by Amy Jarecki
“And lift the embargoes?”
He chuckled. “One thing at a time, but yes, that too.”
“Thank you, Father. It warms my heart to know you are not anxious to take up arms like some of the younger officers in your ranks.”
He opened the door and chuckled. “Perhaps I should keep you from the dining table. It appears Hamilton has put fear into your heart.”
She paused in the doorway. “Anyone would shudder when listening to his banter about snuffing certain clans.”
Her father grimaced with a hiss. “With luck, mayhap the young officer will receive a transfer.”
“Have you requested one on his behalf?” Charlotte crossed her fingers behind her back.
“More than once.” Papa nudged her into the corridor. “But enough talk about that. I’ve already divulged too much and do not want to overburden you.” He kissed her cheek. “Sleep well.”
Charlotte stared at the closed door. I must tell Hugh how much the clans are being watched.
Chapter Thirteen
Hugh waited until dusk to make his next move. Dressed in a woolen doublet atop a saffron shirt with his hunting plaid belted around his waist and slung across his shoulder, he walked through Fort William’s gate like any other Highland scout working for the government. To ensure not to be recognized, he’d shaved clean that morning and cocked his bonnet low over his brow, tying his hair at his nape. There were so many redcoats about intermixed with men in in plaid no one paid him any mind. At first, Hugh considered it odd he wasn’t questioned, but then the dragoons were on the lookout for armed regiments of Highlanders, not individuals who looked like trackers employed by Colonel Hill.
Walking with purpose, Hugh strode to the governor’s house, his gaze shifting all the while. Lamps flickered behind the curtain of the governor’s chamber and, above, a dim glow illuminated lace curtains, decidedly feminine. When certain no one watched him, he slid through the close to the rear entry.
Holding his breath, he listened.
“That ought to do it for tonight,” said a man with a lowborn cockney accent.
“Mayhap we can make it to the alehouse for a pint,” said another.
“You’re a man of priorities.” The latch creaked. “I’ll dump these slops and we’ll be on our way.”
Hugh barely had time to back away when the door burst wide with a showering of light. A red-coated dragoon with bow legs tottered down the two steps and into the darkness. Skirting around the side of the house, Hugh’s toe caught an axe handle, making it scrape across the cobblestones.
“Barney, is that you?” called the man tossing the slops.
The door swung open “Huh?”
“What’re you doing?”
“Waiting for you, ya bloody blighter.”
Hugh peeked around the corner as the dragoon moved into the light and set his bucket down. He drew his dagger, pointing it in Hugh’s direction. “I heard something over there.”
“Probably a rat,” said Barney.
Ballocks. Straining to see where he was placing his feet, Hugh dashed for a tree, and plastered himself against the far side, praying the white of his collar wouldn’t catch the moonlight.
The two old dragoons crept around the back of the house with their knives drawn.
Keep going, you bastards.
“I swore I heard something—’twas larger than a rat, it was.”
When they reached the front corner of the house, the one with Barney’s voice stood and sheathed his dagger. “Well, whatever made the noise is long gone. Come, I need a pint afore you start chasing ghosts.”
Hugh crouched by the tree until the dragoons were well out of sight before he stepped out from behind the tree and slipped into the kitchen. Once inside, he waited for his eyes to adjust before turning the handle on the door and popping his head into the corridor. Muffled voices came from the direction of the governor’s chamber. First Colonel Hill’s reedy baritone, followed by the sultry pitch of Charlotte’s alto. Gingerly stepping on the balls of his feet, Hugh proceeded to the steps.
Halfway up, a stair creaked under his foot—loud enough to wake the dead. Hugh froze, his gaze shooting to the line of light glowing beneath the governor’s door.
“What was that?” Charlotte asked, her voice resounding up the stairs, rekindling Hugh’s fire burning with his yen to again hold her in his arms.
His fingers twitched. ’Tis I come to make good on my promise, lass.
“A servant, no doubt,” came the colonel’s reply.
