Josette’s smile undid him even more than her declarations.

The woman who loves him, she’d said. Admonishing him, but revealing her innermost thoughts without meaning to.

Now that woman closed both hands around his cock, and Will couldn’t hold back a groan.

“Damn you, lass. How can I let you leave me, when ye do that?”

Josette didn’t answer, only gave him her wicked smile. Long, long ago, when they’d become lovers for the first time, she’d smiled at him like that, though then her eyes had held trepidation.

Will had gone gently with her, marveling that this beauty of a woman had consented to share his bed. They’d come together tentatively at first, then as they grew to know and understand each other, with fervor and need.

Josette had grown more beautiful over the years, more daring. She made him want her, crave her.

As he craved her now.

Will knew he’d never have the patience for unlacing and unbuttoning. He seized Josette around the waist and turned her to the chair at the dressing table. She lost hold of him as he sat down and lifted her on top of him, but it didn’t matter.

Her voluminous skirts were an obstacle, but she wore only an overdress and an underskirt, not the layers of garments many ladies of fashion put on. He lifted and shoved fabric until he found her, bare beneath them all, her thighs softer than any of the silks she wore.

Josette met his gaze as Will positioned her to straddle him, her dark eyes full of longing. She wasn’t afraid of him, or what he’d do—she wanted the passion of loving as much as he did.

Will slowly slid her on top of him, his cock pushing up inside her. A small amount at first, then deeper, farther. Josette’s eyes closed as she took him. Will sucked in a breath when she squeezed around him, more tightly than her fists ever could.

Was there anything better than being inside this woman? Josette surrounded him with her body, her scent, her heat. Will rocked back in the chair, desperate for more of her.

She opened her eyes, languor taking over. Harsh words and fluctuating emotions were behind them—the two came together in fluid harmony, erasing pain and sorrow—as always.

Will forgot everything but her, thrusting up into her with hot sensation, hearing her cries, watching her face as she fulfilled desire. Her hair, which he’d loosened, tumbled down, enclosing him in its silk.

Josie, love, I’d do anything in the world for you.

Including staying with her until the world ended. Which it might soon.

Josette opened her eyes. She looked down into Will’s, the darkness of her velvet gaze erasing all that was terrible. She leaned to kiss him, then groaned as he thrust, Will holding her fast.

The fire sputtered, and candles burned low, and still Josette took her pleasure on Will, and gave him back that pleasure more than a hundredfold.

Will entered Wilfort’s study the next morning, thoroughly rested and feeling more alive than he had in a long time. He’d have preferred to lie in bed with Josette the rest of the day, feeding her breakfast, then dinner, making hot love with her in between. Not yet, but one day. Soon …

While Will and Josette had dressed each other, a footman had brought Will a message that the earl wanted to see him in the study, alone. He added that the captain and Bhreac—the footman stiffly called him Mr. Douglas—were in the dining room and would await Josette there.

Will parted from Josette on the staircase where they exchanged a gentle kiss. Josette’s fingers closed tightly on Will’s hand a brief moment, then she turned away, composed, and descended to the dining room.

The earl stood at the window in his study, the man gazing over mist-enshrouded Edinburgh. He’d been in the same window yesterday when they’d arrived—he must like to keep watch from here.

“A beautiful old city,” Wilfort said, keeping his gaze on the view as Will entered. “And now I can live here without fear.”

“I wouldn’t say without fear,” Will said easily. “’Tis plenty dangerous in places.”

“I know, but that spoils the sentiment.” Wilfort turned to him. “I suppose there are many Scotsmen who’d throw me out of their city or cut my throat in a heartbeat.”

“There are, but ye can’t blame them for resentment. Culloden exacted a terrible price.”

“I know. I regret that. Cumberland’s orders weren’t clear, but he interpreted them as pure slaughter, no accepting surrender. He longs for glory—his career in the French wars has not been the best. So far, Culloden is the only battle he’s ever won.”

“That tells me we ought to have had more Frenchmen in the Jacobite army,” Will said. “But it’s time for Scotland to join the world instead of hunkering behind our Roman-built wall and throwing everyone else out. Edinburgh is the place to do this joining with the world. We’ll have our revenge, but in a different way than most people believe, I imagine.”

