A Highlander's Heart: A Sexy Regency Romance (Highland Knights Book 1)
Page 9
She glanced at her sister. Grace nodded, and her look said thank you.
You’re welcome, my dear sister.
Claire left them alone. She called for Mary, and the two of them went upstairs to gather fresh clothes and other items she’d need at the town house. Claire made sure to take her time packing. She wanted to give Grace and Mackenzie as much time alone as she possibly could.
An hour later, she called for the carriage, said good-bye to her father, then went to the drawing room to fetch Mackenzie. She knocked on the door, waited, then knocked again before entering. Her sister was seated back on the sofa and Mackenzie on the armchair. Both of them looked forcibly relaxed, but Claire didn’t miss her sister’s mussed hair or her shining lips.
“It’s time to go,” she told Mackenzie. She felt happy for them but sad at the same time.
Rob had been right—any sort of match between the two of them was impossible.
* * *
That night, Rob jerked awake to the sound of yelling. He glanced at his wife, who still slept. Yet the shouting continued, muffled by many doors, but still clear.
“Stop. Stop. Nay! I’ll kill ye first!”
Rob hurried out of bed, grabbing his dirk and throwing a plaid around him as he exited the bedchamber. He ran to the sound of the voice, at the opposite end of the corridor, as doors opened around him, revealing Innes, Mackenzie, McLeod, Fraser, and Ross, who all fell in behind him. When Rob reached Stirling’s door, he threw it open.
Stirling was on his bed, blankets and sheets wrapped around him like restraints. He was battling to the death with a pillow. And he was winning. Feathers and strips of cloth flew haphazardly into the air.
“Nay! Nay! You bastard,” he growled.
Rob turned to the other men. “Stay here,” he said quietly. Stirling didn’t need to be embarrassed by a group of men staring at him. The lads backed away, and Rob closed the door. He walked with firm steps over to Stirling, who was still in the throes of his dream battle. “God damn you. Damn you all!”
“Captain,” Rob said sternly. Stirling didn’t seem to hear him.
“Captain Stirling! Retreat. Retreat now! That is an order.”
Stirling looked around, confused, his eyes wild.
“Look at me, man,” Rob ordered.
Stirling did, blinking.
“It’s Major Campbell, Captain, and I’m giving you an order. You must retreat. Stop. Now. Do ye hear me?”
“Aye,” Stirling said gruffly. “Aye, I do. But…” He blinked again, his eyes seeming to slowly regain focus. He looked at the room. “I’m not… Where am I?”
“In London.”
“In London,” Stirling repeated, as if the words were foreign.
“Aye. In the house granted us by the Home Office.”
Stirling’s brow furrowed. “Where’re the frogs?”
“They’re gone. All of them. We’re safe here in London.”
Slowly, Stirling shook his head. “But they were after me. They were here, and they were after McLeod.” He focused on Rob. “And you. They were going to kill you. Then they were going to kill me. I couldna stop them.”
“You stopped them dead. Look at your pillow.”
Stirling blinked at it. “I wasn’t fighting?”
“You were…but only the pillow. You dreamt the rest.”
Stirling shuddered. “It felt…so real.”
“Aye.” Rob sat on the edge of the bed, quiet for a moment. Then he pushed a hand through his hair. “It still feels real. It is real. I dinna think we can walk away from something like that and just forget it in a day.”
Stirling gazed all around at the destruction he’d wreaked on his bed, then into his lap, his hands twisting restlessly together. “I’ll never forget.”
He was right. Rob would never forget either.
“I’m going mad, Major,” Stirling whispered.
“Nay. Not all the wounds of battle are on the skin, Captain,” Rob said softly. “You’ll heal. It’ll just take time.”
“Will I?”
“Aye.” Though Rob knew there were some wounds that never healed, inside and out. But a man found a way to live with them, as Stirling would, eventually.
Stirling took a shuddering breath.
Rob sat with him for a long time, and Stirling began to speak of his experience on the field. Before long, the words were pouring out of him.
Separated from Rob and McLean, he’d lost his horse to artillery fire almost immediately. On foot, he’d forged ahead through thick smoke, unable to discern frog from ally. He’d heard a shout and turned to see, just behind him, one of the 92nd lieutenants stabbed in the back with a bayonet that sliced through his body. As Stirling stood there in shock, the body had fallen, spraying him with blood that blinded him momentarily.
It went on and on, the horror of Stirling’s battle.
Rob had been there. He’d been part of the horror too, but everyone had his own story, and he let Stirling say his piece. The man needed to release this poison.
Finally, a good hour later, Stirling closed his eyes and slumped back. “When the smoke cleared a bit, I gathered all the lads I could find. There weren’t as many as there ought to have been. I knew we’d suffered terrible losses. Then I saw McLeod, down with his cut leg. The men and I got him up and helped him back to the camp.
“You did well, Captain.”
“It doesna feel that way. Battle is too ugly a business to feel good about it.”
“Aye, ’tis true. But remember, you protected your own. And you helped Wellington achieve his victory. And we got that bastard Napoleon, once and for all.”
“Aye, that we did, didn’t we?”
“That we did.”
