Highland Awakening

by Jennifer Haymore

  Stirling cocked his head, studying Cam’s expression. “You’re fond of her, aren’t you?”

  “Aye, I am.” Cam’s voice was gruff. The orchestra started playing a Scotch reel, and immediately dozens of people rose to dance, abandoning their half-eaten bowls of fresh strawberries with clotted cream.

  Merrington’s eldest son whispered in Lady Emilia’s ear, and she nodded, taking his hand. As the two walked by, Emilia cast a shy smile in Stirling’s direction, then immediately looked away.

  “I think she fancies you,” Cam chuckled, watching Stirling gaze after the lass. “Mayhap you’ll be next to marry.”

  “God,” Stirling groaned. “Can you imagine it? She’s a sweet, bonny lass, but Pinfield as a father-in-law?” He shuddered as they watched Pinfield saunter by with one of Merrington’s slender, angular daughters on his arm, the pair looking rather like Jack Sprat and his wife.

  “You take the north side,” Stirling said in Cam’s ear. “I’ll be watching the south.”

  “Aye,” Cam agreed, and moved to one end of the dance while Stirling went to the other. Cam clasped his hands behind his back and watched the reel, wondering if Esme liked to dance…because he’d love to dance with her. He’d have to trade her off with other men in a reel like this one. The more intimate setting of a waltz—that would be ideal. He could hold her, lead her through the moves, feel the soft press of her curves against his body…

  A sharp scream from behind him snapped him out of his reverie.

  He spun around, as did several of the other people standing nearby. The sound seemed to have come from the footpath to his left, and he couldn’t see anything, as the path veered straight off into a thick copse of trees, and the lighting was intermittent and dim.

  He glanced over his shoulder. No sign of Stirling. On the opposite side of the dancers, he’d be too far away to have heard the scream, most likely.

  Then, a woman shouted, “Help! Please, help!” and Cam set off running toward the noise, pushing past the milling people.

  He turned the bend in the path. Up ahead, he could see a small group of ladies bent over something off to the side. Not knowing what kind of danger might be lurking about, he slipped his pistol from his coat but held it against his leg, hidden by a pleat in his kilt so he didn’t frighten the women as he approached. He could hear the footsteps of several more people behind him hurrying to help.

  The ladies parted for him, a quick glance at their faces revealing them to be pale with horror and shock.

  Cam looked down at what their skirts had been hiding from view.

  Ross lay on the ground, his limbs akimbo, bathing in a pool of blood. Cam sank down to his friend’s side and put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Ross?”

  Ross’s head rolled toward Cam. His eyes were closed, his face glowing pale in the dim light. He was either unconscious…or dead.

  A scream welled in Cam’s throat. No. No, no, no.

  He pressed his ear to Ross’s chest, and then he heard it. The faintest heartbeat, the tiniest rasp of a breath. He rose, his cheek sticking briefly to the blood welling on Ross’s coat, pressed his hand to the open wound on Ross’s chest, and roared for a doctor.

  Another Highland Knight had been attacked. And Cam would be damned if he was going to let this one die.

  Chapter 19

  Two nights later, Esme was sound asleep when a movement in her bed awakened her.

  “Cam?” She started to roll over to face him, but he wrapped his arm around her, holding her in place.

  “Aye, ’tis me.” He pressed his front to her back, moving her braid aside to pepper kisses over her neck.

  She sighed and snuggled against him, feeling drowsy and comfortable and content.

  “I missed you,” she said.

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “With Lord Pinfield?”

  He sighed. “Aye.” They lay in silence for a moment, then he added, “I’ve been counting the moments until I could be with you again, Esme.”

  “Me, too,” she admitted, “but I didn’t know how high the count would go.”

  “We dinna have to live in anticipation,” he murmured. “We could be together every night, if…”

  She squeezed her eyes shut. She still wasn’t ready for any talk of something permanent with Cam. She’d promised herself she’d be more prepared, more honest with herself the next time she dove into a commitment. And her feelings about Cam were so tangled she didn’t know how to begin to unravel them.