“I agree.” Wilfort’s tone was dry. “There are formidable thinkers in Scotland who aren’t hidebound by the English tradition of clinging to old philosophies. I will watch with interest.”

“Why did you send for me?” Will asked. “To talk about Scotland’s future?”

“No, to talk about its present.” Wilfort became brisk. “The list of names Captain Ellis gave me is unnerving. These gentlemen have connections to peers in the House of Lords, men on the King’s Bench, and the Lord High Chancellor. The fact that I am on this list is even more troubling—I am one of the few men who can walked unchallenged into St. James’s and chat with anyone I wish. Sir Harmon Bentley and Clennan Macdonald want to pry out our secrets, do they?”

“It appears so.”

“And they sent the coxcomb you pretended to be off to gather them? A risk, I’d say.”

Will shook his head. “They believe Sir William Jacobs too stupid to understand the intelligence he is to gather. That he’s so desperate for money he’ll do what they say without question. And that he is not high enough in society himself to realize who these gentlemen are.” He tapped his lower lip. “Sir Harmon isn’t too bright—wise enough to keep himself from his creditors, but he’s more interested in growing rich from the work of others than coming up with plots against the crown. He just wants the money he can make. I’m certain Macdonald is playing him, promising him riches for his assistance.”

“I’ve heard of Clennan Macdonald. We had an eye on him when Charles Stuart made his way to Scotland—we were certain he’d take up the Jacobite banner and be a formidable opponent. He turned the other way instead, to our surprise.”

“He waits to see where the wind blows,” Will said. “He guessed—rightly—that Teàrlach mhic Seamas wouldn’t prevail, no matter how many determined Scots were behind him. Macdonald never liked Lord Murray, for instance. He probably nursed resentment that Murray had been chosen to head the army—Macdonald nurses many resentments.”

“Including against Mackenzies, you said.”

“Never forgave my mum for throwing over his little brother,” Will said cheerfully. “Took it personally. Never mind that Horace married and lived happily in Edinburgh until his death. Clennan held the grudge. Still does.”

“Macdonald has no idea you are involved in this?” Wilfort asked in a mild tone.

“I never showed my face to him, and we scrambled from Sir Harmon’s abode before he could reach it. With luck, Sir Harmon concluded I was anxious to be off to earn my reward and invest the money, taking Captain Ellis with us for protection. If he and Macdonald gave chase, they did not do it with much determination.”

“Or did not see the need to bother,” Wilfort said. “They believe Sir William is under their thumb. But I believe Captain Ellis should remain here for a while. I’d like to keep his part in this quiet, plus away from any vengeance Macdonald might think to take once he realizes you betrayed him.”

“He’s a good man, is Ellis. He doesn’t deserve to get caught up in Mackenzie schemes.”

“And yet, he continues to,” Wilfort said dryly. “I know he had a tenderness for my daughter, and I once would have been happy to call him son-in-law.”

Will chuckled. “But Malcolm spoiled that by rising from the dead. Mary is deliriously happy with the Runt, I assure you.”

“I agree. Which is why I bend over backward to help you and your trouble of a family. I risk my own neck doing so, by the way.”

“I know,” Will answered quietly.

They exchanged a look of understanding. Wilfort could have destroyed the Mackenzies at one time, and he had not, for love of his daughter.

Then Wilfort sighed. “But you are right about Macdonald’s deviousness. He sold plenty of information to the British during the Uprising and hunted down Jacobites himself, but I know damn well he sold plenty of information to the Jacobites as well. But he was never caught at that. In return for his help to the crown, he was given amnesty by the king, as well as the pickings of the spoils of deposed Highlanders.”

“Including Kilmorgan Castle and its lands.”

“Just so.”

“I will never let him have it,” Will said in a hard voice. “I think you understand that.” He shook his head and changed the topic before his anger could rise too high. “What about the Louis d’or?” he asked. “Was Macdonald given that for safekeeping? Or as payment for services rendered?”

Wilfort spread his hands. “That I do not know. No one ever found the gold—not the Jacobites waiting for it, nor the British sent to seize it, nor the French captain who ferried it from France. It was unloaded from the boat, and simply vanished.”

“I believe Macdonald has it,” Will said. “Or at least part of it. He might have stumbled upon it, or stolen it, or been entrusted with it, unbeknownst to you, and hidden it away. No matter what, he’s decided the gold is his to do with as he pleases.”

