The Highland Renegade

by Amy Jarecki

  Forming an O with her lips, Janet pulled back while he shushed her with his finger. A grin played on his lips while that same wicked finger turned downward and traced the exposed swells of her bosom. Gooseflesh rose over Janet’s skin. She shook her head, mouthing, “We mustn’t.”

  The scoundrel waggled his eyebrows and slipped his finger directly inside her cleavage before he resumed the dance. “Come to my chamber this eve,” he whispered.

  “Why not mine?” she asked.

  He inclined his head toward his sister. “Mine is in the quiet wing of the house not frequented by some.”

  Janet arched her eyebrow. She hadn’t ventured past the rose bedchamber, though she’d noticed the bend at the end of the corridor where Robert disappeared at night. That was the laird’s wing and his alone.

  * * *

  In his chamber, Robert paced in front of the hearth. What in God’s name was he doing? It was no harlot he’d invited to his private rooms. Miss Janet was the daughter of Sir Ewen Cameron, a knight and, as chief of Lochiel, one of the most powerful chieftains in the Highlands. Again he berated himself for not taking her home rather than bringing her to Moriston Hall. The woman was too tempting. He awoke every morn thinking about Janet. Every time he entered a room he looked to see if she was there. He longed to see her in the blue taffeta gown again, because no woman would ever again look the same in such a color. She was more beautiful than roses and sweeter than water from a mountain spring.

  He would do anything for her, yet she could never truly be his.

  Groaning, he marched to the sideboard and poured himself a dram of whisky. I should not have been so brash. Dammit, I need to take her home. Bugger the healer’s recommendations and bugger my bloody feud with her father.

  He tossed back the drink and poured another.

  A soft tap sounded on the door.

  After two steps he opened it.

  There she stood, eyes mesmerizing, hair of gold and a broken arm she never should have had to endure. She took a hasty glance over her shoulder. “I-I came to say what we did last night is wrong. I never should have—”

  He pulled her inside and smothered her excuse with a kiss. A kiss that told her exactly how mad she had driven him. A kiss that showed her exactly how deep his passion ran—how much she had bewitched him, mind, body, and soul. He kicked the door shut and backed her toward the bed, his hands untying the laces of her gown while she sighed into his mouth.

  When the backs of her legs hit the mattress, she toppled to her bum, her lips swollen, her eyes heavy-lidded. “No, Robert. We mustn’t.”

  “You want it as much as I,” he said, removing the kilt pin from his shoulder.

  “It doesn’t matter what I want. We can never be wed, and I will not become a fallen woman, birthing an illegitimate bairn. Things between us have grown precarious enough. Please, you tempt me far too much.”

  He sat beside her and brushed a curl away from her face. “Och, mo cridhe.” Never in his life had he used the Gaelic endearment, “my heart,” but it flowed over his tongue as surely as if it demanded to be uttered. “I ken ’tis hazardous for you to be here. I have a sister, and if anyone misbehaved toward her, I would challenge him to a duel of swords and give no quarter.” He took her hand and kissed it. “You have turned me into a man driven by insatiable want, yet I give you my oath I will not take your innocence.”

  “Even with that promise, I fear I am already ruined. Merely by staying here I am compromised.”

  “I will testify that you are not. Every servant in this house will do so as well. And I have already explained to your father that you are under the care of my sister and my housekeeper.”

  “Yet here I sit in your bedchamber at midnight.” She looked him in the eye and whispered, “Wanting you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Janet released a trembling sigh as Robert nuzzled into her neck, praying she wouldn’t flee. “Please stay,” he whispered back…he pleaded.

  “I am powerless to go. Your touch draws me, entices me, stirs my blood. But—”

  “Do not think about what may come. Tonight there is only you and me. This night is ours and no one else’s.”

  “And you will not get me with child?”

  I have been with a great many women in my day and have not sired a bastard in all that time. “I swear it on my honor.”

  “I do not want to think of you with anyone but me.”

  “Nor do I.”

  Her gaze raked down his body until she reached his groin. All he needed was her eyes on him to make his cock lengthen. “Will you show me?” she asked, her voice breathless.

