But her pleasure only spiraled when he began stroking the sensitive skin beneath her ear, the side of her neck, and – she caught fire – when he moved his hand, letting his fingers drift over the top swells of her breasts. Somehow, her bodice came undone, the cloth gaping open so that her breasts spilled free. Cold air rushed across her nakedness. And then he was caressing her, roughly palming and kneading her fullness, circling his thumb over her nipple, teasing the taut peak with the tips of his fingers.
Catriona gasped, her heart tumbling. The pleasure was almost unbearable. Her breasts swelled and quivered, aching for more of his touch. As if he knew, he made a sound low in his throat and shoved the gown from her shoulders, exposing more of her.
“Sweet….” He bent his head to nuzzle her neck, flicking his tongue along her skin, nipping and tasting her.
“Don’t stop kissing me.” She reached for him, taking his face in her hands, pulling him back to her. “Please, more kisses…”
“Aye, more…” He crushed her to him, holding her more fiercely than before. His kiss was a maddening fever now, the hot, silken strokes of his tongue against hers sending waves of desire rushing through her. Until - just when she was sure she’d break apart – a loud burst of manly laughter and a thump intruded. A crash and the splintering of pottery followed immediately, along with more hoots and howls of masculine ribaldry.
James’ men in the hall, ale-headed and knocking into tables and benches, as they lurched ever nearer to the stair tower’s archway.
“Drunken fools.” He broke the kiss, dragging his mouth from hers. Swearing, he thrust her from him as swiftly as he’d seized her. He stepped back, breathing heavily. He also stared at her as if she’d grown two heads and cloven feet.
Catriona blinked, disbelieving.
He scowled.
“That, Lady Catriona” – he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand – “is why you need to stay safely behind Blackshore’s walls. Take heed. If you attempt such foolery again, coming here to parade yourself beneath my nose, pushing me beyond any man’s limits….
“Then be assured the next time I kiss you, we will no’ be standing.” His tone was cold and angry. “We shall be prone, my lady. That, I promise you!”
Pain, sharp and lancing, sliced into Catriona’s heart. She could only stare at him, mortification – and fury - sweeping her as the shivery heat inside her whipped into a seething cauldron of fury.
“You bastard!” Eyes narrowing, she yanked up her gown and refastened her bodice with chilled, trembling fingers. “How dare you-”
But he’d already stalked away. Hector hobbled along behind him, the dog’s tail no longer wagging, but hanging between his legs.
Catriona glared after them, her pulse pounding wildly until they were swallowed by the boisterous crowd in the hall. Then, her face burning, she snatched up her skirts and followed them into the chaos.
But she didn’t return directly to the high table.
She made certain that her path took her straight past the arrogant devil who’d dared to ravish her so heatedly only to shove her from him as if she’d turned into a writhing serpent in his arms.
So she took pleasure in bending a freezing stare on him when he glanced her way as she cut a swath through his long-nosed, gawping men.
He didn’t gape, but his brows snapped together, darkly.
It was a look that suited her fine as she’d only begun to annoy him.
Soon, he’d learn her measure.
And when he did, he’d discover he’d erred. The next time they kissed, they wouldn’t be prone. But he would be on his knees, begging for the pleasure.
She’d make certain of it.
Chapter 10
Hours later, James followed Catriona up one of Blackshore’s winding turnpike stairs and then along a dimly lit passage. He took care to move silently and stay far enough behind her to remain unseen. But all his precautions couldn’t chase the damning notion that he was creeping along on cloven hoofs. It scarce mattered that he only hoped to ensure that Colin, Hugh, or some other besotted, ale-taken fool didn’t accost her. He simply wished to see her safely to her guest quarters. Yet – he grimaced - each step of the way confirmed what he should’ve known.
If he wasn’t already going to hell, he’d be on his way before the sun rose on the morrow.
His moony-eyed men weren’t a threat to her.
He was.
