The Fearless Highlander (Highland Defender Book 1)

by Amy Jarecki

  God, he was so hard, all he could think of was the bed behind him and how easy it would be to throw her down and sink deep inside her. Aye, she was ready, too. Her breaths came in sharp whimpers, telling him what she wanted.

  Hugh circled his hips crushing his cock against her—through her skirts—through her petticoats, he could feel her heat, the desire oozing from the soft flesh at her apex. He’d never wanted to take a woman so badly in his life.

  Their mouths still joined, his hand slipped down and grasped those layers of skirts. Inching them up, he finally slipped his fingers under the hem. Slowly, he coaxed her legs apart.

  Charlotte gasped. “Hugh?”

  “Wheesht. We cannot rouse your father.” He regarded her with two quick arches of his eyebrows and a cheeky grin. With an exhale, she nodded her assent, her violet eyes filled with trust. Using a feathery touch, he slid his fingers into the hot, moist core of her womanhood. God save him, she was so wet, he could slip into her in one thrust. His cock throbbed, grinding into her hip.

  Charlotte arched against him—her hips sliding around his hand. “I think I’m about to shatter.” She tensed and tried to pull away but Hugh nuzzled into her neck, coaxing her to relax.

  “Let me show you pleasure.” Aye, he might show the lady the depth of her passion, but he would not take her this night—not until they were properly wed. Och, he would do this right if it killed him.

  “Do you trust me?” he asked.

  “Yes.” Her reply came with such breathlessness it was almost inaudible.

  He first released the string holding up her skirts, then removed one, two, three petticoats.

  She crossed her arms over her shift. “Not this.”

  He grinned. “Are you shy, lassie?”

  “No—y-yes.”

  Hugh didn’t mind. He could see every curve of her form through the sheer linen, and he gathered her in his arms and carried her to the bed. Charlotte sank into the pillows while he moved beside her and slipped his hand up her thigh and swirled his finger around the tiny nub just above her opening. With muffled gasps, she yielded to his touch, rocking her hips. Her wee cries drove his pulse to thrum faster.

  Hugh rubbed his erection against her hip, teetering on the edge of losing control. He slid his finger inside, and she clamped tight around him. A bit of seed leaked from his cock. If he could only enter her, but he tightened his buttocks and ground his teeth. Damnation, this was for Charlotte—and it was up to him to keep it quiet lest the colonel blast through the locked door with a musket.

  Forcing his hips away from her, Hugh kneeled between Charlotte’s legs.

  Shuddering she tried to sit up. “Wha…what are you doing?”

  He placed a palm on her abdomen. “Trust me.”

  Completely open to him, Hugh gazed on her womanhood, the scent turning his cods to molten fire. He needed to show her pleasure—wanted her to know what it was like to soar with the birds and shatter with ecstasy. With one more inhale of a fragrance more intoxicating than honey, he licked her with his tongue.

  A scream caught in her throat.

  “Sh,” Hugh warned as his tongue again swirled.

  She crossed her arm over her mouth.

  Sliding his finger into her core, he worked his tongue faster, slipping it over and around her pearl. Up and down Charlotte’s hips bucked until all at once she arched her back. Her thighs closed around Hugh’s head and shuddered. Muffled cries came from above, while her breathing panted.

  Aye…she found heaven.

  Hugh slid up beside her and kissed her hair, cradling her against his chest until her gasps eased.

  “W-what was that?” she whispered, followed by a sharp inhale.

  “’Twas only a sampling of what could be between a man and a woman.”

  Sighing, she snuggled into him. “That’s why I want to be with you for the rest of my life. No man could ever take me to the heights of rapture like that. No man but you.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Hugh woke before dawn and swiftly straightened his clothing. Sound asleep and curled among the pillows with a comforter pulled over her shoulders, Charlotte looked like an angel, her shiny locks framing her face. The picture she made was bonny enough for a miniature. In fact, Hugh would commission an artist in Glencoe to paint a newfangled miniature for him to carry in his sporran. Then he’d have a wee bit of Charlotte with him always.