  No words had ever sounded so divine. “Aye,” he rasped. Standing, he led her before the hearth. “Let us proceed slowly.” He brushed her lips with a light kiss. “I want to strip you bare, one layer at a time.”

  She drew in a quick breath. “And you? It is only fair, if you are to see me unclothed, that I am granted the same favor by you.”

  “’Tis far more enjoyable if we’re both nude.”

  “Again, I must have your word. You will not get me with child.”

  “I promise I will not.”

  He started by tugging free the laces of her bodice. “What I like most about undressing you is that with each layer removed, the anticipation of things to come mounts.”

  “Simply saying that makes gooseflesh rise across my skin.”

  Robert pushed the bodice from her shoulders and loosed the ribbon on her shift enough to bare her shoulder, made more tantalizing by the flicker of firelight. “This”—he kissed her flesh, warm and delicious—“is perfection.”

  Sighing, Janet dropped her head back. “You flatter me.”

  “I worship you.” With every layer Robert found a new place on her body upon which to shower his adoration. And finally, as her shift sailed to the floor, he held her hand and stood back while his eyes drank her in. “By God, there are no words to express your magnificence.”

  A blush sprang to her cheeks, but she didn’t try to cover her nudity. Instead she stepped toward him and unfastened his neckerchief. “I do believe we will witness true magnificence when you, sir, are shed of your clothes.”

  She tried to unclasp his belt, but with only one hand, she fumbled. “Let me help.” He slid his hand to his buckle and released it with a flick. The wool whooshed to the floor. He grabbed the hem of his shirt and whisked it over his head. He stood before her, his manhood harder than a poleax and pointing straight at her.

  “Oh my.” She stepped into him, swirling her hand through the locks on his chest, the gesture making a bead of seed leak from the tip of his cock. “Men’s clothing is so much simpler than women’s.”

  “I reckon men are altogether simpler than women. Feed us and love us and we will be happy anywhere.”

  “Are you happy now?”

  “My heart is racing with joy.” He drew her against his body, his balls on fire. “And you, lass. How does this make you feel?”

  “Like we are the only two people in all of Christendom.”

  “Then believe it.”

  He swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed. His lips fused with her lips as he tasted her sweetness; then he slid to her neck and buried his face between the mounds of her breasts. Aye, he wanted to explore every inch of Janet’s flesh, and wanted it all in this very moment.

  “Mirror me,” Robert growled as he rolled beside her.

  He slid his fingers down her abdomen and slipped between her thighs, finding her hot, slick, and ready for him. “You are wet—that’s how a woman’s body prepares to accept a man.”

  Following his lead, Janet wrapped her hand around his member. “When a man puts this inside her?”

  Eyes rolling back, Robert clenched his bum cheeks and forced himself not to come. “Aye. ’Tis what I want to do right now.”

  She bit her lip. “But cannot.”

  “Mm.”

  “Show me how to pleasure you—like you did to me last eve.
”

  “Touching me sends me wild. But if you hold it gently and slide your hand up and down, it is almost like being inside you.” Robert’s head dropped with his rumbling moan as she milked him.

  “What about kissing it?” Her tongue tapped her upper lip, wet, shiny, seductive as sin.

  “Kissing is extraordinary—akin to the epitome of intimacy between a man and a woman. But only if you desire to pleasure me with your mouth. Never in this life do I want you to feel you are lowering yourself when you are with me.”

  Without another word she scooted down and licked him, her eyes shifting to watch his face. “Like this.”

  “Aye,” he croaked, unable to keep his hips from thrusting.

  “Can I hurt you?”

  “’Tis the most sensitive place on a man. If you grip too hard or use your teeth, I will be in agony.”

  She giggled, toying with him, licking, kissing, and milking, but it wasn’t until she took him fully into her mouth that he arched his back and bellowed a groan.

  “Am I hurting you?”

  “Don’t stop!”