He’d been the one who’d backed her against a dark corridor wall, kissing her soundly, and losing his head at the first press of her lavish bosom to his needy, lusting-after-her chest. His hands had undone her bodice laces. His fingers, no one else’s, had plumped and caressed the round fullness of her breasts. He knew the wonder of her. And he of all men, ached with the urge to get his hands on her again and explore more of her smooth, silken flesh.
He should turn around and take himself back down to the hall.
His honor burned inside him, roaring for him to leave before he was no longer fisting his hands at his sides, but reaching for her. She was the last woman he should touch and the very one he didn’t dare to love. Every instinct screamed in protest, warning of trouble to come. Any moment she could pause, then swing about to face him.
To his horror, he kept on.
His heated awareness of her gave him no choice. Flickering light from the wall torches played over her gleaming, flame-bright hair and his fingers itched to undo her braids so that her lustrous tresses would spill down her back to swing about her hips. The swaying of those hips stirred a throbbing heat in his loins, setting him like granite. And her light, gillyflower scent drifted behind her, teasing and taunting him, heady as wine.
He scowled, wholly captivated.
She nipped around another curve in the passageway and he quickened his pace, not wanting to lose sight of her, wishing he could.
His need to keep up with her warned him of his fast approaching fall.
Men didn’t tumble the sisters of rival chieftains.
Most especially they didn’t ravish such maids beneath their own roof. Certainly not in the ways he burned to pounce upon Catriona. It scarce mattered that he now knew she’d greet his passion gladly. Or that the notion of taking her, set a whirl of tantalizing images rising before his mind’s eye. She was a lady and a virgin and – damn his honor again – he’d decided when he’d thrust her from him earlier, that he wouldn’t be the one to steal her innocence.
Yet, he here was…
Trailing after her like a rutting stag, trapped by her scent, and knowing she led him to a guest chamber where – were they at Blackshore - the strictures of hospitality would require that he strip before her maidenly eyes, allowing her, as lady of the keep, to bathe him.
Praise God this was Castle Haven.
He didn’t think he could bear it otherwise.
Nae, he knew he couldn’t.
He was close to bursting now. And the devil inside him clawed and twisted, straining to break free and scatter his restraint to the winds. Standing naked in front of her, stepping into a tub of steaming, scented water, and then feeling her hands soap and glide across his flesh – her questing fingers perhaps even coming near or even grazing certain iron-set, aching flesh - was an agony no red-blooded, well-lusted man should be made to endure.
Setting his jaw, he pushed the stirring thoughts from his mind. But before he could recuperate, Catriona finally came to a halt.
James’ eyes rounded as she reached for the latch of a heavy oak door, opening it wide to sail inside the handsome, well-appointed bedchamber beyond.
Unfortunately, the room wasn’t meant for guests.
It was his.
And he had to tell her at once.
Castle Haven’s guest quarters were elsewhere and he needed to speed her there before seeing her so close to his bed dashed his restraint.
Though – his head was beginning to pound - what he most needed was to seize her, slide his hands down her back, over her hips, and then grasp her l
ush, well-rounded bottom so he could once again pull her hard against him. What he’d then do didn’t bear consideration. But if someone pressed him, he might own that he wouldn’t mind dragging his mouth over her smooth, silken nakedness, kissing her everywhere.
Such were his desires as he reached the open doorway and spotted her in the middle of his bedchamber, looking about the room.
Spotlessly clean, thanks to Isobel’s house-holding skills and Beathag’s fervor, the chamber boasted bright lime-washed walls with no less than three tall window arches, each one offering a sweeping view of the moon-silvered hills and the high moors beyond. Colorful tapestries were hung generously, lending warmth. And the pleasing scent of peat filled the air, blending nicely with whatever aromatic herbs simmered on the coals of a corner brazier.