For the first time, a shadow of a smile appeared on Stirling’s face. “Thank you, Major.”
Rob nodded.
“I will always be your man.”
“And I will always be yours,” Rob said gravely. After all, they were no longer captain and major. They were equals now, and brothers. Highland Knights. Whatever happened, they were in this together.
Chapter Eleven
Early the following morning, as a gray dawn began tentatively to light the sky, Claire lay awake. She was thinking of Jamie. She’d dreamt about him, and in her dream, in a tiny baby voice, he’d told her, “I love you, Mama.”
Tomorrow was June 29th. Her son’s first birthday.
She squeezed her eyes shut, and lay quietly for a while, trying to not let it all overwhelm her like it did at times. She was with Rob again, and she needed to be strong.
Eventually, her husband began to stir. He slipped an arm around her and pressed his lips to her hair. “Good morning,” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep.
“Good morning,” she returned. “How did you know I was awake?”
“By the way you were breathing. Your breaths come longer and deeper when you’re asleep.
“Mmm,” she said, both as an answer and to the way he was nuzzling her cheek. His hand slid down her side over her nightgown, dipping down her waist then drifting up over her hip and lower to her thigh. He snagged the hem of her nightgown with the crook of his finger and dragged it upward as he pressed kisses to her jawline.
His touch calmed her. It made her feel cherished and loved. And safe. When Rob touched her, he pushed away her darkest thoughts so they no longer overwhelmed her.
She turned toward him and pressed a kiss to his shirt, right over his heart.
He tugged at her nightgown. “Take this off, love.”
She sat up and helped him lift it over her head. When she went to lie down again, Rob tightened his hands over her waist and bent down, taking one breast into his mouth.
Her head arched back as a ribbon of sweet ache made its way through her, wrapping around her middle and making her body pulse with want. With need.
He moved to the other breast, sealing her desire. She wanted him inside her. No more teasing, avoiding. “I need you,” she whispered.
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
He blinked, his long lashes sweeping down over his eyes, then back up at her. “I want you too, Claire.” He hesitated. “But I dinna want to hurt you.” His hands slid gently down her breasts, then he curled his fingers to fists and pressed them down into the mattress.
Her tamped-down emotions bubbled in her chest, but she wrangled them into submission. “You won’t hurt me.” She swallowed hard. Rob hadn’t been there, so he wouldn’t have known. “The doctor said I was very healthy. He said what happened was God’s will, not a result of some flaw in my body. He said if I were to carry another child, it shouldn’t happen again.”
A long breath whispered out of Rob. This time he closed his eyes for several seconds. “Why did ye no’ tell me this?”
“It didn’t seem like the kind of thing to write in a letter. And I didn’t see you…until Waterloo. We’ve been distracted by more immediate concerns, but I’m telling you now.”
His fingers threaded through her hair, and he cupped the back of her head in his palm. “I’m glad. I ken ye want bairns of your own.”
“But you don’t?”
“Aye, I do. Because you do.”
“But you’ve been thinking if you got me with child it might happen again?”
“Aye. When I left Norsey House, it wasna certain…” He shook his head. “I wouldn’t’ve risked you like that.”
She was quiet for a moment. Had he not only remained faithful, but also planned on abstaining from relations with her for fear of it happening again?
“Were you really thinking you might never bed your wife again?” she asked softly.
His gaze grew wary. “Aye.”
“You’re not a man who can go through life celibate, Rob. How would you have managed?”
His eyes glinted. “There were many other ways we could have each other. Two of which we’ve practiced in the last few nights.”
“Would that have been enough? Most men would take a mistress or a lover.”
He touched her cheek and shook his head. “I’m a one-woman man. That woman, for better or worse, is you, love.”
She sighed happily. Rob was such an inherently good man. There was truly no other husband like the one she’d chosen. Who’d chosen her. “I’ve missed you so much,” she whispered.
“Kiss me.”
She did. She kissed him until her breaths were short and her body was once again tight with need. She kissed him until the fabric of his shirt between them became too annoying, and she pulled away and jerked it off him. Then, skin to skin with her husband, she kissed him some more, pushing her hands into his hair and holding him to her as she rubbed her body wantonly against his.
His hands wandered all over her, stroking her neck, her jaw, moving over her breasts, cupping and teasing, then lower, over her belly and legs. He pressed one hand between her thighs, then touched her sex gently, kissing her all the while, rubbing his fingers over her sensitive flesh as he’d touched her breasts earlier.
It only took a few minutes of this before she was gasping, squirming uncontrollably under his skilled hand. Suddenly, he pulled away and, still kissing her, rolled her onto her back and settled over her, the length of his erection heavy on her leg.
He moved his body sensuously over hers, the rougher skin of his chest rubbing over her breasts, making her groan from the little shocks of pleasure.
She wrapped her arms around him. “Now, Rob. I want you now.”
“Aye?” The rumble of his voice resonated within her.
“Aye,” she whispered.
Holding her gaze, a slight smile curving his lips, he nudged her knees apart.
His cock pressed against her opening, then hovered there, and she released a hiss of impatient pleasure.
“Now!” she demanded.
