Page 1 of Sweet Hellion

Chapter one

Dishonor. Coward. Shame. Disgrace.

The accusatory words pounded through Rhys’ fevered dreams, alongside the cannon thunder that shook the earth. Again, and yet again, his men fell, the agony of their screams burning his soul while the acrid stench of gunpowder burned his lungs. A chaos of assault that began when William Ross, Viscount Munro, Rhys’ superior officer, fled the battlefield, a signal to the French of an easy win.

Rhys tossed, the heat of disgrace causing a feverish sweat.

Coward. Dishonor to the family. His father? How had he come here?

Another wave of pain rose from the darkness, threatening to drag him into the abyss.

“Easy, Rhys, easy lad,” Ewan’s soothing voice pierced the nightmare. “Here, take a sip of water.”

The water did nothing to assuage the accusations. “No coward will serve under my command.”

Major General Lennox? The man had been like a father to him. How could a father accuse a son of cowardice after hearing his side of the story?

His own father had shouted, “You have dishonored the Northwick title. Do not show your face in Portree again. You are a disgrace.”

Rhys moaned. Surely, someone had survived who saw Munro flee the battlefield.

He struggled to sit up, to explain.

“Easy, lad.” This time, Liam offered succor. “Rest. There will be plenty of time to fight later.”

Nay. Such accusations never went away. They had to be corrected now.

Someone’s palm brushed his forehead. “Do not fight anymore. Rest.”

His eyelids were made of iron. With every breath, he slipped further into darkness, until the darkness rose up and consumed him.

***

Emma silently halted in the hall behind the butler, who stood inside the viscount’s study.

“Miss Bamfield to see you, sir.”

“Bamfield, you say?” Lord Munro looked up from the letter sitting before him on the gilded, French scrollwork desk. “Nae. I will not see her. I have no time to waste on foolish hags.”

The wizened butler bobbed up and down. “Yes, my lord.”

As the old man started to turn, Emma swept past him and through the library door.

“Miss Bamfield.” The butler reached for her arm. “I asked you to wait in the foyer.”

Emma evaded him and headed straight for Lord Munro’s desk. These days, she cared little for waiting and even less for decorum. Lord Munro, the Earl of Cowie’s eldest son, huffed and glanced up, his expression of annoyance unmistakable. He paused. Then, his attention left her face and his gray eyes slid down her figure. She watched lust replace his annoyance.

Not so long ago, she’d been naive enough to confuse lust with genuine attraction, maybe even love…but that was before her father’s death, before she’d met the deceitful Vicar Ramsay, and before her brother’s disappearance. Now, she just wanted the misery to end.

“My lord,” she forced out that respectful greeting, sat in the chair opposite his desk and smoothed her skirts. “I am Emma. Emma Bamfield.”

“My lord?” the butler queried.

Lord Munro dismissed the man with an impatient glare and stood. He rounded the desk and pulled another chair up facing hers. He sat, so scandalously close, their knees almost touched, then he leaned forward. Emma pursed her lips.

“Miss Bamfield, a pleasure,” Lord Munro’s voice deepened. “Indeed, it is quite the pleasure to make your acquaintance. Might I offer you refreshment? A glass of sherry, perhaps?”

With as little food as she’d eaten in recent days, the sherry would go straight to her head—but then, that’s obviously what the man wanted.