  Time was what she needed. Time with Cam to learn more about him, and without him to learn more about herself.

  “What have you been doing while I’ve been away?” he said.

  She hummed. “The duchess has gone into confinement, so I have taken over many of her duties, which are simple for her, because she is lovely and charming, but wretched for me.”

  He squeezed her tighter and shuddered behind her. “They’d be wretched for me as well. You’re a strong woman.”

  She gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Or weak, depending on how you choose to look at it. But something good did happen.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I finished my book yesterday.”

  “Did you?”

  “I did,” she said proudly. Every time she finished a book, she felt an inordinate amount of pride in her accomplishment—which she could never share with anyone. Until now.

  Cam turned her in his arms so they were facing each other. “Well done,” he said softly, his blue eyes sparkling. He kissed her on the tip of her nose, and she smiled.

  “Thank you.”

  “Now then, there’s another book for me to be reading. I canna wait until it is in print.”

  She froze, tension tightening every muscle in her body. “Wait…are you…Are you saying you’ve read my books?”

  “Aye,” he said, smiling, “of course.”

  “Wh-why?”

  “Because they’re an important part of your life. So they’re an important part of mine as well.”

  “Did you…?” She bit her lip, too afraid to finish the question. What if he had hated her stories and thought her a fool for writing them?

  “I did,” he said. She looked up at him in confusion, and he nodded. “You’re asking if I liked them?”

  She winced, and he laughed. “I liked them, aye. I loved them. Each and every word reminded me of you. They were sweet and brave and romantic. I loved them almost as much as I—” He broke off all of a sudden.

  “As much as you what?”

  “Never mind. The important thing is that there will be another one. I canna wait. When will it be published?”

  “It’ll be several months yet. It’s only a first draft. I need to revise and edit it and then it will need to be printed. The whole process takes quite a long time.”

  “I’ll await my copy with bated breath.”

  “Don’t bate your breath too much,” she teased. She gave him a wicked, suggestive look. “You’ll be needing to keep your strength.”

  He smiled, and it was then that she noticed the darkness in his expression, the lines of strain at the edges of his eyes. “I’ll keep up my strength,” he said. “Dinna worry about that.”

  “Cam?”

  “Aye?”

  “Has…something happened?”

  “What makes you say that?”

  She touched his forehead between his brows. “There’s a groove that appears just here when something’s bothering you.”

  He closed his eyes, sighing.

  “What is it?”

  “Another Knight was attacked, night before last.”

  “Oh…no,” she breathed. “Is he…Was he murdered?” She waited, holding her breath. Please, please, let him be all right…

  “He’s alive. Barely.”

  “Oh, Cam. I’m so sorry. Who was it?”

  “Sir Ewan Ross. He was an officer of the Gordon Highlanders, knighted by the Regent for valor in battle. I’ve known him since he was an ensign
. He is a good man. My brother. One of my best friends.”

  “Will he be all right?” she asked through the tightness in her throat.

  “I dinna ken. Maybe.” He gazed at her hopelessly. “He was stabbed in the chest, near his lung. It’s a terrible wound and he lost almost all his blood. He’s suffering.” Cam swallowed. “He’s suffering and there’s naught I can do for him.”

  She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her lips to his chest. “There is something you can do,” she said. “Find who did it and make him pay.”

  “Aye,” Cam said roughly. “That’s what I intend to do. But Ross didna see his attacker, so he canna give us any sort of description. It happened in Vauxhall Gardens. The man came from behind, and it was dark. A group of ladies was walking along the footpath, and they came upon the scene before the killer could finish the job. They didna see the man’s face at all—they can only tell us he was of average height and wearing a dark cloak, and when they screamed, he stumbled into the bushes and disappeared.”

  “He stumbled? Did Sir Ewan injure him somehow?”

  “We dinna ken. Ross doesna recall injuring him, but it’s possible. He’s feverish, and his memories of the incident are muddled.”

