Rose In Scotland

by Overfield Joan

  “Him and his musket, both gone, and none have seen him in near to a fortnight,” Lucien admitted, eyeing Hugh nervously. “I dinna remark on it at first because the lad’s taken himself off half a dozen times before, and always he has returned. But this time it is different, for ’Tis not just his musket he took, but all his clothes and every scrap of money his poor mother had as well. She said he spoke of going to Glasgow, but who can tell?”

  Hugh couldn’t believe it at first. The vengeance he had hungered for, lived for all these endless days, was for naught. If Labhruinn had indeed taken himself to Glasgow all those days ago, then the chances of his still being there were all but nonexistent. Glasgow welcomed ships from every corner of the globe, and he could be anywhere, anywhere in the world, safely away from Loch Haven and his reach.

  “God damn you for a useless fool!” he roared, shaking with the strength of his fury. “Why did you nae tell me of him sooner? You let him get away! The stinking bastard shoots my wife, and you let him get away! You cursed whoreson! I could kill you for this!”

  Lucien rose at Hugh’s words. “Then kill me, laird, if ‘twill make you feel better,” he said quietly, meeting Hugh’s molten glare with cool equanimity. “Curse me, strike me, if that is your pleasure. For whatever you do to me, ’Tis no less than I would do to myself for failing you. I am most heartily sorry.”

  His soft words defeated Hugh, leaving him even more at a loss. He whirled away, turning to stalk the narrow confines of the room. So many emotions rioted inside of him, he thought he would surely go mad from the cacophony. The only thought to emerge clearly from the chaos was that he had failed Caroline. He had failed to protect her, and now he had failed to find the man who had wounded her so grievously. The bitterness of that knowledge all but broke his pride, and his heart.

  He loved her, he thought, amazed he hadn’t realized the truth of that until just this very minute. He loved her, and he had failed her.

  “No, Lucien,” he said heavily, turning to face the other man with as much dignity as he could muster. “Once more, ’Tis I who must apologize to you. I am bitter disappointed I couldna avenge myself on Labhruinn, but the fault is more mine than ’Tis yours. Will you forgive me for my temper and my words?”

  Lucien gaped at him before replying. “Aye, Hugh, of course!” he said, his cheeks growing as pink as a schoolboy’s. “But as I said, I blame myself for nae telling you sooner of my suspicions. If I had, mayhap we would have caught the bleek.”

  “And mayhap we would have not,” said Hugh, painfully accepting the truth of the matter. “Do something for me, Raghnall, if you would.”

  “Anything, laird.”

  “Send a man … no, two men to Glasgow, and have them make inquires to see if any trace of Labhruinn is to be found. Have them check all ships that have set sail in the past two weeks, and order them to report back to me the smallest scrap of information they find.”

  “Aye.” Lucien nodded eagerly. “Will there be anything else?”

  Hugh thought a long moment. “You said he took all his mother’s money when he left,” he said in a heavy voice. “Have my steward check on her. Be certain she doesna lack for anything. I willna have her suffer for the sins of her son.”

  Lucien looked much-struck by his generosity. “I will see to it at once,” he vowed. “And if you dinna mind my saying it, ’Tis a rare kindness you are showing. You are a good laird, Hugh.”

  “Am I?” Hugh asked, his shame all but choking him. “I am glad you think so, Raghnall, for God knows, I do not.”

  By late the next evening, Caroline felt well enough to insist she be allowed to take her dinner in the dining hall with the rest of the family. Hugh protested at first, citing her poor health and delicate constitution, but when she persisted he finally acquiesced. With provisos, of course.

  “Really, Hugh, you need not carry me down the stairs, you know,” she scolded, wrapping her arms about his neck. “It was my arm that was injured, not my leg.”

  “Hush, wife, and mind your wicked tongue,” he ordered, his stem tone belied by the twinkle in his eyes. “I am your husband, and ’Tis my right to carry you when and where I will.”

