A Highlander's Heart: A Sexy Regency Romance (Highland Knights Book 1)

by Jennifer Haymore

  Her fingers threaded in his hair, holding him tightly against her body. Her thighs began to shake. And then she came hard, her body arching and spasming under his hands and mouth.

  He saw her through it, and when her spasms had slowed to intermittent tremors, he pulled his hand away and kissed her hot flesh gently. Then he moved back up her body to gaze at her.

  She looked mussed and sleepy, a soft smile that he hadn’t seen in so long curling her lips.

  “Better?” he murmured.

  She slipped her arms around him and burrowed her face into his chest. “Oh yes.”

  “Good.” He settled in beside her and pulled her against him. “Go to sleep, love.”

  “Mmm…but what about you?”

  “Not tonight, Claire.” Perhaps not ever. “Tonight was for you.”

  She gave a complaining murmur, but a moment later, as he glided his fingers over the smooth skin of her upper arm, she was asleep, her breaths deep and even. He wasn’t surprised. They were both exhausted after two days of nearly no sleep.

  But despite his exhaustion, he lay awake for hours.

  * * *

  Now sensitive to her husband’s habit of rising early, Claire jolted awake at the gentle movement of the mattress. She turned her head, blinking the sleep out of her eyes, to look at Rob, who sat at the edge of the bed, his back facing her.

  She gazed at the planes and angles of his muscular back. She’d never seen any other man’s naked back before, but she didn’t think many men’s could compare to her husband’s spectacular form. He was broad and muscular, wide shoulders tapering to trim hips, the early morning light playing over the dips and planes of his muscles.

  Why hadn’t he taken things further last night? She’d wanted him inside her, but he’d murmured that the night was for her, that she must sleep.

  She didn’t understand it. He’d never done that before. And the reason for his abstinence? She could only think of one possibility: He didn’t want to get her with child again.

  As she battled down the surging emotion in her throat, he rose, revealing his buttocks and legs, muscles flexing as he walked across the room to a table where they’d placed their luggage. He opened it carefully, evidently trying to be quiet for the sake of her sleep, which was a sweet enough gesture to warm her heart despite all the insecurities swirling around within it.

  When he had finished dressing, she stretched and sat up, pulling up the sheet to cover her breasts. He looked over his shoulder at her and smiled, but there was a guarded look in his light-blue eyes.

  “Good morning.”

  “Good morning,” she said.

  He gazed at her for a moment longer, then returned his attention to their valises. He opened hers and pulled out a fresh chemise, which he brought to the bed.

  “Thought I’d go down and hunt us up some breakfast. Are ye hungry?”

  She took her chemise from him. “Yes.”

  He kissed the top of her head. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  She nodded, and as soon as he left, she slipped the chemise on. A moment later, a knock sounded on the door.

  “Yes?”

  “My name is Bess, milady. I’ve come to see if you’d be needing any assistance with your toilette this morning.”

  Claire slipped out of bed and opened the door. A round-faced maid stood on the other side. She curtsied. “Milady.”

  “Bess, is it? Well, thank you. I could use some help.”

  Bess came in, and Claire kept the door open as her husband appeared at the top of the stairs. “Breakfast will be served soon,” he said. “I’ve spoken with the other men, and we’re to meet in the dining room in fifteen minutes’ time.”

  “May I join you?”

  He inclined his head. “Of course.”

  As Bess helped her dress and did her hair, Claire wondered why her husband and his men had been given this well-appointed and staffed town house. She knew enough about the army to understand that this was unusual. What could it mean?

  Fifteen minutes later, dressed in her mud-stained white muslin—she really needed to go to her father’s to fetch some clothes—she went downstairs to find the men in the dining room. They all stood, their chairs scraping over the wood floor, when she entered. “Good morning, gentlemen.”

  “Good morning, milady,” they chorused, a few bowing their heads in deference. The men looked dapper in their fresh, crisp uniforms, all of them appearing better rested and generally cleaner and better groomed than she’d seen them to this point.

