She was prepared for those damned demons, and as she’d told the major, she’d fight them to her dying breath.
“The upcoming months…With your father’s trial, it might be challenging at times.”
“I know,” she said. “Thank God I have you, and the Knights and the ladies.”
“You do have us,” Colin said. “And we’ll be at your side through every minute of it.”
“Still…I’m glad Kingsman held on to all that evidence.”
Colin nodded. “So am I.”
“But you understand—even if he hadn’t…Colin, you are the first person who’s made me understand that I can be strong. I could do this even without Kingsman’s evidence. Thanks to you, I finally know I could be strong enough.”
He kissed the top of her head but remained silent.
“Thank you so much,” she continued softly. “For showing me who I am. Who I can be. I love you so much.”
“You’ve done the same for me, Emilia,” he said quietly. “I was well on my way to going mad before you came to this house that night. And now…I know I can fight them. I know I can go on and fight them for as long as I need to.”
“We’re strong together,” Emilia murmured.
“We are,” he agreed.
Finally, in the early hours of the morning, they fell asleep, each of them gleaning strength from the other. Each of them knowing that whatever challenge was thrown their way, now that they had each other they were strong enough to fight it.
Epilogue
NINE MONTHS LATER
THE HIGHLANDS, SCOTLAND
Emilia loved the Highlands. She loved the fairy-tale castle that Colin had spent his childhood in, only comprehending its true beauty as they rode onto his mother’s lands late one winter afternoon. The sky was blue, the snowdrifts gleaming, and the castle glimmering in the light, its towers flying banners of welcome for its son. Behind it, the loch shimmered and sparkled in the sunlight. It was simply lovely, as were Colin’s mother and twin sisters, who, as Emilia informed Colin late one night, were definitely not hags.
She wished they could stay forever, but their time here—a much-delayed honeymoon—was almost over. Tomorrow, they’d be returning to London, where Colin would join the Highland Knights for their next assignment.
Lord Pinfield’s and the other traitors’ trials had stretched on through the end of autumn. Emilia had kept abreast of the goings-on in the proceedings, and she had testified at several of the trials, but the ever-protective Highland Knights and their wives had shielded her from any and all negative gossip surrounding her part in the apprehension of her father.
She’d found, surprisingly, that most people she encountered were sympathetic. She wasn’t sure if that was indicative of peoples’ reactions in general, though, or the company the Highland Knights kept.
In the end, all the traitors were found guilty, and all of them had been sentenced to hang, but the sentences were later commuted to transportation to New South Wales. All the sentences, that was, but Pinfield’s. He was hanged early in December, then beheaded as a traitor. Emilia and Colin had left England well before the execution took place, wanting no part of any of that horrible business.
The door handle turned, and Emilia looked up from the letter she was writing in their bedchamber to see Colin grinning at her. He strode forward, unbuttoning his coat, which was dusted with mist. He’d been gone since early this morning—he and his brothers-in-law had gone out riding to check the far edges of the estate and to visit the village.
Emilia rose. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re back. I missed you.”
He took off his coat, then drew her into his arms, kissing the top of her head. “I missed you, too, mo leannan.”
She sank into his embrace for a long moment. They had been happy together. There had already been difficult times, what with Emilia’s father’s trial and Colin’s continuing nightmares, but they had used their combined strength to get through it. Overall, the past months had been the happiest of Emilia’s life, and Colin had told her it was the same for him. While his demons still came to him, he’d lost that haunted look she remembered so well, and he smiled and laughed far more frequently these days.
“Was everything well?” she asked him.
“Right as rain,” he said. “The land is proving fertile. The cattle are nice and fat. And the village appears to be thriving.”
“That is good news,” she agreed. Kissing his cheek, she added, “I received a letter from Claire today.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. She had her baby. A healthy girl.”
“Healthy? Are they sure?”
“Absolutely.”
Colin released a breath and murmured, “Thank God.” They’d all been a little worried about Claire’s second pregnancy, since the first had led to such heartbreak.
“The babe is already almost three weeks old,” Emilia said. “They named her Elizabeth Grace.”
“A bonny name indeed. And they’ve honored Claire’s sister.”
“Yes,” Emilia said before adding in a whisper, “and I have news of my own.”
He raised a brow at her. “Aye? What is it?”
She stepped back, took his hand in hers, and pressed his palm to her belly. “I’m with child.”
Pleasure widened his eyes. “Aye?” he whispered huskily. “Is that so?”
“It is,” she said, smiling up at him. Since their wedding day, they’d spoken of having children, and now it looked like their dream of having a large family might actually come to pass.
Colin bent down and kissed her tenderly, then scooped her up in his arms, took the few steps to the bed, and laid her upon it. Reverently and slowly, as if savoring each moment of it, he undressed her until every stitch of clothing had been removed. Then he moved over her and kissed a gentle trail from her belly up to her lips. He gazed at her, and the love in his eyes was so sincere and so overwhelming, she could hardly breathe.
“I love you, mo leannan,” he said.
“I love you, too.”
