Highland Temptation (16 page)

She couldn't breathe.

“Emilia…Will you marry me?”

Everything in Emilia was pulled taut, her lungs so constricted she wasn't able to drag in a breath.

You will hurt him, eventually.

You will fail him.

You will bring him down.

It was the voice of her father in her head, the voice that had tried, again and again, to destroy her. To minimize her until she had nothing left. Until she was nothing but a weak shadow of a woman.

But that wasn't the man kneeling before her. This man had brought her back to life, had reminded her she was more than a cowering little girl. This man had made her, for the first time in her life, believe she was a strong, capable woman.

And, she realized, he would always support her like that. He'd always encourage the fierceness that flickered inside her. The strength that others might try to beat down.

She pushed away that nagging voice of doubt and gazed at him, tightly squeezing his hands. Despite the risk, there was only one correct answer to his question. Only one that would bring her happiness.

“Yes, Colin. I will marry you.”

“Oh thank God,” he gritted out. He yanked her off the chair and brought her into his arms, kissing her so thoroughly she forgot all her doubts. How could she doubt when everything about this man was so perfect, so right?

“We'll arrange for a license,” he murmured between kisses. “As soon as we're back in London.”

“Yes,” she said, and kissed him back, deep and long. “Yes.”

He took her hand in his own, threading his fingers through hers. Staring down at their joined hands, he murmured, “Handfast with me.”

“Handfast?” she asked.

“Aye. 'Tis an old Scottish tradition. 'Tis said that long ago, when a man and woman would meet at the annual fair, they'd clasp their hands together and agree to live as husband and wife for a year and a day, after which time, if they both agreed to it, they'd be legally wed.”

“What if they didn't agree?”

“Then they could go their separate ways and be done with each other, no harm done.”

“But that won't happen,” Emilia said.

“Nay,” Colin said with certainty. “Not for us. And I dinna wish to wait a year and a day for us to be wed.”

Warmth filled Emilia's chest. “Neither do I.”

“But I'm not really speaking of that kind of handfasting. The annual fair, the year and a day—all that is mere legend, according to my mum. She speaks of true handfasting as it was in long years past.”

“What was that?”

He squeezed her fingers a bit tighter. “A pledge. An oath from the man to the woman and from the woman to the man that they will be married in due course.”

“Like…a betrothal?” she asked.

“Aye, exactly. A formal betrothal.”

She nodded slowly, understanding why this would be important to a Scot who took his oaths and promises very seriously.

“Will you handfast with me, lass?” he asked softly.

“I will.”

They sat facing each other on the floor, and he took both her hands in his now, his eyes dark and serious. “I, Sir Colin Stirling, take thee, Lady Emilia Featherstone, as my betrothed wife, and thereto I pledge thee my troth.”

Smiling softly at him, Emilia repeated the vow, squeezing his fingers as tightly as he squeezed hers. “I, Lady Emilia Featherstone, take thee, Sir Colin Stirling, as my betrothed husband, and thereto I pledge thee my troth.”

Still holding hands, their lips came together in a promissory kiss that held so much tenderness and banked passion that it seemed to spread through Emilia, all the way to the tips of her fingers and toes.

Gently, Colin pressed her down so she lay on her back on the floor, gazing up into his eyes as his body pressed over hers.

“Tell me again,” he murmured. “Tell me you'll be mine.”

“I'll be yours,” she said breathlessly. “I want nothing more than to be yours. Forever.”

That was the truth. He kissed her again, hot and languid, the heat of it spreading through her until her whole body was ready for him, begging for more.

Still kissing her, he reached down, his fingers slipping into the wetness between her legs.

Arching up to him, pressing her center against his fingers, she whispered, “I'm ready, Colin. Always, for you.”

He made a rough growling noise and pulled his fingers from her, settling over her and moving his kilt and her nightgown aside before burying himself in her with one strong thrust.

She gasped at the instant sensation of him filling her so completely. She was tight around him, feeling him everywhere, the sensation spreading through her entire body.

“I love you, lass,” he gritted out, bending over her ear. Then he took her earlobe between his teeth as he moved within her, and she groaned.

So many sensations, so many emotions swirled within her, she couldn't begin to pick them apart. In such a short time, this man had changed her, had brought her out of the dark and into the light. She'd never imagined that she could feel so deeply connected to someone. At this moment, their connection was so much more than purely physical.

The pleasure was deeper, more intense, more essential. It wound through her, sparking in her core and wrapping around her heart. It had her in its grip, and she held on to Colin and gave it free rein, losing herself in swirling ecstasy.

