Hamish (The 93rd Highlanders Book 1) Read online

  She surprised him again. “No, I don’t suppose you were.” She was turned toward him, her shoulder leaning against the wall. She’d moved closer. He hid a smile. She laughed. “You are clearly aware that you are the best doctor here.”

  He shook his head. “No. I shouldn’t have said that. Although now that Dr. Forrest has gone, we’re left with too many junior surgeons. And we’ve lost a handful to cholera, as well.” He took another pull on the cheroot. Without asking he held out to her. He deliberately held it just out of reach, so she’d have to come closer. She took the bait, scooting over and taking the cheroot from him for another seductive pull. She leaned her head back and let the smoke slowly escape from her mouth. It was the most erotic thing he’d ever seen. He wanted to share a smoke with her lying naked in bed. In some dark corner of his soul he knew having lustful thoughts about a good widow ought to be shameful on his part, but he’d lost the ability to care. A man had to have his fantasies.

  She handed the cheroot back to him and then rubbed her arms. She must be cold. “I have to go back. I have to check on the patients. And you have more patients to see.”

  “What’s your Christian name?” he asked, trying to draw out their private time together. “I grow tired of Mrs. Lambeth all the time.” When she didn’t answer right away he volunteered, “I’m Phineus, but most back home call me Finn.”

  “Do they?” Mrs. Lambeth refused his offer of her own cheroot. “Well, I shall stick with Dr. Harper, and you shall stick with Mrs. Lambeth. Far safer all around. Particularly if you’re so tired of Mrs. Lambeth.” She tried to take the sting out of her words with her little joke and a pretty smile, but he wasn’t in the mood to be put off with her empty flirtations tonight. He needed more.

  “Safer? What do you fear from revealing your name? That I shall steal your soul?”

  She laughed and he felt the muscles in his shoulders relax. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the uneven brick wall.

  “Hardly. I fear you calling out my Christian name in disgust when I don’t appear quickly enough at your irritated summons.” She sounded more amused than anything.

  “You always come right away,” he said without opening his eyes. “So you’ve no worries. Tell me.”

  “Dr. Harper, I hardly think—”

  “Finn. Say it.” He desperately needed to hear someone say it. He didn’t want to be Dr. Harper for five bloody minutes. He pinned her with a demanding glare. “Say it.”

  “Finn. There.” She sounded so unhappy about it, he laughed.

  “Why did you come out here?” he asked suddenly. He very carefully pinched off the ember of his cheroot. He tucked the remainder in his coat pocket. It had seen far better days, just like him. The dark brown wool already bore one burn mark from his shameful habit.

  “Miss Nightingale sent me. And I knew you were upset about losing that young man today,” she said sympathetically. “You must know it wasn’t your fault. The wound was left untreated too long as they transported him here.” She thumped a fist on her thigh as she stared up at the sky, blinking rapidly. “We should be closer to the front. We can do nothing here. Nothing!”

  He took a good look at her then. Her image haunted his every waking moment, and most of his dreams. He didn’t need to look at her to see her. But he saw now what he’d missed earlier. She was as upset as he was. She looked bedraggled. No other word for it, though he would never tell her that. Her blonde hair was escaping the white scarf she’d tied over it, probably hours before. Her black dress hid some of the filth that came their way here, but not all. And it hung on her slim frame. She’d lost weight.

  “Come here,” he said gruffly.

  “What?” she asked stupidly. As if she had no idea how much he wanted her. How could she not know?

  He just held out his hand and curled his fingers in a come here gesture. With a quizzical look she took his hand and let him pull her closer. “What is it?” she asked. “Are you all right?”

  He shook his head and yanked her close, wrapping an arm around her waist as he pushed her back up against the building, pinning her there with his body pressed to hers. “I won’t let you go to the front lines.”

  “Dr. Harper!” she exclaimed breathlessly, pushing ineffectually at his chest. “This is not why I followed you out here.”

  “Isn’t it?” he asked, his voice too rough by far. But he didn’t have the patience or the temperament to seduce her with words. “It’s why I’d hoped you’d follow me.”

