My Highland Lord (Highland Lords) (39 page)

Kiernan let the shirt fall, then unfastened his trousers. He kept his attention on her face, but her eyes remained fixed on his
fingers as he freed the last button and shoved the trousers down and over his hips. Her mouth parted and, when she swallowed, his erection pulsed. She gave a small gasp and it was all he could do to keep from mounting and fucking her like a wild bull. Kiernan forced his breathing to slow and lowered himself onto her.

Her full curves melted beneath him. His heart raced and he covered a breast with his palm. The nipple pressed into his hand and he watched her face as he kneaded the warm flesh. She wiggled beneath him and for an instant he thought he would spend himself on her belly.

"I think some movement is required, sir."

Kiernan stilled. "What's that you say?"

"You are awfully…large."

Was she talking about his body or his cock?

Kiernan urged her legs apart and settled his hips between her thighs. "We'll start with an heir," he said.

Gently, he reminded himself as he fitted the tip of his penis to the opening of her channel. God, but he wanted to drive into her until she screamed his name.

"Once he's safe in the nursery," he went on, "a daughter will follow." Her slick folds allowed easy entrance and her gasp when he inched inside caused his scrotum to contract. "After that," he kissed her cheek, "we'll get you fat with my third child." He slid a wet kiss from her cheek to her ear, and drove hilt deep in one hard thrust.

She drew a sharp breath.

Kiernan lifted onto his elbows and looked at her. "What have you to say now, wife?"

She stared up at him. "I say that puts me exactly where I predicted: at your beck and call."

He shook his head. "No, love. That puts me at
your
beck and call."

Kiernan reached up and yanked free the handkerchief that bound her hands.

Her eyes narrowed. "What sort of knot was that? A highwayman's hitch, I wager."

He lifted a brow.
"Only a highwayman would use a highwayman's hitch?"

She nodded and Kiernan moved
inside her in slow, easy strokes.

"By heavens," she said in a breathless voice tha
t wound through him like a siren's song. "I suppose that'll do."

"Will it?" he asked.

She nodded and wound her arms around his neck.

"Do you think you might one day love me?" he asked.

Her breasts rose and fell with the quickening of her breath. "That depends."

"Depends on what?" Kiernan drew
a nipple into his mouth.

She sighed.
"Whether or not you can keep my ennui at bay."

Kiernan snapped his head up. "Ennui, you say?"

She nodded and he felt that same sense of helplessness he'd felt that moment he'd entered her coach. There was only one answer. He stroked faster in her channel. Pleasure mounted.

"Do you like that, love?" he asked.

"Yes," she whispered with an arch of her hips that met his thrust.

"Then I am certain I can keep your boredom at bay—and so much more."

Her gaze locked with his. "All right, then," she whispered. "I love you."

That was all Kiernan needed to hear.

#
# #

I admit that I like leaving a story with the hero and heroine in bed. This is romance, after all, and what better way to face the future than in each other's arms? If you enjoyed reading about Kiernan and Phoebe's journey of love, perhaps you would also like to learn just how Kiernan's father, the duke, came to fall in love with an American woman. For your pleasure, I have included sample chapters of My Highland Love.

Enjoy, and remember, "
Where there is love, there is life."
Mahatma Ghandi.

Tarah

Afterward

For those who might think that I allowed my imagination to run rampant with government conspiracies, mass assassinations, and revolutions, I refer you to the book
Enemies of the State: The Cato Street Conspiracy
by M. J. Trow, which was a major source for the history I used in
My Highland Lord
. Years ago, when I wrote the first draft of this book, there was very little information available on The Cato Street Conspiracy. Now, however, there are a few good books like Mr. Trow's
Enemies of the State
, and they prove once again that fact is far stranger than fiction. Of course, I only touched upon the intricate web woven by the British government in an effort to maintain the status quo during The Cato Street Conspiracy, and the lengths to which so-called radicals were willing to go in order to achieve their revolutions. I took a few liberties and added a character or two in order to tell Phoebe and Kiernan's story, but the history is solid. I hope you found it as interesting as I did.

My
Highland Love

How does a woman tell her betrothed she murdered her first husband?

Elise Kingston is a wanted woman. Nothing, not even Highlander Marcus MacGregor, will stop her from returning home to ensure that the man responsible for her daughter's death hangs.

Until she must choose between his life and her revenge.

Chapter One

America 

Winter 1825

"The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away."
Or so her eulogy would begin.

The heavy gold wedding band clinked loudly in the silence as he grasped the crystal tumbler sitting on the desk before him. He raised the glass in salutation and whispered into the darkness, "To the dead, may they rot in their watery graves." He finished the whiskey in one swallow.

And what of that which had been hers? He smiled. The law would see that her wealth remained where it should—with him. A finality settled about the room.

Soon, life would begin.

* * * *

Solway Firth
, Scottish-English border

Elise jumped at the sound of approaching footsteps and sloshed tea from the cup at her lips. The ship's stateroom door opened and her grip tightened around the delicate cup handle. Her husband ducked to miss the top of the doorway as he entered. He stopped, his gaze fixing on the medical journal that lay open on the secretary beside her. A corner of his mouth curved upward with a derisive twist and his eyes met hers.

