Seduced by the Highlander (31 page)

Sometime during their coupling, she pulled his shirt off over his head and he unhooked her bodice at the back. Piece by piece, their clothing was tossed to the floor while the lovemaking never ceased.

Catherine rolled onto her back again, and he pushed inside with a meticulous skill that began a flood of tingling sensations from her toes up to her shoulders. She clutched at his back and thrust her hips forward in a wild, shuddering release of passion, crying out at the last moment, while her body exploded with hot sparks of ecstasy.

He quickened his pace, grunting with exertion, for they had been making love fast and hard for quite some time. She could feel the heat of his pleasure, ready for release, poised for an orgasm of significant proportions. He leaned up on an elbow and looked down at her face.

“Come inside me,” she said. “I want you to. I don’t care if you put a child in my womb. I
want
you to.”

He shook his head. “No. I cannot. I won’t lose you.”

“But there is no curse.”

His body convulsed and he squeezed his eyes shut, shuddering feverishly and withdrawing at the last to ejaculate his seed onto her stomach.

She waited a moment for him to recover his senses; then he rolled to the side. They both lay exhausted and spent, gazing up at the canopy in the near darkness. Catherine struggled to gather her thoughts and regain her composure. It had been an exquisite sexual experience. He had made love to her, and he had told her, with tenderness, that he
loved
her. She hadn’t imagined it was possible to feel so close to another person, and when he spoke those words her heart had ached with joy.

But at the last moment he had withdrawn and refused to take his pleasure inside her. She needed to understand why.

“Do you no longer wish to marry me?” she asked.

He turned his head on the pillow to gaze at her in the flickering light. “I care for you, lass. Do not think otherwise. That is why I cannot put a child in your womb. It’s not something I can take lightly.”

“But what if I
want
a child with you? What if I don’t want to ever live without you?”

He tossed an arm up over his face. “I’ve done that before. It did not end well. I told you I don’t want to lose you.”

“But what does that mean?” Her anger was aroused, and she sat up. “Are you saying that you don’t want children? Or now that you are
not
cursed by black magic, you don’t want to risk the possibility of cursing me the old-fashioned, natural way?”

“No, lass. It’s not that.” He sat up, too. “Just please understand that I cannot be cavalier about such a thing. I must be careful. I just learned, only yesterday, that you were not going to die. Let me enjoy you for a while. Let me believe that we can have some time.”

“But no one can live like that,” she replied, “always expecting the worst to occur. I told you before, there are no guarantees.
You
could die tomorrow from a knife wound in a tavern, and then where would we be?”

“It’s not that simple, Catherine.”

“Yes, it is.” She slid off the bed and pulled on her petticoats. “If you truly love me, then offer me a real life. Propose to me again, and promise to give me babies. Lots of them. That’s what I want. I want to build a family with the man I love—and you are that man, Lachlan. There, I have said it. I have changed my mind. I would marry you in a heartbeat if you were willing to live fearlessly with me. But
this
…” She pulled on her skirt and gestured toward the bed. “This cannot be enough.”

She picked up her bodice and slipped it on and hurried to the door.

He leaped off the bed. “Catherine!”

“We will talk again tomorrow,” she said, holding him back with a hand, “after Raonaid and I come back from the stone circle. We are going there at sunrise, and everything may seem very different after I return. Thank you for this,” she added as she turned to unlock the door. “It was lovely, and I do care for you, Lachlan. But I must get my life back. And you need to think about what you want from yours.”

It took every ounce of mettle she possessed to leave the chamber and shut the door behind her, when all she wanted to do was go back inside and lie with him all night.

Chapter Thirty-five

The Drumloch Circle dominated the summit of the grassy ridge, one mile north of the manor house and half a mile east of the dense hemlock forest. Catherine and Raonaid reached it just as the sun appeared over the horizon and cast long black shadows across the grass. The ground was crusty and hard beneath their feet, cloaked with a layer of frost, and the air was crisp with a wintry chill that Catherine could feel inside her lungs as she breathed.