  He buried his face in her neck and breathed deeply. She stank of sick and death and blood. But underneath it all there was still the elusive smell of woman. The smell of home and hearth and sweaty nights of ecstasy on cool, clean sheets. Or was that a smell reserved exclusively for her? “Tell me your name,” he whispered desperately. He had to know before he kissed her.

  She’d gone still in his arms, her heart beating rapidly against his chest, like a little bird trapped in a cage. He was about to let her go when she answered.

  “Edith,” she whispered. “My name is Edith. And everyone calls me Edith.”

  He chuckled into her neck, and she relaxed.

  “Edith,” he whispered as he lifted his head to meet her wary gaze. It was far from a romantic name. It suited her, suited the efficient nurse who went about her duties with a smile and a kind word for all under her care, even him. “I’m going to kiss you. I hope that’s all right, because no matter what you say, it’s going to happen.”

  Chapter 3

  Edith was frozen with shock. Did she want Dr. Harper…Finn, to kiss her? She hadn’t, not really. Not a few weeks ago, when they’d first met out here and she’d secretly shared his evening smoke. Even in the dark she could see the surprisingly bright blue of his eyes as he waited for her answer. His whiskers were heavy on his cheeks and chin, his mustache small and better kept than his thick, unruly hair. His shoulders were so broad they blocked the light of the night sky. He wasn’t what she’d wanted at all. But there was so much more to him than his gruff, ill manners. He was so passionate in his work, so dedicated to the men he cared for. He took every death to heart. It had become important to her, to come out here at night and take his mind off his troubles for only a few minutes. It was here she’d met the real Phineus Harper, a kind man with a mischievous streak, who liked to break the rules and make her laugh. That man she wanted to kiss.

  “Yes,” she whispered. It was dangerous, and wrong, and if they were found out she’d be sent home in disgrace. But she couldn’t care when she looked into his weary eyes. “Yes.”

  “Thank God,” he whispered fervently right before he pressed his mouth to hers. It was a shock, the feel of a man’s lips on hers again. She’d thought after Charlie’s death that she’d never have another lover. What a silly, lovesick fool she’d been. She wrapped her arms around Finn’s neck, suddenly as desperate for this as he. He tasted like his cheroots, and she savored him. How she’d missed the scratch of whiskers against her cheeks as a man kissed her like this. He was bent awkwardly to reach her and she gasped into his mouth as he picked her up and pushed in between her legs, holding her between his body and the wall, her feet dangling. Instinctively her legs came up and wrapped around his waist and she felt him smile against her mouth. He leaned in and she felt his erection pressed intimately against her. She moaned and he took the opportunity to push his tongue into her mouth.

  Her mind spun as her body came alive. He kissed expertly, playing her mouth like an instrument, stroking between her legs with small pumps of his hips that she could feel against the insides of her thighs. She clawed his back, clutching fistfuls of his jacket as she arched her back and pressed against that hard cock, rubbing on him shamelessly. He made an impatient sound and she felt him yank her skirt up on the side. The cold air should have cooled her ardor, but it only drove her need higher. He broke the kiss and she chased his mouth, making him laugh softly. The little puff of air against her cheek from his laughter made her whole body shake.
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  “Settle,” he said roughly as he looked down. He separated their bodies as far as he could and rolled her dress up so there was nothing between them but his trousers and her drawers. He loosened her ties and shoved his hand down her drawers. “Christ almighty,” he whispered as he ran a shaking finger through the hair on her mons. She moaned at the tender touch. “Have you nothing to say?” he asked, working that finger down until it pressed against her clitoris, setting her afire.

  “Don’t stop,” she panted. “Not for anything.”

  He laughed again. “Not for a horde of Cossacks,” he promised. “You have to know I needed this, my Edith. How I needed you.” Before she could answer he pressed his mouth to hers again. He moved his hips in a swaying side-to-side motion, so that his cock kissed her sex as his mouth was on hers, rough and hard and possessive, while he pressed and rubbed her clitoris. He was rough in this, too, as in all things, and clearly experienced. She said a little prayer of thanks for that. She hadn’t needed fumbling. She’d needed this, a man who knew what she wanted and knew how to give it to her.