  Caroline pretended to pout, even as she secretly thrilled to the commanding words. For reasons she couldn’t fathom, her hunger for her husband was reaching decidedly unladylike proportions, and she feared that did he not make love to her soon, she would attack him in his sleep. In fact, she mused, her lips curving thoughtfully, that sounded like a most interesting idea. Hugh gave a sudden groan, and her lascivious thoughts were instantly forgotten.

  “What is it?” she demanded, horrified to see he had clenched his jaw, and that sweat was beading his brow. “I’m too heavy, aren’t I?” she cried, aware of the weight she had gained, despite her injury. “Put me down, Hugh, before you harm yourself!”

  Instead of being touched by her solicitousness, he seemed to take it greatly amiss. “Will you stop wiggling, blast it!” he roared at her, his grip tightening about her. “You’ll overset me, and then we’ll both end up on our arses!”

  Mindful of anything that might bring harm to the babe, Caroline stilled at once, although it was hard. Impossible brute, she thought, the pout on her lips now genuine. He was becoming entirely too masterful for her liking.

  She was pleased and more than a little relieved to find they would be dining en famille tonight. Although she had kept to her rooms last night as befit an invalid, she was well aware of the company they had. Indeed, she would have to have been deaf to have missed the wail of the pipes and the general sounds of merriment coming from the great hall. ’twas the MacDouglasses, a giggling maid had informed her proudly. And there was nothing a MacDouglass liked better than to make merry and make music. She’d met the laird of the MacDouglass this morning when, at his insistence, Hugh presented the behemoth to her. She’d been torn between astonishment and laughter when the huge gentleman, with his great mane and beard of flaming red hair, had bowed over her hand with all the grace of a courtier, pronouncing himself her most ardent protector. He was charming indeed, and she was heartily grateful to be shed of him.

  Dinner was pleasant, and if Mairi and Aunt Egidia did tend to watch her like two broody hens fighting over a lone chick, at least they did not nag her to death. Hugh alternated between attentive care and blank disinterest, spending much of the evening scowling off into space. At the end of the meal they retired to the music room, where Mairi played the pianoforte Hugh had had shipped from Edinburgh as a surprise for his sister. The music was lovely and soothing, and to Caroline’s everlasting embarrassment, it soon had her nodding over her sherry.

  “Hugh, you thoughtless brute!” Aunt Egidia was quick to notice her sleepiness, and quicker still to blame Hugh for it. “What can you be thinking to keep the poor lassie up all hours, when she is fresh from the sickbed? Take her up at once before she falls asleep where she sits!”

  “I’m all right, Aunt Egidia,” Caroline protested, then spoiled the words by giving a huge yawn. The older woman turned upon her with a fiery scowl.

  “And there will be no more impertinence from you this night, young lady,” she said, shaking an admonishing finger at Caroline. “If I say you’re tired, than tired you are, and I’ll nae hear another word about it! Off with you now!”

  Bowing to the voice of authority, Caroline allowed Hugh to escort her from the room, and once more he swept her into his arms and began carrying her up the stairs.

  “I really wish you would not do this, Hugh,” she reproved, although she was careful to remain perfectly still. “I have eaten so much these past several days that I feel quite the pig. I am afraid I am too heavy for you.”

  “Nonsense, annsachd,” he assured her, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. “You scarce weigh more than a puff of air. ’Tis no strain to carry you, I promise you.”

  She let herself be mollified, for truth to tell, she rather enjoyed being carried so in her husband’s arms. A scheme had come to her over
dinner, and she was most anxious for them to reach the bedroom so that she could set it into action. It had been too long since she’d known the shattering ecstasy of Hugh’s lovemaking, and she was ready to put an end to the drought. All she needed was to wait for the right moment.

  The embers in the fireplace cast a reddish-gold glow, providing more than enough light as Hugh elbowed opened the door and carried her inside. The bed could be clearly seen, the bedclothes already turned down and waiting for them. She waited, biding her time until Hugh leaned forward to set her down, and then she gave a hard tug.

  “What the—!” she heard him exclaim, and then he tumbled down on the bed beside her.

  “Caroline!” he scolded, glaring down at her with a mixture of irritation and concern. “Mind what you’re doing! I might have landed on you and hurt your poor arm!”

