Highland Temptation (19 page)

“Yes…but will he be all right?”

“He is about to go into surgery now,” Mr. Searle said. “We'll know more when it's over. But you may have saved his life with that tourniquet.”

Emilia closed her eyes in a long blink and sank to the chair. “And…the major? Is he here?”

“Major Campbell?” Mr. Searle asked. At her nod, he said, “He's in surgery. He was shot in the thigh, but the surgeon, Mr. Lawrence, is optimistic that they might save the leg.”

Emilia swallowed hard. “What can I do? How can I help?”

“There's naught to do now but wait, my lady,” Mr. Searle said gently. “I'll bring you news as soon as it comes.”

Emilia waited, every moment feeling like an eternity. At one point, Mr. McLeod and Lady Esme arrived, along with Aila, Lady Grace, and a very pale Lady Claire.

Claire and Emilia sat with their hands gripped tightly together, waiting for news of their men. Claire's questions were answered first, when Mr. Lawrence came into the room, looking tired and bloody. Both Claire and Emilia rose, their hands gripped even tighter, neither willing to let go.

“What news?” Claire asked in a cracking voice.

“It's good, my lady,” Mr. Lawrence said. “Sir Robert lost quite a lot of blood, but I was able to remove the bullet and cauterize the wound, and the bleeding is completely under control.”

Next to Emilia, Claire wilted. “The leg?” she whispered. “Rob…he would…I don't think he'd survive without it.”

“We were able to save it.”

“Thank God,” Claire breathed. “May I see him?”

Mr. Lawrence nodded. “He is asleep, and when he wakes he will be quite weak, but you may see him.”

“Thank you.”

Everyone in the room started to converge at the door, but Mr. Lawrence told them that only Lady Claire could go see the major. So, finally, Emilia allowed the other woman to disentangle their fingers. Claire kissed her on the cheek but didn't say anything before taking her leave.

Mr. Lawrence looked over at Emilia. “I'm heading to surgery again to assist Mr. Abernethy with your husband.”

Emilia opened her mouth to ask why Abernethy needed help, but no words would emerge, and before she could force something out, Lawrence was gone.

Aila, Grace, and Esme surrounded her. Emilia looked unhappily at Aila. “I don't think it worked.”

Aila took her hand and squeezed reassuringly. “You don't think what worked?”

“The heather you gave me. I think the superstition is wrong. It didn't bring me any luck today.”

Aila pressed her lips together and shook her head solemnly. “You might yet be wrong about that.”

They all waited, clustered together in the tiny room. It was another long hour before Mr. Abernethy came into the room. He looked even more exhausted than Lawrence had, and even bloodier. When she saw his bloodshot eyes and drooping shoulders, Emilia burst into tears.

Grace took her into her arms, and Emilia sobbed onto her shoulder, knowing, just
knowing,
the surgeon had bad news.

“Is something amiss?” she heard him say.

“She's just worried about her man,” Aila told him.

“Please, is there any news of Sir Colin, sir?” Grace asked.

“Yes.”

Silence.

“Well,” Aila said, exasperation lacing her voice, “what is it, then?”

The surgeon sighed. “The bullet came quite close to his heart. We needed to be very careful in extracting it, because the heart is a delicate organ.”

Another pause. Emilia sniffed against Grace's shoulder.

“Just tell us, man,” McLeod said irritably. “Is he alive?”

“Oh!” The surgeon sounded surprised. “Of course.”

“Will he live?” McLeod pressed.

“I cannot make any guarantees.”

Grace hissed out a breath.

“He has a very large and dangerous hole in his body,” Mr. Abernethy continued. “However, we removed the bullet. And if the wound heals cleanly, he'll live.”

All the strength left Emilia's legs, and she would have sunk to the floor if Grace and McLeod weren't there to catch her. “Here, lass,” McLeod said soothingly. “Lean on me. That's right.”

“Can she see him?” Aila asked the surgeon.

“Yes. He's awake, but in quite a bit of pain. She may see him for a few minutes.”

Those words infused strength into Emilia, and she followed the surgeon down a long corridor then up a flight of stairs to a private room, where Colin lay, eyes closed, his body covered by a clean sheet and his left shoulder wrapped in a bandage.

Hardly able to breathe, she hurried to him. “Colin?” she whispered.

