Cam could now breathe easy, and the sweet, fresh smells of pine and heather—of
home
—washed through him. Cam hoped Elizabeth would grow to love the Highlands as quickly as he had.
He thought she might. Just shy of twenty, Lady Elizabeth was young, titled, and rich. A proper innocent English lass and the perfect wife for him, politically speaking. The Duke of Argyll himself had suggested the match, and the king had endorsed it.
Even better, though she was beautiful and alluring and would be no hardship to bed, her demure nature didn’t rouse him to all-consuming desire, a state Cam was determined to avoid at all costs.
He hardly knew her, but that didn’t matter. Cam had gone to England in search of someone precisely like Elizabeth. He was pleased his quest hadn’t taken too long. He’d been in England for five months, and already he ached for home.
His horse rounded a bend in the wide path, and a faint commotion ahead drew Cam from his thoughts. Cam frowned and leaned forward in the saddle, straining his ears. Men shouting? Suddenly the crack of a gunshot resonated through the air, and his horse surged into a gallop.
What the hell?
Cam gave the animal its head as another shot sent a flock of birds bursting from the branches of a nearby pine.
The road opened into a clearing where men on horseback swarmed around the larger, gold leaf-trimmed carriage—the one bearing Elizabeth, her uncle, her lady’s maid, and two of the duke’s trusted servants. The attackers all wore black, and scarves covered the lower halves of their faces. The second vehicle carrying the duke’s remaining men and the wheelwright was nowhere to be seen.
Cam bared his teeth.
Highwaymen
.
As he thundered closer, he saw the sole man on foot drag Lady Elizabeth from the carriage. She didn’t make a sound, nor did she fight back. The poor chit was petrified with fear.
Protective rage swelled in Cam’s chest, and he yanked his pistol from his belt. “Let her go, damn you!” he bellowed, heedless of the fact that she’d hear his foul language.
All four attackers swiveled in his direction. Just as well. If he diverted their attention away from his helpless family-to-be, perhaps he could keep them safe. He focused on the villain, whose filthy, calloused hands wrapped around Elizabeth’s tiny waist.
“Release her!” He leveled the pistol at the man’s chest, though the bastard probably knew Cam wouldn’t dare risk shooting and injuring Elizabeth.
Astonishingly, the man obeyed. He shoved her aside. She stumbled backward, tripping over her voluminous silk skirts and tumbling into a gorse bush. The villain leered at Cam as the three others on horseback turned toward him. Someone tossed the man on foot the reins of a riderless horse, and he mounted quickly.
Looked as if they all intended to come after him. Good. He’d draw them away from Elizabeth and the duke.
Garbled shouting came from inside the carriage, and Cam’s attention snapped to the rig. The coachman, gazing wide-eyed over his shoulder, raised the reins.
“Ho! On with you, then!” He whipped the animals into a frenzied gallop. The carriage lurched forward, leaving Elizabeth stranded in the bush.
None of the highwaymen pursued the carriage or paid attention to the bright yellow flurry of Elizabeth’s skirts—all four focused solely on Cam.
It was him they wanted, he thought grimly.
So much the better.
But they were closing in.
He aimed his pistol at one of the bandits and fired. The horse reared, and the man toppled off the animal, but the rest lunged closer, weapons drawn. Three guns aimed directly at him.
Turning away from them, Cam bent low over the mare’s elongated neck and dug in his heels. A bullet whizzed past his shoulder.
Air streamed through his hair as the mare leaped smoothly over a fallen tree.
Brilliant
, he thought with pride. Another excellent acquisition from his trip to England. As with Lady Elizabeth, he hadn’t spent a fortune on this animal for her beauty alone.
A man shouted behind him, and the villains’ horses drew nearer. Cam unsheathed his sword with a whoosh of steel against leather.
He had been on the move for the greater part of the day—it was the only reason their horses could outrun his. As one approached his rear flank, Cam held out his sword as if he were jousting. He yanked on the reins, turning in a tight circle only a well-trained and well-bred horse could manage. The abrupt motion sent the animal just behind him catapulting past. The weapon pierced the man’s side, jerking him off his horse. Cam yanked his sword away, and his attacker fell to the ground, blood staining the tear in his tattered black coat.
The second bandit was gaining on his other side. Spinning in his saddle, Cam arced his sword through the air and cut him in the shoulder. The horse shied, and the man hunched over in the saddle, clutching his wound.
The final man chasing him had time to slow his mount, and Cam caught a glimpse of the barrel of a musket. Again he made a tight turn and spurred his horse, leaning low. The animal leaped ahead, passing through a thick screen of greenery. Leaves whipped at Cam’s face.
Just as he decided he was safe, the loud report of a gunshot shook the trees, and fire exploded through Cam’s body. He jerked, yanking on the reins, and the mare reared. He toppled from her sleek back. Bracken and moss softened his fall, but he felt nothing but the all-consuming pain.
God help him. Finally, just as he was about to turn his life to rights, he’d been killed. And worst of all, he’d left the sheltered, innocent Lady Elizabeth alone in the wild Highlands of Scotland.
The hair prickled on the back of Ceana MacNab’s neck. Someone was in her cottage. Watching her.
She tightened her grip on the pestle she was using to grind herbs. With her lips twisted into a snarl, she spun round.
“Rob!” Lowering the pestle, she took a step backward. “You scared me.”
Robert MacLean leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms over his chest. The barest hint of a smile touched his lips before it faded. Smiles never held on Rob’s face. They passed over it like specters, and if a woman blinked, she’d miss them.
She wished she could draw out the source of his melancholy, but so far she’d failed. Yet she couldn’t fault him for his reticence. After all, she kept secrets from him as well.