With deliberate disinterest, Elise slipped the paper she'd been making notes on between the pages of the journal and took the forestalled sip of afternoon tea. She grimaced. The tea had grown cold in the two hours it had sat untouched. She placed the cup on the saucer, then turned a page in the book. As Robert clicked the door shut behind him, the ship's stern lifted with another wave. She gripped the desk when the stern dropped into the swell's trough. Thunder, the first on the month-long voyage, rumbled. She released the desk. This storm had grown into more than a mere squall.

Robert stepped to her side. "What are you doing?"

"Nothi—" He snatched the paper from the book. "Robert!" She would have leapt to her feet, but her legs were shakier than her hands.

He scanned the paper, then looked at her. "You refuse to let the matter lie."

"You don't care that the doctors couldn't identify what killed your daughter?"

"She is dead. What difference can it possibly make?"

Her pulse jumped.
None for you. Because you murdered her.

He tossed the paper aside. "This has gone far enough."

Elise lifted her gaze to his face. She once thought those blue eyes so sensual. "I couldn't agree more."

"Indeed?"

The ship heaved.

"I will give you a divorce," she said.

"Divorce?" A hard gleam entered his eyes. "I mean to be a widower."

She caught sight of the bulge in his waistband. Her pulse quickened. Why hadn't she noticed the pistol when he entered?

Elise shook her head. "You can't possibly hope to succeed. Steven will—"

"Your illustrious brother is in the bowels of the ship, overseeing the handling of the two crewmen accused of theft."

Her blood chilled. When her father was alive, he made sure the men employed by Landen Shipping were of good reputation. Much had changed since his death.

"One of the men is wanted for murder," Robert said.

"Murder?" she blurted. "Why would a stranger murder me?"

Robert lifted a lock of her dark hair. "Not a stranger. A spurned lover." He dropped the hair, then gripped the arms of her chair and leaned forward. "Once the board members of Landen Shipping identify your body as Elisabeth Kingston, the stipulation in your father's will shall be satisfied and your stock is mine."

The roar of blood pounded through her ears. If he killed her now, he would never pay for murdering their daughter. And she intended that he pay.

Elise lunged for the letter opener lying in one of the secretary compartments. The ship pitched as her fingers clamped onto the makeshift weapon. As Robert yanked her to her feet, she swung the letter opener. Bone-deep pain raced up her arm when the hard mass of his forearm blocked her blow. The letter opener clattered to the wooden floor.

She glimpsed his rage-contorted features before he whipped her around and crushed her to his chest, pinning her arms to her sides with one powerful arm. He dragged her two paces and snatched up the woolen scarf lying on the bed. In one swift movement, he wound it around her neck.

Robert released her waist, grabbed the scarf's dangling end, and yanked it tight around her neck. Elise clawed at the scarf. Her nails dug into the soft skin of her neck. Her legs buckled and he jerked her against him. His knees jabbed into her back and jolts of pain shot up both sides of her spine. She gulped for air.

His breath was thick in her ear as he whispered, "Did you really think we would let you control fifty-one percent of Landen Shipping?" He gave a vicious yank on the scarf.

No!
her mind screamed in tandem with another thunder roll. Too late, she understood the lengths to which he would go to gain control of her inheritance.

The scarf tightened. Her sight dimmed. Cold. She was so cold.

Amelia, my daughter, I come to you
—the scarf went slack. Elise dropped to her knees, wheezing in convulsive gasps of air. Despite the racking coughs which shook her, she forced her head up. A blurry form stood in the doorway.
Steven.

The scarf dropped to her shoulders and she yanked it from her neck. Robert stepped in front of her and reached into his coat.
The pistol.
He had murdered her daughter—he would not take Steven from her. Elise lunged forward and bit into his calf with the ferocity of a lioness.

Robert roared. The ship bucked. Locked like beast and prey, they tumbled forward and slammed against the desk chair. The chair broke with the force of their weight. The secretary lamp crashed to the floor. Whale oil spilled across the wooden floor; a river of fire raced atop the thin layer toward the bed.

Steven yanked her up and shoved her toward the door. Robert scrambled to his feet as Steven whirled and rammed his fist into Robert's jaw. Her husband fell against the doorjamb, nearly colliding with her. Elise jumped back with a cry. Robert charged Steven and caught him around the shoulders, driving him back onto the bed.

The ship bucked. Elise staggered across the cabin, hit her hip against the secretary, and fell. The medical journal thudded to the floor between her and the thick ribbon of fire. Her heart skipped a beat when Robert slammed his fist into Steven's jaw.

She reached for the open book and glimpsed the picture of the belladonna, the deadly nightshade plant. Fury swept through her anew. She snatched up the book, searing the edge of her palm on the fire as she pushed to her feet. Elise leapt forward, book held high, and swung at Robert with all her strength.
May
this
belladonna kill you as your powdered belladonna killed our daughter
. The crack of book against skull penetrated the ringing in her ears. Robert fell limp atop Steven.