“I can have him raided,” Wilfort said with a quiet authority that was chilling. “I can suggest to the right people that he might have been a traitor after all, and have his home searched, none too gently.”

“I’d enjoy that,” Will said. “Though I doubt he’s hiding the bulk of it there. What he gave Josette and me was only a tiny part of the whole—if the sum a man in France told me was sent here is to be believed. Macdonald’s too canny.” He rubbed his hands together, cheered. “But do raid him. Should be entertaining. Do Sir Harmon’s as well. I looked and found nothing, but I did not have time to search properly. Also … the lad, Henri. Sir Harmon stole that estate from a Scottish family called Dunbar, good people, according to Henri. They took in the lad when he had nowhere to go. They were arrested—Henri believes they were executed, but he’s not certain. It seems they objected to Sir Harmon making his fortune on the backs of slaves, and this irritated him.”

Wilfort nodded. “I can inquire. Sir Harmon himself is … irritating.”

And when Wilfort was irritated, heads rolled—sometimes literally.

“About Malcolm,” Will said. “It seems I won’t be letting him turn me in. It was pointed out to me that this was not well thought.”

Wilfort’s cool stare said he agreed. “What you want is for Malcolm Mackenzie to be the only survivor of Culloden. For it to be proved he was not a traitor, and for Kilmorgan to be handed back to him. You would forgo any claim to it.”

Will lifted his hands. “Aye. Malcolm loves the place, and as embarrassed as a Scottish warrior is about softer emotions, I love Malcolm. The Runt deserves to be happy. Me, I’ll do with a corner to tuck myself in. ’Tis easier for me not being Will Mackenzie, if you understand me.”

“I think I do, though I’ve never really understood your motives. What about Mrs. Oswald?”

What about her? Will warmed as he remembered waking up next to her, nearly nose to nose, how her flush and smile had heated every space inside him. “If I have anything to say about it, Mrs. Oswald will be in that corner with me.”

“I meant, will she be happy in that corner?” Wilfort said severely. “With a man of no name? Or should I invite her to stay with me as well, and make arrangements to send her wherever she wishes to go?”

No, was Will’s instant thought. He did want Josette to be safe and sheltered, with her daughter, and he knew full well that Wilfort could arrange that. But after last night ...

Will wanted it all—Kilmorgan for Mal, the French gold to help all who needed it, Josette and Glenna free of threat, and Josette by his side. His family. It extended beyond the Mackenzies now.

“It will be up to Mrs. Oswald,” Will said. “I promise ye, we’ll have a discussion, probably a loud one, and she will do as she pleases. She always has,” he finished proudly. “There’s a man in Edinburgh, name of Chadwick. An English infantry colonel.”

Wilfort gave him a nod. “I have heard of him. Widower. Wife was the daughter of Sir Rufus Addison, knighted for lending king and country an enormous sum of money and mustering a regiment to fight Louis of France. A formidable man—Addison. Chadwick is very much under his thumb. Why do you wish to know about him?”

“Keep a watch on him for me, will you? If he moves, send word.”

Wilfort raised his brows. “Send word to where? And why are you interested?” His suspicion grew.

“Find Bhreac if you can’t find me. The message will reach me. And I will be sending word to you. About many things. My interest in the colonel is not for me, but Mrs. Oswald. He is a threat to her, and I want him where I can put my hands on him when I am ready. I’d ask for your help, but this is personal. Please see that he stays put.”

Wilfort watched him carefully. He was a shrewd man, and probably was fitting pieces together. “Just so.”

“Meanwhile, I’m back to a castle full of ladies—poor me. You’ll look into their circumstances?”

“I can guarantee nothing, but I will make inquiries,” Wilfort said. “If the men in question were coerced or threatened into taking up arms, as I know many in the Uprising were, a case can be made to release them. They might have to go into exile—are their ladies prepared for that?”

“They are. ’Twas not well done, some of the recruiting.” Will had watched Jacobites threaten to burn down crofters’ homes to force the men inside to join them in the fight. “These ladies need their menfolk—it’s heartbreaking to see them remain so brave in their uncertainty. Besides,” he finished briskly, “if they have to wait much longer, they might rush to London and tear down the Tower themselves.”

