by Jayne Castel
He ran a hand down his face, before he muttered a low oath. “Ye make me sound contemptible.”
“That’s because ye are.” Caitrin stepped back. Her heart now thundered against her breast bone. “Leave now, Alasdair. We’re finished here.”
But he didn’t move. He merely stared at her, his face so bereft that an arrow of compassion speared Caitrin’s chest. She couldn’t stand the man, yet the pain in his eyes made her catch her breath.
“Leave,” she repeated, her voice rising as panic seized her.
Alasdair moved then, but not toward the door. Instead he stepped closer to her and, unexpectedly, went down on one knee.
Caitrin sucked in a breath. “What the Devil are ye doing?”
“I’m sorry, Caitrin.” His voice was raw. The words sounded like they’d been ripped from him. His eyes glittered with tears. “If I could, I’d go back in time and undo it—all of it. Give me a chance, and I’ll prove to ye that I’m not the rogue ye think I am. I’ll spend the rest of our lives proving it to ye.”
Caitrin’s lips parted in shock. “What are ye saying?”
A beat of silence followed.
“I love ye, Caitrin … I always have,” he rasped. “I thought I’d mastered it … but the moment I returned to Duntulm and saw ye, I knew I’d been lying to myself.”
Shock rendered Caitrin momentarily speechless. When she finally found her tongue, she realized she was trembling. “Ye truly are a hateful man, Alasdair MacDonald,” she whispered.
He gazed up at her, naked pain upon his face. “I know.”
“Love is an act, not just a word.” Her voice shook as she spoke. “If ye love me, why have ye put me through so much misery?”
“I have no excuse … only cowardice.” A nerve flickered in his cheek. Tears glittered on his long dark eyelashes.
Caitrin swallowed as her own vision misted. “Why didn’t ye say something months ago?”
He drew in a shuddering breath. “I was about to … on the night I kissed ye in my solar.”
“So, this is my doing?”
He shook his head. “No … it’s entirely mine.” His gaze ensnared hers then. “Do I repulse ye, Caitrin?”
The question caught her off-guard. She stared down at him, her lips parting. When she managed a response, her voice was barely above a whisper. “No. Why would ye think that?”
“Ye shrank from me that night.”
Caitrin swallowed. “I panicked,” she replied huskily. “I was determined never to let another man control me.” She broke off here, brushing away a tear that now trickled down her cheek. With everything that had happened since, her decision seemed pointless now. Soon she’d be a wife again, and her life as chatelaine of Duntulm would be nothing but a memory.
Alasdair’s gaze guttered. “I thought ye couldn’t stand to touch me.”
Caitrin wrapped her arms around her torso, hugging herself tight. It wasn’t cold inside her bower, but suddenly she shivered. “I tried to explain myself the following day,” she said. “But ye never gave me the chance.”
A deathly hush followed her words. Despair welled up within Caitrin. What an awful mess all of this was. “Please get up, Alasdair,” she whispered.
Seeing him on one knee before her reminded Caitrin of that fateful day, nearly three years earlier—and of the proposal that she’d spurned.
He didn’t move. “Will ye wed me, Caitrin?”
Caitrin stopped breathing.
“I’ll love ye and cherish ye … for as long as I have the breath to cool my porridge. And I will never try to separate ye from Eoghan again.”
Silence drew out between them. When Caitrin replied, her voice was brittle, pleading. “Please, Alasdair … get up.”
He complied this time, rising to his feet before her. However, the desolation she now saw in his eyes suddenly made it difficult to breathe. With a jolt she realized that she cared whether Alasdair suffered or not.
Despite everything—she cared.
“Ye will not wed me?” he asked softly.
She met his eye. “If I refuse, will ye still deny me Eoghan?”
They stared at each other for a long moment, before Alasdair answered. “No … as soon as I return to Duntulm, I will send him to ye.” He paused then. “I see it’s too late now … ye hate me.”
Caitrin swallowed. She’d told herself many times over the past days that she detested him. She wanted to rail at him, to tell him that she wished him dead, yet the words wouldn’t come.
