The Fearless Highlander (Highland Defender Book 1)

by Amy Jarecki

  The old man crossed his arms and tipped up his heavily whiskered chin. “Bloody oath, I cannot reach Inveraray afore the first. And every Campbell for miles will jump at a chance to throw a noose around my neck. You ken you’re asking me to do the impossible.”

  Charlotte could have sworn she saw steam rising from the Highlander’s shoulders.

  The colonel backed toward his writing desk. “As I said before, I am unable to issue you the oath, but seeing as you have reached me by the prescribed deadline, I will write you a letter of passage, requesting that Ardkinglas receive you as a lost sheep.”

  Frowning, the Highlander took another step forward. “You mean to say you aim to make me turn around and ride seventy miles in a bloody blizzard? You’re spewing a cock and bull story if I ever heard one. I’ve received rumblings they—you intend to put all who do not pledge the oath to fire and sword.” He placed his big palms on the table. “Tell me these words are untrue.”

  Papa leaned in, challenging the Highlander’s intimidating stance. “I pray to God this madness will not come to that. My letter should allay all doubt.” The colonel reached for his quill with a trembling hand. “But you had best make haste.”

  “Haste? By God, I will not stand idle while you ride your backstabbing dragoons onto my lands!” The man’s steely eyes shifted to Charlotte. “Och, forgive my vulgar tongue, Miss…”

  “Hill,” she said, holding out her hand.

  “No one is planning a raid on your lands,” Papa sputtered, however his stubborn frown didn’t prevent him from gesturing Charlotte’s way as the angry stare melted from the big Highlander’s countenance. “If you hadn’t barreled in here like a bull, I would have made the introductions forthwith.” The colonel cleared his throat. “My daughter came to Fort William to look after me when I took ill. I’m afraid I’ve enjoyed her company too much to send her home to London, which I will do as soon as the winter snows melt.”

  Charlotte smiled. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Chief MacIain MacDonald, is it? You must be chilled to the bone, after riding in this weather.”

  He took her fingers in his woolen-gloved hand while a bit of mischief now sparkled in his blue eyes. “Aye, lass. You’re fortunate to have a fire to keep your toes from turning to ice.”

  When he bowed to kiss the back of her hand, Charlotte suddenly couldn’t breathe. For the love of everything holy, Hugh MacLeod—the very man who consumed her dreams watched her from the passageway. She wouldn’t have recognized him but for his stare. His eyes were even more intense than the old man’s…but darker with a burning fire so fierce it nearly scorched. Mr. MacLeod didn’t smile—showed no recognition whatsoever. The look on his face was hard, intense, and roused Charlotte all the way from the top of her head through the tips of her toes. Straining to steady her breathing, her blood ran hot, yet gooseflesh covered her skin.

  She could not pull her eyes away from the magnificent Highlander, staring at her as if she might pull a pistol from her belt and fire it straight at his heart. But then his father straightened. The old chieftain’s mouth quirked and he glanced over his shoulder. “Apologies, m’lady. I’ve not introduced my son, Hugh MacIain MacDonald—next in line for the Chieftainship of Clan Iain Abrach of Glencoe.”

  Her mouth suddenly dry, she could scarcely take a breath, let alone utter a word. So Hugh had given her a false name? Charlotte couldn’t blame him—suspected as much. Given the circumstances, she might have done the same. Gaining a thread of composure, she curtsied. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. MacIain.”

  He bowed, keeping his eyes level with her face. “Miss Hill.”

  Though Papa cleared his throat, Charlotte ignored her father and stepped toward the chieftain. “Our stores are rather thin, but I would offer you a bowl of pottage and a warm drink before you head on your way.”

  “I’d be much obliged for your kind hospitality,” Chief MacIain quipped. “Might just help the seventy miles pass a wee bit quicker, since your father is unable to issue me the oath.”

  “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go see to it a table is prepared.” After dipping into a curtsey, Charlotte sidled past the big Highland chieftain as her father took a seat at his writing desk.

  “I’ll escort the lass,” said Hugh. Lord, his voice was even deeper than she’d remembered.

  Charlotte’s stomach flipped upside down.

  “Very well,” said the chieftain, rolling his R. “I’ll join you as soon as the colonel writes his missive.”

