Rose In Scotland (22 page)

Caroline responded by sliding her mouth down his broad chest to the masculine nipple peeking through the cloud of dark-brown hair. Remembering the pleasure he had given her, she lowered her head and gently flicked it with her tongue. Hugh’s reaction was immediate; in a flash she was on her back, blinking up in surprise as he loomed over her.

“My tum, I think,” he drawled, a wolfish smile curving his mouth as he slid the gown from her shoulders. “If you wish to play love
games,
cairdeas
, I shall be happy to oblige you.”

He treated each breast in turn to the sweet suckling, the play of his lips and tongue making her writhe with mindless pleasure. His clever hands soon had the gown off her, and the brush of his legs, still clad in satin breeches, against her softest flesh was almost unbearably erotic. When his fingers began teasing her as well, she gave a keening cry.

“Hugh! Oh, Hugh, please!” she pleaded, her head moving restlessly on the pillows. She could feel the wondrous tension building in her once more, but this time she knew where it led, and she was eager for the wild release to take her.

“Please what, my angel?” he demanded, biting her neck and brushing his thumb over her moist folds. “Tell me, Caroline, tell me how to please you. I want to please you, to pleasure you until you are wild with it.”

She opened her lips to tell him he was already doing just that when the tension inside of her was unleashed in a flash of white-hot desire. The strength of the explosion left her drained of reason, even as it filled her with a sense of glorious power. As he plunged deep inside her, she was hurled once more into the heart of the storm. There seemed to be no beginning or end to the glorious sensations tearing through her. There was only pleasure greater than anything she had ever known; pleasure, and the feel of Hugh’s arms holding her close as he took them once more into madness.

The candle was still burning bright when Hugh managed to open his eyes. He was laying
half on and half off the bed, with a drowsing Caroline draped once more across his chest. This time there was none of the deep remorse and troubling doubts he had experienced the last time, and Hugh let himself bask in the warm aftermath of loving.

Aye, but the wench was a passionate one, he thought smugly, letting his fingers tangle in the blonde curls rioting down her back. He’d suspected as much, but having it proven had been glorious indeed.

He was wondering if he might interest her in another demonstration of her sensual nature when she asked, “How did you come to be shot?”

The question caught him unawares, and he stared at the top of her head in confusion. “What?”

“You said you were shot because you weren’t paying attention,” she said, stroking her finger across the old wound. “Were you with my grandfather when it happened?”

Since she genuinely seemed to want to know, he could see no harm in relating the story. “No, I was in Dupres’s command,” he said, settling back against his pillows. “We were a day’s march from the fort when a band of Indians attacked us. I lost two men before we even knew they were there, and I was shot before I could even aim my rifle. Once Dupres knew I’d recover, he put me in the stockade for three days.”

“He arrested you?” Her head shot up, her eyes flashing with outrage. “But that is infamous! I thought he was your friend!”

“And so he was,” he told her, amused at the
way she leaped to his defense. “But he was an officer first, and I had bungled things badly. I knew bands of rebels had slipped into the country and were agitating the local tribes, but I didn’t post guards. I had let myself relax, and because of that two men died. I was lucky not to have been court-martialed. Or hung,” he added, knowing the likely outcome of such a court-martial.

“How did you get this?” Her fingers brushed over a ridge of angry pink flesh that snaked around his waist.

“A close-quarter engagement just outside of Charleston,” he said, recalling the pain of the saber slash, and his terror as he’d fought grimly for his life. “I was carrying orders to your grandfather and a rebel group ambushed us.”

“And this?” A small horseshoe-shaped scar on his thigh was next treated to her tender examination.

Her touch distracted him, and it was a moment before he could remember. “A piece of grapeshot from Cowpens,” he said at last. “The fire was murderous that day.”

“What about this?” A scar on the other side of his waist drew her attention.

“More grapeshot, from King’s Mountain, if I’m not mistaken,” he said, becoming more than a little aroused by her solicitous inspection. He hadn’t spent his fourteen years in the fusiliers prancing about a parade ground, and his body was well-marked from the active service he had given the English king. If she kissed and cooed over every scar he possessed, he’d be a raving maniac before the night was half over.