  Her sultry laugh rumbled through him as she slid her lips over his tip, wiggling her saucy bottom. Holy everlasting mother, the woman was Jezebel incarnate. Robert bucked and thrust as she pleasured him, picturing Janet on her back with her knees wide and exposed, picturing himself inside her while he plundered deeper and deeper, his desire mounting in a crescendo until he leaped over the edge into ecstasy. All at once his cock erupted in a pulsating fountain of seed.

  Janet looked up, smiling as if she’d just witnessed a miracle. “That was astounding.”

  “You are astounding—and what’s better?”

  “I cannot imagine.”

  “’Tis your turn.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Janet’s eyes flashed wide when the door to Robert’s chamber burst open. Her breath stopped and her palms grew sweaty as she inched her head beneath the bedclothes. For the second time, someone had caught her sleeping in Robert’s arms. I am doomed for utter ruination.

  How could she be so daft as to allow herself to fall asleep in his bed? Hadn’t things been bad enough when Emma found them in the parlor? And after Mrs. Tweedie’s reprimand, the entire serving staff was rife with gossip.

  “Robert.” It was Lewis. Blast it, his footsteps clomped nearer.

  Janet cringed while beside her the laird rolled to his back.

  Please don’t notice me.

  “Sir Ewen Cameron of Lochiel and his army are camped on the southern shore of Loch Ness. I reckon they’ll be here by noon.”

  “Och, Christ. My missive explained things plainly enough. I didn’t expect the man to make a show of aggression, especially on the verge of winter.” Robert sat up while Janet slunk lower.

  Da? Holy help! I’ll be imprisoned in my chamber for the rest of my days if he discovers us here.

  “I’m surprised we haven’t seen him sooner. The weather has been fine the past few days, though it looks as if another storm’s brewing.”

  “Grand. What are their numbers?”

  “A retinue of twenty.”

  “It could be worse. Mayhap he’ll be open for discussion. Alert the guard, but tell them not to fire their muskets unless fired upon. I want the Grant men to do everything to ensure a peaceful meeting. And tell Cook we’re expecting another twenty or so mouths to feed.”

  “Feed, sir?”

  “You heard me, now off with you.”

  “Straightaway.”

  As the bedclothes lifted, Janet peered at the man responsible for her compromising situation. “Is he gone?” she whispered.

  “Aye.”

  She could only shake her head. “I shouldn’t be here.”

  “It seems it is a calamitous habit we’re forming of drifting off to sleep in each other’s arms.” He urged her up. “Though I must admit I’ve enjoyed it.”

  Janet had as well. Too much so. She pulled the plaid from the end of the bed and covered herself. “I must haste to the rose bedchamber and dress. Curses. Why did my father not send a messenger ahead? ’Tis only proper.”

  “Proper if you are paying a call. Which I doubt he’s planning.”

  “Good heavens, he can’t be thinking to put Moriston Hall to fire and sword.”

  “I fear that is exactly what he’ll do if he doubts my motives.”

  Holding the corner of the plaid against her midriff with her left hand, Janet threw the wool about her shoulders and hopped out of bed. “Then I must speak to him afore he tries to break down your door.”

  Stark naked, Robert began collecting her clothing, which lay scattered across the floor. Gracious, even if Lewis didn’t recognize her form under the comforter, he would have known she was there by the stays and blue taffeta strewn about. “Nay. I will be the one talking,” he said.

  “He will not listen to you.” She shoved a foot into her shoe. “Unless he sees that I am in good health, he will behave like a raging bull.”

  “Then we shall greet him together. However, I shall speak to the man, clan chief to clan chief.”

  “Very well, but first I must ensure I do not look like a ravished harlot.” She marched toward the door. “How am I to make it all the way to the rose bedchamber without being seen?”

  Robert set her things on a chair. “Give me a moment to dress, then I’ll help you with these.”

  “Don the blue taffeta?”

  “’Tis better than traipsing through the passageway wrapped in my tartan blanket—the very one woven by my ma.”

  “Ugh.” Janet hid her face in the palm of her hand. “And you’d best have a word with Lewis and tell him to hold his tongue.”