  She bit his lip as a sharp wave of pleasure rattled her insides. He growled into her mouth, his hips pumping hard now, simulating the sex act. Briefly she wished he would complete it, shove his hard cock inside her and make her explode here against the wall in this dirty, dank little alley they called their own.

  His kiss became bruising, his big hands clutching her backside as he pulled her into his thrusts. He didn’t need that clever finger between them now; his cock was hitting her just right, gloriously driving her closer and closer to completion. She grabbed a handful of his hair, her other arm wrapped so tightly around his neck she must be near to choking him. But she didn’t want him to get away. She needed him. She needed him to help her reach the end.

  Neither broke their kiss, though their breaths were hard and fast as their chests rose and fell in harsh pants. She strained for her climax and finally it was there. She sucked in a shaky breath against his mouth with a desperate whimper as her entire body shook. Her arms and legs were locked around him and he crushed her to him, pressed his hips hard between hers and gave her an anchor to cling to as she fell apart.

  When she went limp in his arms he lowered her to the ground gently, but she sensed his urgency. He leaned her against the wall and she stood there panting, her skirts still a tumble, exposing half her legs. Then he ripped his trousers open and yanked out his cock. It was big and heavy and hard, standing tall between his legs. He began to pump it roughly and she reached out a trembling hand to touch it. The head was soft as velvet and he cursed at her touch, grabbed her wrist and pressed her hand against the side of it as he came in great, shuddering waves that made the big man tremble. She felt the hot wash of his release on the back of her hand, and she wrapped her hand over his on his cock.

  “Edith,” he said with a low growl. His hips jerked again and a small bead of semen slipping out of the end. She ran her thumb through it, making him curse again.

  “This is why I came out here,” she confessed in a whisper.

  He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped her hand off. Then he pulled her close and kissed her temple. “Good,” was all he said.

  Chapter 4

  Finn walked back into the hospital and stopped just inside the hallway leading to the large operatory ward. Edith had entered a few minutes before to allay suspicions, although her swollen, just-kissed lips and flushed cheeks were a dead giveaway to what they’d been up to. He was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to go back to his tiny bed in his tiny room in Scutari and sleep for a week. Instead he twisted his neck to the side until he heard a satisfying pop and then began walking purposefully towards his duty. Patients came first, doctors second.

  “Dr. Harper,” one of the nurses said in a flat monotone. She looked and sounded as exhausted as Finn was. “We have a broken arm that was set in the field. It’s been several days. You’ll need to see if it was set properly. It didn’t look right to Miss Nightingale.”

  “Is that it?” Finn asked in surprise, relief washing over him. He could do a broken arm in his sleep. Which might very well be the case if it took too long.

  “And a gunshot wound to the arm,” she said, shrugging. “Just a flesh wound, in and out. The arm is sore and weak and swollen, but he’s still got some use of it.”

  “I’ll see the gunshot wound first,” Finn told her. “It might be infected if it’s swollen.”

  “They’re together,” she said. “Brothers, if you can believe it, from the 93rd Highland Regiment. Insisted on everyone else being seen first. They’re just as brave as the stories say.” She actually sounded girlishly dreamy for a moment.

  Finn stopped in his tracks, shock making him immobile. “Brothers?” His tone had the nurse taking a step back. “Fletcher? Is their name Fletcher?”

  She nodded with wide eyes. “Yes, doctor. A captain and a lieutenant, I believe.”

  “Where?” Finn demanded harshly. Could it be Ham? Finn would never forgive himself if Ham lost his arm because Finn had kept him waiting.

  The nurse pointed soundlessly to the end of the ward. Finn could see them now. One man was leaning over the other, who lay on a surgery table. Both wore the Black Watch kilts and scarlet jackets of the 93rd. He couldn’t tell in the distance and dark if either of them was Hamish. He jogged down the aisle between the cots filled with moaning, pain-wracked men, calling out behind him, “Send me Mrs. Lambeth!”