An enormous wave of pleasure crashed over her and through her. As if from a distance, she heard herself groaning and whimpering as Colin threaded his hand in her hair and licked her jaw just beneath her ear as he muttered Gaelic words so hotly they burned through her.

With her body still awash with ecstasy, she felt him reach the pinnacle, pulsing deep, his seed hot and wet.

He groaned softly as he came down from it, lifting himself up on his elbows to gaze into her eyes, his chest still rising and falling with heavy breaths.

“Sorry.”

She blinked at him. “What?”

He looked around. The chair legs were on one side of them, the table legs on the other. The wood-planked floor was cold and hard beneath her body—but she hadn't noticed that until this moment.

“I meant to take you to bed like a proper husband-to-be. Not like some heathen who hadn't seen a woman in ten years.”

She laughed and cupped his cheek in her hand. His skin was rough from a day's growth of beard. “Nonsense,” she said, smiling up at him. “It was perfect.”

He gazed at her for a long moment, then his face melted into a smile. He kissed her gently. “Let's go to bed. I'll do it right this time, I promise.”

Three days went by—three days of dreary gray skies, constant mist, and sporadic icy rain showers that drenched Colin and Emilia to the bone, despite the phaeton's hood.

Every night, they stopped at inns, taking their meals in their room and warming themselves under the blankets. Colin couldn't get enough of her, and he made love to her several times a night, taking comfort and pleasure in her lush body. The best thing was that she seemed to enjoy him as much as he enjoyed her. She was a lusty wee thing, just another of the seemingly infinite things he loved about her.

They didn't encounter Pinfield, nor did they hear word of his whereabouts. That didn't surprise Colin. At this point, Pinfield would know better than to appear in public. Every day, the
Times
reported on the alleged treasonous actions performed by him and his cohorts, most of whom had already been arrested. Pinfield was now officially the most wanted man in Britain.

On the afternoon of the third day, they finally rode into London. They went directly to Westminster and the mews behind the house of the Highland Knights, where they put away the horses together before entering through the back door.

The house was quiet, but they found Bailey in the kitchen, sitting with the cook while they took their afternoon tea. He rose when he laid eyes on Colin.

“Sir! We weren't expecting you.”

“Aye, I ken. Where are the others?”

“Only Mr. McLeod and Lady Esme are at home. Lady Claire and Lady Grace are visiting the earl, and the other men are apprehending Lord Chalmsworth as we speak.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, sir. They received word this morning that Chalmsworth was hiding at his sister's house in Mayfair.”

“Where is McLeod?”

“In the study, I believe. I'll take you to him.”

Bailey led them down the corridor, Colin pressing a possessive hand on Emilia's back, and opened the door to the study.

McLeod looked up from his desk, then did a double take. “Stirling!” he roared, jumping up. “Thank God, man. We were worried about you.” He came around the desk, stopped, and bowed at Emilia. “Lady Emilia, 'tis good to see you well.” But then he saw Emilia's cheek, sporting its fresh pink scar, and his eyes narrowed. “What the hell happened?” he asked darkly.

“Pinfield happened,” Colin responded, equally dark.

“But we got away from him,” Emilia said lightly. “All is well.”

“D'you ken where he is?” McLeod asked.

“Nay. We encountered him at the Scottish border ten days ago, but God knows where he went from there.”

“Not South, I daresay,” McLeod said.

“Nay. He wouldn't show his face in London. He's not stupid,” Colin said.

McLeod sighed. “I want to know everything, but I'm certain the others will as well, so your story can wait until they get home. In the meantime, I'll fill you in on what's been happening here.” He glanced at Emilia. “But you're wet as fishes. You'll wish to clean up and change your clothes first, aye?”

“That would be lovely, thank you,” Emilia said.

“Come, then,” McLeod said. “Let's go upstairs. Esme's writing.” Leading them back down the corridor, he turned to them, grinning. “Usually I dinna care to interrupt her when she's writing, but she'll want to see you, and I fear her wrath if I dinna interrupt her now.”

Emilia looked startled—Colin guessed she had no idea what McLeod was talking about. There was no way she could know that Lady Esme was a writer. But McLeod was already treating Emilia as if she was part of the family without Colin mentioning his intentions toward her.

Perhaps he didn't need to say a thing. Perhaps his intentions were written all over his face.

They knocked on McLeod's door, where Lady Esme had set up her writing desk at the window. She turned when McLeod opened the door.