Hugh grinned and continued up to the second floor where he’d seen the lace curtains. This whole charade was far easier to orchestrate than he’d imagined. Holy hell, he figured at the least he’d have to do some fast talking at the gate—and at the worst, he might throw a fist or two. But aye, he’d promised Charlotte he’d see her today, and a MacIain always kept his promises.
Opening the door, Hugh’s breath stopped as Mrs. MacGregor whipped around.
“You?” her fists snapped to her hips. “What on earth are you doing up here of all places?” she chided in a loud whisper.
Foiled at the last turn, Hugh held up his palms. “I promised the lass I’d see her this day.” And he’d thought slipping inside had been child’s play?
Mrs. MacGregor emitted an exasperated cough. “In her bedchamber? Do you realize exactly how disgraceful this appears? Have you thought nothing of Miss Charlotte’s reputation?” She snapped her hands to her linen coif. “You cannot possibly remain here.”
Hugh would have rather fought a dozen dragoons with his fists than meet up with the sharp-tongued wife of a friend. How dull could he have been not to realize Mrs. MacGregor would be waiting for her mistress? “Please. I must see her if only for a moment,” he pleaded.
“That might have been permissible if you had knocked on the house door and asked her father for an audience—”
“He would have refused.”
Mrs. MacGregor pursed her lips and glared.
A door closed. Footsteps pattered up the steps.
“You miserable, bull-witted Highlander, I cannot believe I’m going along with this.” Farley’s wife grabbed Hugh by the arm and pulled him inside, careful to ensure the door closed without a sound.
His heart spiked with a volley of rapid beats. “My thanks.”
“If this results in me losing my position, it is you who will make up my wages.”
Hugh grinned—good thing the beef had sold well in Glasgow last summer. “Gladly.”
Emma thwacked him on the shoulder. “Farley told me you were a wily sort.”
He gave her a wink. “Och, matron, I like the word determined better.”
When the door opened, Hugh and Mrs. MacGregor stood side by side, looking like a pair of children caught with their fingers in Ma’s plum tart. Charlotte’s eyes popped as she gasped. She quickly closed the door behind her. “Good heavens, was that you I heard in the passageway?”
“M’lady.” Hugh slid his foot forward and bowed. “’Twas on the stairs, actually.”
Pushing him forward, Mrs. MacGregor looked about as happy as a patient sitting in a traveling dentist’s chair. “Now say your good days and I’ll spirit you down the servant’s stairs.”
“He must leave so soon?” Charlotte moved toward him, reaching out her hands. Lord, he could go dumb looking upon such radiance.
“Not to worry, Mrs. MacGregor.” Hugh clasped the lady’s lithe fingers and warmed them in his much larger palms. “I managed to slip inside. I can show myself out.”
“You cannot possibly tarry,” the woman persisted. “First of all, the gates will be locked at half past seven, and then you will be trapped within.”
Hugh glanced at the ticking clock on the wall and reluctantly released the lady’s supple hands from his grasp. “That allows me an entire hour.”
Charlotte looped her arm through his. “Yes, indeed it does.”
Lord, the lady impressed him more and more.
Mrs. MacGregor
shook her head, wringing her hands with a woeful scowl. “But he should not be in your bedchamber, miss. If anyone discovers him, it would cause a mortifying scandal.”
“Who will find out?” the lass challenged—honestly the woman had so much more grit than her diminutive stature would ever suggest. “Papa’s chamber is below, I’ve already bid him goodnight, and I’ve sworn you to secrecy.”
“No, no,” Mrs. MacGregor’s face turned from pink to red. “I must help you change into your nightdress—and I cannot remain within the walls after half-past seven. My husband will be worried to death if I do not walk across home’s threshold within the hour.”
After unthreading their intertwined arms and kissing Charlotte’s hand, Hugh grasped Mrs. MacGregor’s elbow and started toward the door. “I’m certain Miss Charlotte will be able to cope without your services for a single evening.”
Mrs. MacGregor yanked her arm away. “I will not hear of it.”
“Emma,” Charlotte said in a very assertive voice—bless her gumption. “Mr. MacIain is right. I can manage to fend for myself for one evening.”