“I don’t hate ye,” she whispered brokenly. She squeezed her eyes shut as more tears welled. How she wished she did hate him. “I too have done things I’m sorry for.”
“Ye have nothing to apologize for,” he rasped.
Caitrin opened her eyes, not bothering to wipe away the tears that now trickled down her cheeks. “We were good friends once, but I destroyed our friendship,” she whispered. “I laughed in yer face when ye proposed to me … it was a cruel, thoughtless thing to do. Ye deserved better.”
Their gazes fused. Alasdair didn’t answer, and so she continued.
“When ye returned to Duntulm it didn’t take me long to realize ye are ten times the man yer brother was. Had I seen that years ago, I could have spared us both a lot of pain.”
Alasdair’s mouth twisted. “As could I … if I hadn’t been so bitter.”
“Ye have been through a lot in the past years,” she said softly. “I admire yer strength.”
Alasdair shook his head. His gaze dropped to the flagstone floor between them, and a tear trickled down his cheek. Watching him, Caitrin’s throat constricted.
Long moments passed, and then, wordlessly, he moved toward her, bridging the gulf between them. Reaching out, he gently took hold of her wrist.
The feel of his fingers, warm and strong, against her skin made Caitrin draw in a sharp breath. Gaze still averted, he drew her hand toward him, before turning it over and placing his lips upon the fluttering pulse inside her wrist.
Caitrin stopped breathing.
His lips seared her skin. She felt naked standing before him.
Alasdair gently trailed his lips down from her wrist to the palm of her hand. He kissed her gently there, holding her hand against his face. Instinctively, Caitrin spread her fingers against his cheek. It was wet. She curved her fingertips under the lean line of his jaw and felt his pulse, pounding as fast as hers.
Caitrin closed her eyes as her own tears slid silently down her face.
She’d been resisting this for months now. She couldn’t deny it any longer. She couldn’t keep lying to herself, telling herself that it was better to remain alone. Like the waxing moon and the turning of the seasons, this thing between them couldn’t be stopped. While they both drew breath, it would torment them.
Caitrin’s lips parted, but the sigh that escaped her quickly turned into a gasp when Alasdair pulled her into his arms. Yet, instead of kissing her, his lips trailed over her face, brushing away her tears. The touch, feather-light, yet overwhelmingly sensual, made her limbs tremble.
“Ye are everything to me,” he whispered as his lips trailed down her jaw. “I can’t pretend anymore.”
And then his mouth captured Caitrin’s, his lips slanting hungrily over hers.
The kiss was wild, devouring. Caitrin let out a soft moan. She reached out with her free hand—for he still gripped the wrist he’d kissed—her fingers splaying out over his heart.
Alasdair ended the kiss then, his breathing ragged. He stared down at her. “The thought of ye wedding another tears me up inside.”
Caitrin stifled a gasp. His voice sent shivers of need across her skin.
He pulled her hard against him this time, cupping the back of her head with his hands while he kissed her again. Caitrin leaned into him, her body turning molten as his tongue parted her lips. She’d never known a kiss like this, had no idea a kiss could make her pulse with raw need.
When Alasdair drew back once more, she struggled to draw breath.
“Tell me to stop, and I will,” he said, his voice ragged, his eyes aflame. “Otherwise I’m going to make ye mine.”
Chapter Twenty-six
Mo Leannan
CAITRIN GAZED UP at Alasdair. His words had rendered her speechless.
“Do ye wish me to leave ye be?” A nerve flickered in Alasdair’s jaw. He held her in the cage of his arms, and she felt tension ripple through him. He thought she would push him away, send him from her.
Caitrin drew in a trembling breath. “No,” she whispered. “Stay.”
That was all he needed.
Alasdair lowered his head and claimed her mouth once more, pulling her against him. The heat of his body hard against hers was searing. Caitrin reached up, her arms entwining around his neck as she sought to pull him closer still.
His hands slid down her back as he kissed her, his touch firm and sensual. The feel of his hands exploring her body pushed all thoughts, all cares from her mind. The world shrank to the feel of his tongue, his lips, to his hands that now shifted to her breasts, opening her robe and untying the laces of her night-rail. Moments later, the garments fell to the floor.