  They’d spent the wee hours of the night whispering, telling each other about their childhoods, their tutors. Hugh had even told her about his education in France, and Charlotte about her Irish violin instructor.

  Hugh had described Glencoe in great detail, trying to bring its grandeur to life in her imagination. He told her about the shielings—the MacIain summer homes where they took their cattle for grazing up by Black Mount. He described the flat grazing lands of Rannoch Moor and why that bit of lush land was oft the focus of the feud between the MacDonalds and the Campbells. He could hardly wait to show her his home. It was far more beautiful than words could describe—not even a painter could capture the magic of Glencoe.

  Rather than rouse her, he slipped to her writing table and inked a quill:

  30th January, the year of our Lord 1692

  My bonny lass,

  ’Tis Wednesday, is it not? And on this fortuitous day I ever so much look forward to carrying your basket at Inverlochy market. Until then, my heart is in your care.

  With deepest adoration and love,

  Hugh.

  After sanding the parchment, he folded it and slipped it beside her. Och to be able to sleep like a bairn as she does.

  Afraid he should tarry no longer, Hugh opened the door.

  Bloody, miserable, bleeding hell.

  Clapping her hand to her chest, Mrs. MacGregor sucked in a gasp so deep, Hugh feared the woman might topple backward.

  “What the blue blazes are you doing here?” she hissed, pushing him back into the chamber.

  Hugh shot a startled look to the bed and held his finger to his lips. “She’s sleeping.”

  “’Tis a good thing she’s the one in the bed and not you!”

  Hugh cringed. He wasn’t about to tell the matron he’d just spent the most erotic night of his life with the slumbering beauty across the chamber. At least Charlotte’s virtue remained intact. He could own to that.

  Mrs. MacGregor drove her finger into his sternum. “I knew I should have booted you out last eve. I never should have allowed you to remain within.”

  “Apologies—”

  “Hear me now. This will never, ever, not on your life, happen again.” She pressed her palms to her head. “Lord Almighty, if the colonel finds out about this, he’ll not only dismiss me, he’ll hang me from the gallows for certain.”

  “He would do no such thing,” said a stern, high-pitched voice from across the chamber.

  Hugh and Mrs. MacGregor snapped their gazes to the bed.

  Charlotte clutched the comforter beneath her chin. “To my dismay, neither Mr. MacIain nor I heard the toll of the seventh hour. In fact, I’m quite certain the clock erred.”

  Farley’s wife shook her finger at the timepiece ticking away on the mantel. “I ken what erred and it wasn’t the clock.”

  Hugh bowed deeply. “If you ladies will excuse me, I’d best be on my way.” He looked to Charlotte. “I shall see you anon.”

  Grabbing his arm, Mrs. MacGregor strode to the door. “I will see you out the servant’s exit and you will promise never to visit my lady’s chamber again. You are a disgraceful rogue if I have ever seen one.”

  Over his shoulder, Hugh winked at Charlotte, then nodded to his letter.

  With a grin, she picked it up and held it to her breast.

  Marshalled down the back steps by Mrs. MacGregor, Hugh didn’t allow himself to lose his temper with the woman, though she spewed a line of bitter bile. “If I hear one word that you compromised my lady’s virtue, I shall have words with the colonel at once.”

  “She is not co
mpromised,” he whispered. Before stepping into the close, Hugh grasped her hands. “I asked Miss Charlotte to marry me.”

  The woman swooned. “Lord save us, you are touched in the head. Even if Miss Charlotte doesn’t marry the physician, Colonel Hill will surely find her another match.” Mrs. MacGregor leaned forward and cupped her hands around her mouth. “Someone who’s not a Jacobite,” she whispered as if she were blaspheming.

  Hugh narrowed his eyes. “Now that you are serving in a redcoat’s house, do you think so little of our Highland ways? Do you think so little of me? Have you forgotten that I rode with your husband in Dunkeld and Killiecrankie when we fought behind Bonnie Dundee?” he could not contain his low growl. “And now I am unworthy in your eyes?”

  Her lips formed a straight line with wrinkles at the corners. “No.” She slapped his back. “Now off with you afore we’re both thrown into the pit or worse.”

