Seduced by the Highlander (25 page)

Chapter Twenty-seven

Lachlan breathed in the lavender scent of Catherine’s skin and laid soft, feathery kisses across the back of her neck and shoulders. She woke with a sigh and rolled to face him, meeting his heady desire with sweltering kisses of her own.

“Oh, Lachlan,” she whispered, “I want you so much.”

“I want you, too, lass.”

He rolled on top of her but was careful, as always, not to position himself too close, though he wanted desperately to hold her against him, to worship her with his hands and adore her with his mouth.

He pressed his hot skin to hers, pushing, stroking, kissing … They were so close and tight to each other; her breasts were crushed against his chest. Her soft belly quivered against him, and she moaned and whimpered, digging her nails into his shoulders and wrapping her long, shapely legs around his clenching buttocks.

He couldn’t seem to get enough of her. His hands stroked her back while he kissed the soft, warm tendons at her neck. A rush of sensation coursed through him. The extent of his yearning was incomprehensible.

His mouth covered hers, and she sucked at his tongue, thrusting her hips, stroking his hair away from his face. She gazed into his eyes with love, and his heart trembled achingly.

“I want to be closer to you,” she cried, squeezing him between her legs, caressing his lower back.

He nodded and wrapped his whole body around her, groaning in the predawn light, so hungry for her, his feelings so raw.…

Then slowly, without ever meaning to, he slid inside the warm and welcoming haven between her legs. Her moist heat surrounded him in rapture, and he was overcome by emotion.

They both went absolutely still, for he was in deep, pressed firmly to the hilt.

“You’re inside me,” she whispered, her teeth colliding with his shoulder.

“I know. Please, don’t move.”

Neither of them spoke. He could barely breathe over the heavy pounding of his heart.

“It feels so good.” She turned her head to the side on the pillow.

“Aye. But I need to pull out.”

Yet he could not seem to do so.

His blood rushed wildly through his veins. Dangerous seconds ticked by on the clock. Her sweet, honeyed depths engulfed him in bliss, and he soon found himself pulling out, only to push right back in.

“Just for a few seconds,” he huskily implored.

She nodded and pulled him in deeper, meeting his oncoming thrust with a firm push that placed the tip of his erection tight up against her womb.

His chest heaved with alarm. He could not continue this. He had to withdraw.

He promised that he would, but it was three strokes, then four, then five. Soon he was driving in and out of her with heedless abandon and vigorous haste, and she was squeezing his buttocks, pulling him deeper inside every time he tried to separate himself from her exquisite, glowing warmth.

Suddenly a scorching heat poured through all his bones and muscles. He recognized the signs of a climax, shuddered uncontrollably within, and a second too late pulled out and hauled himself up on his hands and knees above her. He finished his orgasm on her stomach.

When it was over, his eyes flew open.

She was staring up at him in shock.

“What have we done?” he asked.

Catherine’s cheeks flushed with alarm. She sat up, but had no answer to give.

Chapter Twenty-eight

Catherine gazed anxiously at the flurry of activity that surrounded her as she made her way down the front stairs of the inn, across the taproom, and toward the front door. A plump kitchen maid rushed forth to thrust a cloth-covered basket into her hands, and Alex appeared out of nowhere, taking hold of her elbow to escort her out.

“One would think there was a fire,” Catherine mentioned, laboring to sound casual when she was, quite simply, paralyzed with fear. She had allowed herself to make love to Lachlan a short time ago, after dozens of promises and assurances that it would never happen, and now he was more agitated than ever. He would never trust her again. No matter what happened.

The rest of it—that she might fall victim to her sister’s curse in nine months’ time—did not bear thinking of. Surely it was absurd, she tried to tell herself as Alex opened the door in front of her. There could be no validity in such hexes and sorcery, and yet she could not seem to let go of the possibility that it was true. Lachlan certainly seemed to think so.

But neither could she let go of the memory of his touch, and all the sensations she had experienced when he slid inside and made love to her at last. She was still light-headed and completely overwhelmed.