“Good morning,” he said, his voice low and smooth.
She set the pestle on the long, low table where she mixed her medicines. “You could announce your presence, couldn’t you? I heard gunshots a few moments ago, and—”
“I heard them too.”
She released a low noise of disgust. “Poachers again.”
“Aye, must be. You ought to speak with the laird about them.”
“I already have. As long as they don’t infringe on the needs of his people, Alan turns a blind eye.” She hid a shudder—the crack of muskets made her skin crawl. “He’s too lenient, that one. If it were me, I’d have skinned them alive by now, just for disturbing my afternoon repose.”
Rob pushed himself off the doorframe and took a step toward her. His blue tartan plaid shifted over his knees as he walked, and his whisky-colored eyes scanned the dim interior of her cottage. “You haven’t any patients?”
“None so far today.” Warmth traveled across her chest, and she looked down lest he see her blush.
Ceana lived an isolated existence, made bearable only by her work and the superficial associations she maintained. She’d arrived at the Glen two months ago and had lived in lonely seclusion until she’d been summoned to Camdonn Castle to care for a man with an ague. She’d met Rob, the stable master, there, and the attraction between them had flared, instantaneous and powerful. When she’d left Camdonn Castle, it had been near dark and he’d offered to ride home with her on one of the horses. They’d talked along the way, and his quietly confident demeanor had appealed to her. When they’d arrived at her cottage, she’d asked him to come inside for some ale.
By the time he’d left it was nearly dawn, and they were lovers.
He wasn’t her first lover. As with the others, whenever she was with Rob, she diligently followed the rules for carnal relations she’d established for herself after she’d left Aberdeen.
Never share your past. Never let him into your heart. Always keep him at a distance.
Most men she’d known were more than happy to abide by the rules she set forth, for they allowed them to have a willing bed partner without any expectations of a long-term attachment. The arrangement worked perfectly well for Ceana, too. Without someone to occasionally warm her bed, she’d have gone mad from the loneliness.
Rob, however, was different from the others. More complicated, more guarded, more difficult for her to understand. He possessed many appealing qualities, from his hardened demeanor to his sheer, raw strength. Ceana didn’t intimidate Rob as she did most men. He was a man of few words, a man who lived inside himself. For the most part, he communicated with his eyes, with subtle gestures and variations in stance.
Ceana had grown to care for this mysterious man. A great deal. More, perhaps, than she should.
He took another step toward her. A calloused finger pressed her chin upward, forcing her to look at him. “Take off your clothes.”
Her eyes widened. “What did you say?”
“Do it.” His voice was quiet, commanding, and it sent a shudder down her spine. It had always struck her as a supreme injustice that he was a stable master. He should be a lord of something, of someone, not only of horses.
“I don’t—”
He gazed down at her through those compelling eyes, now glittering with heat. “I haven’t much time. Lord Camdonn will return sometime after midday.”
She blinked. His intent was clear. He wanted her. He wanted to take her fast and hard before returning to his duties at the castle.
Ceana wasn’t one to blindly follow men’s orders, and God knew the women in her family weren’t known for their complacency. But something about Rob inspired obedience.
With his hot stare focused on her, she unclasped her brooch and belt and allowed the sleeves of her
arisaid
, her tartan overdress, to slip down her shoulders.
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. He stood tall and still, watching her every move. His gaze raked down her body, leaving trails of gooseflesh in its wake.
She quickly divested herself of her petticoat and stays, and laid them over one of her tall-backed wicker chairs. Finally naked, she turned to face him, raising her chin in challenge.
Their eyes locked for a long, agonizing moment. Ceana gritted her teeth against the tremors rippling through her, trying not to make it obvious. She was naked, he was fully clothed, and the air around them crackled.
As usual, Rob had sought to put himself in the position of power, and it drove her to distraction. Half the time she didn’t know whether to slap his face or sink to her knees in supplication. Nevertheless, right now, his domineering behavior was a relief, for it took her mind far away from her unsettling worries about their future.
Leaving her standing in the center of the tiny room, he turned away to pull his dirk free from the top of his stocking and set it on her table. His sword and pistol followed. He unclasped the circular pin securing his plaid at his shoulder. Unbuckling his belt, he allowed the plaid to fall to the floor. He grasped the bottom of his shirt, pulled it over his head, and tossed it away.
She caught only the briefest glimpse of his backside before he turned and stepped to her. In that instant, his pale, muscular thighs flexed, and his taut buttocks hollowed. Oh, but he was a gorgeous specimen of a man. Her fingers twitched, and she could hardly contain her need to touch him.
What took her two strides took him only one, and in an instant, he’d snagged her body and pressed her against him, his shaft heavy against the lower part of her belly.
“Mmm.” She smiled, squirming against the pressure. His skin was hot and hard. His cock solid yet silken. Exquisite.
His hand slid between their bodies. “Are you ready?”
She didn’t bother to respond—the slickness he found as he stroked between her thighs was answer enough. Just looking at him, watching him, and interpreting his dark intent had been enough to prepare her body for him.
“Good,” he murmured. “Come.”
They stumbled toward her bed. His lips pressed against hers, firm and delicious, as he lowered her onto the heather-stuffed mattress. She wrapped her arms around him and sank back, opening for him as he took complete ownership of the kiss.
“Turn over.” His voice was gruff against her mouth. He propped himself on his hands to give her room to turn. She flipped over before she could give it a second thought, and then she almost chuckled. What an obedient little servant she could be for young Rob MacLean.
Out of nowhere, his hand came down hard on the cheek of her arse.
Smack!
Her body lurched in reaction, and she yelped in surprise.
“You oughtn’t resist me, Ceana.”