Cheeks flushed with exertion, they reached the top of the steep hill and walked into the center of the circle. Neither spoke a word, for there was a melancholy silence about the place that demanded a moment’s reflection.

Catherine looked down at the grass and thought of their mother, who had begun her labor here. What emotions had she experienced when the pain began and she collapsed? Had she felt joyful anticipation? Or had she known that something was wrong, and she would not live to see her children grow?

Raonaid turned slowly around, her blue-eyed gaze sweeping over each individual standing stone. Catherine watched her sister curiously, not sure what to expect.

“How will it happen?” Catherine quietly asked. “And when?”

Raonaid lifted a finger. “Hush. I have no control over it. All I can do is wait for one of the stones to speak to me.”

“How will it speak?”

“I will see the surface begin to shift and move, like water,” she replied. “I usually feel something in my belly before it occurs, and I know that I must keep my eyes focused on the stone.”

Hoofbeats thundered up the hill just then, and Raonaid spun around. “Who is that? They’ll spoil it.”

Both women walked to the edge of the circle and spotted John and Lachlan galloping up the hill.

“You shouldn’t have come here alone,” Lachlan said, his eyes dark with agitation. “It’s not safe.”

Catherine slanted a look at him. “I’m not alone. I walked with Raonaid. We are here to reclaim my memories, so you must leave us.”

“No,” he firmly replied.

Raonaid laid a hand on one of the stones. “I cannot do this if you are watching. The visions will not come. You must go back to the house.”

John’s horse grew skittish. “We’ll be quiet,” John promised. “You won’t even know we are here.”

“Turn around and go back,” Raonaid demanded. “At least to the bottom of the hill. We will call out to you when it’s over, but it may take all day.”

Lachlan fixed his eyes on Catherine. “Are you all right with this?”

She saw the concern in his expression and was immediately whisked back to the pleasure they had shared in bed the night before.

“I am fine,” she assured him. “I will come to you afterward. I promise.”

As she stood in the place where they first met, she knew without a doubt that she loved him—and desperately so—but she needed to remember the past, to understand the dreams and nightmares. How could she ever give her whole heart to him—or to anyone—without knowing who she really was?

“Will you wait?” she asked.

“Of course I will wait. I’ll keep watch from below. I will not leave.”

She felt almost dizzy with love for him and prayed that a vision would soon come and free her from this empty cage.

“Go away now.” Raonaid scooted them off with a flick of her hand. “I need the world to stay quiet.”

Lachlan wheeled his horse around but gave Catherine a quick nod before he and John galloped away.

With a hopeful rush of anticipation, she turned to follow Raonaid back to the center of the circle.

*   *   *

Shortly before noon, a low cloud cover moved across the sky and the wind picked up. Raonaid’s gaze shot instantly to the tallest standing stone. She stared at it for a long moment while the wind whipped at her long flowing hair and heavy skirts.

She held out a hand and said to Catherine, “Come with me.”

They walked together to the stone and knelt down before it.

“Look there.” Raonaid pointed at the tiny grooves and ridges in the rock. “Do you see it moving?”

Catherine squinted and pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “No, I do not see anything.”

“Keep looking. Let your eyes lose their focus. Breathe slowly and try to relax. Hold my hand.”

They sat side by side, staring at the stone.

Flashes of images began to appear, impossible to identify at first, but then Catherine began to recognize elements from her dreams—the baby and the blue pillow, the dirt flying through the air, landing on her face and body. She saw a man—a handsome man standing over her grave—shoveling the dirt. Light flashed in her brain.

There was a house in the woods.

A carriage.

The man again.

He was so handsome. He shouted as he drove the carriage through narrow streets, past buildings of white stone. He was agitated. He slapped the reins on the horses’ backs.

Catherine ran out the front door of the house in the woods. She threw her ring at him.

Oh …
Her head throbbed in agony as she watched the visions in the stone. Unable to bear it, she pressed her fingers to her temples and squeezed her eyes shut.