Caitrin stood naked before him.
Breathing hard, she watched his gaze devour her.
Motherhood had changed her figure, made her breasts fuller, her hips a little broader. Small puckered stretch-marks marked her belly, and she forced herself not to cover them with her hands. There wasn’t any point in hiding from him.
She glanced down at her body to see her breasts strained toward him, her swollen pink nipples aching for his touch.
When she looked back at Alasdair, she watched him wet his lips, his high cheekbones flushing. He heeled off his boots and shrugged off his léine. Then he unlaced his braies and let them drop to the floor.
His body, long and lean, made her suck in a breath—as did the sight of his shaft. Fully erect, it strained up against his belly. Her knees trembled as a shiver of fear went through her. The only man she’d ever lain with was Baltair. Before now she’d only ever known roughness and brutality at a man’s touch. However, when Alasdair reached for her, pulling her gently into his arms, the fear dissipated.
The feel of their naked flesh touching caused her to whimper. His skin was so hot, she wanted to taste it. She bowed her head to his neck and gently bit the tender skin there.
Alasdair growled, his chest rising and falling sharply while she continued her exploration, her tongue tracing the whorls of hair on his chest, before she discovered that his nipples pebbled under her touch. She nibbled one, and he gasped. The male musk of his skin was intoxicating. She suddenly felt dizzy with want.
Alasdair’s hands went to her hair, and his fingers tangled in the soft curls. Then he pulled her up and kissed her again. This time, it was slow and sensual—a kiss that made Caitrin melt into his arms. The feel of his arousal pressed up against her belly made shivering excitement pool in the cradle of her hips. Restlessness rose within her. She needed more.
Alasdair picked her up, his hands sliding under her buttocks, and carried Caitrin to the narrow bed. Together, they collapsed onto the mattress. Tearing his mouth from hers, he bent his head to her breasts and suckled them, drawing each nipple deep into his mouth. He sucked hard until she groaned under him, before continuing his leisurely progress down her body. Then he spread her legs and knelt down between them.
Caitrin groaned, arching back against the cool coverlet. Her body thrummed with pleasure now, radiating out from a hot pulse at her core. His tongue, his fingers, made her forget her own name. She felt boneless, just a molten pool of want. Her body began to quiver.
Softly, she moaned his name.
He rose up between them, spread her legs wider still, and positioned himself at the entrance to her womb. Caitrin glanced down between them, her breath catching at the sight of his shaft pressing against her damp nest of blonde curls.
“I’m going to take ye slowly, mo leannan,” Alasdair breathed. Sweat coated his body. His hair fell like black silk over his broad shoulders. “I want to make this last.”
Caitrin could only groan in response. My lover. She didn’t care what he did, as long as he was inside her.
He entered Caitrin then, inching into her, stretching and filling her. And then he began to move in long, easy strokes.
Throwing her head back, Caitrin gave a long shuddering moan and embraced the waves of pleasure that now pulsated out from where their bodies joined. Alasdair changed position, hooking her legs over his shoulders, before he continued his deep, slow, and deliberate thrusts.
The look on his face, the strain as he struggled to keep a leash on his control, excited her beyond measure. She wanted to see him unravel, just as she was.
Caitrin let go of any lingering inhibitions and angled her hips up to meet each thrust, bringing him deeper still. She arched back and let her groans fill the bower, writhing against him.
It had never felt like this before—she now understood what all the fuss was about. Why her sisters had gotten coy, secretive expressions on their faces when they’d spoken of lying with their men.
It was magic, an enchantment she gave herself up to willingly.
“Caitrin,” Alasdair gasped, his voice raw with need. His hands cupped her buttocks as he thrust hard into her now, his self-control slipping. Caitrin cried out, pleasure radiating out in deep, throbbing waves from the cradle of her lower belly.
Then Alasdair drove into her once more, and a rush of heat exploded inside her as he gave a throaty cry.