His eyes fluttered open, and a smile cracked his dry lips.
“Mo leannan,”
he rasped out.

She sat on his right side and took his hand in her own. It was warm and dry, and a spasm of fear shot through her—she hoped he wasn't feverish.

“How are you?” she asked.

“Better. Now you're here.”

“I'll stay as long as you need me.”

“Then stay forever,” he said softly.

It was somewhat of a battle to stay at Colin's side—the hospital wasn't too pleased with that plan. But the Highland Knights corrected it by bringing both Colin and the major home to Westminster, where their women could remain at their sides and the doctors could come whenever medical assistance was necessary. The surgeons agreed ultimately this was the best plan.

Within a week, the major was up, though his leg was immobilized. Since he couldn't walk without crutches, they had a bed made for him in a downstairs room as negotiating the stairs was out of the question.

Colin, however, was still in bed, under strict instructions not to get out. Evidently, the risk to his heart was still too great. Emilia stayed with him, day and night, refusing to leave his side, even though no hint of sepsis ever came, and he healed more rapidly than the doctors expected.

“He's strong,” Mr. Abernethy admitted. “I daresay he's one of the strongest patients I've ever had.”

“You see,” Aila told her with a smile. “The heather brought you luck, after all.”

On the ninth day after Colin's surgery, Max White, Duncan Mackenzie, Sir Ewan Ross, and Laurent Dupré, the Knights who'd gone north to search for Emilia's father, returned to London. They didn't return empty-handed. They'd apprehended Kingsman at a distant cousin's house near Leeds, and with him, a trunkful of evidence that condemned every single traitor involved in the plan to assassinate the princes. Kingsman hadn't burned his evidence like the other men did. Instead, either from hubris or pure stupidity, he'd gathered it into organized files. There were letters, plans, maps, names…every document the government would possibly require for a clean prosecution. Emilia's evidence against her father was no longer needed—Kingsman had provided more than enough.

On the twelfth day after Colin's surgery, Emilia went out of their room for the first time. Leaving a group of Knights to keep him company, she walked down the corridor to the third door past her own, where Esme lay in bed with a tiny bundle beside her.

It was a girl. A sweet, perfectly pink little girl with a thatch of dark hair like her mother's. Esme and McLeod had named their daughter Sarah, after the Duchess of Trent, Esme's sister-in-law.

“Oh, Esme,” Emilia breathed. “She is so beautiful.” Gently, she touched the babe's tiny little button nose.

“Thank you.”

“How are you feeling?”

“A bit sore but otherwise good. Quite tired, though,” Esme admitted. Emilia nodded. She couldn't comprehend how difficult it must have been, but she knew Esme had been laboring for sixteen long hours before little Sarah was born this morning.

“May I hold her?”

“Of course.”

She lifted the tiny warm bundle and held her close. The baby gazed at her, utterly intrigued, and Emilia's heart felt like it skipped a beat. “The first Highland Knight babe,” she murmured.

“Not for long,” said a voice from behind her. Emilia turned to see Grace, Claire, and Aila behind her.

“I'm with child,” Lady Claire said, her smile tempered by a bit of wariness. Emilia knew why—Claire had given birth to a son a few years ago but had lost him several days later.

“Oh,” Emilia breathed. “How wonderful.” She gave Claire a long hug, telling her without words that she'd stand beside her through her pregnancy, no matter what happened.

The ladies gathered around Esme and little Sarah, who gazed solemnly at all of them.

“Thank you for being here,” Esme said.

“We wouldna miss this moment,” Aila said.

“We'll always be here for you, Esme,” Grace said.

“We're family, all of us,” Claire added.

Emilia looked from one woman to the next, realizing that she loved them all. For the first time since her mother had died, she truly had a family.

The ladies sat together for a long while, talking and laughing softly as Esme nursed her daughter, then both mother and babe fell asleep and the other women quietly left the room. Emilia returned to Colin's side, the men left, and she snuggled against him, feeling more content than she could ever remember.

A fortnight after the surgery, there was a knock at Colin and Emilia's door.

“Come in,” Emilia said, setting aside her embroidery. Beside her, Colin lowered his book.

The door opened to reveal the major, on crutches. Emilia's eyes went wide.

“This must be good news,” Colin said. “You made it up the stairs.”