Alex led her outside, where the chilly morning air struck her cheeks. A shiny black coach was waiting for them on the opposite side of the narrow street.

The well-appointed vehicle, led by four handsome gray horses, sported bright yellow stripes along the side panels. Tassel-ornamented blinds covered the windows, which were cloaked in crusty frost. Sitting up front was a liveried driver with a curly brown wig under a tricorne hat, which he tipped at her as she approached.

“I don’t know why Lachlan was in such a hurry this morning,” Alex said as he led her across the street. “He was in a foul mood when he pounded on our doors to wake us. And he said we won’t stop again until we reach Edinburgh, except to change horses. We’ll be traveling until the wee hours of the morning, I expect.”

Naturally, Alex was curious, and probably concerned about the sudden urgent need to reach their destination. But under no circumstances would Catherine reveal what had occurred in her bedchamber that morning. If news of their lovemaking got out, Alex and the others would likely put a pistol to Lachlan’s head.

Alex opened the door of the coach and handed her inside while the horses grumbled and blew great puffs of steam out of their flaring nostrils. Catherine sat down on a deeply buttoned leather-upholstered seat and gazed around the cozy interior, taking note of two thick blankets folded and set upon the opposite seat, as well as a green-and-white-striped silk pillow with gold fringe, which looked as if it had just been snatched from someone’s drawing room.

“Where did all this come from?” she asked Alex, who was leaning in the door, also looking around.

“Lachlan purchased it from the banker. He said he paid double what it was worth, but those were Angus’s instructions.”

“I see.”

Alex pointed at the floor. “There are hot bricks there for your feet, my lady, and there should be enough food in that basket to last until nightfall.”

“But we’ll stop before then, will we not?”

“Aye, don’t worry. We’ll stop to change horses a few times. You’ll be able to step out.”

Scarcely reassured, Catherine tipped her head back and shut her eyes.

“They’ve already loaded all the bags on the roof,” Alex told her, as if he sensed her unease and hoped to distract her with trivial conversation. “Gawyn, Roderick, and Rodney will be following close by, and I’ll be riding ahead to scout the route.”

“Where is Lachlan now?” she asked, needing to know if she would see him before they departed.

Alex looked up and down the street. “He’s around here somewhere, but I don’t recommend holding him up. As I said, he’s in a foul mood this morning. He wants these wheels rolling. Can I get you anything else before I close the door?”

“No, Alex. That will be all.”

He shut it, then shouted to the driver, who shouted to the horses, and almost immediately the great vehicle heaved forward and began to rumble down the street—toward a very uncertain future.

*   *   *

The hours that followed brought Catherine no peace of mind, for she had not seen or spoken to Lachlan since he left her bedchamber that morning. He had dressed in a hurry and stormed out the door, saying only, “Get dressed. We need to get to Edinburgh.”

Now, as the coach jostled and bumped over the frozen rutted roads of the Lowlands, through open lonely glens, into bleak forests with bare, skeleton trees, it was difficult not to feel completely catastrophic over the condition of her life.

She longed to tell Lachlan that she was sorry—that she had never meant to tempt him into doing what he did not wish to do. But she also wanted to tell him that she had loved every glorious minute of it and longed to do it again. That it was the most profound and beautiful experience of her life. At least what she remembered of it. She had not caught a single glimpse of him, however, not since they left the village.

It occurred to her that he might have ridden ahead to Edinburgh to face Raonaid alone. The thought made her feel sick to her stomach.

*   *   *

Later, Catherine ate the biscuits and cheese from the basket, finished the small amount of wine she had been given, and lifted her feet off the bricks. She wiggled uncomfortably on the seat, for she needed to use a convenience. Pray God, they would reach another village soon.

Putting away her lunch and peering out the window—immune now to the endless monotony of the passing forest—she tried to see what was ahead of them. There was still no sign of Lachlan, or Alex for that matter.

Growing impatient, she stood up in the swaying vehicle and pounded hard on the ceiling.
“Stop!”

She was immediately tossed forward onto the opposite seat as the coach pulled to a sudden halt.

