Highland Rebel

by Judith James

  A delicious lassitude possessed her, and she couldn’t have summoned her anger, or even the reason for it, if she’d tried. She was unwilling to stop him, and then unable, as his wicked tongue, hot and wet and agile, reached out to caress her with firm, even strokes, his lips nibbling and sucking, his teeth tugging, until she thought she’d go mad with the aching, delirious pleasure coiling and building inside.

  She watched him as he knelt before her, fully clothed, his head and mouth and tongue bent over her as his hands gripped her thighs. She felt sinful. It felt heavenly. But he controls it. As he does all our interactions. She blushed when he suddenly raised his gaze to hers as his clever tongue swirled intricate patterns over the center of all her pleasure, now the center of her world. His eyes held hers like a predator, intense and knowing. He continued, nipping and sucking and licking as he raised his hands to her breasts, cupping them, kneading them, f licking and tugging at her nipples, and she left all coherent thought behind.

  Waves of pleasure coursed through her. “Please, please, please,” she begged him, whimpering and squirming and wriggling, the leather rubbing her bottom as she desperately lifted her hips toward his hot, seeking mouth. He moved his hands then, one f licking and tickling and stroking, working with his tongue, as the other cupped her buttocks, pulling her closer, tighter against his mouth. His thumb pressed between her cheeks as he continued to sip and drink from her until she was in a frenzy. She cried his name as she exploded into rapturous waves that shook her body one after the other, and still he continued, groaning in satisfaction.

  She grasped his shoulders and slid off the chair, landing astride his lap.

  “Please, Jamie,” she moaned.

  He hugged her close against him, f lipping her onto her back, kissing her wildly as they both scrambled frantically to loosen his breeches, fingers brushing, entwining, and working together until he sprang free. Painfully engorged, rock hard, he sought her opening and plunged inside her slick tight heat. Stroking her with hands and tongue and pulsing organ, he slammed against her, pumping and writhing, harder and harder, until she exploded again, bursting from within in a starburst of incredible sensation, gripping him tight inside her as she felt the pulsing and tremors of his own release.

  “Oh my God, Jamie, that was incredible!” she said when she could breathe again.

  He grinned and gathered her in his arms. Picking her up easily, he deposited her into the bed, jumping in after her, and pulling her close. “This is where I always want to be, mouse. Next time I go somewhere, I’ll tell you first, or I’ll bring you with me. Am I forgiven?” he whispered into her hair.

  He’d not even allowed her the time to be angry. With a look and a touch he’d melted her resentment, overcome all her defenses, and laid waste to all her plans. She snuggled closer and kissed his shoulder. “I shouldn’t let you off so easily. It will only encourage bad habits, but I fear I love you far too much to stay angry with you for long.”

  She regretted it the instant she said it, and even more an instant later as he stiffened beside her and then sat up.

  “Catherine… I thought we’d discussed this,” he said wearily. “It’s important we both understand this is a friendship, nothing more.”

  “Nothing more? It’s a marriage, for God’s sake!”

  “Quite so. And how many of our married acquaintances do you know who are as good friends as you and I? Do you want to jeopardize that? We’ll both be happier if you’ll just accept things as they are.”

  “You mean if we follow your rules? Friends care about each other, Jamie!”

  “So they do, and I don’t deny that you’ve wormed your way into my affections, but I have trouble enough making my way in the world, Catherine. Can’t you see I’m trying my best to keep everything under control? Things are complicated right now. I’m dealing with a difficult situation. I have to look out for Sullivan and his scold of a mother, all the people here, horses, cats, dogs, children, and now you. I have my hands full already without adding unnecessary complications.”

  “I’ve wormed my way in, have I? With your servants and horses and all the other poor creatures you’ve rescued? And we’re terrible distractions, are we? So bad that you have to run away? We distract you from what, my lord? Your busy social calendar? Your successful enterprises? Oh, no! I do beg your pardon! From your plotting and drinking and gambling and whores! Well, let me tell you something, Sinclair. You might have rescued me once, but I have rescued you three times, and I do a damn good job of taking care of myself! Get off my chemise!” She tugged franticly, reclaiming her chemise and wrapping it furiously around her body. “Now get out!” She pointed at the door.

