by Amy Jarecki
“Help me down and I’ll explain.” She stretched her arms out.
Clumsy as a wet-eared lad, Hugh reached for her waist, so small, his thumbs touched. Why in God’s name did he feel like a pubescent lad? Hell, his heart could stop its damned fluttering right now.
As soon as his hands held her firmly in his grasp, everything around them vanished. It took such little effort to lift her from her sidesaddle. Drawing her to his chest, his senses honed, awash with a scent more heavenly than lilacs. As she slid down his body, he groaned at the friction. Soft, exquisite breasts plied his chest and molded to it like a well-worn doublet. God, she felt so good, he could haul her into the rushes right there and then.
Hugh slipped his arms around her back, clutching her to his body. Pink, bow-shaped lips pouted only inches from his. “God, I’ve missed you,” he growled.
Her sultry gaze dipped to his lips. “Not a moment has passed where I haven’t longed to be in your arms again.” Lord in heaven, her voice was every bit as honeysuckle sweet and soft as it had been the first time he’d heard it.
Heaven help him, she turned his entire body to fire and molten iron. Slipping a hand up her neck, he cradled her head and captured those delectable lips in a kiss. She tasted delicious—beyond delicious—warm and sugary like a hot apple tart overflowing with rich cream. God, he wanted to devour her. His hand slid down to her buttocks and pulled her mons flush against his cock. Holy Moses, he was already harder than an axe handle. He thrust against her—feeling her feminine parting through her skirts. The past two months of suppressing his need for the bonny lass came to a boil and Hugh had no intention of stopping.
With a gentle moan, Charlotte tugged her lips away. “A few more inches and my feet might touch the ground.”
His knees buckled at the sound of her steamy voice.
Hugh blinked, the peals of laughter from the others rang in his ears. Had he really almost lost his senses in front of his clan? Bloody oath, he’d lived like a monk for too long. Letting out a nervous chuckle, he eased her down his body. “You feel too good to be real.”
Her eyebrows shot up and a pink tongue slipped to the corner of her mouth. Devil’s bones, did she know what that coy look did to a man?
“Perhaps we should take a walk?” he suggested before he really did something to embarrass himself. And bloody oath, the lass had learned fast. From the waggle of her brows, the lass kent exactly what she was doing. It only took a wee look to seduce him and turn him into a lovesick fool.
Regaining a modicum of control, he took her hand and addressed his men with a stern clear of his throat. “Offload the mules and portion the supplies to those most in need.” He looked to Charlotte. “When must you return?”
Farley stepped up. “The horses need rest. I’d be much obliged if we could stay the night.”
“Of course.” Hugh’s heart skipped a beat. He’d be able to hold Charlotte in his arms for an entire night afore they had to turn back?
“I intend to stay,” she said, loud enough for everyone to hear.
Farley gaped. “But—”
“I believe Miss Charlotte and I have matters to discuss.” What the hell did she mean about staying? She couldn’t stay. Not yet. Nonetheless, Hugh could hardly wait to spirit her away and have her to himself. “Welcome to all and my thanks. Og, kill the fattest lamb. We’ll roast it over the fire and feast this eve.”
When Hugh squeezed the lady’s hand, he wanted nothing more than to forget his lot in life and enjoy the cool spring day before the sunset. But her surprise appearance needed answers for certain. “Are you up for a wee climb?”
She nodded. “Anything to stretch my legs after an entire day in the saddle.”
Holding her hand brought on another stampede of raw emotion. Lord, he’d forgotten the silkiness of her skin, and how fine-boned she was. Like a well-bred filly. Hugh’s palms perspired, his tongue went dry—if only he’d known she was coming, he would have cleaned up a bit. “I cannot believe you’re here.”
“’Tis wonderful to be back.” She blessed him with a smile—one that reflected the same restlessness making his heartbeat thrum across his skin.
Leading her up a steep path, he held tight to her hand and grasped her elbow in the jagged places. He took her to a pool that had only recently thawed. Surrounded by trees, water trickled into it via a burn from the mountain above, and flowed out with the tinkling harmony of a waterfall. And across, his most recent project—a shieling he hoped to share with her one day—though it only had the makings of stone walls and a frame for the roof.