Two heavily-carved, age-blackened chairs and his large, iron-banded strongbox gave the room a bold, masculine feel. Wax candles glowed in the wall sconces. And someone, likely Beathag, had laid out a cold repast. Cheese, smoked mackerel, oatcakes, and sliced breast of capon winked from the small table near his bed.
But it wasn’t his room’s amenities that froze him where he was, staring.
It was how the corner of Catriona’s mouth tilted up so amusedly when she turned to face him. “Somehow I don’t think this is the guest quarters?”
“Nae, it isn’t.” He gave her a hard stare.
She might’ve mistaken the door, but the twinkle in her eyes said she knew he’d been following her.
“This, sweet” – he took a step closer – “is my bedchamber.”
Any other woman would have left then. Perhaps blushing pink and tripping over her skirts in her haste to be gone from a man’s privy quarters.
But Catriona wasn’t any woman.
Her chin came up and she did color a bit, but in a most provocative way.
“I see.” She touched the ambers at her throat, her gaze going to his bed.
Massive, four-postered, and exquisitely carved, the great ancestral bed was dressed in plaid and could only be more magnificent if she were draped naked across its empty, waiting sheets.
“Perhaps it’s as well I’m here?” She went to close the door behind them, making his insides knot when she slid the drawbar in place, locking them in. “In my experience-”
“You have none, save prancing onto thin ice. And I’ll no’ be giving you the other kind.” James clenched his hands at his sides, unable to breathe. “No’ even if there were ten bolts across the door.”
She had the cheek to glance over him, head-to-toe. “I told you once that you think too highly of yourself. I only thought to offer you a lady’s courtesy. Just as I would’ve done were we now at Blackshore.”
Her gaze went to the far wall and James felt the floor dip when he saw the bathing tub before the hearth.
“Such a service means nothing.” She looked him in the eye. “All ladies are adept at it and such baths are hardly matters of intimacy.”
Thor’s bollocks they were!
James kept the sentiment to himself.
The beast inside him roared, demanding he put an end to how long she’d tormented him. For the sad truth was – he was loath to admit it – he’d wanted her for years, perhaps since the stormy encounter in their youth when he’d come upon her on the high moors and told her dreagans would eat her if she didn’t run home to Blackshore.
She’d been a burr in his side ever since, though it near choked him to admit any such attachment. Just the thought sent heat crawling up his neck. He burned to storm across the room, seize her, and kiss her until he’d proved that it was only lust that he felt for her.
But he didn’t move a muscle, because the fierce hammering of his heart said otherwise.
He didn’t want to love her.
Nothing could be more disastrous.
So he wrapped his hands around his sword belt and pretended not to notice her lushly curved body or how much her boldness and spirit pleased him.
She lifted a brow. “The bath is to your liking? I heard you order one in the hall.”
He had, but he’d intended to bathe alone.
He looked at her, unable to speak for she was already removing her shawl. And then – the throbbing at his groin worsened – she began loosening her bodice, rolling up her gown’s sleeves.
He knew why.
The reason was the great barrel tub, thoughtfully lined with linen, and – as always – possessed of a sitting bench to ensure his bathing comfort. Wafts of pine-scented steam rose from the tub’s heated water, while a nearby stool held a small jar of soap and scrubbing cloths.
Drying linens warmed on a hook near the fire and – he actually gulped – he had no doubt whatsoever as to whose hands would rub his nakedness with those oh-so-innocent lengths of toweling.
Even as he resisted, he knew she’d win.
“Holy gods.” He was close to spilling, the tight pulsing at his loins making his eyes hurt. Apparently there was a god, for she didn’t seem to have heard him.
Chin high, she stood beside the tub, waiting. “Well?”
He frowned. He wasn’t going to undress before her.
She leaned down to ripple the water, sending up clouds of steam. “I’ve seen every man at Blackshore naked.” She glanced at him, correctly guessing the reason for his hesitation. “And I’ve bathed most of them, at one time or another.”