The images disappeared.

She opened her eyes.

They reappeared.

The man … he was very handsome, with golden hair. They were on a sailing ship together, standing at the rail.…

Suddenly everything vanished. Catherine felt as if her soul had been sucked out of her body.

The face of the standing stone was now vacant and still.

“No!”
She rose up on her knees and slapped her open palm against it. She pounded with her fists. “Come back! I didn’t see everything! I don’t remember!”

She stood up and hurried around to the back of it, rubbing her hands over the rough surface. She ran to the next stone, and the next, searching for something more, but they were all silent and ancient, looming over her, staring down at her like grim, solemn judges from beyond.

Still, she could remember nothing. None of the images made any sense to her, and she wanted to cry.

Catherine moved into the center of the circle and knelt down. She sat back on her heels.

Where was her sister? She was alone here now, and the wind had grown cold. It was gusting all around her.

Then at last she saw her twin entering the circle, holding her skirts in her hands, running. There was fear in her eyes.

Raonaid reached her and hooked a wrist under her arm. She pulled Catherine to her feet. “We have to leave,” Raonaid said with alarm.

“Why?”

“Murdoch is here.
Lachlan!
” Raonaid shrieked.

But Catherine’s mind was still in a fog from the visions. She barely managed to stagger to her feet before Raonaid began dragging her to the edge of the circle. Dizziness overwhelmed her. She feared she might be sick. “What does he want?”

“To kill you.”

“I beg your pardon
?”
The dizziness subsided, replaced by a shot of adrenaline through her veins.

“He’s the leader of the new rebellion,” Raonaid explained as they ran, “and if you are dead, your father’s fortune is bequeathed to the cause.”

“He was your father, too,” Catherine argued, just as a pistol shot cracked through the air.

A spasm of pain exploded in her back, and the breath sailed out of her lungs. She tripped over her feet and fell forward onto the ground, rolling uncontrollably down the hill outside the circle.

Her body tumbled and plummeted at great speed. Her wrist snapped like a twig. All she knew was sharp, piercing pain as the world spun around and around.

Then everything stopped, and the sky turned white. She slowly blinked up at it, as her heart opened to a blinding and beautiful radiance.

Chapter Thirty-six

Lachlan heard the gunshot and urged Goliath into a fast gallop up the hill.
“Yah! Yah!”

He saw Catherine fall forward, then tumble down the grassy slope in a jumble of flying skirts and petticoats. If not for the raised knoll halfway down, she would have kept rolling straight to the bottom.

His heart exploded in a burning fireball of terror. What in God’s name had happened? Who fired the shot?

He was acutely aware of the earl galloping at a breakneck speed behind him. They both rode hard toward Catherine, now lying motionless on the hillside.

Lachlan reached her and leaped off his horse. He knelt down and laid his hands on her shoulders. “Catherine!”

Her eyes fluttered open, and she grimaced with pain. “My arm…”

He glanced down at it. It was mangled and twisted. Unquestionably broken.

Blood was seeping through her bodice, just below her rib cage. He pressed a hand to the wound. “What happened?”

“It was Murdoch.…”

He turned on his heel to look up at the stone circle, cursing Raonaid for her treachery! Had she brought her lover here? Was this her plan all along? To kill Catherine and take the money for the Jacobites?

John galloped past him, riding up the hill just as Murdoch appeared from behind one of the stones. He was reloading his pistol.

Lachlan rose to his feet, drew his sword, and whipped his targe around to shield Catherine.

John drew his own pistol and fired a shot while still galloping. The ball missed its target, and John reined in his mount to reload.

Murdoch continued to advance upon them, his arm outstretched, his pistol aimed squarely, as if he fully intended to plow straight through Lachlan’s wall of defense and shoot another ball into Catherine’s heart.

Lachlan roared with fury and bolted forward in a full charge—with his shield in one hand, his claymore in the other. He would strike Murdoch down before he could reach Catherine.