  At his shout he saw the man bending over the cot straighten abruptly. It was Ham. He could tell from the width of his shoulders, the curl of his too-long hair, the way he turned his head to the side as if he were listening, like a deer in the forest, but he didn’t turn to look. Ham had ever been like that—wary, but not revealing it if he could help it. Everyone else took him to be uncaring, almost foolishly so. Slow to alarm, slow to arms, slow to take action. But he was ever vigilant. If you’d needed to know what was going on and with whom in the village near his home, Ham would know. He knew everyone’s business and kept the knowledge to himself.

  Finn skidded to a stop just behind him. “Ham?” he said breathlessly.

  It seemed as if the world stopped as Ham slowly turned to face him. He looked older, a little careworn, but still handsome as sin as all those damn Fletchers were, with his red-hair and full beard and eerie light blue eyes. Even bedraggled and stinking of sweat and mud and sick he nearly brought Finn to his knees. No other man had ever done that. Finn didn’t think any other ever would.

  “Finn,” Ham said in that soft voice of his. He sounded pleased in that sort of private way they’d always had. Finn had forgotten that in the last ten years, forgotten Ham’s voice. He unexpectedly teared up, and glanced down at Ham’s splinted arm to hide it. He took it gently in his hands and examined it, turning it this way and that. Miss Nightingale was right. It had been set wrong. “It’s only a broken arm, Finn,” Ham said. He didn’t sound as calm and collected as he usually did and Finn glanced up. He was caught by the intensity in Ham’s pale stare. “It’s only a broken arm,” Ham whispered again. Then he dragged Finn into his one good arm and hugged him tight.

  Finn was overcome with emotion. He hugged Ham back, not wanting to let go, homesickness, relief, and a strange sort of grief swamping him for a moment.

  “What about me?” came a weak, petulant voice from the cot. “Don’t I get a hug and a how do you do? I’m the one who got shot. He tripped.”

  “I didn’t trip,” Ham said gruffly, his face pressed to the side of Finn’s head. “I was knocked down by a carelessly handled rifle. I’m lucky I didn’t get gut shot by that damn boy.”

  At the horror of the image, Finn’s hands fisted the back of Ham’s jacket. “Have a care,” he warned, his voice too rough by far. He cleared his throat as he self-consciously pulled away. “You’ll be bringing bad luck on your head.”

  “Only good luck now,” Ham said, smiling at him meaningfully.

  “Dr. Harper?” Edith said
behind them, curiosity in her voice. He watched as Ham glanced at her over his shoulder, his eyes warming at the sight of her. He had always had an eye for the same sort of woman that Finn was attracted to. Their friendship had grown out of a jealous fight over a silly girl. Soon enough, neither of them had wanted the girl. Finn turned to Edith, frightened and confused by all the strange emotions coursing through him as he stood between her and Ham.

  “Mrs. Lambeth,” he said, trying to sound cool and calm. “These are the Fletcher brothers, from the infamous 93rd. Old childhood friends of mine.”

  Edith smiled. “How do you do?” She was a tiny thing with her pale blonde hair and slight frame. She looked almost fairy-like next to both he and Ham.

  “Ma’am,” Ham said. “Captain Hamish Fletcher. And this,” he turned and waved at his brother, “is my brother, Lieutenant Conall Fletcher.”

  “How do you do, lieutenant?” she said.

  “At last,” Conall said, “someone acknowledges me, lying here bleeding.” He sounded like any other disgruntled patient.

  “Ach,” Ham scorned. “You haven’t bled in days, you puling babe.” He looked gravely at Finn. “He’s hot to the touch,” Ham whispered, “and that arm is right swollen.”

  Finn nodded, recognizing Ham’s concern. “All right.” He feigned exasperation. “Let me have a look, Conall. You always were a delicate boy.”

  “Ah, Finn,” Conall said. “Don’t be like that. Can’t you see I’m hurting? Why don’t you let the pretty nurse patch me up?”

  “Well, I’m no doctor,” Edith said with a small smile as she crouched next to Conall’s cot, “but I can offer a hand to hold. Will that do?”