A Highlander's Heart: A Sexy Regency Romance (Highland Knights Book 1) (9 page)

“Well, lads. What d’ye think?”

They erupted into discussion, most of the men thinking it was a brilliant idea. It turned out Stirling was the most wary and pessimistic. “Why us?” he demanded. “A gaggle of war-roughened Highlanders? Makes no sense.”

They argued this point for a good fifteen minutes, finally coming to the agreement that it made sense for several reasons, the main ones being their links to the gentry, no one would suspect them of working undercover for the Crown, and the insurgents seemed to be gathering in Northern England and in Scotland.

“We could all be killed,” Stirling argued. “Adams made it sound like it’d be safer than the battlefields of the Continent, but will it be? I dinna think so. There will be violence. Traitors are violent by nature.”

The men argued that their line of work was violent by nature, but in choosing this course, they could help bring an end to the threat of violence at home. That keeping their country safe was a noble endeavor.

The arguments continued late into the night, many questions raised by Stirling but some raised by Rob and the other officers as well. The sergeants were as thoughtful as the rest, asking questions, making suggestions, and pondering.

Claire was silent for the most part, sometimes asking for clarification but mostly just listening and watching her husband’s reactions. As the night went on, it became clear that he wanted to do it. And if he wanted to do it, she knew each the other six men, even Stirling, would follow him.

“Think about how close we could remain to our families,” Rob said at one point. “We’d never have to be apart them for months at a time like we have so often in the past.”

She remembered those long, yawning months he’d been gone. How she’d missed him. She’d never been so sure he’d missed her, though. Not until now.

The other men looked at him blankly, clearly not connecting with this particular argument. Because, of course, none of them were married. They had no idea what it was like.

When the clock above the mantel showed that midnight was fast approaching, Rob raised his glass. The tea had been consumed long ago, and the men had moved on to whiskey. Claire had chosen claret—their Scotch whiskey was too caustic on her tongue.

Rob downed the rest of the whiskey in his glass and set it down on the side table with a
clunk
.

“Well, we’ve discussed this topic to death. ’Tis now the time for decisions. What do you lads think?”

“I think we ought to do it,” Captain McLeod said instantly.

Stirling smirked. “Aye, ever the reckless one.”

“Then that makes me reckless as well, Stirling,” Rob said. “Because I believe we ought to do it too.”

After that, the rest of the men all agreed, one by one, until only Stirling remained. He gave a long-suffering sigh. “Verra well, then. I’ll say aye as well, but mind, it’s only because I’ll no’ be sent back to the Continent alone.”

It was as if the men had exhaled a collective sigh of relief. There was silence for a moment as they all considered the enormity of the decision they’d just made. And then Rob grinned.

He grinned so seldom that it made Claire smile too.

“I’ll pour more whiskey.” He went to the sideboard and fetched the bottle of whiskey, then went round and topped everyone’s glass. When he came to Claire, he brought along the claret and poured her some. After he’d put the bottle back, he raised his glass. “To our new group…” He stopped, frowning, as if he felt the word
group
didn’t fit.

“Our new club,” McLeod said.

“Our new venture?” Stirling suggested.

“Endeavor?” Lieutenant Ross put in.

“Our undertaking!” Sergeant Fraser said.

Mission
and
project
were suggested, as well as
wee regiment
, which made everyone snicker.

Claire said, “I think you must come up with a name that suits you. And I don’t think any of those will do at all.”

“What do you think would work then, milady?” Mackenzie asked.

“You’re all Highlanders,” she pointed out, “so perhaps that ought to be part of your official name.”

They all agreed heartily with this idea and started throwing out ideas from the basic, “The Highlanders,” which was deemed too general, and “The Club of the Gordon Highlanders of the 92nd Regiment of Foot,” which was deemed too wordy.

Then Sergeant Mackenzie piped up. “The Highland Knights.” All eyes turned to him, and he straightened in his seat.

“Only Captain Stirling and Ross are knights, though,” Lieutenant Innes said, his dark brow furrowed in confusion.

There’s that, and also Major Campbell is a baronet,” Mackenzie said.

“But no’ a knight,” Fraser interjected.