  “Catherine… I didn’t mean to—”

  “Out! Out! Get out!”

  “It’s my room, love,” he said calmly.

  “I’m not your love! Don’t ever call me that again. You haven’t the right! Now step aside please, so I may leave, and rest assured I’ll endeavor to be gone from here as quick as I can so your life can return to what it was before I came along and complicated it.”

  “Catherine! Damn it! I’m trying to be honest with you.”

  “And I should be grateful for it, I suppose, but I find myself wishing that sometimes you’d lie.” She’d managed to keep her dignity this far, but she was desperate to leave before she burst into tears, embarrassing them both.

  “You see? This is exactly what I feared. You said you understood. I’m very fond of you, Catherine. More so than anyone in my life. You’re my best friend. Someone I can talk to and count on and be myself with. I don’t want to lie to you. I don’t want to have to. Once you start talking about love and such nonsense, everything gets ruined. There’s anger and jealousy and lies, and you spend all your time worrying about the other person’s feelings. I’m not good at that. Only look! I’ve made you shout and cry. I witnessed enough of this with my parents. I know where it leads. You’ll end up hating me and I’ll end up hurting you. I don’t need that. I don’t want it. I won’t have it.”

  “Damn it, Jamie! People argue. It doesn’t mean… It’s normal! And don’t you dare walk out on me while I’m talking to you! Your father was a bully and a tyrant, and your mother was shallow and disloyal. We are not them! You’d never hurt me. I broke your nose. I hit and kicked you. I bit you and all you did was laugh. You don’t want to lie to me? Well, I don’t want to lie to you either. I want to love you. I do love you, but I love myself, too. If you don’t want what I have to offer, if you can’t give it back in return, then you’re right, and this is wrong, and I should go.”

  Her hair was disheveled, her lovely face stained with tears and he felt a gut-wrenching ache that spread to his chest and squeezed his throat. “There are things that hurt worse than blows. Trust me on this. You have my friendship and I need yours. You said it would be enough.” He took a step toward her and stopped. “Please don’t go, Catherine. I don’t want you to leave. Promise me you won’t do anything foolish.”

  “Like what? Jump in the river because you don’t love me?” she snapped. “Go away, you conceited man!”

  He wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her, but short of telling her what she wanted to hear, he had no idea what to do or say. He took the escape she offered and retreated from the room.

  His attempt at making things right between them had ended in dismal failure, and he was expected back in Dublin within a week. He walked along the river’s edge, deep in thought. He’d met with agents of William while in Dublin, and those of Henry Sydney, who represented a cabal of seven inf luential English lords. They intended to issue a formal invitation to William and his wife, James’s eldest daughter Mary, to land with a small force and defend Mary’s rights as heir to the throne. They claimed the new prince was a changeling, and the king’s true son had died being born. Preposterous, yes, but a convenient excuse. They offered to rise in support, promising that William would be greeted as a liberator. It wasn’t farfetched. Until the birth of James’s son, Mary
had been second in line to the throne, and William, third. Both were Stuarts, Protestant, and grandchildren of Charles I.

  Jamie had met William while performing duties for King Charles. He was a good soldier, but though he’d acquired the reputation of being a champion of the Protestant cause, he’d never seemed particularly interested in England. Still, this new Catholic heir, coming on the heels of a naval agreement between England and France, had doubtless caused him concern. A Catholic Britain would be a natural ally of France against the Netherlands, something he’d want to avoid, and Jean, who was in a position to know, had made it clear he was not averse to accepting a formal invitation from his English friends.

  Jamie had been asked to deliver one to The Hague, using his talents to see that it wasn’t intercepted. He would go as a common seaman. It was a delicate business, with the future of England, Scotland, and Ireland balanced on the edge of bloody revolution, and Europe on the brink of yet another war. It was an opportunity to help his country avert another rebellion. He would earn the gratitude of his countrymen and his new monarch, and would be amply rewarded in return.