  As Hugh slipped through the shadows in the early dawn, a burden lifted from his shoulders. With one word, Farley’s wife had reassured him. Emma would not go to Colonel Hill, and with a bit of luck, she would eventually support Hugh’s proposal of marriage to her lady, especially once Charlotte revealed the depth of her love and Hugh gained an audience with the governor. His stomach twisted as he made his way to the gate. Having a word with Colonel Hill would be the most difficult part of winning Charlotte for his own.

  Hugh stopped dead in his tracks. Riding through the arched gateway, Robert Campbell of Glenlyon propped atop a high stepping stallion. Looking smug in his red coat, wearing a long curly wig beneath his grenadier’s hat, the aging “captain” led a regiment of two score and ten men.

  The miserable backstabber.

  Glenlyon was the worst sort. To serve his gambling habit, he’d raided Glencoe, stealing two dozen of Hugh’s black cattle. When Hugh and his men rode past Glenlyon’s after the battle of Killiecrankie, The MacIains took their opportunity and retaliated. Hugh stole Glenlyon’s worthless stallion. The bloody animal had yet to produce a foal, yet Captain Campbell had lodged a complaint with the court in Edinburgh, to which Da chose not to give the honor of a reply.

  Worse, now that a Protestant sat on the throne, Glenlyon had abandoned the Catholic faith and joined the army to support his taste for whisky and his obsession for cards. At least the bastard has given up praying on the Coe in his old age.

  Of all the Campbells, Hugh trusted Glenlyon the least. The man cheated at cards, had a reputation for being a slobbering drunk, and had a soul as black as the soot in an unswept flue. Armed with every weapon imaginable from new muskets to pikes, shiny swords sheathed in well-oiled leather scabbards, his men rode through the gates like a mob of cutthroat dragoons ready for battle.

  What the hell is that snake up to?

  Hugh glanced over his shoulder, back toward the governor’s quarters. If he alerted Charlotte, she could find out what the colonel had planned for the bastard. But if he dared show his face while the lady was dressing, Mrs. MacGregor would holler so loudly, the entire fort would be alerted to his presence.

  Damn. He’d have to wait until he met Charlotte at the market.

  As the last Glenlyon horse trotted through the gate, Hugh pulled his bonnet low over his head and hastened away.

  ***

  Walking beside Emma, Charlotte rose on the toes of her overshoes to see above the crowd. Though light snow fell, it was a reasonably fine day considering the past month of bone-chilling wind and blizzards. The aisles of the market were filled with townsfolk and soldiers all purchasing supplies in anticipation of more hostile winter weather.

  Though Charlotte had brought a list, she had her needs memorized: More lavender silk to complete the heather on Hugh’s kerchief, a packet of hairpins, and a brass button to replace the one Papa had lost from his waistcoat.

  “Are you looking for someone or something?” asked Emma.

  Her chambermaid had behaved so poorly that morn, Charlotte hesitated for a moment. “Mr. MacIain should be somewhere about.”

  “Disgraceful…,” the woman mumbled with a scowl.

  “You mustn’t think ill of him.” Charlotte peered around a large man who appeared to be planted in front of her, taking up the entire aisle between the tents.

  “Hello,” said a deep voice as someone tapped her on her right shoulder.

  “Hugh!” Charlotte squealed, whipping around to see Doctor Munro’s smile fade into a disgruntled frown. Gasping, she drew a hand over her mouth. “What are you doing here?”

  “I should be asking you the very same thing.” The man looked her over from head to toe. “And who is Hugh?”

  Emma grabbed Charlotte’s arm. “He’s the old MacGregor bard—tells the most fanciful stories.”

  The physician looked between them, his eyes narrowing. “Oh? And where does this bard tell his stories?” He reached for Charlotte’s hand. “Mayhap we should give him an audience.”

  Emma looked skyward. “Anywhere he can find an ear that will listen.”

  Charlotte glanced over her shoulder. Curses, the rotund man had moved, and Hugh strode toward them—and he sported an even fiercer scowl than the physician.

  Please, Lord, do not let there be an altercation.