Colin made sweet love to her, and they lay holding each other until they were called to dinner. They spent the evening in the pleasant company of Colin’s family, and the next day they were back in the carriage—a phaeton just like the one they’d used last time they’d come to Scotland—and on the road to London.
It was a sunny day, and Emilia had her drawing supplies beside her. But for now, as Colin turned the horses onto the road, she tilted her face to the blue sky, gratefulness flooding through her for all the blessings she’d been given in the past year. Freedom. A new family. A husband who understood her, who respected her and loved her deeply. Who would stay at her side through everything that life would throw at them.
She turned to him and smiled. “Thank you,” she said simply.
He gave her a quizzical look. “For what?”
“For giving me the opportunity to live again. For allowing me to have this wonderful life.”
“I didna give you anything, lass,” he said softly. “And you deserve all the happiness in the world.”
“So do you, Colin,” she murmured.
“And I have it. Right here, right now…this is the happiest moment of my life. But better, I ken there are more even happier moments to come.”
She moved closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder, sighing in contentment as they rode south, toward their home, their family, and their blessed life together.
As it turned out, Colin was right. There were many, many even happier moments, for both of them.
Forever after.
For Lawrence
Acknowledgments
Thanks to all the wonderful readers who’ve sent me notes about the Highland Knights series—I appreciate you more than I can say.
Thanks, as always, to Kate McKinley, who keeps me on the straight and narrow.
Thanks to my husband and children, who have stayed by my side through all the ups and downs of this wild writing ride, and who I can always
count on to be there when I need them.
And thanks to my editor, Sue Grimshaw, who helped make my dream of the Highland Knights series a reality.
BY JENNIFER HAYMORE
The Highland Knights
A Highlander’s Heart
Highland Heat
Highland Awakening
Highland Temptation
PHOTO: RENEE BOWEN
JENNIFER HAYMORE is a USA Today bestselling author of sexy historical and contemporary romances. She lives in Southern California, where you’ll find her trying to talk her husband into yet another trip to England, helping her three children with homework while brainstorming a new five-minute dinner menu, or crouched in a corner of the local bookstore writing her next novel.
jenniferhaymore.com
Facebook.com/jenniferhaymore-author
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Read on for an excerpt from
Maclean’s Passion
Highland Pride
by Sharon Cullen
Available from Loveswept
Chapter 1
FORT AUGUSTUS, SCOTLAND
JUNE 1746
If his brothers could see him now, they would say, “I told you so.”
Of course, even his brothers would have been surprised to see him imprisoned in the Duke of Cumberland’s dungeon.
Or maybe they wouldn’t have been.
It really didn’t matter at this point.
Because right now Colin MacLean, reluctant and ill-equipped chief of clan MacLean, had far bigger problems than his dead brothers’ opinions of him.
He was stretched tight, his hands above his head and tied at the wrists, toes pointed to find purchase on the hard-packed ground. He was naked from the waist up, and there were far more people than he would have liked to see gathered to watch his whipping.
This wasn’t his first time in this position, but he was pretty certain it would be his last. He’d heard the guards talking. He was to be hanged the next morning. In a way, it would be a relief. He was fairly certain he didn’t have much longer on this earth. If the whippings didn’t kill him soon, the lung sickness he’d been fighting would.
Someone broke from the eager crowd and made his way toward Colin. Captain Richard Abbott. The bloody, numpty English bastard who’d made it his personal quest to destroy Colin.
Abbott and Colin had a history that went further back than a few weeks ago, when Abbott had the great fortune (which was Colin’s misfortune) to arrest him. Colin had been playing mouse to Abbott’s cat ever since Abbott had been assigned to the west coast, right in the middle of Colin’s smuggling business. It had been Abbott’s personal mission to catch Colin, and it had been Colin’s personal mission to avoid capture and wreak as much havoc in Abbott’s life as possible. And he’d succeeded admirably. Until Abbott finally caught up with him.
Colin had gotten himself arrested on purpose when he realized that his friend and brother-in-arms Brice Sutherland was in imminent danger of that very fate. Colin knew that Sutherland was covertly working against the English, and if his missions were discovered, many Scotsmen would die. But Colin had not been aware that Abbott would be the one to arrest him and that hell would ensue. Abbott had a mean streak in him that nearly paled in comparison to the Bloody Butcher, otherwise known as the Duke of Cumberland. The beatings fed that meanness.
Abbott stopped in front of Colin, his narrowed gaze taking in the way Colin was stretched tight, his toes barely touching the ground, his hands tied high above his head. What pride Colin had left, he pulled around himself as a shield. Abbott had not been able to crack Colin like the nut he’d expected, and that clearly infuriated him, while it gave Colin some small satisfaction.
“You haven’t learned, have you, boy?”
Colin gritted his teeth at the term “boy.” He schooled his expression to remain impassive, not allowing Abbott’s words to affect him.
Abbott leaned close, sniffed, and wrinkled his nose. “Have you heard?” he asked conversationally.