“What…? Oh!” She jumped out of her seat and hurried over, warmly embracing first Emilia and then Colin. Then she stepped back, a hand on her ever-growing belly. “You've made it back safely. Thank heavens. But you're soaking wet.” She said this to Emilia. “Let's go find something for you in Claire's closet.”

“Oh no, I couldn't—”

Esme smiled. “Honestly, I would have said the same thing less than a year ago. But trust me when I say that if you don't fetch something dry and warm immediately from Claire's closet, she'll have both our hides when she comes home this evening.”

She took Emilia's hand and led her to the major and Lady Claire's bedchamber at the far end of the corridor.

Colin watched them go, then looked at McLeod, who was staring at him keenly.

“Hmm,” McLeod said.

“What?”

“You're lost.”

Colin quirked a brow.

“I thought you were doomed when you left, besotted with her as you were,” McLeod explained. “But now I ken you are.”

“Ha. I wouldna call it
doomed.
”

“Lucky you.”

“Aye,” Colin agreed. For the past few days, he'd felt like the luckiest man in the world.

“She puts up with you, eh?” McLeod's gaze was penetrating, and Colin knew what he was asking.

“Aye. She's…er…seen me when I'm not at my best, you might say.”

McLeod nodded in approval. “That's good. I wasna sure, as retiring as she was, if she had the fortitude to manage everything that's been thrown at her. But she's like Esme, I think.”

“How do you mean?”

“They appear a bit meek but actually possess a core of steel.”

“Aye, yet you'll find she appears less and less the victim. She's steel through and through.”

“Well done, then, man,” McLeod said, with a slap to Colin's back. “I'll let you change. Meet me in the drawing room when you're ready.”

“Aye.”

McLeod returned downstairs, and Colin opened the door to his bedchamber. The room was cold and quiet, and a shudder ran down his spine. He realized this was the first time he'd been alone in days.

Nay
, he told himself,
you're not alone. Emilia is only a few doors away.

Yet when the door closed behind him with an ominous
click,
the silence pounded at him and caught in his throat. The only sounds in the room were his breaths.

God help him. He'd been free of demons since Emilia had chased them away at the riverbank. But they were crowding in on him now, overpowering and fast. He sank to the edge of the bed, trying to catch his breath, trying to will them away. But they had returned with a vengeance. They were insistent. Brutal. They were wrapping around his throat, killing him with an invisible noose.

He gasped for air, but it was no use. He clawed at his throat, trying to loosen the grip they had on it, to no avail. He couldn't feel anything with his fingers, even as his throat constricted tighter and tighter.

Black spots began to edge his vision. He needed help. He needed Emilia to come chase them away, because try as he might, he sure as hell couldn't. He rose, wavering on his feet, half-blind from lack of air, and stumbled toward the door.

Dressed in a fresh chemise and one of Lady Claire's simple day dresses, Emilia went downstairs with Esme. When they opened the door to the drawing room, they found only McLeod, who rose to greet them. “Where's Stirling?” he asked.

“We thought he was down here with you,” Esme said.

“No. I told him to come down once he was dressed, but he—”

Emilia didn't hear the rest, because she was already sprinting up the stairs, her skirts fisted in her hands. She rushed to Colin's door and threw it open, but it banged against a figure lying prone on the floor.

Oh no. “Colin!” she cried out, skidding to her knees. He opened his eyes instantly, blinking up at her.

“Emilia?”

“What happened?”

He looked around dazedly, then rose to a sitting position. His body shuddered like a leaf in a gale, so she slipped her arm around his back, trying to support him.

“I…uh…” He looked down at the floor, shoving a hand through his thick dark hair. “Damn,” he muttered.

“What?”

“ 'Twas nothing.”

Emilia took a breath. It clearly wasn't “nothing,” but he was already upset enough. She didn't want to push him.

Anyhow, she had a fairly good idea what had happened. His demons had done this. He'd been free of them these past few days, and she'd begun to have hope that they were gone for good. Now she understood that they were insidious—that they'd return the moment either she or Colin let down their guard.

“Are you all right now?” she said softly. She heard a sound of swishing fabric and looked up to see McLeod and Lady Esme at the door, concern creasing their faces.

“Aye. I'm all right.” He rose unsteadily to his feet, glancing at the couple at the door then looking away. “I havna changed yet,” he said, looking down at his still-dripping kilt.

“I'll help you.” Emilia glanced at the door again to see that McLeod and Lady Esme had already left and had closed the door behind them.