“But—”
“I have made up my mind,” the spirited lass continued. “Mr. MacIain has acted as a complete and utter gentleman since our first meeting and I trust he will continue to behave as such.” She eyed Hugh sternly.
“Ah—absolutely,” he agreed, forcing himself not to wink. That’s exactly what he’d sworn to himself before he’d left the guesthouse. He had every intention of keeping that vow—even if there was a bed across the room, so inviting he knew it had to be topped with a feather mattress.
Frowning, Emma looked between them and held up her finger. “Truly, I should run down the stairs and inform the colonel forthwith.”
Hugh started forward with every intention of pleading with the woman, but she sliced her hand through the air. “If you promise to make for the gate as soon as the clock strikes seven, I will allow it this once. But if you ever show up in Miss Charlotte’s chamber again, I will have no recourse but to inform the governor of your impropriety.”
Barely able to contain himself from wrapping the matron in his arms and giving her a Highland hug, Hugh strode to the door and opened it with another bow. “My thanks, Mrs. MacGregor. I will nay forget your kindness.”
“Aye? Well then you’d best heed my warning.” She still looked madder than a wee badger defending its burrow.
Charlotte stepped in behind him. “I shall ensure he spirits out of the fort in time. There’s no need to worry, Emma.”
With one last harrumph, Farley’s wife turned on her heel and headed off. Thank the Lord for small mercies.
Hugh let the door close, and for good measure, he bolted it. His heart suddenly hammered in his chest. Charlotte clutched her hands under her chin, biting her bottom lip. “I cannot believe you’re here.”
He released his sword belt and placed his weapon atop the dressing table. Then he turned and inched toward her, one corner of his mouth turning up. “I cannot believe Mrs. MacGregor didn’t boot my arse down the servant’s steps.”
“If I hadn’t stopped her, I believe she would have.” Charlotte’s cheerful face brightened everything, even his mood. Heaven help him, every time he saw the lass she grew more alluring.
With a low growl, Hugh sauntered toward her and tugged her into his arms. “’Tis good to ken you have a headstrong Highland woman who looks after you when I’m not here.”
Charlotte’s hands slipped around his waist, sending shivers coursing across his skin. She blessed him with a coy smile, her eyes bright with an intelligent challenge. “Oh? Do you think I need to be tended?”
She felt so damned good in his embrace. The bed across the room called like a ship’s bell, but he closed his eyes and pressed his lips to her forehead. “Aye, especially with so many red-coated officers mulling about.”
Her body shook with an adorable giggle. “Pardon me, but my father wears one of those uniforms.”
“And he kept me in the pit for nearly two years.” Remembering his manners and his vow to be a gentleman earlier, he held her at arm’s length.
Charlotte cringed. “That is dreadful. I can see where your opinion might be tainted by such a horrible experience.”
“A wee bit, for certain.” Hugh’s eyes strayed to the bed. Lord, only a flesh and blood man, how was he to keep from gathering the lass in his arms and…? Absently he reached up with both hands and tugged the pins from her golden tresses.
In a blink, thick waves cascaded all the way down to her waist. Sultry and a wee bit disheveled, she pushed her locks behind her ear as the honeyed wisps flickered with amber in the candlelight. God’s teeth, must everything about this woman turn the hunger in his loins ravenous?
Perfectly bow-shaped lips curved up to him while Charlotte’s eyes fluttered closed. Hugh’s mind could no longer form a coherent thought. With a feral growl, he pulled her flush against his body and kissed her. This time his insatiable urges claimed his mind, and rather than softly brushing his lips across her sultry mouth, he plunged inside and joined with her, desperate for more.
With a wee mewl, Charlotte melted into him, her breasts plying his chest. Damnation, such perfection begged to be released from the cage of her stays. Connecting with her mons, Hugh’s cock grew so rigid, with one more deep swirl of his tongue he just might spill. Christ, he’d never been so aroused in his life—and merely by a kiss. He’d always maintained a modicum of control—took charge of the woman in his arms. But by the saints, must her breasts be so damn enticing?