  There was no doubt in his mind that James II was bad for England. He was incapable of nuance, blind to circumstance, and committed to a course that would destroy him and all those who gave him their support, but although Jamie changed masters as it suited him, he’d always done so in a forthright way, completing his commission, collecting his pay, and keeping his own counsel. He’d never stooped to betrayal. Now he had to decide between his own honor and the good of his country.

  His lips quirked in a smile as recalled one of Buckingham’s quips from Charles’s day. “Charles could see things if he would, and the duke would see things if he could.” He missed that man, rogue and scoundrel though he was. He could use someone to talk with. Catherine had cured him of the habit of solitude, and then cruelly banished him back to it again. He’d come home in part to seek her opinion, whether she wanted to hear about it or not. She was his wife, damn it! He could bloody well use some advice!

  “Don’t tell me things I don’t want to know.” What kind of help was that? “I find myself wishing you’d lie to me sometimes.” She was as perverse and contradictory as any woman, probably worse. Right now, they should be together, snug in his bed. He’d fumbled things with her like a green lad. His palm itched as he imagined the feel of a rounded breast and pert nipple, and he swelled and twitched as he imagined the feel of her lush bottom pressed firmly against him.

  Why not tell her what she wanted to hear? He wasn’t even sure it would be a lie. God knew he’d only made a mess of things the way he’d managed her up until now. He wasn’t welcome in her bed and she wouldn’t even talk with him. He sighed and folded his arms. He was running out of time and there seemed little point in trying to sort things out right now. He’d leave her a letter; attend to his business, and when he returned, he’d settle the discord between them for good or ill. Relieved to have a plan in which he didn’t have to face her, he scribbled a hasty note, and slid it under her door.

  Twenty-Nine

  Catherine kicked at her blankets, frustrated and angry. It was clear she was no seductress. Rather than bending to her will and acknowledging what was between them, Jamie had managed her expertly, playing her body like an instrument, diverting her anger and her questions, silencing her with skilled caresses, and withdrawing when she’d broken his rules. She hadn’t meant to. It was something she’d blurted out in the heat of passion—but it should have delighted him, not made him recoil. I should leave. I’m looking for something that exists only in my imagination, and he’s surely embarked on an adventure that could bring us all down.

  Maire brought her breakfast on a tray, and with it, a note.

  Dearest Catherine,

  I’m sorry to leave you this way again. I fear as you read this you’re mightily annoyed. I meant to discuss it with you last night, but things got out of hand. I’m throwing my support behind William, and the time to act is now. I know you think my motives mercenary and selfish, and I know you’ll not approve, but I’ve been to war too often, and if any action of mine might help avert another, I feel duty bound to try. I think of you, and Sullivan and his family, even as I make my decision, and I’ll do all I can to keep you safe. I pray you understand. I shall return within the month.

  I do have feelings for you, Catherine. It’s not something to which I’m accustomed. I don’t know what to call them. I don’t know if I want them, though they assail me whether I wish them to or not. I promise to make every effort to resolve them upon my return.

  If things don’t go as planned, I wish you to return to London immediately. Tell them I abducted you so I might keep your inheritance, and you took your first opportunity to escape. You’re young, wealthy, and beautiful, and no one will question you too harshly. You’ll know what to do for the O’Sullivans. I’ve made arrangements so my Irish lands and properties will pass to Kieran’s heir, if only he can get one. Enlist Granny O and marry your girl to him. They seem fond of one another. Besides you, he and his kin are the closest thing to family that I have. I count on you for this, Catherine, and I know my trust is well-placed. I appreciate your friendship and all your kindnesses to me more than you can imagine. Wait for me, please. I’ll return as soon as I’m able.