Wilfort acknowledged this with a small smile. “I have become familiar with Scotswomen. If more of them had led the Jacobite army, I might even now be cowering in my home in Lincolnshire with a Scottish king on Britain’s throne.”

“Aye, you are catching on.”

“One thing I do know,” Wilfort said, sobering. “The husband of Lillias McIvor. I’m sorry to say, he has died. There was a fever in the prison where he was kept, and almost all the men there perished.”

Josette journeyed back to Strathy in the company of Will, Bhreac, and Henri, but she did not share a horse with Will this time. She rode in a saddle that was more comfortable than the horse’s rigid backbone, and had resumed the breeches and skirt. A packhorse carried the casket of gold, carefully hidden in their baggage.

She breathed a sigh of relief as they left Edinburgh behind. Will had not tried to find Colonel Chadwick either to kill him or give himself up or anything else nonsensical. He hadn’t mentioned the colonel since their fierce argument, which was fine with Josette. She’d take Glenna out of the man’s reach and then make sure he never put his hands on Will.

Captain Ellis remained behind as Lord Wilfort’s guest. The captain had not wanted Josette to ride off with Will, but he did not stand in her way. He did agree to Will’s suggestion to write to Sir Harmon and claim Sir William and his wife had indeed asked him to escort them for a while, and now they’d gone south to England.

Josette knew Will had given Captain Ellis as well as Lord Wilfort further instructions, but as usual was cryptic about them. How Will managed to wrap a cavalry captain as well as one of the foremost earls in Britain around his finger, she didn’t know, but he’d done it. Whatever he’d asked them to do for him, they’d do.

Will and Bhreac wore the clothes of crofters, Will slouching under his broad cloak to make himself look smaller. Henri dressed as their servant, though it was clear Will did not consider him one. All three men packed and saddled the horses every morning and unsaddled them every night, none doing more work than the others.

On the first day, they passed several Highlanders and their families traveling toward Edinburgh. The men had packs on their backs, their breeches and homespun shirts threadbare. They’d draped themselves in cloaks pulled around their bodies like great kilts, but there was no tartan fabric in sight. The women looked ragged, exhausted from trudging.

Josette surmised they’d been turned off their land, or had fled when Cumberland’s men came. The city might give them employment, or at least a place to huddle until they decided where to go next.

Bhreac addressed their leader. “Unwrap yourself, man,” he advised. “They’ll arrest ye even for looking like you’re wearing a plaid. They mean to stamp out the national dress entirely.”

“Should I take the word of a Lowlander?” the man asked in a flowing Highland voice, but he sounded more tired than resentful.

“He’s right, lad.” Will said, at last raising his head. “Go cautiously.”

The Highlander gave Will a flinty look, and then he blinked, his eyes widening. Will shook his head ever so slightly, and the man dropped his gaze.

“God go with ye,” the Highlander said in a low voice.

“And you, my friend.”

Will and company reined their horses aside to let the Highlanders by, and they were gone.

Josette saw the lead Highlander glance back at them sharply. “Did he recognize you?” she asked in worry.

“He did,” Will answered. “Not a surprise. He’s one of me dad’s crofters.” His eyes burned with resolve. “It’s why we need it all back, love. They shouldn’t have to work in the factories and never see their lands again. At least I’ll know where to find them when this is finished.”

Josette reached across the space between them and caught his hand, squeezing it. Will drew their mounts close, and kissed her.

Their horses objected and jerked apart. Will laughed, true gladness in the sound, and led them up the road to the Highlands.

As soon as was possible, Will headed them off the Wade roads and over the mountains, moving westward.

They sheltered with crofters in hidden valleys, or beside rushing streams, or high on mountainsides, keeping well away from the British forts and encampments. The peak of Ben Nevis sported snow on its very top even in summer, the wind rolling down its slopes chilling.

Will turned north along Ben Nevis’s eastern side and skirted the end of Loch Ness, just out of sight of Fort Augustus and the blue-black waters of the loch. From there they entered rough hills, making their slow way to the open Highlands and Strathy Castle.

The air had turned cold by the time the glen that held Strathy was in sight. Midsummer had passed, and autumn rapidly approached.

