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  LOVING TWO HIGHLANDERS

  Amber Carlton

  MENAGE AMOUR

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

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  A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

  IMPRINT: Ménage Amour

  LOVING TWO HIGHLANDERS

  Copyright © 2009 by Amber Carlton

  E-book ISBN: 1-60601-495-1

  First E-book Publication: May 2009

  Cover design by Mark Luedtke

  All cover art and logo copyright © 2009 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  PUBLISHER

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  DEDICATION

  To lusty Highlanders and the women who love them.

  LOVING TWO HIGHLANDERS

  AMBER CARLTON

  Copyright © 2009

  Chapter 1

  Jamestown, Virginia

  May 1651

  Megan MacGregor fussed with the blanket around Trevor’s legs, then lifted her face and gave him a smile. Her husband ran the back of his fingers across her cheek. Her glance sweeping the dock, Megan caught at his hand and folded it in her own.

  “I still don’t understand why we’re here. What is it you’re hoping to find?”

  “An apprentice of sorts,” Trevor said.

  Megan tilted her head and studied her husband’s patrician face, so handsome, once so vibrant, but very pale in the glare of the sun. He needed a little color, and now that spring was here, surely his health would improve. She’d make sure he spent long, leisurely hours enjoying the warmth. She tried to shake off her worries and simply enjoy the day, but seeing his strength lessen made her heart ache. She refused to think beyond today.

  “Sam and I can handle the shop.” She offered him a teasing smile. “Aren’t you satisfied with our work?”

  “More than satisfied, Meg, but you and Sam cannae do everything by yourselves.”

  Megan turned in the seat and glanced at the huge man sprawled in the back of the wagon. Almost lost in the bristly honey beard that covered most of his face, Sam Tinsdale’s wide mouth split into a grin.

  “He seems to think I can’t run the press, handle the customers, bind the books, make the deliveries, and take care of him. He’s obviously not been paying attention to what I’ve done the last twenty years.”

  Trevor’s breath hitched as he tried to laugh. “You’ve never bound the books, Sam.”

  Sam waved his hand in dismissal. “Don’t point out my inadequacies, old man.”

  “I cannae point them out because you have none,” Trevor said.

  A pleased smile curled Sam’s mouth, and he winked at Megan. “Now he wants to get me some help. Don’t argue with him, Meggie. He’s made up his mind. He’s a cantankerous thing and more trouble than any man or woman should have to endure.”

  She cast a glance toward the ship docked in the harbor and cringed as she watched the first arrivals disembark. “Can’t you talk some sense into him, Sam? We don’t need anyone under foot.”

  Sam spread out his huge hands. “I’ve tried, but he’s a Highlander, stubborn as they come.”

  Megan fanned herself with the edge of the blanket. She turned her face away before Trevor saw the pout she knew had settled on her face. “We’re doing fine. I see no reason to change things.”

  Trevor laid one of his hands over hers. “We have to be realistic here, Meg. I’m growing weaker and—”

  “I don’t want to talk about that.” She straightened and tossed her hair over her shoulders with an impatient sigh, but she couldn’t meet her husband’s eyes. She was terrified he would see the fear lurking in hers. Her glance darted once again toward the ship.

  “We’ve a problem then, Meg, because you’ve not wanted to talk about it for nearly a year.”

  She fidgeted on the seat and folded her hands in her lap, trying to keep her body still. She developed a sudden interest in the color of the spring sky. Not a cloud to be seen, a perfect day. She wished they were settling down at a cool spot on the river, their picnic cloth spread over the lush green grass, their basket heaped with Trevor’s favorites foods. She’d give anything for a day like that, but Trevor had little interest in anything she cooked lately and wouldn’t be able to walk the banks of the river, holding her hand and telling her of his plans for the future. She found herself wondering more and more what their future might hold, or if they’d have one at all.

  She peeked at him, but he pulled the wide-brimmed hat down lower on his head, done with her objections. His long blond hair veiled his eyes. Whatever thoughts spun through his head remained secret for now, but she knew the conversation would be brought out again.

  The sun blazed in the azure sky, and either its warmth or her mood caused perspiration to dot her brow. Hot, anxious blood roared through her veins. She fanned herself again, wishing for a blessed blast of cooler air. Trevor tired so quickly in the heat and might be forced to his bed this afternoon. If that happened, she would spend some time in the flower garden. She’d had little time for it lately, but she wanted Trevor surrounded by beauty this summer. Each glance into her husband’s eyes reinforced the passing of time.

  She couldn’t bear to think of what he might say next. Trevor thought nothing of forcing her into reality. She tried unsuccessfully to block his soft voice and the words that would steal a little more of her hope and a great deal of her courage.

  “We cannae deny what’s happening here, love. I cannae walk well. Some days I can barely lift my arms. My needs take up all of Sam’s time, and the shop cannae lie idle. We’ve obligations to meet.”