“Thank God,” she groaned, flicking the door latch and spilling out of the coach onto the road, in a clumsy heap of skirts and petticoats. She looked up at the driver, who quickly hopped down from his elevated position out front. “May I be of some assistance, my lady?”

“No. I only require a bit of privacy.” She turned toward the trees to examine her options.

In that moment, rapid hoofbeats disrupted the silence of the forest. Lachlan appeared from around a bend in the road, galloping at a brisk pace toward them.

He reined in his horse and spoke impatiently. “Why are we stopped?”

“The lady has to…” The driver gestured toward the woods with a discreet toss of his head.

Lachlan looked down at her from high up on Goliath’s back. A wintry breeze lifted his dark hair while his enormous mount stomped restlessly in front of the team. “Do you need help?”

“No, I most certainly do not,” she assured him. “I’ll just be a moment.”

She picked up her skirts and waded into the leafy green ferns along the side of the road and went behind a bush.

Greatly relieved to have that particular necessity taken care of, she dropped her skirts and returned to the coach. Lachlan dismounted and led his horse around to the page board at the back of the vehicle.

“What are you doing?” Catherine asked.

“I’m going to join you for a bit.” He looked straight into her eyes while he tied his horse to the rear handrail.

Not knowing what to expect, Catherine returned to the side door and allowed the driver to hand her up.

Seconds later, Lachlan’s broad, tartan-clad form filled the open doorway, blocking out the light. He took hold of the handle and swung inside, his long hair flying about as he shut the door behind him. His clean outdoorsy scent, mixed with leather and horse, permeated the interior. He settled himself on the opposite seat.

They faced each other in silence while the coach bounced under the driver’s weight outside. Soon they were rolling again, less hurried now.

“I’m surprised you’re sitting here with me,” Catherine said. “I didn’t think you’d ever want to look at me again after what happened, much less be alone with me.”

He adjusted his sword belt and scabbard and took his time replying. When at last he spoke, his forehead was creased with concern.

“You were right,” he said. “I did not want to see you. I’ve been avoiding it, because I cannot bear to think of what I did to you this morning. I will never forgive myself.”

“It wasn’t just you,” she insisted. “It was my fault as well. I moved a certain way, and suddenly you were right there.… You slid in so easily, and I wanted you. I just couldn’t bring myself to stop.”

He wouldn’t look at her. “I should have stopped it myself. Much sooner. I don’t know why I couldn’t.”

“I couldn’t, either, if it helps you to know that. I knew it was wrong, but I couldn’t resist. I couldn’t let you go.”

Her racing heart compelled her to move across the coach and sit beside him. “I’m sorry, Lachlan. I didn’t mean to cause all this.”

“You’re apologizing to
me
?” he practically shouted. “You’re the one who stands to suffer the most. And besides, you didn’t cause it.” He frowned almost viciously. “Your sister did, and I swear, with every breath in my body, that I will make her pay for this. There is nothing I won’t do to make her reverse it. I’ll kill her if I have to.”

Catherine shook her head. “Don’t say such things. She is my sister.”

A muscle clenched at his jaw, and he spoke in a dangerous snarl. “She is a witch, and her curse upon me came straight from the fires of hell. Do not forget that my wife died in childbirth. She cried and begged God not to take her from this world. Then she pleaded with Him to let the bairn survive.…” He paused a moment to steady his voice. “I loved my wife, but I had to bury her, and my child as well. I will not let that happen to
you
.”

“But it’s not up to you to control how, and when, people die,” she argued. “You don’t have that power. Even if there was no curse, there could be no guarantee that I would survive giving birth to your child. No woman can have that assurance. Life is a risk. Every day, for all of us.”

Lachlan glared at her fiercely. “Raonaid shouldn’t have that power, either—to decide when someone will die.”

He looked away from her, toward the window. The coach bounced over a rough patch of road, and Catherine’s head pounded from the constant jostling and relentless strain of the situation.

He turned his searing, bloodshot eyes to her. “Marry me,” he said.

Her heart turned over in her chest. “I beg your pardon?”