“ 'Tisn't necessary,” Colin said gruffly.

“I know. But I'd like to stay, anyhow. If that's all right with you.”

Without meeting her eyes, he nodded. He went to his armoire and retrieved a folded kilt and shirt, which he laid on the bed before stripping down to nothing. Emilia had found a clean towel in a drawer, and she used it to quickly dry him off before she wrapped the kilt around his narrow hips, noting that just the sight of all that naked masculine flesh of his was enough to turn her body warm and wanting. But Lady Esme and McLeod were waiting for them downstairs, so there was no time for that thinking. Still, once he'd finished buckling his kilt, she wrapped her arms around him.

“They didn't kill you,” she said.

The jolt of his body was subtle but she felt it nonetheless.

“You see,” she said. “They can't do it. They're incapable.”

“I wish you were right.”

“I
am
right. They can't harm you. They just make you think they can.”

“They nearly did just now. And what if…”

She frowned up at him.

“What if you were in danger and that happened? I canna protect you properly, Emilia.”

“I disagree,” she said. “You can protect me. You have protected me in the past couple of weeks a thousand times better than anyone in my life ever has.”

“You were never protected at all before,” he argued. “Not like you should've been.”

She stared at him, eyes narrowed, anger rising in her chest. Though she understood his male need to protect what was his, and how debilitating his demons were to his confidence, she couldn't abide him believing that he wasn't good enough for her. Didn't he realize he was too good for her?

“They're not going away,” he said softly. “You say we can fight them. Defeat them. But what if they never go away? What if…if I'm like this forever?” He was looking down, fists clenched.

“Then we fight them forever,” she said firmly. “Listen to me, Colin. What they do to you…I understand how this makes you feel. But they don't affect how
I
feel about
you
at all.”

“They should.”

“They don't.”

“What if you change? What if you grow weary of me and my madness?”

“You're not mad. And I won't. I already made you a promise, Colin. I meant it. I am not inconstant and I never will be. The oath I made to you in Newcastle upon Tyne…it was for life.”

He lifted his head, looking at her with sorrowful eyes, brown in the meager light of his bedchamber.

“I promise,” she said again. She would never fail him—not in that way, in any case. She knew it with a certainty that went to the marrow of her bones.

Slowly, he nodded.

She swallowed the remnants of her frustration. “We need to go downstairs and talk to McLeod and Esme. Can you do that?”

“Aye.”

She caught his face in her hands and kissed him hard on the lips.

“I love you. Nothing is going to change that. Do you understand?”

He softened, a bit of his anguish draining from him at her words. “Aye.”

This time, he kissed her, a soft, long press of his lips to hers. He moved his hands down her arms and entwined his fingers with hers, pressing his forehead to hers. “God, Emilia. What would I do without you?”

“I'm thinking the same thing,” she murmured back. “What would
I
do without
you
?”

Colin was a strong, powerful man. A hero to his country, a protector, honorable, and a good, loving man. But he wasn't infallible. Emilia had known that being with him brought her strength, but she brought him strength, too. She squeezed his fingers. “Let's go talk to Mr. McLeod and Lady Esme.”

Hand in hand, they went downstairs, where Esme had a pot of hot tea waiting for them. Emilia took her cup gratefully, holding it in both hands and letting it infuse some much-needed warmth into her palms.

“We're expecting the men back anytime,” Esme said. “They're off—well…” She glanced at her husband, who grinned.

“I'll start at the beginning, aye?” McLeod took a sip of his tea then set his cup down. “We received your letter a little over a week ago, and immediately took it to Adams, who in turn took it to his superiors. Within the hour, they had issued warrants for a dozen men, and ordered us to go make the arrests. Pinfield, of course, was already gone but most of the others were still in London. After we detained the first few men, word got out, and the others tried to run. We caught most of them that first day. Seven arrests, two deaths.”

Emilia slapped her hand to her mouth. “Which…who died?”

“Lord Mountebank and William Blaketon.” McLeod studied Emilia. “Are you certain you wish to hear this, my lady?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “This is my doing. I need to know—”

McLeod frowned. “ 'Tis
not
your doing. They were the traitors, not you. They brought this upon themselves. And if you didna alert us as to their actions, it might've gone much further and there certainly would've been many more casualties before we caught them.”