She was leaning over him, tracing a thin scar along his ribs. “What about … oh, my God!” Her words ended in a cry of horror.

“What?” he asked, and then too late understood what had so appalled her.

“Your back!” she cried, her eyes filling with tears as she gazed at the network of white scars laced across his tanned flesh. “Oh, Hugh, your back!”

Embarrassed and uneasy, he tried to shift away from her touch. “ ’Tis nothing,” he said, wishing he’d stopped her while it had still been a game. “Don’t concern yourself.”

“Nothing! There must be a dozen or more such scars here!” she exclaimed, her hands gently stroking and soothing the torn flesh. “They’re everywhere! What happened to you?”

“I’ve already told you ’Tis nothing,” he said, sexual contentment giving way to a rising tide of memories too bitter to contain. “Leave it be, Caroline, I’m warning you.”

“Were you in a fire?” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Oh, Hugh, how awful to have been burned. It must have been so painful for you! Do they hurt still? I have some salve—”

Abruptly he’d had enough, and caught her hands in his, his face twisting with bitter anger as he glared at her. “I wasna burned!” he exclaimed, fury buried deep for ten years spilling out of him. “I wasna burned, do you hear? I was flogged.”

The color fled from her face. “Flogged?” she whispered.

“Aye, flogged,” he said, his accent growing thicker with his temper. “Tied to a post in front
of the entire company and beaten like a disobedient dog. And do you know why?” he added, giving her an angry shake. “Do you know what terrible crime I committed to be given twenty lashes?”

“Twenty lashes?” She trembled in his grip, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Hugh, I don’t—”

“I was slow in saluting some wet-nosed officer, that was my crime,” he said, even now infuriated by the injustice of it all. “And when they discovered I was Scots they called it dissention, and added another ten lashes to the total. They wanted to make an example of me, you see, to show the rest of my traitorous race what happens to impudent young Scotsmen who think themselves the equal to one of the lofty English.

“Well, I took their flogging,” he said, tossing back his head, his eyes shining with bitter pride. “I took every one of those thirty lashes, and not once did I cry out. Not once,” he added, thrusting her away. “There is the truth you were so eager to have; I hope you are satisfied with it.”

He expected her to burst into tears, or perhaps slap his face and rage at him for daring to handle her so roughly. He expected anything except for her to throw herself back in his arms, her arms closing tightly about his neck.

“I’m sorry, Hugh,” she whispered in a broken voice, pressing her tear-dampened face against his throat. “I am so sorry.”

Her response stunned him, destroying the last vestiges of the old anger and hatred he had carried with him for the last decade. The loss of his overwhelming emotions left him feeling oddly
hollow, and for a moment he simply lay there, unable to think. His arms shook as he folded them gently around her.

“It’s all right,” he soothed, pressing a kiss on the top of her head. “I am the one who should be sorry. Sorry for raging at you, and for making you pay for something that was none of your doing. Sorry for taking out an anger on you that should have ceased to matter a long time ago.”

She drew back to gaze up at him, her blue eyes luminous with tears. “No wonder you seem to hate us English,” she said, a profound sadness stealing into her soft voice. “How you must have suffered because of us.”

He felt his own eyes beginning to smart with tears. “Caroline, I do not know what to say,” he whispered rawly, cupping her face with hands that weren’t quite steady. He felt as if something inside him was raging to be set free, and he feared that if whatever it was succeeded in escaping, he would never be completely whole again.

“You seem so angry,” she said, touching his cheek and studying his face as if searching for some deep truth. “There are times when I would almost swear you hate me as well.”

“Not you,
mo cridhe,”
he told her, using his thumbs to brush the tears from her cheeks. “I could never hate you.”

He saw hope flare in her sapphire-colored eyes. “Are you certain of that, Hugh?” she asked wistfully. “Are you certain you do not hate me because of this marriage we have made? A marriage that is more farce than fact?”

Hugh didn’t answer. He could think of no words to explain his tangled emotions regarding their marriage. He only knew that he didn’t hate her, that he cared for her in ways he had never cared for another woman. He wanted to tell her as much, but he could not. Instead he showed her, lowering her to the bed once more and demonstrating his feelings for her in the only way he could.