  “My poor arm is fine, you thickheaded oaf!” she told him, and to prove her point she gave another tug, this time bringing his mouth down to hers. She kissed him with all the love she took such pains to hide, and with the blazing passion that threatened to consume her alive. She loved Hugh, she desired him, and if it was the last thing she did this night, she was determined to have him. She opened her lips, teasing his tongue with hers in a way which never failed to drive him wild.

  “Caroline, annsachd,” he groaned, his body hardening with desire. “Dearest, we cannot. You are yet hurting …”

  “Yes,” she said, fear she would fail driving her to greater acts of boldness. “I hurt. I hurt here …” She took his hand and placed it upon her aching breast. “And here …” She lifted her hips until her femininity was cradling his hard male flesh. “Make the ache stop, leannan, else I fear I shall die from the pain!”

  Whether it was the sound of his language on her tongue or the insistence of her caresses, Hugh ceased his protestations. He leaped from the bed and began tearing off his clothes, with little care for their cost or condition. When he was splendidly nude he returned to the bed, and Caroline trembled with excitement at what she knew would come next. But instead of falling on her and loving her with the ferocity she was expecting, he turned as coy as a young lad faced with his first maiden, taking his own time as he removed each item of her clothing piece by piece.

  “A silly piece of frippery,” he announced, tossing her corset onto the floor. “An Englishman must have designed this,” he declared of her stiffened petticoats, before removing them one by one. Finally, when she was as naked as he, he leaned back to enjoy the fruits of his handiwork.

  “Mayhap you are gaining the smallest bit of weight,” he decided, reaching out to stroke her breasts, noticeably fuller now than they had been even weeks before.

  “Beast!” She slapped his hands, feigning indignation lest he guess the truth. “That was most ungentlemanly!”

  He raised an eyebrow in mock reproof. “Did I say I was complaining?” he asked, his fingers teasing the pouting nipples to hard points. “You’re very beautiful, love. And these are like ripe strawberries, begging to be plucked.” He gave them a gentle pinch that had her biting back a moan of pleasure. “I’ve always had a weakness for the fruit,” he said, and dipped his head to gently tug one of the nipples into his mouth. The hot suction of his mouth was all it took to drive Caroline over the edge. She clung to him, sobbing her joy and arching against him with helpless abandon. When he entered her she peaked a second time, calling out his name as he made love to her with a fierce passion that more than equaled her own. The third climax was beckoning when he began thrusting harder and deeper, joining her in shimmering wonder as release shuddered through both of them.

  It was the rattle of dishes and the loud whispering of the maids that awoke Caroline late the next morning. She opened her eyes to see one of the maids holding up one of her discarded stockings and giggling. She gave judicious thought to closing her eyes and feigning sleep until the servants left, when she suddenly became aware she was alone in the bed.

  “Hugh?” His name left her lips without her being aware of it, and she raised her head to glance around the room.

  “Oh, he’s been up and gone for hours, my lady,” the bolder of the two maids offered, bustling forward to smile at Caroline. “An English nobleman, a duke, has arrived all the way from Bath, and the laird did go down to bid him welcome.”

  The news brought Caroline bolting upright in bed, the bedclothes clutched protectively in front of her. “Grandfather is here?” she exclaimed, delighted at the prospect of seeing him after all these weeks. “Why was I not told?”

  “The laird said you were nae to be disturbed,” the second maid said, clearly not willing to be left out of the conversation. “But he did leave word to join him and the duke in his study once you had awakened and had breakfast.”

  The mention of breakfast made her always-uncertain stomach twist, and Caroline decided to forgo her morning meal until later. Besides, she didn’t want to wait another moment to go and greet her dearest grandfather.

  She rushed her maid through her morning ablutions, fidgeting with mounting impatience. A small skirmish ensued when she refused to let her stays be completely laced, but she was able to overcome the maid’s fashionable sensibilities by explaining she was still hurting from the wound. She knew that the truth would be obvious in a few weeks, but until then she was determined to keep the matter secret. The moment the maid pronounced herself satisfied, Caroline bolted from the room and ran down the steps to find Hugh.