  Stepping past him, Charlotte’s shoulder brushed Hugh’s plaid. Though she barely touched the man, the sensation sent shivers coursing up the side of her neck. “This way,” she uttered, managing to keep her voice steady.

  Chapter Eight

  Filling his senses with the tantalizing fragrance, Hugh not only followed, he floated after Miss Hill, breathing her in—rose oil mixed with a healthy dose of woman, Hugh’s tongue snuck to the corner of his mouth as he followed Charlotte down the passageway. The lady’s curls bounced with her graceful progression while the soft rustle of feminine skirts called to the deepest recesses of his heart.

  His palms itched to touch her, but he clenched his fists at his sides to keep from doing so until they came to a window embrasure. In a blink, he grasped her elbow and tugged her inside. “I have a gift for you.”

  Her eyes wide as a frightened doe, she glanced down the passageway. “We mustn’t tarry.” Then she looked him over from head to toe with a squint to her eye. “Mr. MacLeod.”

  Hugh cringed—well a half-smile, half-grimace sort of cringe. Surely she’d forgive him for assuming a name and slipping away when presented with the chance. “You cannot hold a wee fib against a prisoner of war. Do you ken what the dragoons would have done to me if they’d discovered who I am?”

  A spark of anger flashed through her eyes. “But—”

  “Clan Iain Abrach of the Coe is the most powerful and most feared mob of restless rebels in Scotland. Some say we’re the most incorrigible and troublesome of the Gallows Herd lot.”

  She crossed her arms and tipped up that delicate chin. “It sounds as if you’re proud of being a rebel.”

  “Proud? Mayhap I am. We’re Highlanders—live by a code of respect and honor that few in the Lowlands can understand.” Hugh threw his thumb over his shoulder. “And government men like your Da have moved onto our lands to force us to bend to their rules—their religion. They’re trying to snuff out our Highland ways. And I’ll tell you now, that’s nay going to happen.”

  “Is that so?” She took a step back, biting her bottom lip. “You’re even taller than I remembered. And now you’ve drawn me aside with no one else about. Should I be in fear of you?” Then she clasped her hands together just beneath a slender neck. “You must realize, if I let out even a hint of a scream, a hundred dragoons will fall upon you before you can draw that mammoth sword of yours.”

  “Nay, nay. I’m not trying to frighten you in the slightest.” Hugh held up his palms to show his good intentions. Bloody hell, he’d had to boast like a braggart. Here he’d been presented with an opportunity to speak to the lass alone and he was making a mess of it. “You saved my life and for that, you will always have my protection.”

  “Protect me?” She looked to the ceiling and groaned. “Why is it every man in the Highlands thinks I need to be suffocated with protection?”

  Hugh hadn’t thought about that. But she did live inside a garrison with a company of soldiers—her father heading the lot of them. He nodded, buying time to collect his thoughts. “Regardless, I owe you a debt of gratitude.” And for nine miserable months I’ve been unable to stop myself from dreaming about your bonny face.

  “I thank you.” She dipped her head in a polite bow, but her worried expression didn’t soften. “Is it really true what they say about your clan? You raid wherever your fancy takes you—that the MacIains have no allies aside from the men you support? That you would steal a man’s last meal and burn his home whilst you la
ugh, driving his livestock into your horde of plenty?”

  Her words cut deep. Sounds as if she’s been listening to the Campbells for certain. Hugh removed his bonnet and held it between his hands to keep from reaching out and pulling the bonny woman into his arms. “Och, you make us out to be a mob of heathens.”

  “Then tell me the rumors are untrue.” The lass had a righteous streak when she set her mind to it. But by the saints, her lips pursed into the most kissable bow shape he’d ever seen. No wonder he’d lost his fevered head and kissed the lass so many months ago.

  “Uh.” Bloody hell, this conversation was nothing like he’d planned. If he didn’t take charge now, Miss Hill might just inform her father about his escape. His shoulder ticked up. “Raids are rare, though I’ll not say they haven’t happened. Our lands are plundered by the Campbells and, in turn, we take back what is rightfully ours.”

  “So an eye for an eye, is it?” She bit her rosy bottom lip.

  “Something like that.” How the devil he thought he could turn an English lassie to the Highland way of thinking with a wee conversation was too much of a stretch—even from him. He needed a diversion afore the lass decided him daft.