“It felt like I was climbing England's tallest peak,” the major admitted, and Emilia saw that he was flushed from the effort. “But I wanted to see you.”

Colin reached out a hand to the major. He was weak and pale—but still as handsome as ever, as far as Emilia was concerned. “Good to see you, Major.”

“You look better than I expected,” the major said, taking his friend's hand.

“I feel perfect.”

“But he still has some healing to do,” Emilia admonished.

“True, true,” the major said. “You wilna want to defy Abernethy.”

“No, you won't,” Emilia agreed. They'd since learned that Abernethy was one of the best and most celebrated surgeons in England. They'd been so fortunate he'd been available on the day Colin had been shot.

“I wished to discuss something else with the two of you as well,” the major said.

“Oh?” Colin asked. “What's that?”

“Marriage.”

Colin made a Scottish
harrumph
noise. “Well, man, we tried.”

“Aye, and you're living in the same room in the same bed under this roof.”

“We are handfasted, though,” Emilia said. That had to count for something.

The major looked surprised, then he smiled. “Aye, well that would be enough for me, but unfortunately handfasting means less than nothing to most of society. As such, I think it's time for another attempt at a wedding.” The major withdrew a slip of paper from his coat pocket.

“What's that?” Colin asked.

“It's a special license. Unless you've any objections, I've engaged Mr. Hodgson to come this evening to perform the ceremony here.”

“This evening!” Emilia gasped.

“Aye.” The major's look was stern.

“But I've nothing to wear,” Emilia complained weakly. Even as she said it, she knew there was no substance to that. Still, a woman wanted to look her finest on her wedding day, and not only did she have no clothes, her hair was limp and she wore bags of exhaustion under her eyes.

But then she looked at Colin. His amber eyes gleamed with a sheen of happiness. “You could wear rags and I'd love you no less,” he whispered.

With that simple statement, all her worries vanished.

He smiled at her, and turned to his friend. “Thank you, Major,” he said. “You've made my deepest wish come true.”

That night, in the comfort of their bedchamber in the Knights' Westminster house, Mr. Hodgson officiated the marriage of Lady Emilia Featherstone and Sir Colin Stirling, with all the Highland Knights, Lady Esme, Lady Claire, Lady Grace, Aila White, and baby Sarah McLeod as witnesses.

Afterward, they feasted on roasted partridges and fresh plums; then, one by one, Emilia's new family trickled away with kisses, hugs, and well wishes, until only Colin and Emilia remained.

After removing the simple white muslin she'd worn for the ceremony, Emilia washed her face, donned her nightgown, and tucked herself beside Colin in bed, wrapping her arms around his solid body for the first time all day. She breathed a sigh of contentment. Colin gazed at her, his eyes shining amber in the lamplight.

“We're married,” she whispered.

He nodded. “Thank God.”

“At times I worried it'd never happen.”

“Me, too. But I think God has known for a while that we belong together. Tonight only made it official.”

“I like being official.” She climbed atop him, kissing him deeply as she rested her weight on him, staying well away from his healing wound.

Drawing up, she smiled at him. “Tonight, I want to learn everything I can about my husband.”

He spread his arms wide. “I'm all yours,
mo leannan.
”

Carefully, she helped him remove his military coat and kilt, which he'd donned for the ceremony. Then she lifted off his shirt, leaving his pale body bare to her gaze. He had lost weight during his recovery, but that was a temporary thing—the doctor had given him only a day or two longer before he'd be allowed out of bed, and he'd be able to resume his normal activities shortly thereafter.

She gazed appreciatively down at his oh-so-masculine body, smiling a bit. “This is mine,” she whispered. “All mine.”

“Aye, it is,” he agreed. “All yours. To do with what you please.”

“Pleasure pleases me,” she observed.

“Aye, it does me as well.”

“I want to bring you all the pleasure in the world,” she whispered.

“You already do,
mo leannan.
”

They kissed, long and languidly, until Emilia's skin sizzled with arousal. She kissed down his good arm, learning each of his bulging muscles, defined in such a different way from her own arms. She brushed her lips over the cords of his neck, then his chest—his small male nipples pebbling under her ministrations. When she heard him gasping as she suckled one of them, she looked up at him. His eyes were half-lidded as he gazed back at her. “You like that, don't you?” she murmured.