Highland Awakening

by Jennifer Haymore

  Esme shuddered. “That means you’re in danger, too.” She squeezed his hand a little tighter. “What will you do?”

  “We’ve questioned everyone at the gaming hell where he was last night. Whoever did it covered their tracks well.”

  “It was planned, then.”

  “Aye. Probably. And they waited for him to be alone…or not surrounded by a mob, in any case. He was there with another one of the Knights, Ross. But Ross didna leave the tables at all.”

  “And Mr. Fraser did?”

  “Aye, he did.”

  “You’ll need to be careful, Cam.”

  He didn’t respond.

  “Please. Tell me you’ll be careful.”

  “Aye. I’ll be careful. But I’m no’ going to stop until I find who did this, and why.”

  “I understand,” she said softly. “If anything happened to one of my brothers, I’d feel the same.”

  Her loyalty to her family didn’t surprise him.

  “It seems to me, though,” she continued with a shiver, “that you won’t need to be looking for whoever did this. If it’s truly an enemy of the Highland Knights, I think they’ll be coming to you.”

  “Let them come,” he said darkly.

  They were quiet. Having her here, quiet and strong and holding his hand, was like a soothing balm to his soul. He never talked comfortably with women. He always avoided attachments like this, had always known such relationships would be destined for failure. He wouldn’t think of the destiny of this particular relationship, though. Not right now. He was going to remain in the present and drink in all the peace she offered him, like the greedy bastard he was.

  He stroked the top of her hand, loving the feel of her skin under his thumb.

  She was still engaged to marry that damned Henry Whitworth. But Cam wasn’t going to think of that right now, either. He’d tuck that problem aside. But God knew, he’d be dealing with it later.

  —

  They talked for a very long time, Cam telling her about his brother Knights and their experiences in the army before the Highland Knights had been formed. Esme spoke of her stories, her inspiration for them, and of the research she’d done.

  In a lull in the conversation, Esme glanced at Cam to find him looking at her, a softness in his gaze she couldn’t even begin to decipher.

  No, that was wrong. Perhaps she could decipher it. It might be…affection. As one might feel for a sister or a good friend. She desperately hoped that was all it was, even when a part of her scoffed—loudly—and knew that it was so much more. Of course, the traitorous part of her wanted it all.

  “We’re friends, aren’t we?” she asked hopefully. Naively, perhaps.

  “Aye, lass.” His voice was a low rumble. “Friends…and more.”

  “We cannot be more,” she breathed. But the tone of his voice sent heat spiraling through her, and she knew he could read it in her eyes.

  He stood, pulling her up beside him, and before she could protest, he kissed her, slow and long and languid, his arms wrapping around her and pressing their bodies tight together. God, he tasted so good. Like whisky and strength and masculine appeal.

  He ran his hand down her back, exploring her curves thoroughly now that the only thing between his fingers and her skin was the thin material of her nightgown.

  He pulled back for the second it took for him to say, “So bonny, lass,” and kissed her again.

  He stroked the dip in her waist, then glided his hand over the curve of her hip and thigh. When his arm had descended to its limit, he bunched up her nightgown in his hand and wrapped his palm around the back of her thigh, just beneath her bottom. She gasped at the sheer intimacy of the touch.

  But she didn’t pull away. Instead she thrust her body into him instinctively, and as he held her tight, locked against him, she could feel his hardness pressing into her stomach.

  “God, lass,” he murmured, nibbling kisses over her jaw. “I want you. So bad. Tell me yes. Tell me to take you. Here, now.”

  She wanted him, too. She wanted to live all the things she wrote about; experience what she’d never believed was possible. This man could give all that to her, and she sensed he’d be generous in doing so.

  But if she pursued this course, chances were high that she’d once again become a topic of gossip and scandal. And that would not only hurt Henry, it would also damage her entire family.

  She’d done so much wrong, so much to hurt Trent and the rest of the family. Her panics and public awkwardness were incontrollable parts of her personality that she’d always struggled with but had never been able to conquer. While the desire to explore the forbidden with this man was strong, it was controllable. Indeed, it was one thing she could control.

  “I need you, lass,” Cam murmured. “You…fill something inside me. Something that’s missing in my soul. You can replenish it for me. Make me whole again.”

  She wanted him to an extent that scared her. But he was a man, and she knew from her research that men were prone to say and do things that they didn’t necessarily mean when driven by these primal urges. He might mean those pretty words, but she couldn’t begin to contemplate what it meant for both of them if he did. More likely, he was being driven by forces over which he had no control.

  If he’d lost all sense, she couldn’t afford to. Still…Oh, but she wanted him. So badly.

  She gathered all her strength, all her desire to hold true to her promises and all her loyalty to her family and to Henry, who would be part of her family soon, and pulled away. She breathed hard, and her cheeks were so hot, she was certain he could see the flush of pink in the moonlight.

  “Cam,” she whispered. “I can’t. We can’t…” The despair seeped through, that war she was waging against herself revealed by the broken syllables of her words.

  She turned and pushed her hands into her hair, striding the length of the room and sinking onto the edge of the bed. “Oh God. I’m such a terrible person.”

