“Make him turn,” Eric ordered.
“This is one time your orders will do little good,” Rath said sympathetically. “The babe is a stubborn one.”
Faith could not hold back another scream and Eric cringed when he watched the pain his wife suffered. “Do something,” he demanded.
“Move,” Hope ordered of Rath. “It takes a stubborn one to handle a stubborn one.”
Colin smiled down at Faith. “All will be well now, for Hope is a most willful one.”
“Aye, that I am and that is why this babe will obey me.”
“Good,” Eric said with confidence. “Hope will deliver the babe safely.” His blue eyes begged her to make it so.
She folded her sleeves up past her elbows and one of the younger women who had been attending Faith bravely returned with a bucket of heated water and fresh cloths, placing them beside Hope. She kneeled beside her and pushed her own sleeves up, ready to help.
Hope wet her hands and with a gentle touch she went to work on the stubborn babe.
Time passed slowly and Faith tried bravely not to scream but it was near to impossible. Eric held tightly to her hand and Colin mopped at her perspiring brow with a damp cloth.
Hope continued to coax the babe.
“I grow tired, Hope,” Faith said, letting her know her strength was ebbing.
“Hurry,” Eric snapped at Hope.
Colin cast Hope a supportive glance and she smiled her appreciation in return, though it was weak.
“A little more and I think he will be ready,” she said with a confidence that had them all smiling.
Faith released another scream, looking with tear-filled eyes to her husband.
He pressed his cheek next to hers. I love you more than you will ever know.”
His words soothed her. “Nay, I do know, and it gives me strength.”
“Get ready, Faith,” Hope said with excitement.
Everyone looked to Hope.
“He is ready.”
Faith sighed and screamed with relief as she pushed her babe into the world.
The babe wailed loudly as soon as he slipped out of Faith into Hope’s hands.
“You have a son,” Hope shouted with joy and the whole camp cheered.
Hope placed the babe on Faith’s stomach while she tended to the cord.
Faith reached down to touch his head and Eric simply stared in awe at him.
“He is a big one. A warrior’s son,” Colin said with pride. “No wonder he gave you so much trouble.”
Faith laughed softly. “He is like his father, wanting his own way even before he makes his entrance into this world.”
Eric reached out and touched his tiny clinched hand. “Our son,” he smiled and looked to Faith. “Thank you.”
“You are wel—” She yawned.
Eric looked to Hope. “She is tired.”
“Nay,” Hope said. “She is exhausted and needs rest and a more sheltered spot where I may tend her and in case it should rain.” She glanced up at the clouds that hovered overhead.
Colin stood. “I will see to it.”
Hope did what she could for Faith at the moment and was grateful when Colin returned shortly, happy to inform her that Borg had thought ahead and had had the men construct a sheltered spot for Lady Faith.
Hope wrapped the babe in the fresh cloths and carried him while Eric saw to moving his wife. When Faith was settled she chased the men away, promising a worried Eric that he could return as soon as she had seen to cleaning up and settling his wife and son.
Reluctantly he left Faith’s side, insisting he would return soon whether she was ready for him or not.
“Like father like son,” Faith said as he walked away.
Colin left with Eric, sending Hope a quick nod to let her know they would speak later. She looked forward to that time. Time for them to talk, time for them to be together. Time to rest in his arms.
Hope and a few other women set to work tending to Faith.
Eric and Colin joined Borg and Rath at the campfire.
Eric’s men were seeing to the safety of the camp while two of his men joined Rath’s men to hunt for food.
“Explain,” Eric said, sitting beside Rath and accepting the jug of mead passed to him.
“First let me congratulate you on the birth of your son,” Rath said with an extended hand.
Eric took his hand without hesitation. “Thank you, but my wife would have been in the safety of my protection had you not taken her from me. And you did take her from me.”
Rath offered an explanation since he knew the Devil expected one. “I had no choice. One of my people was seriously hurt and needed her skill as a healer.”
“You placed her life in danger,” Eric accused.