  “I can care for you,” Megan said.

  “And you do, love,” Trevor said, sliding his hand over hers, “but ’tis not possible for you to do some of the things I need.”

  “You’ve been fine on some days.”

  “Some days, aye, but the days are growing further and further apart. Sam’s had to lift me, carry me, and these are things you cannae do. ’Tis why I’ve relied on Sam, and the more I need him, the less time he has to do any actual work. We stand to lose him if I work him to the bone.”

  Sam’s hearty laughter thundered from the back of the wagon. His big hands tapped
the girth of his belly. “Have to work me pretty hard to reach my bones, MacGregor.”

  Trevor glanced over his shoulder. “’Tis still a risk I’m not willing to take.”

  “You could not give me away. I owe you too much.”

  “You owe me nothing, Sam,” Trevor said.

  “Just my sanity,” Sam said. “Just my life. I don’t think I’ll be leaving any time soon, if it’s all the same to you.”

  Megan glanced between Sam and her husband and laughed. “How many times do we have to have this conversation?”

  “As many times as is needed to get it through his thick head,” Sam said.

  Glad to be back on a familiar topic, Megan relaxed until she watched the smile dissolve from Sam’s face. Once again reality had imposed on their gaiety. Their laughter had become less frequent as one day revolved into another and brought more evidence Trevor’s time with them might soon end. None of them could stay happy longer than a moment.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Sam murmured. “I owe the man my bloody life, and he thinks he’s imposing to ask me to carry him to the damn wagon. He doesn’t seem to know I’ll do anything for him.”

  “I know it,” Trevor said softly. His eyes lowered. Staring at the pale hands in his lap, he clenched them into loose fists. “I just don’t like that I must ask.”

  “Understood,” Sam said, “but nothing can help that now, so we’ll deal with it as best we can. Talk to your wife, MacGregor. Tell her the way of it. If anyone has a stubborn head, it’s her.”

  The look on Sam’s face hurt her. His eyes filled with sudden tears, and Megan felt the sting of her own. Sam silently pled with her to find some way out of this impossible conversation. They did need to admit the reality of the situation, although neither of them seemed willing to do it. Trevor MacGregor would soon find himself helpless if his condition deteriorated further and each day brought more challenges. She knew they needed someone else to help them in the shop and knew it should be done before the situation became worse, but she hated Trevor to see her anxiety. She also hated that she must acquiesce to something beyond her control.

  She tossed her arms around her husband’s neck, and her lips found the coolness of his cheek.

  “I’ll concede to your wishes. If you think we need someone else in the shop, I’ll trust your judgment. But, Trevor…”

  “Aye, love?”

  She smoothed the blanket across his legs, still muscled and beautifully shaped, yet growing weaker with each passing day. She hesitated to look into his eyes. Staring into his ice blue eyes made her think of frosty lakes surrounded by pristine snow. She envisioned a calm, hushed world frozen in time, waiting with bated breath for the cry of a bird or tentative footsteps of a deer to start the clock once again. Serenity enveloped her when she looked at her husband, and she could forget most any trouble. Lately, though, she felt a need to turn back time or possibly speed it forward. She wished she knew which would be best for all of them.

  Her husband’s eyes still sparkled with the intelligence, strength, and compassion of the most decent man she’d ever known, but she didn’t know how much longer those things would be there. It hurt to look into Trevor’s eyes because she saw no fear or self-pity there, and she was so afraid that he would see them in hers. She didn’t know what she would do without Trevor MacGregor in her life, and someday soon she feared she would find out. What would happen on the day she saw torment reflected in his eyes? How would she manage to survive the moment she saw a glint of pain that would soon dissolve into the shell of a dying man?

  Her husband was near forty, though she’d never known exactly how old he was. It seemed to be the one secret he kept to himself. His age, though, meant nothing to her, and she had been more than grateful to accept his offer of marriage when her father died. He was her husband, her friend, her savior, and she wanted him to stay with her always, but the disease that tormented his body seemed to have other plans for her husband. Megan could not bring herself to think of the future. Some days she could not bring herself to think of tomorrow.

  Her husband tucked his hand around her chin. When he lifted her face, she wanted to hide. She wanted to bury her face against his shoulder and cry like the lost girl she’d been the year her father died. The fact that Trevor had come to the dock made her realize how rapidly his health diminished. He’d been pushing himself for months, trying desperately to keep control of his body, but lately he could barely stand or lift himself out of a chair, and the few tortuous steps he managed to take across a room broke her heart.

  “Meg?” Trevor asked. “What’s on your mind, lass?”

  As much as she wanted to hide, Megan met his eyes and said the only thing she could think to say. Everything else was too painful.

  “I love you, Trevor.”

  Trevor pulled her close and kissed her cheek. “A perfect distraction, darling. Keep your secrets if you must.”