“Well,” McLeod said, “he’s no’ technically a knight, but a baronet is titled ‘sir’ and considered to be a hereditary knight, so I’d venture to say he qualifies.”

“And that is a rather large percentage of knights to have in such a small group,” Claire pointed out.

“But ’tis also the spirit behind the knighthood. Knights strove for honor. They vowed to be loyal and faithful to their cause. They stood by and fought beside their brothers.” Mackenzie grinned and looked at Claire. “And they were chivalrous to the lasses.”

“Where’d ye learn so much about English knights, Mackenzie?” Sergeant Fraser asked.

Mackenzie scratched his head. “Well, I might’ve dreamt of being a knight once.” Seeing the expressions of mirth starting to form on the other men’s faces, he quickly added, “When I was a verra wee laddie. And then, I might’ve read a book or two about them at school in Inverness.”

Several of the men gave him blank looks, and he threw up his hands. “Did ye not read the Grail legends? The stories of Sir Galahad and Sir Perceval and Sir Lancelot? Nay?” He frowned. “Sir Gawain?” Everyone was silent. He sighed. “How could ye no’ have heard of Sir Galahad? I canna believe none of you have read of—”

McLeod began to laugh, and the rest of the room soon followed, some of the men laughing so hard their eyes shone.

“Did ye see his face?” Innes said between deep belly laughs. He copied Mackenzie’s expression of openmouthed shock.

“Sir Galahad? How could ye no’ have heard of Sir Galahad?” McLean mimicked in a high, girlish voice.

Stirling, still chuckling, said, “O’ course we know of the knights of the Middle Ages, lad. We’ve all read those books.”

Not for the first time, Claire was struck by how educated Highlanders were. She doubted she could get a roomful of Englishmen who’d all read the tales of the Holy Grail.

Mackenzie was relieved. “Well, at least you aren’t an ignorant lot.”

“No’ in that way, at least,” McLeod said, still chuckling.

“The Highland Knights,” Rob said, rolling the words out slowly, as if tasting them like a fine whiskey.

Stirling tested the words as Rob had, then said, “I say that’s a fine name. One I’d be proud to bear.”

McLeod scowled at him. “That’s only because you’ve been granted a true knighthood.”

Stirling, who was sitting beside McLeod, clapped him on the shoulder. “Aye, I have. And mayhap, if you’re a good lad who eats his parritch in the morning and kills all the treasonous bastards in the afternoon, ye’ll be granted one too, someday.”

“Shove it up yer ar—” McLeod broke off, glancing at Claire guiltily.

“Watch your language with my wife present,” Rob warned. “Both of ye.”

“Aye, Major,” Stirling and McLeod said in unison. Claire fought a smile.

“McLeod, will ye be having a problem with our group being named the Highland Knights?” Rob asked.

“Nay.” His eyes flashed wickedly. “Perhaps someday all my wishes will come true and the Prince Regent will grant me a knighthood.”

“Are you saying a knighthood would be preferable to the earldom you’re to inherit?” Lieutenant Innes asked.

“Oh aye. I’d hand that earldom over to ye the moment it was mine, if I could, Innes,” McLeod said gravely.

“Well, if we’re to do this, we’ll make both your and Mackenzie’s dreams of becoming a knight a reality,” Rob said.

“I dinna think it counts, since they wouldna be given the title in truth,” Lieutenant Ross, who’d been granted a knighthood for his service alongside Rob on the Peninsula, said.

“Aye, but we’ll all be knights in truth,” Rob argued. “If we all vow to uphold the principles of the knighthood and band together as brothers in pursuit of honor and justice, then that is what we shall be. It isna about the title people call you by but about the morals ye hold inside.” Rob briefly pressed his hand over his chest, then looked around the room. “Well, what say ye, lads? Anyone else dislike the Highland Knights? For any reason at all? Because once the decision is made, I wilna change it.”

The remaining men shook their heads. “It’s a brilliant name, if ye ask me,” Lieutenant Innes said.

Rob raised his glass. “To the Highland Knights, then.”

The other men followed suit, as did Claire, and all of them repeated, “To the Highland Knights!”

Claire lay in bed, thinking of the little things her husband had done tonight. Sitting beside her. Telling the men to speak politely in her presence. Talking of how if he took this opportunity he’d be able to spend more time with her.

