought you were upset to see me clad in such finery when…”

  He knew what she meant, though glad she hadn’t uttered it. He captured her pink lips with a searing kiss. Presently, Hugh didn’t want to think about anything but Charlotte—stripping her bare and running his tongue over every inch of her flesh. “My mind ran amuck with jealousy. Did you see the way Sir Robert looked at you?”

  “Sir Robert?” She smoothed magical fingers over his shoulders. “Why on earth would you be jealous of him? He’s not even yet a man.”

  Och aye, her words were like magic to his heart, the heavy burden in his chest not aching quite so much. With a low growl, Hugh kneeled between her legs and nuzzled into her tresses. The sweet smell of lilac nearly sent him over the edge. Trailing kisses up her neck, he again plunged in for another kiss. With a wanton moan, she threaded her fingers through his hair. He could feel her passion, her heat, her need. Her hips rocked beneath him with the same urgency shooting straight to the tip of his cock.

  Lowering, he rubbed himself back and forth. His manhood stirred against her with only two layers of clothing between them. He could feel her soft flesh open for him—heating up with her dampness.

  God, he wanted to raise her hem and plunge inside—take her now.

  But this was Charlotte—the woman he’d put on a pedestal, the woman he worshiped.

  With a frustrated grunt, he rocked back. “I need to see you bare.”

  Panting she nodded, sitting up and raising her arms for him.

  Casting the nightdress aside, Hugh licked his lips as his gaze took in the most seductive sight he’d ever seen. Waves of blonde tresses cascaded across the pillows. He wanted it all. Her heavy-lidded eyes, full-just-been-kissed lips, long, elegant neck, curvaceous breasts tipped by rose, pert and ready to suckle. His tongue slipping to the corner of his mouth, he cupped the softest flesh on this earth and lowered to capture the perfect pearl.

  A palm to the center of his chest stopped him. “Now you.”

  Gulping, he nodded, his eyelids growing heavy. Oh yes, he liked that she wanted to see him naked. Watching her face, he unbuckled his belt and let the plaid drop. Lord, the mere friction of the cloth sliding down his thighs made him harder.

  Charlotte’s breathing stuttered as her gaze slid down his abdomen to his cock. He’d never imagined a woman could make a man come with a look, but the way her eyes darkened, and her pink tongue slipped to the corner of her mouth made a bit of seed pulse. Hell, even her nipples tightened, her chest heaving. God, she wanted this as much as he did. Her hips rocked up. “Please, Hugh.”

  Devil’s fire, the trust in her eyes nearly blew him down. He wanted to be worthy of that trust, needed to protect her with his being. He would do anything to care for her the way she deserved. “I vow I will make it right for you.”

  She reached for him. “I know. I believe in you.”

  How much he needed to hear those words. With her confidence, his own would burst free. “You make me whole,” he uttered, realizing this for the first time ever.

  “Please.”

  Her plea practically made him burst out of his skin. Kneeling between her legs he started where he’d left off and captured a succulent breast in his mouth.

  Gasping, Charlotte bucked against him. Then she did something no woman he’d ever bedded had been bold enough to try. Her lithe fingers wrapped around his shaft and stroked him. Barely able to contain himself, he shuddered.

  “You like that?”

  “Too much.” He gritted his teeth, forcing himself not to come in her hand. He sucked in a breath. “I do not want to hurt you.”

  She guided his tip toward her womanhood—the sacred triangle of dark-blonde curls demanding he plunge inside and take her now. But he wanted to savor the moment. Make it good for her.

  “Emma said it only hurts the first time. Please—let this be our first.”

  Charlotte was about to burst. Her every nerve trembled with ferocious desire. She held him in her hand—hard as bedpost. All she could think about was feeling him join with her. If she gave him her virtue, he’d understand the depth of her commitment. If she could just figure out how to guide him inside, it would set things between them the way they’d been before the world had shattered around them.

  But he hesitated, his mouth parted, his eyes dark as coal.

  “Join with me,” she pleaded.

  His lips quivered. Quick breaths stretching his muscled chest. “I need to make it good for you.”

  “You will.” She arched up until his member touched her—so slick. “You make me moist like this.”

  “Holy Mary,” he groaned. “I can’t s…top.”

  “Don’t.” Barely able to breathe, she held herself rigid, waiting for the pain.

  With a tilt of his hips, he rubbed himself along her womanhood, stopping at her opening. “I’ll go slowly,” his voice was but a growl.

  Charlotte stared into those deep pools of treacle and trusted him with her entire being. She wanted this—had wanted it ever since he kissed her when she helped him spirit out of Fort William.

  Her insides stretched as he entered and held himself there, kissing her neck.

  “A bit more,” he moaned as if the pace were killing him.

  “Yes.” Reaching down, Charlotte dug her fingers into his buttocks and urged him deeper.

  With a sharp gasp, he slid further. It stung, but the pain did nothing to assuage the pure ecstasy of feeling him inside—joining with her like a man and a woman in love.

  “Can you take a bit more?” he asked through clenched teeth.

  “Yes,” her breathless voice peeped as she increased the pressure with her fingers. Glorious, blessed, rapture, he filled her as her inside
s stretched to accept him deep within her core.

  Groaning, shuddering, Hugh slid further until, just when she thought she could stretch no more, he pulled back a bit and rocked his hips. Saints preserve her, this was even better than having his mouth…down there. She clung to his buttocks and matched his rhythm.

  Unable to control her little gasps, she encouraged him to rock faster while tension again built in her core. Just when her body began to burst into glorious spasms, Hugh arched his back and stifled a roar through clenched teeth. Charlotte’s insides quivered around him.

  With a feral growl he thrust until he bellowed. In the next instant, he pulled out and spilled upon her stomach. Panting, Hugh pushed back to his knees. “By God, you will be the death of me.”

  Charlotte froze with her gasp. Looking into his eyes, the unease of his clan’s plight lurked in his dark pools of brown. No, he wouldn’t want to chance bringing a child into this world. Not now.

  Swallowing back her disappointment, she understood. Hard times would not last forever. And he was right. After they were married, she would conceive.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Hugh stood on the battlements, facing Loch Linnhe. He’d told everyone he was watching for Donald MacDonald’s galley, but he needed time alone. He needed a cold wind in his face to clear his mind. He’d nearly convinced himself Charlotte didn’t belong in Glencoe, but after last night, his resolution crumbled.

  His soul be damned, he couldn’t give the lass up. His kin would have to accept her. She wasn’t like Sarah—that nasty wench had never done anything to help others like Charlotte had done. As a matter of fact, Hugh never heard the Campbell woman utter a pleasant word about Sandy.

  His gut twisted as it had so often in the past sennight. Yes, Hugh mourned the loss of his father and Ma, but Sandy had so much life left to live. A more affable lad Hugh had never known. Sandy had a natural talent for everything, and though he seemed to know it, he never boasted. More than once Hugh had seen him let another man win at archery or cards just to keep things friendly.