Mossy green tipped the trees with leaves that had only begun to bloom. But green moss hung from their dormant limbs, giving them a bit more privacy.
“This is beautiful.” Her eyes brightened when she peered across the pond. “Are you building?”
Hugh slapped a dismissive hand through the air. “’Tis only a ruin.” He didn’t want her to know he’d thought of her while he set every single stone in place—while he’d stripped the timbers of bark and lashed them into place with strips of hardened leather he’d made from the hides of the animals that had kept his kin fed.
Moving behind Charlotte, Hugh slid his arms around her waist and nuzzled into her slender neck. “I will not be able to drink in enough of you afore you leave on the morrow.”
She turned her head toward him, those violet eyes enormous as she peered up at his face from under long lashes. “Did you not hear me? I have no intention of returning.”
“Your father agreed?”
“No.” She looked away. “But by the saints, I am a woman full grown. I should be allowed to make my own decisions.”
Hugh’s back tensed. “Should I expect an attack?”
“Heavens, no.” She stepped away, wringing her hands. “Papa is in Inverness. We…we argued and he said he would send me back to London upon his return.” She spun around and faced him. “I’ve been collecting alms for your clan for weeks at the Inverlochy market. I told him we must soon deliver them to you, and he launched into a tirade—said you are wrong for me.” With a gasp, she hid her face in her hands.
Lord knew, the colonel was right, but that still didn’t give her father the right to crush her dreams. Thank God she still loves me. Hugh swirled his palm across her shoulders. “Everything will work out for the best. I ken it will.”
She shook her head and faced him. “He said that I am a ruined woman and my only hope to be saved is to find a husband in London.” She shook her fists. “I hate him for that.”
A chasm in Hugh’s heart stretched wide. Dammit all, her father was right. There she stood, wearing a fine gown and cloak—the likes of which he might never be able to afford. How could he provide for such a jewel? Aye, he wanted Charlotte more than life itself, but that didn’t make it right. She would suffer. He could never ask her to give up her fine things, her life of luxury for him—a fallen man. “And the sheep? Where did they come from?”
“As I said, I paid for them with money from my dowry.”
He frowned. “Charlotte, aren’t fathers to decide how dowry funds should be used?”
“Yes—but to whom should be my choice. Not his.”
A thick ball formed in Hugh’s throat as he shook his head. No matter how much he wanted Charlotte to stay, he couldn’t let her spend her precious coin on his clan. So much remained uncertain and unresolved. They still lived in fear of being attacked by government troops—especially the Campbells, the Menzies, hell, even Colonel Hill could fall upon them in the dead of night. But now she’d purchased the sheep and driven them all the way from Fort William, there was little point in sending them back. “I must repay you.” That was the only answer.
“Repay?” Her mouth dropped open with a wee gasp. “Do you retract your proposal of marriage?”
“I wish—I wish.” God, the disappointment and misery reflecting in her expressive eyes was more than Hugh could bear. “Damnation! I must have your father’s approval afore we can wed.”
> He tried to take her hands, but she jerked away. “Why? Is not my love enough for you?”
Christ, he’d rip out his heart and hand it to her on a platter if she asked. He spread his palms, desperate for her to understand. “For me, your love is all I want in this world, but you ken I have a clan to protect. Your father is the only government officer in all of Scotland who gives the slightest damn about us. If I off and marry you without his blessing, I am condemning my people to a life as fugitives. We might as well sail to the Americas to be slaves on tobacco plantations—just as the Master of Stair offered.”
Shaking her head, she clapped a hand over her mouth. “But if I return to Fort William, Papa will send me away on the first transport.”
Bloody hell, he didn’t want that. “You must try to stall.” This time Hugh didn’t allow her to shirk away. He pulled her into his arms. Closing his eyes, he savored every inch of her small frame. God, why did she have to be the daughter of the Governor of Fort William? Why could she not be a simple lass from his clan. “Och, mo leannan, what am I to do with you?”