His fingers itched to caress them, cup them, tease the taut nipples hiding beneath her corset. Pulling away her lace privacy panel, Hugh ran the back of his knuckles over the tops of her pliable flesh.
Charlotte threw her head back and released the most fevered moan he’d ever heard come from a woman.
Mercy save him, his cock grew harder while he rubbed his hips into her. It wasn’t enough. Too many layers of clothing separated them. If only he could strip her bare, be naked with her on the damned bed calling to him from across the floor. He could practically feel himself sliding into her, joining with her intimately—her hot, molten core surrounding him. Trailing his lips down her slender neck, his hand slipped to the back of her bodice and found the bow. With a tug, the laces released as her gown slackened.
Charlotte arched her spine as his finger slipped beneath the neckline and found a hard pearl ready to be suckled. “Hugh,” she said breathlessly. “We must stop.”
Stopping was the last thing he had on his mind. She knew he was but a Highlander—descended from the Lords of the Isles. Descended from the loins of men who lived hard—who found what they wanted and refused to let any man stand in their way until they’d conquered. Charlotte knew he was from Clan Iain Abrach of the Coe—the most feared and respected clan of the Gallows Herd, moreover, she knew he was heir. With his quick inhale, he sensed she liked the danger—it fed her—tore her from her bashfulness and ignited a fire in her loins just as it did his. Christ, he wanted to claim her as his woman. Now.
Ignoring her plea, he ran feathery kisses over that silken flesh. He couldn’t stop until he released the tiny pearl from its corseted prison. “Please let me taste you.”
A sharp cry caught in the back of her throat with her feeble attempt to push him away. Oh no, the lass wanted this more than she could allow herself to realize.
Ever so slowly, he pulled down her bodice, exposing her corset and shift. “No woman has ever looked so….so delicious.”
She panted. “You’ve seen many women in such a state of undress?”
Behind her back, Hugh found the bow at the base of her corset and expertly pulled until the tension slackened. “None so entrancing as you, m’lady,” he growled. “You have me completely and utterly bewitched.”
Hugh tugged the ruffled linen until the rose of her nipple teased him. His knees trembled as he leaned down further to take the tip into his mouth. Gooseflesh spread across her milky white
flesh as he teased her to a hard point. Och aye, she couldn’t hide her desire from Hugh MacIain.
Whimpering, Charlotte further arched into him. “How can you make me feel so rapturous? My fingers ache to sink into your hard flesh.”
He groaned while a bit of seed leaked from the tip of his cock. Did she have any idea what she’d just said? Breathing out a stuttered breath, he pushed aside his sporran and held himself against her. Though wool skirts and petticoats separated them, his cock honed in on her heat steaming through the layers.
Charlotte met his bold move with arousing whorls of her hips, wee gasps catching in the back of her throat.
His eager fingers felt like they’d grown five times thicker as he fumbled to work the laces free. Damnation, his hands were even shaking as he pulled the satiny ribbons loose. Finally releasing her from the cage of clothing, he cast aside both her bodice and corset. “Lord in heaven, do you ken what you’re doing to me?”
“No,” she uttered breathlessly. “But I cannot stop myself. My longing burns so deep within. It is you who are vexing me.”
He could no longer stand in the middle of her chamber with his shaft seeping seed into the wool of his kilt. Lifting her into his arms, Hugh carried her to the bed.
When he laid her down, she swooned into the pillows, raising her arms above her head. God, her tresses framed her face like a goddess. With a sigh, her breasts strained against her shift, giving him an eyeful of the heavenly female figure beneath the thin linen. Such a delectable sight she posed—the lass could not possibly understand the depth of her allure. Hugh’s palm perspired as he kneeled beside her and placed his hand over the decadent mound.
Jesus, Hugh had enormous hands, but her breast filled his palm as he kneaded his fingers while he plied the tender skin at her scooped neckline with flicks of his tongue. God save him, she smelled of a field of roses and tasted sweeter than port wine.