  She lowered her hands to her sides. “I don’t think—”

  Remembering his purpose, Hugh slipped a hand into his sporran and pulled out the fork. “I believe this lock picker is yours, miss.”

  Charlotte’s lovely mouth dropped open with her sharp gasp. Then she snatched the implement from his grasp. “You mean to tell me you used my fork to…” She glanced up and down the passageway. “Pick your locks?” she whispered.

  Having managed to disarm her, Hugh smiled broadly. “Aye, and I’ll be forever in your debt.”

  “Oh my heavens, if my father should discover I unknowingly gave you a tool that you in turn used to…to…escape.”

  “But you helped me slip out of the fort.”

  She held her finger to her lips. “Sh. You must never, ever mention that to anyone.”

  Hugh could keep his hands idle no longer. Simply the pale white of her skin filled his chest with longing. He cupped her blushing cheek in his palm. “When I knocked at death’s door, you gave me a new chance at life. Your kindness alone saved me, and for that I will always be in your service, m’lady.”

  Her mouth opened and formed an O before she spoke. “I-I…you were so ill and so…um…I don’t know what to say to such a declaration of chivalry.”

  Hugh stared into her eyes for a moment, the torch on the far wall casting just enough light for him to appreciate the rich lavender he’d remembered from the surgery. “Not a day has passed that I haven’t thought about you, your compassion, your loveliness.”

  “Oh please, Mr. MacIain. You cannot possibly expect me to believe you’ve thought of me that often. It has been nine months.”

  Hugh’s heart skipped a beat as he leaned toward her and rubbed his thumb over her silken cheek. “Did you ever think of me?” God, he hoped so—the intensity that always connected their gazes could not have been felt merely by him, could it?

  Charlotte shuttered her lovely eyes as she looked down. “Yes,” she whispered. “I’ve thought of you.”

  His finger twirled around one of her curls. “It warms my heart to hear you say so.”

  “But you’re a Jacobite.” Charlotte had become soft spoken again, the color in her cheeks deepening.

  Hugh couldn’t again lie to her, though he’d never wanted to jump ship so much in his life. “Aye. I’ve fought for the Stuart king. Is that reason enough to allay our friendship?”

  “It should be.”

  “But do you want it to be?”

  She kept her gaze downcast while she shook her head. “No.” The word was spoken so softly, Hugh barely heard. Then she placed a dainty hand on his arm, the warmth of her touch melting what little control remained. “We must move along before someone happens past.”

  Hugh stepped in nearer and slipped his hand to her corseted waist. “I’ve one more thing I need to do.” God save him, Charlotte was just far too tempting to allow this opportunity to slip by. As he moved even closer, she backed until stopping flush against the wall. Her heavy-lidded gaze fell to his mouth and her tongue slipped out, moistening her bottom lip. Did she have any idea how enticing she looked? Hugh stood so near, her breath wound its way through the laces of his shirt while her bosoms rose and fell with every inhale.

  “Sir?” She met his gaze, stunning violet eyes wide.

  Hugh grinned as he slowly dipped his head. “I need to kiss you, lass,” he growled right before he closed the gap and captured her mouth. Sliding his hand around to her back, he trapped her against the wall. Charlotte made no attempt to flee, but clearly by her stiffness, she’d never been properly kissed—oh no, a fleeting peck whilst fleeing didn’t count. Aye, she needed a wee bit of coaxing. He kneaded his fingers up her spine whilst he brushed her satiny lips with his tongue.

  Ever so slowly, she yielded to him until she opened enough for him to slip inside and taste her. Oh, blessed be the ambrosia of the gods, this woman was as pliable as unfired clay. With a winsome sigh, she succumbed to Hugh’s encouraging hands and melted into his chest. All the silver in Edinburgh would not be enough to pull him from this moment. With her soft breasts titillating his chest, she did something totally unexpected. Her hands slipped around his waist. Lithe fingers kneaded the muscles in his back.

  As his breathing sped, Hugh deepened his kiss. Lord Almighty, if only he could coax her to the next room, and show her exactly how much he’d been thinking of her—what he dreamed of doing with her—how much he wanted her to—

  A footstep sounded.

