Free Highland Awakening by Jennifer Haymore Page A

like the rest of us boys. He had to make himself different. Above us.”
    “I doubt that’s what he meant to do.”
    “Perhaps not. But it felt as if he looked down upon us for being English.”
    Surely
not. He had never even noticed her Englishness, as far as she knew. There had to be something more to it than that.
    “After Eton, he bought a commission in the army, and I didn’t see him or hear from him again until last night. I didn’t know if he’d survived the war.” He shrugged. “I suppose it’s not too much of a surprise that he did. He always did have a rather strong instinct for survival.”
    “Are you not pleased he lived?”
    “Oh, yes, of course I am,” Henry said, a beaming smile spreading over his features as if on cue.
    It wasn’t as if he was lying, exactly. More like he simply didn’t care one way or the other whether McLeod had lived or died.
    “Though I’m not sure why he’s come back,” Henry added.
    “Because the war’s over, I imagine,” Esme murmured.
    Henry shook his head. “Why not Scotland, then? By all accounts he loves the place. Why come here, to London, where his father resides?”
    That was a good question indeed. She considered Lord Pinfield and his connection to Mr. McLeod. Then she thought of the Earl of Sutton. Sarah had said McLeod had had a falling out with his father—but what did that mean, exactly?
    There was so much about Camden McLeod she wanted to know…to understand. He was a mystery to her. A
fascinating
mystery.
    Henry was giving her an odd look. She cleared her throat then took a swallow of tea in an—undoubtedly vain—attempt to cover her thoughts.
    How was it possible that she felt a stronger connection to a man she hardly knew, who wasn’t even here, than to the man sitting across from her whom she’d known her whole life?

Chapter 9
    Cam paced his bedchamber. He’d been avoiding the rest of the Knights all evening. They didn’t need to see him like this. Usually in such a situation, he’d imbibe until the darkness turned gray, then find himself a woman who could bed the rest of it out of him.
    He knew what he wanted right now, and it was neither of those things. He wanted Esme.
    He lay back on his bed, his fingers threaded behind his head, and closed his eyes, going over the information they’d learned today. There wasn’t much. The woman who’d been with Fraser, one of Rohan’s employees, was still hysterical and upset. Rohan had given her a tonic, which hadn’t helped; instead it made her memories vague and her speech slurred.
    From what they could gather, she and Fraser had been kissing on the bed when a man had burst inside. The intruder wore a hooded black cloak and had blue eyes. Other than that, he evidently had no distinguishing characteristics. She’d turned away and buried her head under the pillow, not to emerge until long after the man had killed Fraser and left.
    They’d questioned everyone they could find from the gaming hell, staff as well as patrons, but the place had been crowded, and a quiet man in a black cloak hardly garnered extra attention.
    Cam gripped the back of his skull. Why would someone take the life of a good man like George Fraser? Cam had liked—no,
loved
—Fraser. He was loyal to the bone, strong, with a ready smile and a joke when he felt the men needed it. They’d never stop feeling his loss. He’d leave a hole in the Knights that would never be filled.
    Someone knocked on his door. “Come in.”
    The door opened, revealing Stirling, who came in as if each of his feet weighed a hundred stone.
    “Checking on you,” Stirling said.
    “I’m fine,” Cam said. “But how’s Mackenzie?”
    “Not well.”
    “Aye.” Last Cam saw Mackenzie, he’d been starting to write a letter to Fraser’s family, a task that none of them would consider easy.
    “He’ll be all right,” Stirling said. “Lady Grace is with him.”
    Lady Grace was Mackenzie’s wife. She and the major’s wife, Lady Claire, were