Trembling on the bed, Caitrin looked up to see that Alasdair was bent over her. His sweat-slick body quivered. He was struggling to catch his breath. Reaching out, Caitrin brushed the hair out of his eyes. Panting, Alasdair raised his chin, and their gazes fused.
It was a long, hot look, infused with more meaning than either of them could articulate.
Caitrin awoke to the sound of anguished groaning.
Pushing herself up onto one elbow, her gaze fell upon Alasdair. The last of the glowing embers in the hearth softly illuminated the narrow bed where they lay. Alasdair was asleep next to her on his back, but he was not at peace. He writhed and twitched, his skin gleaming with sweat. His features were twisted into a grimace, and his hands clenched and unclenched by his sides. He appeared to be in the grip of a violent dream.
As Caitrin observed him, he flinched before crying out.
“Alasdair.”
He paid her no mind, his body going rigid, and then his head jerked from side to side. “No … no.”
“Alasdair!” She reached out, gripped his shoulder, and shook him.
His eyes snapped open. He stared up at Caitrin, but it was as if he wasn’t even seeing her.
“Alasdair?” Her voice rose in concern. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
Gradually, the wildness faded from his eyes. A moment later he focused upon her, and his face relaxed. “Did I wake ye?”
Caitrin’s mouth quirked. “Aye … and likely half the keep.”
He muttered a curse and closed his eyes, running a hand over his face. “Sorry … I have bad dreams sometimes.”
Caitrin watched him, her brow furrowing. “Since the battle?”
“Aye.”
Caitrin’s frown deepened. “Tell me of them.”
His eyes flickered open, and he cast her a pained look. “Ye don’t want to hear of such things.”
She huffed. “Let me be the judge of that.”
Alasdair heaved a deep breath and rolled over onto his side, facing her. “They’re always the same,” he began hesitantly. “I’m right back there in the mist and the mud. The English are running at me … like ghosts through the fog. All I can hear is the screams of men as they die … and I know I’ll fall soon, skewered on an English blade.”
Caitrin watched him steadily. “But ye didn’t.”
His mouth twisted. “Maybe I should have. I’ve not been right since, Caitrin. I jump at shadows, I can’t sleep, and somet
imes my hands shake like I’m an old man. I might not look it, but I’m broken … on the inside where no one but ye can see.”
Caitrin’s breathing constricted at these words. She reached out, her hand clasping his. “I can’t imagine how ye must have felt,” she murmured. “How it must feel to see all those men fall around ye … but I don’t think ye are broken. Just like a wound to the body, this too will heal.”
He huffed, although his eyes glittered. “Will it?”
“Aye.” She squeezed his hand. “Ye won’t have to face it alone now.”
Their gazes met and held. His throat bobbed. “Are ye saying that ye—”
“Aye,” she cut him off with a wobbly smile. “I will wed ye, Alasdair MacDonald.”
He stared at her for a moment, before joy spread across his face, chasing away the lingering horror of his nightmare.
Alasdair reached for Caitrin. When their faces were just inches apart, he gave her a tender smile. His eyes shone with tears. “I meant what I said earlier,” he said softly, “about loving and cherishing ye to my dying breath. All I’ve ever wanted is ye, Caitrin, and yet all I’ve done of late is make ye suffer. I want to make it up to ye … but I don’t know where to begin.”
Caitrin stared back at him, before a slow answering smile curved her lips. Reaching up she traced his lower lip with her fingertip. “Ye can start by making love to me again,” she whispered. Her cheeks flushed at her own boldness, but she didn’t stop.
Instead, she let her hand travel down his jawline and neck to his chest. Her fingers then slid down the taut plane of his stomach, before they wrapped around his shaft. It pulsed in her hand, hot and hard, straining toward her. “After that we shall see.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
Forgiveness
“THIS IS UNEXPECTED.” Malcolm MacLeod viewed Alasdair and Caitrin with a jaundiced eye, before his gaze shifted to the three men who also stood in his solar: Gavin MacNichol, Ross Campbell, and Fergus MacKay. “Do any of ye have anything to say about this?”