  Doctor Munro moved his hand to Charlotte’s elbow. “I think I’d like to hear this bard spin a yarn. What say you we look for him together?”

  “No.” Charlotte jerked her arm away.

  The physician blinked rapidly. “I beg your pardon. But you seemed to be elated that I might be he.”

  “Ah, apologies.” Charlotte rubbed her elbow. Lord, she hated it when Doctor Munro touched her. “I mean that should not be necessary. I-I…ah…Mrs. MacGregor was just telling me about him.”

  “He’s probably not even around these parts,” Emma said in a voice pitched much too high.

  Charlotte didn’t care. She had to convince the physician to move on before Hugh stepped in and did something rash. “Forgive me, Roderick,” Charlotte tried to sound genuine. “But Emma and I have sensitive matters to attend—matters only suited for, ahem, ladies.” She put it as delicately as possible—perhaps she might need to duck into the nearest dress shop—where ladies also purchased undergarments.

  “I see.” Doctor Munro turned almost as red as his coat. Removing his hat, he bowed. “Then I shall not impose upon you.” Rising, he stopped at her ear. “Though with great anticipation, I will look forward to examining such matters on our wedding night.”

  Charlotte’s back stiffened like someone had shoved a steel rod down her corset. As Roderick strode away, she shot Emma a panicked look.

  Placing a hand over her mouth, Emma leaned in. “If you aim to marry the MacIain heir, ’tis best you let the doctor know sooner than later.”

  “I’ve tried,” Charlotte whispered with a cringe.

  “Miss Hill,” Hugh stepped from behind the tent flap and grasped her hands.

  “How did you—?”

  He waggled his eyebrows. “When I saw the physician, I thought it might be prudent to step out of sight for a moment.”

  Thank the good Lord.

  “You’d best not tarry,” Emma warned.

  Hugh gave Charlotte’s fingers a squeeze. “I need to talk to you—someplace away from all these prying ears.”

  Looking around, soldiers mulled about everywhere. Charlotte had never really thought about it before, but the Wednesday market certainly was not a place for secrets.

  “Oh no.” Emma stepped between them. “I am not allowing you pair out of my sight.”

  “Only for a moment,” Hugh said.

  “Absolutely not.”

  Ignoring her chambermaid, Charlotte turned in place. “Where can we go?”

  “Let us stroll to the end of the aisle and then across the street. Did I not hear you say you had sensitive matters to attend?”

  Charlotte cringed. “What did you hear?”

  In a blink, Hugh’s face grew dark. “Enough to know I’d like to tear off that swine’s horse
hair wig and slam my fist into his pasty face.”

  “Mr. MacIain,” Emma chided with a shake of her finger.

  He bowed. “Forgive me, matron.” Hugh stepped around the woman and growled in Charlotte’s ear, “If I ever see him touch you again, I’ll make good on my promise.”

  “I hope he never does.” Charlotte placed her palm on his elbow. “Emma was right. I do need to insist the physician accepts my decision once and for all.”

  “Today would suit.” His face still looking much too dangerous, Hugh beckoned Emma. “Come along, Mrs. MacGregor. Miss Hill mustn’t be seen in public without a proper chaperone.”

  The matron shuffled beside them. “Miserable, ungrateful Highlander.”

  Hugh chuckled. Thank goodness he was in reasonably good humor. Charlotte feared Emma had overstepped her bounds when she returned to her chamber and reported about the scolding she’d given him.

  Walking beside Hugh made Charlotte’s heart flutter. He looked so strapping in his red plaid. A head or more taller than everyone else, he not only could make good on his promise to defend her from the meddling physician, he could keep her safe from any imaginable harm.

  Hugh reached in and twisted the latch, ringing the bell above the door while they stepped inside the dress shop. Charlotte had never given it much notice before, but frilly lace adorned everything from the curtains to the petticoats and corset samples on display on the far wall.

  “A moment,” the shopkeeper called from behind heavy red velvet drapes. Even they were feminine, trimmed with strands of pink glass beads.

  “No hurry,” she replied, leading Hugh to the settee.