“I never would have allowed harm to come to her.”
Eric raised his voice. “You placed her in harm’s way when you took her from me.”
Rath remained silent for a moment and then looked the Devil directly in his eyes. “I meant no disrespect, but I did what was necessary for the safety of my people. And I would do it again.”
Colin and Borg waited for Eric to erupt and were surprised when he did not.
He spoke calmly. “I understand your reasoning and I respect your choice. You must understand my reaction.”
With that he drew a fist and threw it directly in Rath’s face. The man went over from the force of the punch and groaned, his hand going to rub at his injured jaw.
Eric offered him his hand. “All is settled now.”
“Aye,” Rath acknowledged, accepting his help to sit up. “All is settled.”
“Then I offer you my protection.”
Rath thought a moment. “I will consider it.”
“Good,” Eric said and stood. “Now I go to my wife. Borg, you are in charge of the men. Colin, go see to Hope. She has done much for my wife and I am grateful, but she herself must be weary from this long day.”
“She will not leave Faith’s side until she has seen to her care.”
“Then let us go together and see that both our women get what they need.”
“Which is?” Rath asked with a smile.
Eric grinned and threw an arm around Colin. “Us.”
Faith was nearly asleep when Eric stretched out beside her and beside their sleeping son. He was wrapped in several warm cloths and a wool blanket.
“He is handsome like his father,” Faith said with a proud smile.
“He is wrinkled,” Eric said and kissed the sleeping babe’s forehead. “You think me wrinkled?”
Faith laughed and welcomed his lips as they claimed hers.
“Rath tells me you went with him to help the injured.” He snuggled next to her, wrapping his strong arm around her and his son.
“I knew you would follow or else I would never have left you and there were those who required healing. I could not save one; his wounds were beyond my skills.”
“I am sorry,” Eric said, knowing his wife held a strong compassion to help the wounded and when she could not she suffered their loss.
“I saved others,” she said with a yawn. “And I knew you would come for me. I had no doubt.” Another yawn escaped from her.
“She needs rest,” Hope said, tucking the blanket around Faith’s legs.
“She will get her rest,” Eric said as if it were a command. “And so will you. Go with Colin. I will see to my wife now.”
Hope looked to Faith. “Aye, you need rest as well and you have done much for me. I do not know how to thank you.”
Hope smiled. “You can be there for me when my time comes.”
Colin slipped his arm around her. “Her time will come many times, for we both love children.”
“Aye, this is so,” Hope said, snuggling against him.
“Then go and begin your family,” Eric said with a dismissive wave of his hand.
“Do you hear that, Hope?” Colin asked with a grin. “The Devil orders us to start a family.”
Hope laughed. “He is too late… we have already begun to do so.”
They ran off laughing together like two young children, leaving the Devil and his lady time alone with their newborn son.
Colin directed Hope away from the camp.
“Where do you take me?” she asked while eagerly following.
“To a place meant only for you and me,” he said and stopped briefly to kiss her.
The rain started just as they slipped beneath the branch structure, soft splatters of raindrops falling down around them. They fell into each other’s arms, embracing as if they had not been together in a very long time.
“I cannot believe where my adventure has brought me,” she said in the comfort of his loving arms.
He hugged her close to him, feeling the gentle strength of her. “I am glad you are adventurous or I would never have found you.”
She laughed softly. “I must always remind you that it is I who found you.”
“Nay,” he said, shaking his head before kissing her temple. “I have searched for you for a very long time and I finally found you. I finally found love. A love that is forever.”
She turned in his arms and captured his lips in a hungry kiss that she never wanted to end. Their hands grew frantic, their passion soared and Hope whispered the words to him that meant so very much to her.
“You are forever mine.”