  Charlotte jerked away, hitting her head on the stone wall behind. With a gasp, her hand flew back, and then she froze, her eyes filling with fear as her gaze shifted toward the sound of nearing footsteps.

  Hugh gave her a reassuring wink and adjusted his plaid before stepping into the corridor.

  A red-coated officer approached, powdered wig, buckled shoes, stiff gait, sporting one of the haughtiest expressions Hugh had ever seen. “What in the devil’s name are you doing here?”

  Charlotte started to move, but Hugh shielded her behind him. “Miss Hill was just showing me to the kitchens.”

  “From the window embrasure?” The officer peered around him.

  “I do not see where that is your concern, Lieutenant Hamilton,” Charlotte quipped. Och aye, the lass had spunk.

  “Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton. I daresay, I’ve been at Fort William a month. You should be well aware of my rank.” The snooty man sneered as he looked Hugh from head to toe. “Are you in need of assistance, Miss Hill?”

  “Not at all. If you must know, Mr. MacIain MacDonald stopped momentarily to return a fork he borrowed some time ago.”

  Hugh had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from bursting out with laughter. My, the lady did have some mettle, practically giving his tool of escape away.

  The officer smirked, his gaze narrowing as if a deep seated hatred had surfaced. “What on earth would a Highlander do with a fork?”

  Hugh shrugged. “Eat. What else would those flimsy tines be good for?” He stepped back and made a show of frowning whilst he eyed the Lieutenant Colonel. “I’d reckon a redcoat the likes of you would be far too tough to take on with a table fork.”

  Charlotte cleared her throat and curtsied. “Please excuse us, sir. I’m afraid Mr. MacIain and his father mustn’t tarry.” She grasped Hugh by the elbow and hastened him down the passageway. “That man makes me very uneasy,” she whispered.

  “Hamilton?”

  “Yes. Repeat this to no one, but Papa fears he has come to do ill.” She stopped and held up her finger. “You think my father is a threat to the Highlands?” She again looked both ways as if afraid the walls were listening. “Well, I’ve seen enough of the lieutenant to worry that the relative peace that Papa has managed to bring about may not last, and you and your father had best steer clear of him.”<
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  “Aye?” Hugh placed his hand in the small of her back as they continued on. “But then how am I to steal more kisses? Nay, a pasty codfish like Hamilton cannot keep me away from your bonny smile, Miss Hill.”

  Clapping her hands to her cheeks, Charlotte shook her head. “Oh no, kissing me is far too dangerous. We mustn’t ever do that again.”

  “You mean to say you didn’t enjoy my wee peck?” Hugh watched her expression. High color flooded her cheeks like she’d spent an entire day with the sun’s rays beating down on her face.

  “Mr. MacIain, you are shameless.”

  He gave her a wink. “You enjoyed it—mayhap as much as I.”

  Chapter Nine

  Wrapped in a cloak, Charlotte stood atop the battlements while angry snow and sleet whirled around her. Night came early in the Highlands. She could scarcely see Hugh and his father mount their garron ponies down below, their silhouettes dancing in the glowing torchlight from inside the gatehouse. Her teeth chattered as they rode off, their long legs thrust out from the stout ponies. Cloaked in furs and armed with muskets and swords, the MacIain clansmen followed, bonnets pulled low over their brows.

  She could scarcely imagine riding seventy miles in a blizzard on a night as cold as this. Only the heartiest of men would survive such a journey. God save them. If only Papa could have taken the chieftain’s oath.

  Charlotte remained motionless, watching while the snow swallowed Hugh’s fading outline until nothing remained but the icy flakes stinging her cheeks—and darkness.

  Her lips still tingled from Mr. MacIain’s kiss. When he said he wanted to kiss her she should have pushed him away—heavens he’d done it twice now. The only problem was his words made Charlotte’s mind completely run amuck. One moment she thought she was in control and the next, his big hands slipped behind her back while he lowered his lips and joined them with hers. How on earth was a woman supposed to resist such a temptation as Hugh’s puckered lips, his warm, spicy breath, not to mention his soulful eyes fanned by long, chestnut lashes? He’d gazed upon her with such fervent hunger—the same craving that had been simmering in the darkest recesses of her heart since the first day she’d laid eyes on him.