He chuckled. Then, in one smooth motion, he pushed all the way inside her.
Her body bowed upward as she sucked in a breath. It had been over a year, and she was so tight, he stretched her to her limits.
“Look at me.”
She struggled to open her eyes and focus on him.
“Too much?” he murmured.
Her teeth ran over her lower lip as she shook her head. At the same time, she tried to wiggle against him so he’d go even deeper. “No,” she said, looking at him in narrow-eyed challenge. “More.”
Rob closed his eyes. “Jesus Christ. There’s no woman in the world like you, wife.”
Satisfaction coursed through her at his words, because she could tell he really believed them. And he loved that she was her own person. He’d never minded that she was an unabashed hoyden. And because before Waterloo, he never took the Lord’s name in vain in her presence. Now, he was revealing more of himself—treating her less and less as if she were made of glass.
Before she could have another thought, he pulled out of her, almost all the way, then pushed in again, so hard it curled her toes. She let out a small gasp of air, then murmured, “Yes. More.”
This time, she tilted her pelvis, meeting him, flesh against flesh, as he came into her.
“You feel so good. You always feel so good,” he whispered, dropping his head to lick her earlobe.
“It can’t be anywhere near how good you feel inside me,” she returned.
After that, there were no more words. Only pleasure. Oneness. With hard, steady strokes, Rob brought Claire to her peak. And when she came, she grabbed his shoulders and threw her head back and let the sweet pulses stream through her body.
She collapsed, limp, when it was over, but Rob didn’t relent. His pace never faltered until she’d come again.
Only then did he let himself go. His rhythm became erratic, and Claire gasped with every thrust as he grew even larger within her. And then he gave one final, mighty push inside her and held still, his body trembling. She felt the pulses of his release inside her and closed her eyes, still holding him to her with all she was worth, wondering if she’d become pregnant again.
And if she was, how would she bear it? Last time it was all joy and anticipation. If it happened again…it would be the most frightening nine months of her life.
She released a shaky exhalation as he withdrew, then lay on his side, tucking her against him so she lay with her back to his front.
His hand wandered over her naked skin, then pressed on her stomach. Claire held her breath, willing him to move his hand away quickly. But he didn’t. He settled there, his hand heavy and confident on her skin.
It was where he’d held her at night during the months she’d carried Jamie, fascinated by the curvature as it seemed to grow a tiny bit bigger every day. They’d usually fallen asleep like this, on their sides, her bottom pressed against his pelvis. With his hand on her stomach, as if to say there now, wee Jamie. Let your mama sleep.
It was too much. There was too much sadness, too many regrets. She took a shuddering breath, and the tears, the first ones in many months, crested over her lids and slid down the side of her face.
She tried to stop them. She tried to, at the very least, hide the fact that she was crying from her husband. But she couldn’t. It had been almost a year since she’d last cried, and now the tears had started, she couldn’t stop them. Ten months’ worth of pent-up grief was pouring out of her.
Even so, it was a while before Rob realized she was crying. Slowly, his arm, which had protectively been covering no baby Jamie, because baby Jamie was gone, drew away. And she knew what was coming next. His complete withdrawal.
“Claire?”
“Just go away,” she gasped out. Because this was how it would end. It was how it always ended.
“Did I hurt ye?”
“No!”
“Then what’s wrong?” He sounded utterly befuddled.
She hugged her knees to her chest. He wouldn’
t understand. He’d never understood her grief over Jamie, and he still didn’t. How could she have overlooked how little he’d cared?
“Stop this blubberin’ now,” he said sternly.
She gasped, and squeezed her knees tighter into her chest, her shoulders heaving with quiet sobs.
“’Tisna helping,” he said roughly. “Calm down and tell me what you need.”
She didn’t calm down. She didn’t tell him what she needed. Truth was, she needed him to care. But if he didn’t care, then how could she make him? She couldn’t. It was hopeless.
“Claire, you need to stop this.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, the sobs coming harder than ever.
“Claire!” he snapped. Then made a disgusted Scottish noise when she didn’t move.
He sighed, and the bed moved as he stepped off it. “Fine. If that’s what ye want, I’ll go. I’m late, anyhow. You know we’ve the meeting with Sam Hawkins. The lads will be ready.”
That’s right, Rob. Go to your men. That’s what you always do, and this is no exception.
She would have said it all if she wasn’t crying so hard. But she couldn’t talk. She could hardly breathe.
Please stay, Rob. Please hold me. Please help me through this.
The door snicked quietly shut as he walked out.
Chapter Twelve
Claire wept for a good hour. Then, when the men were gone and the house was quiet, she washed her face and called for Bess.
Though she must have seen Claire’s bloodshot eyes and pale skin, Bess didn’t comment. In her efficient way, she had Claire dressed and laced in a matter of minutes. Then she wrapped Claire’s hair into a twist and pinned it into place.
Claire rose stiffly and fetched the bonnet that matched her green carriage dress.
“I need you to accompany me on a walk, Bess. Will you?”
“Of course, milady.”
“I wanted to go to my father’s house,” she explained. “But I didn’t write him a note requesting him to send the carriage. It isn’t far.”