  Your husband,

  James Sinclair

  “Damn him to hell and back again!” She crumpled the note and hurled it against the wall, then scrambled from her bed to retrieve it, and threw it into the fire. Fool! Imbecile! Putting his treason on paper! They were isolated and forgotten, fortified and well stocked. Why couldn’t he leave well enough alone? Why not wait for events to transpire and align himself after? What Jamie needed to do was take care of his own. She was done with waiting and wringing her hands as events overtook her. She needed to know exactly what he planned so she’d be in a position to deal with it. Like it or not, they were going to have a serious talk.

  She was on the road early the next morning, accompanied by two well-armed retainers. They said clothes made the man. She wasn’t entirely sure it was true, but back in the saddle, back in her breeches and boots, with her sword on her hip, a carbine slung over her back, and two pistols holstered on her saddle, she felt confident, capable, and in control of her world in a way she hadn’t for weeks.

  Thirty

  Jamie arrived at Moll’s two days before his ship was to sail. He might have stayed an extra day with Catherine, but there’d seemed little point. He would have had to lie to her or tell her things that would only make her more upset. He was confident she’d be waiting for him on his return. She was angry now, but he knew women well enough to tell when one was besotted. She’d even admitted it. He couldn’t help a slight grin. She’d said she loved him. No one had said the words to him before and actually meant them, but he knew Catherine did. It was awkward, to be sure, but he was already growing accustomed to the thought. It had proven easier than he’d expected, and not at all unpleasant. It was another burden, though, one that bound and tangled, demanding acknowledgement and some kind of reciprocal response.

  Molly came up behind him, as if sensing his thoughts, wrapping both arms around him. “Remember what I told you I’d do to you the next time I caught you?” she murmured, nibbling his ear and reaching a hand to tug at the fastening of his breeches.

  “Remember I told you I was married?” Removing her hand, he encircled her waist and hauled her down, settling her comfortably on his knee.

  “That’s never stopped a lusty lad who’s far from home.” She pouted and rubbed against him, then reached across the table for a tankard of stout. “We’ve known each other a long time, Jamie. Have you no kiss for your old friend Moll after all the joy she’s given you?”

  “I’m hard-pressed to refuse you, lass, when you put it like that.” He took a healthy swig of beer, placed his tankard deliberately on the table, and bussed her on the cheek.

  “Not like that!” Molly protested, shifting around to straddle
him and lowering her mouth to his.

  “Here now, lass! You’ve claimed your kiss already.” Jamie wrestled her back onto the bench beside him. Their exertions were having a salutary effect on his anatomy, and his eager prick strained against the material of his breeches, much to Molly’s delight.

  “She must be old and ugly to leave you walking around all swollen like that. Let Molly kiss it better, poor boy.”

  “No, Moll,” he said patiently. “She’s young and pretty—a beauty, in fact.”

  “But this is where you are tonight, Jamie, and this is what you’re wanting. Your prick can’t lie.” She tried to guide his hands to where her nipples thrust hard against her bodice.

  “My prick doesn’t know its own mind, love, but I do. Whatever I’ve got to give belongs to her. Leave off, sweetling.”

  “Well, I’ve never known you to pass up a tumble. God’s blood! Are you fallen in love, Sinclair?”

  “Do you mean am I subject to melancholy, tears, and terrible fits of jealousy? Does my heart tremble when she passes? So it appears, my dear, but I’ve yet to decide. Next, I’ll be subject to vapors and trembling, fits of megrim, and sleepless nights. She’s quite unmanned me.”

  “You’ve bedded her?”

  “Of course I have. It hasn’t helped. It’s only made things worse.”

  “Those are the symptoms. I’d say you’ve tumbled hard.”

  “Will it pass, Moll?”

  “That’s hard to say, Jamie. For some it’s said to be a lifelong aff liction.”

  “Good evening, friends!” The door burst open and the sound of penny whistle, fiddle, and clinking glasses drifted into the street as Jean, a Dutch sea captain named Van Kroeger, and a nondescript bookish man named Fredrick, wearing a black frock coat, crowded through the door. “Are we interrupting?” Jean asked, pushing through the crowd with his entourage and planting himself at the table.