  “You needn’t worry there. He’s my most trusted man. He’d sooner ride into battle than divulge my confidences.”

  * * *

  Robert stood in the grounds before Moriston Hall while snow accumulated on his shoulders. There was already a good inch on the ground, and by the looks of the sky, there would be several more before this storm came to an end.

  Lewis waited beside him, as did twoscore Grant men. Janet had insisted on being present, though she was securely under the portico with Jimmy bearing arms beside her. Robert didn’t expect a bloody battle to erupt, especially with Sir Ewen’s daughter behind a barrier of Grant men, but he wasn’t leaving anything to chance.

  When the dark figures of the retinue appeared at the end of the drive, he checked his pocket watch—seven minutes to twelve. Lochiel was arriving exactly when expected, even with the accumulating snow.

  As they neared, the great clan chief rode at the head of his men, his gray beard full, his head topped by a red feathered bonnet. He wore a heavy woolen cloak that hung over his horse’s back clear down to the man’s spurs. Broad shouldered and scowling, Robert’s nemesis was fearsome to behold.

  Though much older and not as skilled with a blade by half.

  Interestingly, Kennan Cameron was not riding beside his father, though Janet’s younger brothers John and Alan were.

  Once Lochiel led his retinue up to the inner gate, he held up his hand and stopped his men. “I received your missive, Mr. Grant.”

  “I gathered.” Robert spoke loud enough to be heard. “Will you not come in out of the weather, sir?”

  “What assurances do I have that your men will not attack mine? I see you outnumber us two to one.”

  “I give you my word. I offer you and your army Highland hospitality whilst you are on Grant lands. Your men are welcome to stable their horses and take their nooning in the servants’ quarters.”

  Sir Ewen leaned forward in his saddle. “You offer this after accusing me of stealing your cattle? Why is it I cannot trust your word, sir?”

  Robert’s fists clenched. “My word is always true. You of all people must ken that. And on the count of my accusations, I have centuries of feuds between Clan Grant and Clan Cameron on which I formed my supposition. Your men were seen in the vicinity of Grant summer grazing lands. Circumst
ances suggested they were guilty.”

  “Guilty with no proof?” Lochiel shook his riding crop. “And what say you about my missing beasts? I reckon your claim against me is a sham to cover up your own thievery.”

  Robert strode forward while his eyes narrowed. “The Grants have never been cattle reivers—”

  “Och, your great-grandfather spent a year in the Montrose tolbooth for raiding.”

  “And he was pardoned.”

  The Cameron laird sniffed, raising his haughty chin. “Pardoned by a purse of coin.”

  “Stop this!” Janet dashed down the steps and straight past Robert. “I do not believe either of you is guilty. Both Camerons and Grants lost livestock, and Mr. Grant has a half-dozen tinkers incarcerated on the premises who might lead us to the true culprits.” She thrust her finger at Robert. “Why did you not say so in the first place?”

  Tapping his heels, Sir Ewen walked his horse forward and stopped beside his daughter. “Aye? What is this skulduggery? Why keep silent about such information?”

  “Because I’m not as convinced of it as the wee lass.”

  “Robert!” Janet whipped around with her fists on her hips.

  “But it is a possibility.” Uttering those words nearly killed him, but not as much as the injured look in her eye, which was exactly why he’d wanted to meet with Sir Ewen man-to-man in the first instance. I will apologize later. Robert beckoned Lochiel. “Come, sir. I would have a word with you.”

  “Oh aye? Afore I’ve inquired as to my daughter’s health?” He shifted his attention to Janet. “I see Grant’s claim that your arm is broken was no lie.”

  She nodded. “I wrote you myself and said it was true.”

  “But how would I deduce if you’d been coerced into doing so?” Sir Ewen dismounted and looked her from head to toe. “You have disgraced the name of Cameron by remaining in this man’s house, broken arm or nay.”

  “I—” Peering at her father with eyes wide and nostrils flared, the lass turned as red as a blood rose. “But he rescued me from Lieutenant Cummins and those vile dragoons. Without Mr. Grant’s assistance, I would have been imprisoned or worse.”