  She was about to start down the long corridor leading to the study when she remembered the shortcut Hugh had shown her their first few days in the castle. It led through a confusing array of rooms and ended in a small anteroom on the other side of his study, and on impulse she decided to take that route. Not only would it save considerable time, but it would allow her to pop in on her grandfather and Hugh by surprise, an idea she found childishly pleasing.

  The rumble of male voices greeted her when she walked into the anteroom, and she was about to open the door when she heard her grandfather say, “Charles has ever been a liar and a coward, but he’s not foolish enough to lie to me when I am threatening to disinherit him. He swears by all that is holy he had naught to do with the attack on Caroline, and damned if I don’t believe him. Besides, he was in London when it happened.”

  “Men like your son, General, dinna sully their hands directly with something so base as murder,” Hugh’s voice was filled with icy disgust. “But as it happens, I have cause to believe in his innocence. For the moment … at least.”

  Caroline hesitated. Loath as she was to eavesdrop, this was her first chance to learn the full truth of what had happened on the day she was shot. Hugh refused to even mention the matter to her, and she strongly suspected he had instructed everyone else in the household to be equally as tight-lipped. This might be the only opportunity she would have to learn something of import. Her curiosity battled her conscience, and her conscience promptly lost. She leaned closer to better hear what was being said.

  “It sounds interesting, Sergeant Major, and I shall certainly expect a full report before Captain Dupres joins us. But in the meanwhile, tell me how our other little mission is coming along. Is everything proceeding accordingly?”

  ‘Other mission, General?” She thought Hugh sounded a trifle strained, and wondered if he had forgotten some favor he had promised her grandfather.

  “You know full well what I mean, Sergeant,” her grandfather responded with an indulgent laugh. “I kept my end of the bargain by arranging the release of your father and brother, and now I am inquiring if you have kept your end as well. Am I to have the great-grandson I want? Is Caroline with child as yet?”

  Chapter 18

  “Sergeant?” General Burroughs was scowling at Hugh with marked impatience. “Did you not hear what I asked? I asked—”

  “I heard you, General,” Hugh replied, the familiar taste of betrayal and dishonesty foul in his mouth. Since the first time he’d made love with Caroline, not a day went by but he didn’t
bitterly regret the offer the general had made at the Gillmore’s ball. Telling himself he’d had no other recourse did little to remove the taste, nor did the knowledge that when he made love to Caroline, his agreement with her grandfather was the farthest thing from his mind. He loved Caroline passionately, endlessly, in ways that had nothing to do with bargains or agreements, and he felt as if he had betrayed her in the cruelest way there was.

  “Well?” The general was all but hopping up and down on his chair like a lad waiting for school to be out. “Tell me! Is my granddaughter breeding, or is she not? It’s one or the other.”

  “I don’t know,” Hugh blurted out, deciding that was close enough to the truth to suffice. “After the doctor had removed the bullet I asked him about the possibility of a babe, but he said he couldn’t be certain. I know I was hoping she was not,” he added, remembering how pale and still she’d been on the long ride back to the castle. “I feared a babe would be too much for her after … after what had happened.”

  The general frowned, his blue eyes growing grim. “Aye, there is that,” he muttered, looking troubled. “And I know you to be too much a gentleman to importune her while she is recovering. Ah, well, mayhap in a month or two. Only mind you do not dally overly long,” he warned with a waggling finger. “I’ve not a great deal of time left, you know.”

  Another person he had failed, Hugh thought bleakly. It would seem he had made a sad job of things since returning to Scotland. He was also glad the general could not read minds, else he would know that he’d done a great deal more than importune Caroline last night. She might have initiated their lovemaking—a boldness which, if he thought about it, would have him grinning like a moonling—but he had been the one who’d been without a shred of control. Even when she’d lain weak and exhausted in his arms, he kept touching her and kissing her, offering his love to her in the only way he dared.

  “… would be the sensible thing to do, eh, MacColme?” the general concluded, gazing at Hugh impatiently.