“That may be….” James felt his face flaming.
He was sure not a one of her bathing kinsmen had dropped his plaid to reveal what she’d see if he threw caution out the window and stripped to his own bare skin, presenting her with his urgent, rampant need.
She straightened, drying her fingers on one the linen towels. “The bath is cooling.”
“Lass” – he didn’t budge – “it doesn’t matter if the water’s scalding or if there’s ice on the surface. The truth is, if I climb into that barrel, we’ll both be climbing into my bed when I’m done bathing.”
He gave her one of his fiercest looks. “Dinnae say you weren’t warned.”
She smiled. “I’m not afraid.”
And so she wasn’t.
She loosened her bodice ties a bit more, and then reached down to stir the bath water again. Candlelight fell across her as she bent and through the slight gaping of her gown’s neckline, he could just see the dusky tip of one of her breasts. The nipple was taut, tight and thrusting, as if begging to be licked, nipped, and suckled.
He already knew the sweetness of her nipples. But he hadn’t yet tasted them.
He groaned – and this time she heard him.
Straightening, she touched a hand to her breast and he knew she knew what he’d seen.
He looked at her, sure he’d never seen a woman more beautiful, stirring, or so incitingly sensual.
He’d almost kill a man for another peek at that one sweet nipple. He would kill a man to see both of them. And he’d face an army to rub his thumbs over them again, this time swirling his tongue round and round…
“There’s pine-scented soap.” Her voice shattered his lust haze. “It’s quite fine. Very much like Alasdair uses.”
James frowned. Hearing her brother’s name made him feel like the worst sort of lecher.
He shuddered, certain he was.
“You do want me to bathe, don’t you?”
“I do, yes.”
And he could hardly draw breath for wanting her.
He did wonder how a maid – an innocent, he was sure – could rouse him so thoroughly that just her glances – a peek at one pert nipple - had him as hard as if she’d curled her fingers around him, squeezing tight.
“You can’t bathe in your plaid.” She persisted, a faint smile curving her mouth, tempting him. “You have to get naked and-”
“Hellfire and damnation!” He strode a few paces, then swung back around, his reluctance to toss off his clothes vanishing beneath her boldness.
Her plain spoken words that carried such heat.
He looked at h
er, his heart thundering. “I didn’t want this….”
But she’d pushed him too far.
The beast inside him broke free and he could feel the wickedest smile curving his own lips and knew his fingers were unclasping the large Celtic brooch at his shoulder, knew as well that his hands were whipping off his plaid, tossing it onto the bed.
He couldn’t have held back now if his life depended on it. All he wanted was to hop in and out of the infernal washing tub and then sweep Catriona up in his arms and carry her to the bed where he’d ravage her the whole night through, to hell with honor.
So his sword belt, shoes, and tunic, went the way of his plaid. Then, no longer caring if she saw exactly what she did to him, he set his hands on his hips and simply stood before her, naked so that she could fill her eyes. And she did, staring at him in fascination, the awe on her face making him swell even larger.
Then, before he embarrassed himself, he strode across the room and swung a leg over the side of the bathing tub and eased himself into the steaming water.
“Ahhh….” He leaned back, resting his head against the tub’s rim, closing his eyes. He’d fallen this far, sinned so badly, that he might as well enjoy himself.
Any moment, Catriona would begin soaping him, rubbing his shoulders and scrubbing his back, gliding her hands ever downward, tempting him anew….
But no such delights followed.
He did hear the rustle of her skirts as she stepped closer to the tub.
“I have to tell you something.” Her tone prickled his nape.
He snapped open his eyes, peering up at her. “Unless you’re about to say you’ll be removing that gown and joining me in this bath, I dinnae think I care to hear.”
“I knew this wasn’t a guest room.” She spoke anyway. “The door’s grandness made me hope it was your bedchamber.”
Sins of a Highland Devil: Highland Warriors Book 1 Page 15