  “Nay.” He sat beside her, his presence solid and surprisingly comforting. “You’re the opposite of terrible, lass. You’re a complex package of intriguing and intelligent. Bonny and sweet. Innocent and a minx.”

  He wrapped an arm over her shoulder, and drew her against him. “Call it off,” he said.

  He meant her engagement, of course.

  “You know I cannot,” she said miserably.

  He sighed. “Here’s one thing I canna understand about you—this need for propriety, this desire not to be the cause of gossip or to disgrace yourself or your family. Who cares about everyone else? This is about you and me.” His expression clearly said, You don’t want that insipid Whitworth, lass. You want me.

  “Why do you care what any of them think?” he continued.

  “It’s complicated,” she murmured. “You have been out of society for so long, you probably don’t know all that my family has been through.”

  “You’re right. I dinna ken any of it, except that there’ve been rumors that all your brothers aren’t full brothers.”

  She gave a bitter laugh. “That barely touches the tip of the iceberg of the matter.”

  “Tell me, then. I want to understand you.”

  She looked up. “Do you? Are you certain you really want to know? It’ll take the rest of the night to list the scandals poor Trent has had to endure in the course of his life.”

  “Your brother isna that old.”

  “I know—he’s only thirty-three. That’s why he shouldn’t have to bear any more scandal. He’s had more than enough to last a lifetime. And through it all, he has done everything in his power to protect me. I owe him so much. I cannot disgrace my family after all he’s done for me. Without him, I’d be nothing.”

  “How?” Cam demanded. “How has he protected you?”

  She couldn’t tell him. It was too complicated. She looked sideways at him. “My family’s secrets are deep. It would be stupid and careless of me to bring you under the heavy weight of our confidence.”


  “I don’t care about your family’s secrets,” he murmured. “Only yours.”

  “But mine are entwined with theirs, don’t you see? I cannot bring you into my confidence without betraying their secrets, and I won’t do that.”

  “Your loyalty is admirable.”

  She gave a short, self-deprecating laugh. “Very little about me is admirable. I can’t even be myself without being a disgrace. I live behind masks and shadows, but there’s naught to be done about it.” She looked down, distractedly noting that her fists were curled into tight balls in her nightgown. “I don’t deserve my position in this world,” she whispered. “I have always been a failure at it.”

  Cam made a low sound of disapproval in his throat. “Nay. Your position doesna deserve you.”

  Surprised, she snapped her head up to look at him, then shook it in wonder. “I’ve never in my life been in the presence of a person who truly makes me feel as if I can be me.”

  “You’ve led a lonely existence, then.”

  Her bare toes curled into the carpet. “Yes,” she murmured, “sometimes. But the writing helps. It takes me to places I could never otherwise go.”

  “And gives you experiences you’ve always felt you could never have.”

  She nodded in agreement.

  “But you can have them, Esme. With me,” he said softly.

  I wish I could have them with you…“You know I cannot.”

  “Picturing you with him…” Cam shook his head, looking away from her. “Damn it, lass. I canna give you what you deserve. But Whitworth canna give you what you need.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “How will you write your novels when you’re married?” he asked quietly. “Propriety is important to Whitworth. He wilna stand for having an authoress for a wife.”

  She flinched. These were things she forcibly pushed from her mind the minute they started intruding. “I’ve tried not to think too much on it. I’ll take a hiatus from writing for a time. Then, maybe, as he begins to know me better, he’ll understand…”

  “You’re lying to yourself,” Cam said shortly.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and tightened her fingers over her shins. “Please.”

  “Please dinna torture you by making you think about this? What kind of torture will it be when you wish to write and you cannot because he’s forbidden that activity, or strangled the creativity from your soul? Or do you plan to skulk around, continue writing in secret, keeping the truth from your own husband?”

  She wanted to cover her ears and pretend he wasn’t introducing these things—her biggest fears about her upcoming marriage—into her head. “Please. Stop.”

  He ground his teeth. She sent him a covert glance. He looked frustrated beyond measure, as if he wanted to shake her until sense untangled her snarled thinking.

  “I dinna wish to stop,” he told her darkly. “I dinna want to see you unhappy.”

  “You want me to be happy?”

  “More than anything.” He seemed as surprised by his admission as she was.

  She gave him a soft smile. “I like you very much, Cam. I really hope we can remain friends, even after I am married.”

  “Whitworth wouldna take kindly to our friendship.”

  She sighed but didn’t deny it.

  “Dinna do it, lass.” His words emerged strained, almost as if on a moan of pain.

  She didn’t respond this time, just settled against him. She didn’t want to think about this anymore. She just wanted to be with him.

  “When is the date?”

  “The date?” she asked, confused. “Today’s date?”

  “No, of your marriage.”

  She took a shaky breath. “A month from now. The nineteenth of May.”

  He gritted his teeth. “Too damn soon.”

  “You can’t come here again,” she said softly. “If we were caught…If my brother found out—”

  “Aye, I ken. Disgrace. Embarrassment. Pistols at dawn.”

  They were silent for a long moment. Finally, she said, “I wish things were different.”

  “They’ll only be different if you grab the reins, lass, and take charge of your future.”