Josette heard Glenna before she saw her. The girl held the neck rope of a long-haired cow and was swearing at the beast in a mixture of French, English, and what Josette recognized as Erse.

The dog, Beitris, wandering near Glenna, caught their scent. She jerked her head up and let out an earth-rumbling woof.

“She’ll not give up much milk if you yell at her like that,” Josette called down the hill to her daughter. “You have to coax her, gentle like.”

Glenna dropped the rope. “Mum!” she shouted and charged at her.

Josette slid from the horse, joy in her heart. She caught Glenna in a fierce embrace, and they held each other hard, Josette’s world complete once more. Beitris gamboled about them, rushing from Glenna and Josette to the men and back again.

Glenna, her dark hair in a single braid, raised her head and scowled at Josette. “Why were you gone so long? I missed you!”

“We had to travel all the way to Edinburgh and back,” Josette said, trying to sound as though such things were of no great moment. “I’ll not ask you where you found the cow—I’m only happy you’re safe and sound.”

The ladies of the castle, hearing Glenna’s shout and Beitris’s barking, tumbled out the front door. At the sight of Lillias, Josette’s heart constricted. Will had told Josette of Lillias’s husband’s fate.

Josette swallowed and gently pressed Glenna aside. “Lillias, love,” she said. “Let us walk.”

Will heard the moan that wrenched from Lillias as she and Josette moved into the heather, Lillias slumping against Josette’s side.

A vision of Josette receiving the same news of Will came to him, Josette sagging as grief gripped her.

What a cruel world we were born to love in, Will said silently. But it doesn’t stop us loving.

Henri shook his head as they led the horses into the courtyard, followed by a curious Beitris. “Poor lady.”

Bhreac watched Lillias, sorrow in his eyes. He handed Will his reins and picked his way along the trail the two ladies had taken. His words floated back as he put his arm around Lillias’s shoulders.

“There now, lass. I knew your husband. He was a good man. A good man.”

Will watched the three a moment longer, his heart heavy, before he and Henri took the horses into the shelter at the back of the castle.

Later, when everyone was safely inside and the supplies they’d picked up along the way unpacked by the grateful inhabitants, Josette reappeared. She wore the practical but lovely gown Will had seen her in when he’d woken here the first time, and had dressed her hair in a tidy knot. No more frilly garments and jewels glittering in long curls.

“I put Lillias to bed and gave her something to help her sleep,” Josette told Will in a low voice. He nodded, still angry he’d been too late to save the man.

They joined the ladies, Bhreac, and Henri, in the kitchen for a meal at the long table. Beitris gnawed on meat Will surreptitiously passed her. The mood was somber, though with an undercurrent of excitement. Will and Josette had found some of the gold.

“It will take some time to arrange things,” Will said. “But I have the word of an honorable man that he will speak to the right people and try to get your lads released. He’s got such a silver tongue, ye might not need the money to bribe their way free. Ye can use it to buy yourselves passage to the Continent and set up there.”

“Thank you,” Mysie said with true gratitude, and the others agreed.

“Don’t expect them next week,” Will warned. “Next month, perhaps, or the month after. Wheels turn slowly.”

“Will it be enough for all of us?” Mysie asked glancing at the casket that sat in the middle of the table.

“Probably,” Will said, “But don’t fret yourself. I know where to find more.”

He felt Josette’s sharp gaze on him. He hadn’t told her everything, and he had the feeling she’d be most unhappy with him when she discovered what he intended.

“Are you mad?” Josette demanded.

They stood alone atop the tower, in the same spot they’d argued upon Will’s arrival. Will’s golden eyes glinted in the dying sunlight as he finished relating his next insane scheme.

“I knew you’d be angry with me,” he said, not looking very remorseful.

“How could I not?” Josette planted fists on her hips. “I knew when you were looking at that map I couldn’t stop you from going. Even if it means your death.”

Will’s tone remained infuriatingly reasonable. “I didn’t plan to print it in the newspapers and shout it in every village square, love. None will note my passing.”

“Mr. Macdonald has been nosing about the place,” Josette reminded him. “Or is that the true reason you want to go? To keep him from taking over Kilmorgan?”

“It is one reason,” Will admitted. “I have several more. But no matter what those reasons are, my beautiful lass, I want you to come with me.”