She took in a stilted gasp. “Love me.”
“I do.” He squeezed his eyes against the pain in his heart and kissed her forehead. She had no idea how difficult it was for him to send her away. “On the morrow, you must ride with Farley.”
Two big, violet eyes bore into his soul. “There must be some other way.”
There was only one alternative—and Charlotte was the only woman for whom he’d give up the fight. “We can give up and go to the Americas. Do you want that?”
“Of course I do not. Glencoe is your home and I want it to be my home, too.” She rested her head against his chest. “A pardon will come. I know it in my heart. The king is being severely criticized about his brutality toward you. He must do something soon to bolster his reputation.”
A bit of tension eased from Hugh’s shoulders as he slid his hand along her spine. “Then that makes my position more resolute.”
“My father’s letters have already been sent. Surely it is only a matter of time.”
He cupped Charlotte’s cheeks with both of his hands. “’Tis exactly what I’m trying to say. I want it all, my love, and if we do it right, we will have it and our bairns will grow up in the valley of Glencoe, just as they have for generations past. Please, this is my mother’s dying wish, and the only woman in the world I want to share it with is you.”
She bit her bottom lip, worry creasing her brow. “Even if Papa sends me to London?”
He met her gaze with every shred of determination in his soul. “There is no place in this world I will not find you.”
***
The bonfire roared while Charlotte stared into the leaping flames. How could everyone around her be so merry? Farley had brought a cask of whisky and people were laughing like she’d never heard before—it was as if they had taken three months of misery and let it go with the smoke from the fire.
So many things had change during her absence. Sima—Breac and Nessa’s baby could now sit up. Lean-to shelters had been built around the edge of the clearing, allowing the families more privacy—there were even more new faces.
It seemed everyone appreciated her efforts aside from Hugh, showing each other their new blankets (belting them as arisaids for the women or kilts for the men) or shirts that Charlotte had mended or shoes or stockings. Hugh hadn’t taken a single thing for himself. He just sat beside her staring into the fire and sipping his whisky. Didn’t he know how much she’d labored to please him? Didn’t he know she’d stolen her dowry funds for him?
I stole from my father.
Heat spread across the back of her neck along with a sinking in the pit of her stomach.
But the money was mine. Curses, I would do it again if given the chance.
She peeked at Hugh out of the corner of her eye. He just continued to sit there and gaze into the fire. They only had one miserable night together and he was completely ignoring her. Blast him.
Then he looked her way. Charlotte quickly averted her eyes so he wouldn’t notice her staring at him.
He pointed to her trencher. “You hardly ate a thing.”
She shrugged and pushed the lamb away. “Not hungry.”
“Charlotte, I—”
“Slàinte to Miss Charlotte,” Gavyn hollered.
Hugh raised his cup. “Slàinte,” he chorused with the others, but the smile on his face strained. Why was he being so difficult? Didn’t he know if she returned to Fort William now her father would do everything in his power to prevent their marriage?
A drum sounded.
On the far side of the fire, Breac beat a hollowed log with a hide stretched across it. The drum thumped in a rousing rhythm.
Alasdair Og beckoned his brother. “I challenge our leader to a sword dance!”
The clearing erupted with boisterous cheers and applause. Lachlan hopped up and danced a jig. “I want to dance, too!”
Hugh glanced at Charlotte with a bit more vim in his eye, then smirked at his brother. “You reckon you can leap higher than me?”
“I ken it.”
“No,” shouted young Lachlan. “Our chieftain is the brawest man in all the Highlands.”
Hugh grinned. “I like your spirit, lad. But Og is a worthy opponent.” He bowed to Charlotte. “If you’ll pardon me, m’lady.”
She nodded. Now everyone around the fire was in good spirits except her. Cuddy sauntered over and plopped down in the spot Hugh vacated, laying his head in Charlotte’s lap. She scratched the deerhound behind the ears. “You wouldn’t send me away, would you?”
He yowled and licked her hand—at least the dog understood.