  They all seemed rather bemused this morning as well, perhaps as confused as she was about the opulence surrounding them. She glanced at the two sergeants, guessing it was the first time they’d formally dined with officers, not to mention an earl’s daughter. Both men were calm and contained, polite and alert. It was no wonder her husband had chosen those two.

  Rob gestured to the seat across from him, and she sat beside Captain McLeod. The son and heir of an earl, McLeod was the man of the highest aristocratic status here. He was also the Highland version of a rake, and a dangerous one at that. Handsome and confident, with a wicked glint in his dark eyes. He never would dare be forward with her, of course, out of deference to his major, but she’d already seen him turn more than a few women’s heads during the trip from Waterloo.

  As a footman scooped eggs onto her plate, she asked McLeod about his injured leg.

  “It’s healing enough to itch the dickens out o’ me,” he said with a grin.

  “That’s a good sign.”

  “It’ll be well enough in due time.”

  “I’ll check it later, and we’ll see if it’s ready to take the stitches out.”

  “Aye, milady. Thank you.”

  Within a few minutes, the footmen had completed doling out the kippers, bacon, fresh fruit, and eggs, along with a basket containing various breads to choose from. The food was outstanding—fresh and well cooked—and the men ate as if they hadn’t eaten such delicacies in years. Which they probably hadn’t, she reflected.

  After several minutes of everyone blissfully inhaling their food, Stirling, who sat beside Rob, asked, “So what d’ye think of this, Major?”

  “I canna say,” Rob said.

  “It’s verra odd,” McLeod said. “But have ye taken a moment to think about it? The major is a baronet. Stirling and Ross are both knights. My father is the Earl of Sutton. Innes’s uncle is the Marquess of Lochleid.”

  “Aye, I did notice that coincidence,” Rob said, placing special emphasis on coincidence, as if he was certain it actually wasn’t one.

  Stirling frowned. “So…we’re all connected to the gentry in some way.”

  “Except us,” Sergeant Mackenzie said, gesturing at Sergeant Fraser. Mackenzie was a powerfully built brown-haired man, with handsome features and bright blue eyes. It wasn’t surprising that Claire’s sister fancied him. “Fraser and I havena any connections to anyone”—he gave a wry smile—“if ye dinna count sheep farming and cattle herding.”

  “Aye, but I selected you,” Rob pointed out. “The rest of us were ordered together by Wellington.”

  “And we’re the only ones in the 92nd regiment with aristocratic or chivalric connections.” McLeod tapped his chin.

  “They must have chosen us to accomplish some task,” Stirling said, moving the eggs around on his plate with his fork. “But what? What task would require a group of men who’ve links to the aristocracy?”

  “Aye… What task indeed?” Rob glanced at the clock above the mantel. “I suppose we’ll have the answer in a few hours’ time. Let’s not worry about the unknown. We’ll have what we require soon enough.”

  They finished breakfast, then retired to the opulent drawing room with its silk furnishings, gilded walls, potted palms, and frescoed ceiling.

  The men pretended to read newspapers but instead kept glancing at the clock, looking rather like a group of nervous bulls in a china shop, which Claire thought was endearing.

  Claire chec
ked on the men’s injuries. She wrapped a clean bandage on Lieutenant Innis’s arm and around Lieutenant Ross’s waist, and determined that McLeod’s stitches weren’t ready to come out, despite his protests. She rebandaged his leg and patted it gently, then turned to her husband.

  “May I check your head?”

  “Verra well,” he sighed.

  “I want to see if the swelling’s gone down.”

  He turned as if it were a great trial for him to do so, and she gently rubbed her fingers over the goose egg at the back of his head.

  It was still the size of an egg, but it had gone down. Now, it felt more like a bird’s egg than a goose egg, and it was certainly no longer the size of her fist.

  “It’s healing, thank God,” she said.

  Her husband turned around, and his ice-blue eyes locked on hers for a heated second before he shook his paper out in front of him and returned his focus to it.