Colin refused to answer. There was so much he wanted to say to this man, but he kept it all inside.
“You are scheduled to hang tomorrow,” Abbott said with a look of feigned pity. The man took extreme delight in delivering this news, though he appeared sorry to be losing his whipping boy on the morrow.
Abbott leaned back and eyed Colin thoughtfully. “Did you really believe you would leave here alive? Did you honestly think I would let you live?” He chuckled while Colin ground his teeth together. At this point he didn’t care if he lived or died, though he really wanted to live just to irritate Abbott.
Lips pursed, Abbott finally stepped back and nodded to the soldier wielding the whip.
Colin heard the sound of the whip hitting his back, and not surprisingly, the pain took a few more moments to arrive. It was those seconds that Colin hated the most, when the expectation of pain was almost worse than the pain itself. Almost. But not quite.
He refused to break his gaze with Captain Abbott.
The whip whizzed through the air again, and Colin tensed. He wished he hadn’t, when he saw Abbott’s small smile, but how could a body not wince through this torture?
The whip split open the skin of his upper right shoulder. Blood dripped down his side and soaked into his breeches.
With each strike of the whip, Abbott’s face drained of a little more color, and at last he looked away. Colin wanted to smile, but the pain was too great. It was the first time he had won against Abbott, and while it was a small victory, it was enough.
Abbott turned and walked away. The crowd parted for him and swallowed him back up.
Someone untied Colin’s hands, and it took everything inside him not to drop to his knees. He would remain upright even if Abbott weren’t here to see it.
Colin concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other until he reached his cell, which reeked of raw sewage, mildew, and bodies that hadn’t been washed in ages. He shared it with a boy who spent most of his time slouched in the dark corner, never speaking, always observing.
When Colin heard the lock turn on his cell door, he breathed a sigh of relief. Slowly, grimacing, he pulled his tattered shirt on over his seeping wounds, then lowered himself carefully to the ground. He leaned against the cold stone wall, wincing only a wee bit at the pain in his back and shoulders. He’d endured worse beatings. What hurt more were his lungs and his head; he feared he was developing a fever. Whether by the hangman’s noose or a raging fever, he had no doubt he would be dead by morning.
Somehow that thought wasn’t as depressing as it should have been.
His cellmate stared at him from his corner through a mop of black hair that covered his eyes. Colin ignored him and closed his eyes. He shifted his legs on the hard floor and bit back a groan.
He wasn’t certain how much time had passed when he heard footsteps down the corridor and was instantly alert. It was too early for dinner. Footsteps at this hour: not a good omen.
Colin slowly raised his gaze to the barred door, then cursed silently. “Come to gloat, have ye?” he asked through a thick throat.
On the other side of the door Iain Campbell, chief of the very powerful clan Campbell, stared at Colin with emotionless eyes. “You’re well and truly in a bind, lad.”
Colin snorted and turned his head away. He despised the Scottish clan leader, who had sided with the English.
“Come here,” Campbell commanded.
“Go to hell.”
“Come here,” Campbell said again, more softly this time.
“I’m being hanged tomorrow,” Colin said. He raised his knee with some effort and put his elbow on it. It took everything in him to look like he hadn’t a care in the world.
“I know.”
“Pardon me for being rude, but I have naught to say to ye on the eve of my demise.”
“I think you do.”
Colin raised a brow. Damnation, but even his brows hurt. “Ye think I do?”
Campbell hesitated. “Sutherland sent me.”
Colin stilled. Brice Sutherland, Colin’s best friend, didn’t carry the hatred for Campbell that Colin did, but neither was he especially close to the man. Why the hell would Sutherland send Campbell?
Slowly, Colin pushed himself up until he was standing on unsteady legs. Gritting his teeth, he shuffled to the barred door, hating that Campbell was seeing him in such a weakened state.
He stopped just short of the door and glared at Campbell. “I’m sure it smarts that ye’re Sutherland’s message boy.”
Campbell’s lips turned up in a smirk. “Sutherland can’t get into Cumberland’s camp the way I can.”
“What ye mean to say is that Sutherland is no’ a traitor.”
Ah, a flicker of emotion. Just a slight tightening of the lips, but it was enough. Colin thought that tormenting Campbell was an admirable way to spend his last night here on earth.
“Strong words, coming from someone who is about to die at the hands of the English,” Campbell said.
Colin wouldn’t show Campbell that his words had hit him square in the stomach. He wasn’t afraid to die, but he couldn’t bear to be brought down by an English hand.
“Tonight,” Campbell said softly so no one could overhear. “Your cell door will remain unlocked. Turn left. At the end of the corridor is a window that will also be unlocked. Climb through and run straight for the trees. My men will be waiting.”
Colin swayed. His head swam, and a fire burned inside him. He shook his head to clear his vision, but that only caused a sharp pain to pierce his skull. “Ye’re helping me escape?” he asked in disbelief. A Campbell would never help a MacLean. Campbells were firmly on the side of the English, and MacLeans firmly were not.
Highland Temptation Page 21