  Why hadn’t she encountered this man a year ago, when the world had been open to her? Why had she agreed to marry Henry Whitworth?

  Well, she knew the answer to that. She’d agreed to marry him to save the House of Trent from scandal, and because Henry was decent and simply safe.

  Cam said she should take the reins of her future, and in a way she’d thought that was what she’d done. But maybe she’d been wrong. Maybe she’d just taken the reins from Trent and handed them to Henry. And she didn’t love or trust Henry like she loved and trusted Trent.

  She pushed her fingers into her hair and cupped her forehead in her hands. “What are you doing to me?”

  “I’m making you think,” Cam said.

  “I’m not certain I like the things you’re making me think about.”

  “Better to think them now than before it’s too late.”

  “Maybe it’s better not to think at all.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “Do you really believe that?”

  No, she didn’t. A sigh was her only response.

  Cam was the kind of man who’d be more than willing to give her pleasure. To teach her all the joys of the marital bed without tying either of them to it.

  As enticing as that would be, it wasn’t what she needed. She needed stability. A decent, unassuming husband and a quiet, uninteresting home that would shield her from the judgments of society.

  “Kiss me,” Cam whispered.

  She gazed at him for a moment. Then, for the first time, she leaned in, initiating a kiss. He sat passively for a long moment, allowing her to explore him with her mouth. She licked his lips, tasting their softness, which contrasted so dramatically with the hardness of his body. Turning more fully toward him, she slipped her hands around him until her fingertips played with the soft strands of hair at the back of his neck.

  Every time she touched him, every time they kissed, so many sensations rushed in all at once, nearly overwhelming her. It was difficult to separate one from the other, discern what was happening to any single part of her body.

  She moaned, struggling against the desire that swamped her, that made her want to give this man everything.

  He gently pulled away and laid her back on the bed, then lay atop her. She gazed up at him. “You won’t hurt me,” she said. “You wouldn’t.” Her conviction on that score was strong, although she knew it didn’t hold much logic. In the dim light, he looked dangerous—dark and piratical.

  “Och, Esme.” He stroked a rough finger down her cheek. “You are so naïve.”

  “Probably,” she admitted.

  “You’re too trusting. You canna imagine all the things I want to do to you right now.”

  “Oh,” she murmured, “but I can.” She’d done her research, after all. She knew much, much more than a virgin of her status should.

  His expression darkened, and he pressed his weight upon her.

  “Mmm,” she said.

  “You’re going to be the death of me, lass.”

  Pleasure rushed through her. A feeling of power. She felt like one of her heroines. Unlike most of those experienced, sensual ladies, she’d never before had any confidence she possessed feminine wiles.

  Cam smirked. “Is that what you want, then? To be the death of me?”

  “Would it be so bad?” she asked coyly.

  He made a growling noise and kissed her again. This kiss was hard. Demanding and so dominating it made her toes curl. She wrapped her arms around him and held him close, kissing him back until her whole body vibrated with a deep-seated need.

  He moved downward, kissing her jaw and her neck. Then he pulled back a bit, undoing the ribbon ties of the bodice of her nightgown, then pulling the edges apart, exposing her breasts to his hungry gaze.

  “Oh,” she whispe
red as his breath washed over one of her nipples. And then he leaned down and wrapped his lips around it.

  “Oh God,” she groaned as sensation burst through her. It felt good—almost unnaturally so. She had, of course, touched herself there, experimented, but it was nothing like this, nowhere near as intense. “Cam…”

  He didn’t respond, too intent on his task. Her nipple had tightened to a taut nub, and he flicked his tongue over it, making her gasp in pleasure-pain.

  “Do you like that?” he murmured.

  “I…think so. I…”

  “What? What do you want? Tell me what you want.”

  “You,” she admitted.

  It was his turn to groan. He moved to her other nipple, giving it the same attention. She was on the verge of losing her mind. Of giving him everything—her body, her virginity, her never-ending adoration. If only he’d satisfy the need burning so deep in her core.

  But she needed to rein all that in. She needed to control herself—that one aspect of herself she could control.

  “Cam…” His teeth scraped over her nipple, and she gasped in pleasure. “Please.” Please more…or please stop? She hardly knew. “You must…stop.”

  He pulled back, cupping her face in his big hands and rubbing his thumbs gently over her cheekbones. “I’ll stop if that’s what you want, lass.”

  It wasn’t what she wanted. Not at all. But she said, “Yes. Please. The household will awaken soon, and if we’re caught…” She couldn’t even fathom the horror of that.

  “Aye,” he murmured. He retied the ribbon of her nightgown, hiding her breasts once again, as she lay on the bed. Then he held himself over her for a long moment, silently staring at her. His gaze communicated so many things, she couldn’t quite keep up with all of them. He didn’t want to go—that much was clear. But he would. Because that was what she’d told him she wanted.

  He slid off the bed and drew on his boots as she watched. He rose to leave but hesitated at the door.

  “Good night, Esme.”

  “Good night, Cam.”

  “I’ll see you again.” It was a promise, and relief flooded her, because even though she knew it wasn’t wise for them to see each other at all, she couldn’t stomach the idea of not seeing him again.