He did care about her. She knew it now; she just wished she hadn’t been so blind to it before.

Wearing a nightshirt, and with the tips of his hair still damp from his bath, Rob put his candle down on the side table and got into bed, then turned onto his side to face her. He tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Are ye tired?”

“It’s very late,” she said, “but I think I’m too excited to be tired.”

A shadow of a smile turned up his lips. “You’re pleased with our decision then?”

“Yes. Very pleased.”

“I’m glad.”

“I think you’ll be very happy. Honestly, it sounds perfect for you.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You’re a man who needs to feel useful, like you’re doing something important. And this—I think it’s very important.”

He nodded slowly. “Perhaps you’re right.”

They stared at each other for long seconds, then she slid her hand around his neck and pulled him closer until their lips met. She kissed him, thinking of all the small ways he’d made
her
feel important tonight.

She might love him again. He might love her again. Someday. But for now, she was starting to feel close to him. And she definitely wanted him. As he wanted her, if the growing erection against her leg was any indication.

She pulled back from the kiss and pushed him onto his back. He went willingly, looking bemused, and she sat atop him, straddling his waist. He gazed up at her, and his hands moved to her waist, then slid up until he was cupping her breasts over her nightgown.

“You’re so bonny, Claire. I could look at ye all day and never get tired of it.” He curled a lock of her hair around his finger. “I missed you this past year.”

“I missed you too,” she whispered. “But”—she sighed—“it was ten months.”

“It’s been a year,” he corrected. “A year, four months, and sixteen days.”

That was the amount of time, not since they’d slept together in the same bed, but since they’d last been as close as a husband and wife could be. She gulped in a breath and lowered herself until she lay atop him, burying her face into the curve of his neck. “Oh, Rob.”

She would not cry. She never cried. Not anymore.

His arms came around her, and he held her tight, murmuring sweet Gaelic words into her ear.

This.
This was what she’d needed—so badly—for the past year.

And then she was kissing him again, starting with his neck and moving up to his mouth. Hard, determined kisses to turn her thoughts away from darkness and toward the man she had in her arms right at this second.

The grief seemed easier to bear when he held her. When he kissed her and loved her. The grief would never go away. Sometimes it was so powerful it felt like it was crushing her to dust. Other times, it lived in harmony with her—not fighting her or destroying her, just existing within her.

Right now, she fought against it crushing her. She held it at bay, narrowing her focus onto the visceral sensations of her husband’s big muscular body beneath her. Of his masculine scent. Of the soft russet waves of his hair and the beard-roughened skin of his cheek.

She sank herself into the physical sensations. She let herself drown in him.

Still kissing him, she moved down his body, pressing her lips to his torso over his shirt, exploring the dips and ridges of his chest muscles and his abdomen, and lower, where his shirt covered the long length of his cock that lay on his stomach, its tip at his navel.

She pressed her lips to it over the fabric, and he sucked in a breath. She looked up at him beneath her lashes. “You missed this too?”

“Aye,” he rasped out.

He tilted his pelvis, bumping her chin, and she smiled and lowered her mouth to press it over him again. She explored every inch of him, feeling his hardness through the lawn of his shirt.

“Good God, woman. You’re going to kill me.”

“I don’t want to do that,” she teased.

“I need more,” he said. “Give me more.” He grabbed his shirt, and, partially rising to a sitting position, he tore it over his head, the muscles in his stomach rippling deliciously as he did so. She’d be hard-pressed to describe anything more intensely, erotically masculine.

He lay back down. “Touch me,” he commanded.

“Yes, sir.” She laughed, letting the little expulsions of air wash over his length.

He groaned. “Claire…”

She pressed a kiss to his warm skin. Then licked it, moving her tongue from the base to the crown.

He made a low, very Scottish noise. “Aye, that’s right. More.”

“So demanding,” she murmured, letting her lips move over him.

He growled.

“You sound like an angry lion.”

“Claire…”

She licked him again, this time for longer, traveling up and down in long, smooth strokes, letting her tongue cover all of him, tasting every inch of him.

“Mmm,” she said. “Delicious.”

She pressed a kiss to him, then moved over him, trailing kisses up the light trail of red-brown hair that led to his belly button.