She clenched her fists in her lap, knowing he was right but hating to be the catalyst that had effected two men's deaths. Traitors or not, Mountebank and Blaketon had been frequent visitors to her father's house, and she'd shared many a meal with both men. They had been polite to her, especially Blaketon, who didn't have children and treated her as he might a granddaughter, never forgetting to spare her a kind word and bring her a simple gift when he came to visit.

“I understand,” she said softly. “What happened to them?”

“Mountebank was a suicide.” She tried not to flinch. “When he learned that arrests were being made, he went to his study and shot himself. His butler found him there shortly before we arrived to arrest him.”

“And Blaketon?” she whispered.

“Ross and I went to arrest him—he was one of the last on our list and had already heard that we were on our way. His staff was told not to allow us entry into his house, so we had to force our way in. We found him hiding in the attic, with a gun. He pulled out a pistol and fired at me—missed, thank God—and Ross shot him.”

Emilia pulled air into her lungs, then pushed it out forcefully. “Thank you for telling me,” she said. “What happened to Lord Merrington?” Out of all the men on the list, she'd liked Merrington the most. And she felt terrible for what this must be doing to his wife and ten children.

“He was arrested. They're holding him in the Tower, for now.”

Colin reached over to untangle her clenched fingers and took one of her cold hands in both of his, chafing it to infuse some warmth into it.

McLeod watched this, and heat prickled over Emilia's cheeks. Colin's move was intimate, and this was one of his brothers in arms, one of his best friends, watching.

Finally looking away from Colin and Emilia's joined hands, McLeod sipped his tea and continued. “Once the men were arrested, we searched their homes and questioned their families and associates, looking for evidence.”

“Did you find anything?” Colin asked, as hope surged in her chest. Emilia didn't want to be the only source of evidence against a dozen powerful men.

“Not really,” McLeod said. “There were vague references here and there in some of the men's correspondence, but nothing substantial.” He gazed at Emilia. “Your testimony will be the most powerful evidence against them, my lady.”

She nodded, her chest tight. This horror was long from over.

“Unless you find something,” Colin corrected. “You're still hunting for more evidence, correct?”

“Aye. We've only searched their London homes and sent word to authorities in the various counties where their country houses and other properties are located. We've yet to hear if those searches have turned anything up.”

“I dinna trust English local authorities to find anything of consequence, necessarily,” Colin said.

“Aye, the rest of us feel the same way. Still, our priority is to make the arrests, not to travel the far reaches of the kingdom hunting for evidence. That'll come later.”

Colin nodded. “So there are three warrants outstanding?”

“Aye. Pinfield, of course, Chalmsworth, and George Kingsman.” McLeod smirked. “Kingsman. Love the irony of that name.”

“And you've found Chalmsworth?”

“Aye,” McLeod said. “He escaped that first day. He ran with the clothes on his back and not much else. We received word this morning that his sister has hidden him away in her house.”

“Kingsman?”

McLeod shrugged. “He made a clean getaway. Disappeared seemingly without a trace, leaving his family at home in London.”

“Was the family aware of his plans? Of his affiliation to Pinfield?”

“Nay. Adams has questioned all the men's families extensively. It seems none of them knew aught of their patriarchs' actions.”

Colin and Emilia both nodded. Emilia's own father had attempted to hide it from her—she'd only discovered his treason out of pure curiosity and sneakiness, and because she hadn't trusted him to begin with. She knew all of the men she'd accused, and while she didn't know what they were like in private, she'd thought most of them kinder and more gentlemanly than her father.

“So,” Colin mused, “if the arrest today goes as planned, then there are only two suspects at large.”

“Aye. One of them being the ringleader of the enterprise. Capturing Pinfield is paramount if we want to ensure he isna continuing with his plans for the assassination.” McLeod turned to Emilia. “Do you ken where he might've gone?”

“Perhaps our country house in Nottinghamshire?”

“We have sent word to the authorities in that area to be on alert in the event he appears there. Anywhere else?”

“I can't think of anywhere, except the various homes of his accomplices. Those men were his friends—his only friends, and they would have hidden him if he'd asked.”

“But they're all enjoying the fine accommodations of the Tower of London at the moment,” Colin said dryly.

“Three of them are in the Tower,” McLeod corrected, “to be joined later today by Chalmsworth. The other six are being held at Newgate.”

“My father wouldn't just go to one of their homes, I don't think,” she said. “Not if they weren't in residence.”

“Does he own land elsewhere?”

“Not that I know of.”

“We'll discuss it in more detail when the others arrive.” McLeod gazed at them, his blue eyes hard with determination. “By now half the country is on the hunt for Pinfield. We'll find him.”