T
he journey north to Edinburgh was an arduous one, made all the more difficult by the haste with which it was conducted. Because he feared her uncle might be in pursuit, Hugh insisted upon keeping a brutal pace, driving himself and her as hard as he drove the teams of horses. Harder, in fact, Caroline corrected wearily, for at the least the horses were changed several times daily, while she was afforded no such opportunity for respite.

If there was any consolation to be found in the situation, it was that the forced confinement afforded her and Hugh the chance to become better acquainted. However intimate they might have become, they were still strangers in many ways, and as the miles flew past Caroline did her best to understand the complex and often difficult man who was her husband.

She learned that while he would speak openly of many matters, there were other topics that were strictly forbidden. He would never refuse to answer, precisely, but his eyes would grow more silver than green, and his voice would take on a clipped, cold edge that had her eager to turn
the conversation to other subjects. Among the forbidden topics, she was quick to discover, were his father and brother, and Loch Haven.

But however cold he might be during the day, there was no faulting the warmth he showed her each night. They didn’t always make love, but he would hold her in his arms, tenderly stroking her hair and murmuring words of comfort until she drifted into an easy sleep. It had been years since anyone had shown her such tender care, and she reveled in the time they spent together.

Four days after leaving London, they pulled to a halt before a row of cramped town houses looming over the narrow Edinburgh street like brooding giants. But such was Caroline’s relief at not having to climb back into the racketing coach that she wouldn’t have cared had she been expected to enter a stable.

“I must warn you again about Aunt Egidia’s temper,” Hugh cautioned, gently helping her down from the carriage. “I took the precaution of sending a messenger ahead with news of our arrival, but there’s no saying we haven’t beaten him here.”

“I’m sure all will be fine,” she soothed, amused that a querulous old woman could set her formidable husband to quaking in his boots. “She can be no worse than Uncle Charles. At least she is not trying to put me in a madhouse.”

“Aye, that is so,” Hugh chuckled as he tucked her hand in his arm and guided her up the uneven granite steps. “Although ’Tis to a madhouse she’s likely to drive you, with her lectures and her scolds. Do not say you were not warned.”

Before he could raise his hand to knock, the
door was thrown open, and a young woman with bright-red hair rushed out to throw herself against his chest.

“Hugh! You’re home!” she cried, hugging him enthusiastically. “We’ve been looking for you since last evening! What kept you?”

“The roads.” Hugh laughed, dropping Caroline’s hand to give the young woman who was obviously his sister a hug. “ ’Tis a long way from London, little one, and we came as quickly as we could.”

The young woman drew back from him, her emerald eyes growing cool as she turned next to Caroline. “You must be the Lady Caroline,” she said, dropping a graceful curtsy. “Welcome to my aunt’s house and to the clan MacColme. I am Mairi MacColme.
Beannachd Dhé leat
—may God’s blessing be upon you.”

The polite greeting paled in comparison to the warm reception afforded Hugh, but it was no more than Caroline expected. “Thank you, Mairi,” she said, offering the other woman a warm smile. “I should like to say as much in your own tongue, but fear I don’t know the proper words.”

Mairi’s lively features betrayed her surprise, and there was a thaw in her reserve.
“Thoir buidheachas,”
she supplied, her lilting accent making the words sound like the sweetest music. “But don’t think we shall expect you to speak Gaelic. At least,” she went on, her eyes sparkling mischievously, “not until after we’ve given you a cup of tea with a wee drop of whiskey in it to help loosen your English tongue.”

“Wheest! What are ye aboot, standing on the
steps and kimmerin’ like a pack of old women?” a wizened old man with hazel eyes demanded sourly. “Into the house wi’ ye, before ye’ve the whole of the town knowin’ our business!”

“Och, Gregors, you are shaming us for certain,” Mairi responded, surprising Caroline by taking her hand and pulling her forward. “Is that a proper way for a butler to be greeting his new mistress? And she the daughter of an earl, and accustomed to the fine-mannered servants of London. For shame!”