Seduced by the Highlander (20 page)

The lad reminded Lachlan of himself in his younger days, and that did not sit well in his stomach.

Downing the last of his wine in a single gulp, he tossed the goblet into a bucket and stood. “Alex! I need you outside to help groom the horses before it gets too dark.”

The young Highlander looked up in surprise, leaped to his feet, and tripped over the corner of the fur as he dropped his plate into the water bucket.

“Aye, sir.” He strode purposefully out of the cave.

Catherine frowned up at Lachlan. “It could not wait?” she said. “Poor Alex wasn’t finished his supper.”

“He looked done to me.”

They stared at each other for a tense moment while the others shoveled stew faster into their mouths. A starving bunch they were, apparently.

Catherine shook her head at him in a somewhat scolding manner, and he wanted very much to ask her what was so special about Alex MacEwen that she couldn’t bear to see him go. But that would reveal to everyone that he was jealous and that this woman was getting under his skin, so he simply walked out.

*   *   *

After supper, Catherine lounged back on the soft fur with a second goblet of wine and looked toward the mouth of the cave. Alex and Lachlan had not returned since they went outside to tend to the horses, and she was beginning to worry that Lachlan had sent the young clansman on a fool’s errand in the dark—to scale and scout the mountaintops on the other side of the moor or to measure the depth of the next raging river they might need to cross.

She stood and excused herself from the others. Outside, away from the warmth of the fire, the air was cold and damp on her cheeks. It smelled of winter.

The chill penetrated the fabric of her gown. Gathering her shawl more tightly about her shoulders, she peered through the darkness but could see nothing through the shifting mist, which hovered in brooding silence over the moor. If not for the sound of the horses nearby, munching on grass, she might have thought she was alone and that the rest of the world—mountains and all—had been swallowed up by the fog.

“You should go back inside,” a voice said, husky and low and
oh,
so familiar.

She spun around and spotted Lachlan. He was a shadowy figure leaning against the outside wall of the cave. His tartan was pulled up over his head and wrapped around his shoulders like a cloak.

“Where is Alexander?” she asked, feeling some concern for the young clansman, who had been very kind to her and was only trying to help pass the time by striking up conversations.

“I’m up here, my lady,” he keenly replied from an overhanging rock above.

Catherine lifted her gaze. The lad’s legs were swinging back and forth over the edge.

“Oh, there you are.” She felt rather foolish all of a sudden.

Lachlan lowered his hood. “Do you need something, Lady Catherine?”

Even through the darkness, she could feel the heat of their shared awareness of each other. The silky cadence of his voice sent a tremor of longing through her veins. It also revealed the desire he could not hide. At least not from her.

He wanted to keep her at bay, of course. He had made that abundantly clear. He wanted to behave properly in front of the others, but she could sense, deep in the workings of her body, that he was not pleased about it.

“Yes, I do need something,” she replied. “I wish to speak with you privately, Lachlan. Alex, would you excuse us?”

It was a bold request. Lachlan was probably gritting his teeth at her blatant disregard for his earlier command—to hide what existed between them—but she didn’t care if the others knew. She felt no need to hide the truth. Why should she?

She realized suddenly that her memory loss had erased any inhibitions she might have felt if she’d had a real life and a reputation worth caring about. But she did not. As far as she was concerned, anything before six months ago simply did not exist; therefore, her persona had no genuine value to her. In that way, she was perhaps a bit reckless.

Alex hopped down from the ledge. “I’ll join the others by the fire.”

As soon as he was gone, Catherine spoke in an angry whisper. “You didn’t have to treat him like that.”

“Like what? I didn’t say a word just now.”

“He’s intimidated by you.”

Lachlan merely shrugged. “He’s just young, that’s all.”

“And how old are you? You’ve never told me.”

His eyes lifted briefly, as if he was surprised by the question. “Three-and-thirty.”

In her mind, she worked out the details of his life. If he had been cursed for three years and the curse had begun on the tenth anniversary of his wife’s death, he would have been less than twenty when he married.