  She held on to him tighter. “You’ll find him. I’m sure of it.”

  “Aye. I wilna rest until I do.” Cam was silent for a moment, then said, “We’re no longer to be outside alone. We’re to stay in pairs when we’re out and about in London, or anywhere else. But I…” He gazed hard at her, as if he wanted to dive inside and take up residence in her soul. “I needed to see you. You calm my spirit, Esme. You soften all my hard edges. I need—” He cut himself off abruptly.

  She touched the lines of strain at the edge of his eye, then smoothed her fingers down the side of his whisker-roughened face. He was so handsome. Such a bewildering, fascinating mix of hard and soft, imperviousness and vulnerability. She loved that he felt she could soften his hard edges. Loved that he’d come to her for comfort tonight.

  She kissed him softly, slowly, as if they had all the time in the world to share this intimate touch. He’d already removed his jacket, stockings, shoes, and kilt, and was only wearing his long linen shirt. She tugged it up and ran her hand along the back of his thigh as she kissed him but stopped abruptly when her hand touched a lump of flesh just below his hip, an area of his body she hadn’t yet seen or explored. “What’s this?”

  He pressed her hand over it, and she could feel the raised lines of flesh.

  “Injury from Waterloo. A bullet skimmed me. ’Twas nothing. Not enough for the surgeons to pay any attention. The major’s wife wrapped it and I hardly noticed it a bit as it healed. It left a bit of a scar, though.”

  “A bit?” she asked in astonishment. “It feels like it cut through half your body.”

  “Aye, well. Many men suffered far worse,” he said.

  “You were lucky,” she said, thinking of all the soldiers killed at Waterloo, all the men who’d returned maimed. Cam didn’t even have a limp—just this ragged mass of flesh to remember the battle by. “I’m so glad you were one of the lucky ones.”

  He nuzzled the shell of her ear, nibbling kisses all around it, and her eyes sank shut in pleasure.

  “You’re fond of me,” he murmured. “Admit it.”

  “I’d hardly let you into my bed if I wasn’t fond of you,” she said archly.

  “You like how I make you feel. I give you pleasure.”

  “I think that’s obvious.” She moved her braid aside, revealing more skin on the side of her neck for him to kiss.

  “Aye, but I like to hear you say it,” he said, peppering kisses down her neck. He drew back and untied the ribbon at the top of her nightgown, pulling one side away and kissing the side of her breast.

  “I’m fond of you, Cam.” She pushed her hands in his hair, loving the feel of its softness against her fingers. “I don’t like how you make me feel—I love it.”

  “Good.” He raised his head so their eyes met. “I was gentle with you last time, Esme. It was your first time, and I didna wish to hurt you any more than I had to. But I want you to know—I’m not a gentle lover.”

  “What kind of a lover are you?” she asked him, anticipation of his answer already making her heart pound a quick staccato.

  “The kind who takes his pleasure ruthlessly.”

  She shuddered, and a wicked smile curled his lips. “Do you like the sound of that?” he asked.

  “I do,” she admitted, struggling against the shyness threatening to overtake her. “I want that. I want you to be ruthless. I want you to take your pleasure from me.”

  “Why?” His eyes were narrowed, deep blue in the dimness of the room, lit only by the residue of a shadowy moon outside.

  She thought about that for a moment. “Because…I think I’ll take pleasure from it as well.”

  He nodded in approval. “Good. I like to be rough. I like to be hard. But it is better for me when my partner wants it as well.”

  She nodded shakily.

  “You’re a gentle lady, Esme. But I’ve read your books. They made me think that we just might possess similar carnal desires.”

  Her breath caught. “I…think we might.”

  “If anything I do hurts you or goes too far, you tell me, aye?”

  She nodded.

  “Promise me.”

  “I promise.”

  “Good lass.” He pulled all the way back from her. “Will you give me what I need tonight?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “I need…to forget.” And though his words and his voice were hard, there was a plea in his eyes.

  “Tell me how to help.”

  “Aye. Take off your night rail.”