When the laughter died down, the drum beat a steady rhythm while the crowd parted for Hugh and Alasdair Og. Side by side they marched forward, each holding two rusty swords with blades crossed. They bowed and placed them in a cross on the ground.
The drumbeat sped as the men danced, their plaids swishing with every athletic leap. Hugh’s predatory gaze focused intently on her as he danced. He may have been despondent when sitting beside her, but now embroiled in a contest of fineness and strength, his stare captured Charlotte in his web and she didn’t dare look away. The powerful muscles in his calves flexed and bulged with his every step. Indeed, he did leap higher than his brother. With every jump, Hugh grew stronger, his grin growing broader while the amber firelight flickered over his powerful form as if the flames heightened his performance.
Blast his incredibly desirable physique. Must he be so intoxicatingly alluring? And why did everything about this day have to turn out all wrong? She’d been so excited to return with the flock that they so badly needed—and she’d been able to acquire it for them. But why did she feel as if she’d committed a crime? When Hugh sat beside her, he was despondent—unbending in his decision to send her back to Fort William and her father’s wrath. Now, across the fire, he didn’t even blink, seducing her with a dance—a display of masculine skillfulness.
Charlotte’s face grew so hot, she pushed to her feet. Hugh drew his brows together in question. Did he not understand? Watching him only brought torture. She’d done everything she could to make him happy—to help him gain a new foothold, and all he could do was insist on her returning to Fort William? How many more months of separation must she endure? Years? For all she knew, it could be forever.
She blindly ran into the forest, desperate to flee the celebrations. Yes, she wanted the clan to revive. Yes, more than anything she wanted Hugh to be happy, but he was sending her back to a life of misery. Didn’t he know how much she hated Fort William?
Was Papa right? Should she have settled and married the physician?
No.
Tears burned her eyes and spilled onto her cheeks. She’d been so thrilled—thought her efforts would make Hugh happy, too. Blast his pride!
After climbing and falling and running to nowhere, she raced into the clearing with the pool. Still as glass, it took on an inky void in the m
oonlight—a void as deep and wide as the abyss in her heart. Charlotte fell to her knees and buried her face in her palms as she wept. Her stomach convulsed as if it had been ripped inside out. Her heart ached. Lord in heaven, nothing would ever be the same again. She would return to Fort William and Papa would force her into a convent or worse. Mayhap he’d even send her to the Americas alone as a slave to the tobacco trade. Oh no, Hugh would never find her there. She’d be lost forever.
“Charlotte!” Hugh burst from the foliage and dashed to her side. Dropping beside her, he wrapped her in his embrace.
“Nooooo!” She pushed away, but hadn’t the strength to fight his powerful arms as they encircled her. Curses, must his body be so incredibly warm? Must he smell like wood smoke and spice? Why couldn’t he be vile and vulgar like the monster the Master of Stair had painted him to be?
Between stuttering gasps for air, she found enough strength to take in one deep gulp. “Go away!”
“Please, Charlotte. Did you not see the happy faces around the campfire? Do you not know how much they appreciate all you have done for them?”
“For t-them?” Sucking in staccato breaths she tried to speak. “’T-tis all f-for youuuu.”
Pulling her into his lap, Hugh cocooned her in his enormous arms, rocking back and forth, whispering into her hair. “I ken my love. Please don’t cry.”
On and on he rocked, whispering in an accursed, soft, male, wonderful, damned voice while Charlotte bawled, completely unable to bring herself under control. There she was, a worthless, blubbering mess, too distraught to push him away.
“Hush now,” he whispered as her breathing slowed to a cadence of hiccups.
“You do not…appreciate….meeee.” She tried to fight again but failed, blast his iron grip. “You say you love me but you do nooooooooot.” A new bout of wails gripped her stomach.
His hand smoothed up and down her spine, feeling too darned good. “I do love you. I do love you.” Hugh repeated over and over again. “I promise we will solve this. I swear on my father’s grave I will not rest until we are together again. Can you not allow me a wee bit of time?”