“Will you walk with me?” she asked. “I want to speak with you, and I don’t want the others to hear.”

“It’s dark,” he replied. “The moor is rocky. You’ll fall and hurt yourself.”

“Or
you
will.”

Lachlan let out a breath of annoyance and pushed away from the wall. “You don’t give up, do you, lass? Pick up your skirts. We’ll stay close to the hillside, and we’ll just go far enough away that we won’t be heard. Will that suffice?”

“I suppose it will have to.”

He took her by the hand and led her away from the cave entrance, past the horses. He sat down on a big boulder and raked his fingers through his hair.

“Is it that much of a chore just to talk to me?” she asked, wishing she did not feel so hurt by his frosty demeanor, but there it was.

He looked up. “Aye. It’s the worst chore imaginable. You know how I feel, Catherine. You know all the things I want to do to you, but this curse prevents me from doing anything, so I just wish you would let me be and let me get through this trip to Edinburgh without making things harder than they already are.”

Oh.

Her breath sailed out of her lungs. She had been so absorbed in her own need to be close to him—to feel the way she had felt the night before, when he kissed her up against the stable wall—that she had ignored the fact that he was not actually rejecting her. It was quite the opposite, in fact. She understood it logically, she supposed, but her heart only felt one thing: the agony of being apart.

She sat down. “This is difficult,” she said. “To be honest, I wish the others hadn’t come. We would have been fine on our own, just as we were before, and I would have been happier, not having to hide how I truly feel.”

“Do not say it,” he growled. “I’ve been in hell all day. I want to touch you and hold you—but I can’t. And tonight that young MacEwen…” He flung a hand through the air. “All I wanted to do was drag him out of the cave by the ear, toss him up onto his horse, smack the animal’s rear flank, and send him galloping back to Kinloch—just for talking to you.”

It was not quite a vow of everlasting love, but it was enough to make Catherine smile, for he had just confessed that he was jealous.

“Do not shut me out,” she implored, trying to move past all of that. “You are the only person with whom I feel I can be myself. Even if we do not kiss or touch each other like lovers, I still need you. Please ride with me tomorrow. That is all I ask. I am alone, and lonely, and you were hurtful today.”

She wished she could see his expression, but his face was shrouded in the murky gloom of the night.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, lass,” he softly said, and all at once he was back inside her heart, as a hazy sensuous heat flared between them. “That’s the last thing I wanted to do. But we both need to forget about certain things we’ve done. There’s no future in it.”

“I have no regrets,” she told him. “I never will.”

He bowed his head and said nothing for a long while, and when he finally spoke his voice was firm with resolve. “I must say something to you, lass, and I hope you will take it to heart.” He gazed at her directly. “I believe the only reason I fire your passions is because you cannot remember anyone else in your life that you might have cared for in the past. You said it yourself. You’re alone, and you’re lonely. So don’t make too much of what happened between us.”

“I could say the same thing to you,” she replied. “That you only want me because you haven’t had a woman in three years, and you are perpetually …
aroused
.”

He inclined his head at her, as if to suggest it was a dangerous thing of which to remind him.

In a flash of movement he reached out and pulled her close. He crushed her body against his and wrapped his arms around her, keeping her warm as he feathered his lips across her cheek.

“You’re right,” he whispered in a low, seductive voice. “I’ve been aroused since the moment I met you, but I have not felt that way in a long, long time—because when you’re celibate long enough, you eventually begin to forget how it feels to even
want
it.”

“I wouldn’t know about that,” she shakily replied, fighting against overpowering desires that left her trembling with need. “I don’t remember how I felt about my first time. It disturbs me greatly to think that I have lost that part of my life.”

He nuzzled her ear, and she knew in the depths of her soul that he understood her meaning.

“You don’t have to talk about it, lass.”

“I might want to someday.”

“If you do, I will listen.”

She snuggled closer to him, burrowing into the warmth of his body, the soft wool of his tartan, and the clean, musky scent of his skin. There was nowhere on earth she would rather be than right there on that rock, with him, where she felt safe, protected, and cared for, even after he had told her to keep away.