  She smiled at Sergeant Mackenzie. “How is your sling?” With Claire’s guidance, Grace had fashioned it for him yesterday, when the carriage ride had been jarring his injury painfully.

  “I dinna think there could be a more comfortable resting position for my arm, milady.”

  “My sister is becoming a skilled doctor,” she teased.

  “Indeed she is.” His voice brimmed with admiration.

  She watched him carefully. His expression appeared genuine and honest. While he could be interested in Grace only for her inheritance and title, instinct told Claire he wasn’t the kind of man interested in ruining a young lady for the sole purpose of elevating his social status. “I wish she were here,” she murmured.

  “As do I.”

  “Hmmm. I intend to visit her this afternoon. Perhaps, if you’re free, you would like to come?”

  “Oh, aye, milady. I’d like that verra much indeed.” His eyes flickered toward Rob. “If I am able. And if the major agrees.”

  Rob just grunted.

  “Of course he agrees,” she said warmly.

  Claire spent the remaining time before they left watching over them all, an odd sort of maternal feeling for the entire group of them washing over her. She hoped that whatever orders they received today at the War Office wouldn’t entail Rob—or any of them—having to leave England again.

  Chapter Seven

  A few hours later, the two carriages bearing five officers and two sergeants of the Gordon Highlanders came to a halt. Rob looked out the carriage window and frowned. “This isna the War Office.”

  Stirling’s brows rose. “What is it, then?”

  “The Home Office,” Rob said.

  “The Home Office?” Stirling repeated, confused.

  “Aye. I’ll tell the driver he’s brought us to the wrong place.”

  The driver opened the door and gestured them out.

  “Ye’ve made a mistake. This is the Home Office, no’ the War Office.”

  The man gave Rob a tight smile. “Those were my orders, sir. To bring you to the Home Office.”

  Rob and Stirling exchanged a glance. Then they both exited the carriage, joined the other men, and approached the building. When they reached the door, a tall, thin man wearing spectacles opened it. He took one look at the Highlanders assembled on the landing and said, “Major Sir Robert Campbell?”

  “Aye.”

  The bespectacled man gave a brusque nod. “Follow me, please.”

  They were taken down a long corridor, up a flight of stairs, through a labyrinth-like passageway and up another flight of stairs. Finally, the man stopped at an unremarkable door, one exactly the same as several others they’d passed. “Major Campbell only, please. The rest of you are required to wait for the time being.”

  Rob glanced at his men and gave a slight nod.

  The man opened the door and gestured Rob in. When he stepped into the small office, the door was snapped shut behind him, leaving him alone in the room with a short man with a balding pate and bushy gray eyebrows, who rose from behind a desk to greet him.

  “Major Campbell, I presume.”

  “Aye.”

  “Very good to meet you, sir.” The man held out his hand. “I am Henry Adams.”

  Rob shook Adams’s hand, noting the confident, firm grip.

  “Please be seated.” Adams gestured to the several chairs placed on the other side of his desk. Rob took the one in the center of the group.

  Adams opened a folder on his desk. “I’ve just been reading over your service record, and that of your men. It is very impressive.”

  He paused, as if expecting a response. When Rob didn’t provide one, he continued, “You and your 92nd Regiment performed admirably at Waterloo last week, which must have been a challenge given the loss of your colonel at Quatre Bras.”

  “Our men were well trained. And the colonel prepared me for the possibility that I might have to take his place one day,” Rob said stiffly.

  “Your regiment was also instrumental on the Peninsula. And your service, of course, was exemplary. There has been much written about your rescue of Wellington as well as your prowess in battle, you’ve married an English earl’s daughter, and you’ve become somewhat of a national hero over the past few years.”

  Rob stared at Adams, willing the man to get to his point.

  “You’re probably wondering why we’ve asked you here,” Adams said, his smile bordering on sheepish.

  Probably? “Aye,” Rob said gruffly.