The End
Titles by Donna Fletcher
Series Books
The Highlander Trilogy
Highlander Unchained
Forbidden Highlander
Highlander’s Captive
The Macinnes Sisters Trilogy
The Highlander’s Stolen Heart
Highlander’s Rebellious Love
Highlander The Dark Dragon
The Pict King Series
The King’s Executioner
The King’s Warrior
The King & His Queen
The Irish Devil
Irish Hope
Isle of Lies
Love Me Forever
Dark Warrior
Legendary Warrior
The Daring Twin
The Bewitching Twin
Taken By Storm
Highlander’s Bride
Sinclare brothers’ series
Return of the Rogue
Under the Highlander’s Spell
The Angel & The Highlander
Highlander’s Forbidden Bride
Warrior King series
Bound To A Warrior
Loved By A Warrior
A Warrior’s Promise
Wed To A Highland Warrior
About the Author
Donna Fletcher is a USA Today bestselling romance author. Her books are sold worldwide. She started her career selling short stories and winning reader contests. She soon expanded her writing to her love of romance novels and sold her first book SAN FRANCISCO SURRENDER the year she became president of New Jersey Romance Writers.
Drop by Donna’s website www.donnafletcher.com where you can learn more about her and sign up for her Book Alerts so you don’t miss any of her new releases.
To Tame a Scoundrel’s Heart
A Waltz with a Rogue Novella
Collette Cameron
Chapter One
January 1819
Richmond, Parish of Kingston Upon the Thames, England
Bother and blast. Charitable intentions gone straight to Hades and scorched to ashes.
On all fours, Katrina Needham peered beneath the ugly-as-sin floral, chintz-covered couch, and in the process, snagged a hairpin on its braided edge. Several tendrils tugged loose, and an exasperated noise escaped her when the strands flopped across her forehead and eyes.
The sofa’s colors—somewhere between sickroom tosspot and stall muck—made her faintly nauseated. Or perhaps the potent fragrance hanging heavily in Miss Sweeting’s overly hot parlor triggered Katrina’s uncharacteristic queasiness.
A spicy-earthy scent permeated the stifling room, and, sweeping her hand behind the sofa, Katrina scrunched her nose in distaste.
Incense?
Yes, there atop the mantel beside an Oriental vase, unbelievably even more hideous than the couch. Heat-wilted blossoms sagged over the vase’s rim and drooped against each other in a futile effort to survive the ungodly temperature. Probably the revolting incense too. What could Miss Sweeting have been thinking? Surely she must have an inkling how unbearably warm and smelly the parlor was?
Most likely the incense was another exotic gift from the infamous Captain Dominic St. Monté. Despite his aged aunt’s adoration, Miss Sweeting’s privateer nephew would never claim sainthood, no indeed.
A seducing scoundrel? A well-earned title, most assuredly.
At least according to the not-entirely-disapproving whispered titters and wistful sighs Katrina had overheard at numerous le bon ton gatherings. One learned ever so many improper—and delicious—tidbits by listening and observing. Gentlemen either admired St. Monté’s prowess and daring, in and out of the boudoir, or disdained him as a reckless rakehell.
Katrina hadn’t a doubt he’d earned his devilish reputation in every arena.
A rare, unladylike snort escaped her, and she shoved a burnished curl out of her eyes while heaving a frustrated breath. How far could the thimble have rolled, for pity’s sake? And where had that rotten cat vanished to?
If the indulged, fur-covered, hissing ball of podgy unpleasantness Miss Sweeting called Pretty Percival hadn’t waddled his tubbiness across the sewing table, knocking the diamond-encrusted trinket to the floor, Katrina wouldn’t be creeping about on silk-clad knees, frantically trying to find the treasure. She must locate it before her hostess put in an appearance and Katrina’s hoydenish behavior required an explanation.
“Pretty Percival, my bum. More like peevish, petulant, spoiled-to-his-stubby-whiskers puss.”
Maybe, please God, the thimble had bounced beneath a chair or table.
Katrina crawled the few feet to an equally garish chair situated between the fireplace and a shelf laden with gaudy knick-knacks. Miss Sweeting truly possessed the most atrocious taste in furnishing. Ghastly stuff.