  “I have no secrets from you. You know everything in my heart, all my thoughts.”

  “Aye, lass, probably most of them, but ’tis time to relinquish our fears and face the truth of it. I’m trying to protect your future for when—”

  She put her fingers over his lips. “I know.”

  He kissed the tips of her fingers, then took her hand, cradling it in his own. “Can you be brave for me, darling girl?”

  “Aye, Trevor, I can try.”

  “Then go with Sam and see if you can find the broker. I informed Master Barton of my needs before the voyage. He may have already formed his judgment. Send him to me.”

  The wagon rocked unsteadily as Sam jumped out and held up his hand. Megan took it and climbed down, surveying the sorry lot that had arrived on the transport ship. She didn’t see a viable candidate in the bunch. The men looked half starved, disease ridden, and most of them had an unhealthy pallor. Their clothing hung on their bodies, flapping around nearly skeletal frames in the warm spring breeze. Their eyes stared fixedly with a glassy sheen she associated with trauma. These men had been through worse hell than a voyage across the sea.

  One by one, as they reached the end of the dock, the broker’s assistant herded them into a containment area. They each stood undecided, then dropped like stones onto the thick blades of grass. Huddled in small groups, barely speaking to one another, they stared in both horror and wonder as their eyes roamed their new environment. Some eventually stretched out and closed their eyes. Others hugged their legs to their chest and wearily dropped their heads onto drawn-up knees.

  Megan leaned back against the wagon for a moment.

  “Trevor, I’m wondering if we shouldn’t wait for the next ship. These men are all damaged. Where did they come from?”

  “Most have come from Scotland,” Trevor said absently.

  Trevor seemed preoccupied as he studied the lot of men, making his own judgments. Sam and Trevor spoke for a few minutes then Sam swiveled his face toward the dock. His eyes widened, and a brow shot up. They began to speak in hushed tones. They could keep their little secrets. Trevor and Sam were thick as thieves, had been since before she’d arrived in Virginia. She would never quite understand the relationship between them. They could not have been more different.

  The sun had grown warmer in the sky and promised a hot, blistering summer. Megan pushed heavy strands of hair away from her shoulders and toyed with the collar at her throat. Sweat trickled down the back of her neck and between her breasts, and she finally had enough. She pulled off her lace collar and dipped it into the bodice to capture a drop of perspiration that snaked into her cleavage. As she readjusted her dress to capture even the hint of the breeze, she raised her eyes and, for the first time in her life, understood what thunderstruck meant.

  She stared toward the gangplank, her lips parting, her eyes widening. Her breath caught somewhere inside, although nowhere near where it should be because something hitched and she couldn’t draw in any air. A wave of heat spread over her skin that had nothing to do with the hot sun. Somewhere in a distan
t place she heard Trevor say her name, but she either ignored him or was incapable of speaking.

  A man, bound in shackles, was being herded down the gangplank toward the dock, propelled by a stout little man who pushed against his back with a dirty hand. This man looked nothing like the others. He seemed vibrant, healthy, and filled with a spirit straining against the bonds that held him. Dressed in drab brown breeches and the dirtiest shirt she had ever seen, he should have blended into the background like the convict he appeared to be. Yet he was suddenly all she could see.

  He was the most magnificent-looking man she’d ever viewed in her entire life—a conquered knight, a cruelly vanquished champion draped in chains he did not deserve. He’d been beaten into a submission he would never feel, eager to rise against the oppression and claim his victory once again. She took several steps toward him before she’d realized what she’d done. She tilted her face and studied him, then shook her head to clear it.

  Conquered knight? More likely he’s a thief, a rogue, a highwayman. Heroes do not arrive on the shores of Virginia in chains. They rarely arrive at all. Grow up, Megan. Live in reality for a change. You’ve certainly enough of it in your life.

  Still he called to her like a siren. She clenched her fists and prepared herself to take a closer look, to see the reality of the man and not the romantic fantasy she’d conjured out of surprise and a racing heartbeat. Covered in smatters of dirt, his skin glowed with a greasy sheen, and he probably smelled to high heaven. Aye, there was no possible way a man who looked like that would not smell. In fact…she sniffed and imagined she could smell him from where she stood.

  His bare, calloused feet appeared to have walked through every mud puddle in the British Isles and beyond. His filthy, threadbare clothes had shredded to rags on his frame, but, unlike the rest of his compatriots, his body was far from skeletal, and that in itself was odd. He had clearly not been in the company of the unfortunate men spread upon the grass. His isolation proved he had been in selfish, solitary pursuits. Definitely a knave and villain and obviously a violent man or he would not be bound so impressively. A man like this must be dangerous, wild, probably murderous. He looked as though he could kill a man with a snap of his wrist, and he also looked like he wouldn’t hesitate to do so.