  “Then I’ll get straight to the crux of the matter, Major. You have proven yourself a great patriot, and this country needs you.”

  Rob’s brows rose. “In what capacity?”

  “Ah, well, allow me to explain. I am the leader of an agency within the government unknown to the public. We work within the country to protect the interests of the monarchy. We have intercepted French spies, stopped plots against the king and the royal family, and served our country in countless ways since our inception twenty years ago.”

  Rob leaned forward, listening with interest, his mind churning.

  “Now that the battle with Napoleon appears to be behind us, we must return our attention to the problems at home. You see, Major, there has been civil unrest, especially in the north. This turbulence is unknown to most of the populace, but left unchecked, the situation is apt to become serious indeed.”

  “Is it?”

  Adams nodded soberly. “A certain level of dissatisfaction with government is to be expected, of course, but this appears to be more severe. It appears to be verging on treason. Per our accounts, there are cells of rebels in Scotland, most centering in the sparsely populated areas of the Highlands.”

  Rob leaned back. The pieces of this puzzle were falling into place. “And ye wish for us to stop them.”

  “Not only them, Major. I want you to consider making this your life’s work. Those of you who are officers will retire your commissions and the sergeants will be discharged. You and your men will join together as civilians with the singular goal of keeping the country we love safe from harm. You will no longer be sent to foreign lands for the army, but you will remain in England and Scotland, working solely in the interests of the monarchy. You will put a stop to treasonous and seditious acts. You will protect the crown at all costs.”

  “And what’ll I be receiving in return for possibly sacrificing my life for this cause?”

  “A generous living. Land and houses in both England and Scotland. And the peace of mind that you are protecting your country from those who would destroy it.”

  “And why’d ye choose us?” Rob asked. “It didna escape our notice that we’ve all links to the gentry.”

  “All of you save the sergeants.”

  “Who were chosen by myself,” Rob said.

  Adams gazed at Rob appraisingly. “It is because many of your tasks will require you to be in positions of power. Your links to the aristocracy will open doors for you that would be slammed in your face otherwise. Some of the most atrocious acts in this country are committed by people in po
wer, and in the most insidious ways. We needed to choose intelligent, industrious men who had the power and connections to stop such deeds.

  “And as for the sergeants,” he continued. “We reasoned that they might give you perspective when you were called upon to perform your duties in less exalted circles.”

  Rob’s lips tightened. The man spoke as if Rob had no idea what “less exalted” might entail. “Ye’ll be recalling I was granted my title only a few years ago. I come from a long line of fishermen and merchants.” It was only by scrimping and saving that his father had accumulated enough money to purchase Rob’s first commission.

  “I do recall that. Which is another reason you were chosen for this,” Adams said. “And I also expect you’ll recruit more men as time goes on, depending on your needs.”

  Rob sighed. “And ye’ll be expecting my decision now?”

  “Yes.” Adams shrugged, then gave a small smile. “Or perhaps tomorrow.”

  “I’ll be allowed to inform my men of this?”

  “Of course. Those who don’t wish to participate will be returned to your regiment in France. I will provide you all with as much information as I can, but you must understand that I will not be able to offer any sensitive material until you agree to enter into this life and take your oath of service.”

  Rob spent the next two hours, as his men waited, questioning Adams, learning the details about what would be expected of him and what he ought to expect in return.

  Finally, he nodded, satisfied. “Would ye speak to my men as you’ve spoken to me?”

  “Absolutely. It is why I summoned all of you today.”

  Rob rose. “I’ll bring them in, then.”

  The bespectacled man awaited Rob just outside the office door. Rob was glad to learn that the men had been taken to a dining room, where they’d been served a luncheon. He couldn’t fault these Home Office people for the way they’d been treating him and his men thus far, that was for certain.

  A few moments later, the six men filed in. Captains Stirling and McLeod, followed by Lieutenants Innes and Ross, then Sergeants Mackenzie and Fraser, all of them wearing their regimental coats and the Gordon tartan kilts. They made a fine-looking group, Rob thought.