Catherine lifted her face to look up at him. “Will you ride with me tomorrow?” she asked. “There is no reason why you shouldn’t. We’ll be on horseback. There will be no touching.”

His head dipped lower, and she could feel the curve of his smile when he spoke. “You say that while your hand is rubbing my chest and your sweet breath is beating upon my neck.”

“I can’t help it,” she replied with laughter. “I’m cold, and you are so warm. I need your heat.”

He gathered her closer, bracing both feet on the ground to keep them from sliding forward, supporting her legs across his lap. “Is that better?”

“Yes. I only wish we could stay like this forever.”

They sat together in the rolling fog, their breaths creating steam, while Catherine gloried in the sensation of his hand toying with the locks of hair at her temple, cupping the side of her face.

“We should go back,” he said after a while, brushing his lips across her forehead.

“Not yet. Please, just a few more minutes. This feels so good.”

“You shouldn’t say things like that, Catherine.”

She didn’t plan it or think about it consciously, but somehow her hand slid down his chest to his hard stomach, along the side of his hip, and lower still, across the front of his kilt.

He was fully erect, and she buried her face in his shoulder. All she wanted was to feel the shape of him, to know the contours of his body, but he quickly seized her wrist.

“Not a wise idea.”

She swallowed hard, frustrated by the sudden wall that came crashing down in front of her. “I didn’t mean to start anything.”

They stared at each other tensely in the wintry chill.

“It’s time to go now,” he gruffly said, rising to his feet. “I’ll take you back.”

Catherine slid off his lap while her blood pumped hotly through her veins, sending a rush of unfulfilled desire straight to her core. She felt light-headed and dizzy. It was a wonder she did not faint dead away at his feet. “Are you angry with me?”

He shook his head. “It was my fault.”

“No, it was mine.”

Again, like the night before, he escorted her away—to leave her in the care of others. It was the gentlemanly thing to do, of course, but it left her wanting so much more.

“Will you ride with me tomorrow?” she asked again when they reached the cave entrance.

He leaned very close—so close she felt the scratch of his whiskers on her cheek. “I don’t think you know what you’re asking of me.” He whistled at the others to indicate that it was time to leave the cave. “Out, now!” he shouted. “Lady Catherine needs her rest.”

But rest was not what she needed, and just before Lachlan turned away, he gave her a look that indicated he knew exactly what it was that she required.

And that particular thing … He needed it, too. Far worse than she did.

Chapter Twenty-two

Lachlan did not ride with Catherine the next day, nor did he sit with her when they stopped to eat a light lunch at noon. Instead, he sat on the other side of the cook fire with Rodney and Roderick. Afterward they practiced a few maneuvers with their claymores while Gawyn cleared away the food and eating utensils.

They stopped again later in the afternoon to water the horses at a shallow burn and eat a light meal of bread and cheese, but Lachlan went off alone while the others took care to see that Catherine was looked after.

Not a moment passed where she was not aching to be with him, but he made every effort to avoid her and maintain a certain distance at all times. Their eyes rarely met—he seemed determined not to acknowledge her existence—and it was all Catherine could do not to march straight up to him, pound her fists on his chest, and demand that he talk to her.

By nightfall, she was more frustrated than ever and determined to crush her unbidden desires for him. She would not continue to yearn for a man if he did not welcome her attentions. She would move forward and forget him. She had a sister to meet after all—a twin. That would be enough.

The sun was setting in the sky by the time they rode onto a pebbly beach, where Gawyn was already waiting for them with a roaring fire, an open jug of wine, and a sizzling skillet that gave off a succulent meaty aroma.

“It smells delicious, Gawyn,” Catherine said to him as she dismounted and led Theodore to the water’s edge, where he drank thirstily.

Feeling tired and clammy, she looked down at the water lapping up onto the shore at her feet and wondered how cold it would be, for she longed to take a bath. She looked up at the clear evening sky, blew into the air to see if her breath was visible in the chill—
it was
—then wondered when they would reach a village where they could enjoy a full night’s rest in a warm and cozy inn, before reaching their destination.