The discarded scarf suddenly blazed. Elise whirled. Smoke choked her as fire burned the bed coverings only inches from Robert's hand. Steven grabbed her wrist and dragged her toward the door. He scooped up the pistol as they crossed the threshold and they stumbled down the corridor to the ladder leading up to the deck.

"Go!" he yelled, and lifted her onto the first tread.

Elise frantically pulled herself up the steep ladder to the door and shoved it upward. Rain pelted her like tiny needles. She ducked her head down as she scrambled onto the deck. An instant later, Steven joined her. He whirled toward the poop deck where Captain Morrison and his first mate yelled at the crewmen who clung to the masts while furiously pulling up the remaining sails and lashing them to the spars.

Steven pulled her toward the poop deck's ladder. "Stay here!" he yelled above the howling wind, and forced her fingers around the side of the ladder.

The ship heaved to starboard as he hurried up the ladder and Elise hugged the riser. A wave broke over the railing and slammed her against the wood. She sputtered, tasting the tang of salt as she gasped for air.

A garbled shout from the captain brought her attention upward. He stared at two men scuttling down the mizzen mast. They landed, leapt over the railing onto the main deck and disappeared through the door leading to the deck below. They had gone to extinguish the fire. If they didn't succeed, the ship would go down.

Elise squinted through the rain at Steven. He leaned in close to the captain. The lamp, burning in the binnacle, illuminated the guarded glance the captain sent her way. A shock jolted her. Robert had lied to the captain about her—perhaps had even implicated Steven in her so-called insanity. The captain's expression darkened. He faced his first mate.

The ship's bow plunged headlong into a wave with a force that threw Elise to the deck and sent her sliding across the slippery surface. Steven shouted her name as she slammed into the ship's gunwale. Pain shot through her shoulder. He rushed down the ladder, the captain on his heels. Another wave hammered the ship. Steven staggered to her side and pulled her to her feet. The ship lurched. Elise clutched at her brother as they fell to the deck. Pain radiated through her arm and up her shoulder. The door to below deck swung open. Elise froze.

Robert.

He pointed a pistol at her. Her heart leapt into her throat. Steven sprang to his feet in front of her.

"No!" she screamed.

She spotted the pistol lying inches away and realized it had fallen from Steven's waistband.
She snatched up the weapon, rolled to face Robert, and fired. The report of the pistol sounded in unison with another shot.

A wave cleared the railing. Steven disappeared in the wash of seawater. Elise grasped the cold wood railing and pulled herself to her feet. She blinked stinging saltwater from her eyes and took a startled step backwards at seeing her husband laying across the threshold. Steven lay several feet to her right. She drew a sharp breath. A dark patch stained his vest below his heart.
Dear God, where had the bullet lodged?

She started toward Steven. The ship listed hard to port. She fought the backward momentum and managed two steps before another wave crested. The deck lurched and she was airborne. She braced for impact against the deck. Howling wind matched her scream as she flew past the railing and plummeted into darkness—then collided with rock-hard water.

Cold clamped onto her. Rain beat into the sea with quick, heavy blows of a thousand tiny hammers. She kicked. Thick, icy ribbons of water propelled her upward. She blinked. Murky shapes glided past. This was Amelia's grave. Elise surfaced, her first gasp taking in rainwater. She coughed and flailed. A heavy sheet of water towered, then slapped her against the ocean's surface. The wave leveled and she shook hair from her eyes. Thirty feet away, the
Amelia
bounced on the waves like a toy. Her brother had named the ship. But Amelia was gone. Steven, only twenty-two, was also gone.

A figure appeared at the ship's railing. The lamp high atop the poop deck burned despite the pouring rain. Elise gasped. Could he be—"Steven!" she yelled, kicking hard in an effort to leap above another towering wave. Her skirts tangled her legs, but she kicked harder, waving both arms. The man only hacked at the bow rope of the longboat with a sword. "Steven!" she shouted.

The bow of the longboat dropped, swinging wildly as the man staggered the few steps to the rope holding the stern. A wave crashed over Elise and she surfaced to see the longboat adrift and the figure looking out over the railing. Her heart sank. The light silhouetted the man—and the captain's hat he wore. Tears choked her. It had been the captain and not Steven.

Elise pulled her skirts around her waist and knotted them, then began swimming toward the boat. Another wave grabbed the
Amelia
, tossing her farther away. The captain's hat lifted with the wind and sailed into the sea. She took a quick breath and dove headlong into the wave that threatened to throw her back the way she'd come. She came up, twisting frantically in the water until she located the ship. She swam toward the longboat, her gaze steady on the
Amelia
. Then the lamp dimmed… and winked out.

Chapter Two

Scottish Highlands

Spring 1826

England
lay far behind him, though not far enough. Never far enough. Marcus breathed deep of the crisp spring air. The scents of pine and heather filled his nostrils. Highland air. None sweeter existed. His horse nickered as if in agreement, and Marcus brushed a hand along the chestnut's shoulder.

"It is good to be home,"
Erin spoke beside him.

Grunts of agreement went up from the six other men riding in the company, and Marcus answered, "Aye," despite the regret of leaving his son in the hands of the Sassenach.