  She did, and as she pulled the muslin gown over her head, he removed his shirt. She stayed on her knees, waiting for his next instruction, and he lay on his back on the bed. “Come here, lass. Straddle my face.”

  Heat rushed to her cheeks, and her breaths shaky, she did as he’d instructed. “Brace yourself on the bed frame,” he said. When she’d done so, he grasped her thighs and brought her sex toward his face. She gasped loudly when the lips of her sex touched his mouth. His tongue flicked out, licking her most intimate area, and she closed her eyes, leaning forward to rest her upper body on the wooden headboard.

  He feasted on her—that was the only way to describe it. He licked and sucked, and these were no tentative motions. His tongue speared her, and his suction over her sensitive bud was so intense she saw stars. A deep shudder began in her core and spread upward through her chest and down her legs. He must have felt it, but he didn’t relent. His fingers dug almost painfully into the tops of her thighs.

  She began moving against him, over him, and he redoubled his efforts until she nearly sobbed with every breath. Lust spiraled in her, tightening from her core out to her limbs, wrapping all her muscles, her entire body, in its tight bonds.

  She couldn’t do this. It was too much. She began a low chant. “No, no, no…” Her muscles grew tighter and tighter.

  And then, every strand that had tightened around her snapped all at once. Pleasure rushed through her with such force, she jerked with it like a rag doll. She cried out, frightened for a split second that she would literally fall apart, but then she understood she wouldn’t. She couldn’t, because Cam was holding her, licking her, sucking her through the excruciating, brilliant pulses of ecstasy.

  When the throbbing slowed, she realized Cam had slid out from under her and now knelt behind her. “I need to fuck you now,” he said. Pressing her forehead against the headboard, she whimpered at the harsh language. The wetness of her arousal trickled down the inside of her thigh.

  “I can’t hold back tonight, Esme,” he said gruffly. “It’s going to be hard.”

  “Yes, Cam. Please.”

  His hand snaked around her body and his fingers pressed hard on her center, nearly sending her leaping off the bed. She made a sound of pain…or pleasur
e. She wasn’t sure which.

  “Too much?”

  “Yes. No!” she corrected. “Too much, but also not enough,” she gasped. “I need more. I need you.”

  He made a low, very Scottish sound of approval. His hardness rubbed through the crack of her buttocks as he pressed his body against hers, pelvis to bottom, stomach to back. He adjusted himself so that his tip pressed against her opening, then grasped her waist with both hands and thrust inside.

  They released a harsh breath as one. She didn’t have time to catch hers, because he was moving in long strokes, reaching her deepest parts, his body warm against her back. His thrusts were so hard, she had to brace herself with her hands on the headboard so she didn’t slam her head into it every time he surged deep.

  “God,” he bit out. “You feel so good, Esme. So tight and hot wrapped around my cock.”

  Oh…my. She shuddered, and her sex contracted at his words. She realized with a shock that she liked his crass words—no, loved them. They made her hotter and wetter and brought her a notch closer to her peak.

  “I love fucking you,” he said in her ear. “I love this. I could fuck you for the rest of my life and die a happy man.”

  Another shudder. Another notch higher.

  One of his hands moved from her hip to her neck. He wrapped his hand around her neck, squeezing gently. If he wanted, he could squeeze the life right out of her. She was in his hands, but she trusted him. He wouldn’t hurt her, only bring her pleasure.

  He kept his hand there, his fingers tight but not squeezing, as he pushed himself deep inside her, over and over again, subtly shifting position every few minutes to find another angle that inevitably made her shiver in delight at the exquisite feel of him pressing against her inner walls.

  Suddenly, he pulled out. Without preamble, he flipped her over so she lay on her back and he moved on top of her. “Keep your eyes open,” he said. “Wrap your legs around me and watch me come.”

  She arched up as he pressed into her this time, gasping at the invasion into her sensitive flesh. She watched him, the muscles in his arms working, his jaw tight as he stared down at her. Under her legs, she could feel the muscles in his buttocks contracting with every thrust.