Remorse immediately poked Katrina. Given Miss Sweeting’s modest finances, everything she owned, including the threadbare carpet Katrina kneeled on, was a cast-off.
If the gold thimble hadn’t been a gift from The Saint, she wouldn’t have been as concerned. But the valuable bauble’s absence—purportedly once part of a Spanish treasure—would surely be noticed and distress the already feeble, too trusting Miss Sweeting. She doted on her nefarious nephew, though believing everything he said mightn’t be altogether prudent. Actually, not wise at all, considering privateers and pirates were opposite sides of the same coin.
St. Monté, otherwise known as The Saint of the Sea, according to the twittering elderly spinster, regularly sent her unusual trinkets, hideous things, and not once during Katrina’s visits had Miss Sweeting, Mama’s former governess, failed to display the thimble and various other foreign bric-a-brac proudly. His thoughtfulness and obvious affection for the woman who’d raised him contrasted starkly with his privateer repute.
Katrina patted about the chair’s legs before sinking lower and scowling at a lone bunny-sized dust ball snuggled contentedly between a gouged rear leg and the faded wall. No thimble hid there either. Where had the dratted thing disappeared to? It wasn’t as if the room was vast or stuffed with furnishings and whatnots.
“Percival, you rotten, flea-ridden hair ball, where is it?”
“I regret,” a rumbling male voice said, “I cannot stay for tea today, Aunt—”
Percival yowled plaintively, and Katrina, her pink-clad derrière indelicately raised, froze.
Oh, God no. That sounds like—
“Percy, darling. What is it, sweetums? Nic, do be a dear boy and pick him up for me,” Miss Sweeting cooed, her tinny tone frailer than usual. “Come, here. There’s a love, my pretty, pretty boy.”
Daring a peek, Katrina met a golden, grinning Adonis’s amber-hued gaze. The Saint, devil it. And he most certainly had seen her.
His attention fixed on Katrina’s bottom, he passed the now-purring Percival to Miss Sweeting, and Katrina swiftly angled to her knees, confident her face matched her gown’s rosy hue.
When had Captain St. Monté arrived, and why hadn’t Miss Sweeting mentioned she expected a visit from him? Shouldn’t he be cavorting on the seven seas, plundering ships, ravishing damsels, doing whatever illegitimate, highborn, swashbuckling—devilishly handsome—privateers without responsibilities or scruples did?
The blasted cat languidly blinked his big brandy—gloating?—eyes at Katrina and gave a toothy yawn.
“Miss Needham, whatever are you doing on the floor, my dear?” Sparse gray brows knitted in confusion, Miss Sweeting kissed Percival’s head and stroked the thick fat rolls layering his tawny, striped spine.
He arched, and his contented rumblings reverberating louder. Beast.
“Looking for your gold thimble, I’m afraid. Percival knocked it onto the floor, and I’ve spent five minutes searching for the dashed thing.” Katrina bit her lip. Ladies shouldn’t say dashed, especially bankers’ daughters already under the haut ton’s disapproving scrutiny. Not all le beau monde members took kindly to hoi polloi infiltrating their exclusive parlors—even gently-bred, refined commoners with vulgarly full coffers.
She scrambled to her feet before haphazardly repinning her wayward tresses. Mama would’ve tutted and fussed if she’d seen Katrina’s bare hands, but better to be caught gloveless by a gentleman than risk soiling her new gloves scuttling about the floor like a beach shore crab. Katrina refused to contemplate Mama’s reaction if she saw her daughter, rump in the air, on the floor.
The suntanned god chuckled, a deliciously wicked vibration that hadn’t any business coming from a man already claiming his striking looks. He possessed features too bold and rugged to be considered handsome in the classic sense, but as a buccaneer? Well, even her heart dared putter faster for a beat or two. His faintly bent nose and the convoluted scar from left eyebrow to temple marred his countenance, but in a dangerous, roguish way.
Those hadn’t been there the last time she’d seen him four—no, five—years ago.
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