“Only this.” He picked up a tankard from the table as he passed and drained the contents. He walked to where she sat and handed her the mug.
“Come on.” She patted the area next to her. “Sit down with me and try my tea. We’ll visit a bit, and have our own bachelor party, which is really nothing more than a way for the bride and groom to pass the evening before their wedding.”
He stood for a moment longer as if debating his next action. Eventually he sat beside her as she poured the tea into his tankard.
“I hope whatever you had in here doesn’t leave a bad taste.”
He grinned again. “Seasoning. Like as not it’ll make those bits of weed you use taste better.” He took the tankard and tried a small taste. “This is no so bad.” There was surprise in his voice.
“That’s right. Even you’ll have to admit it’s pretty good. And it’s supposed to help you relax.” She took the tankard from him and took a sip. She could taste the “seasoning” the whisky had left behind. Fortunately it was faint.
“Has it helped you to relax this night?”
“No more than that seasoning you had in this mug appears to have helped you.” She smiled at him. “But at least you look more relaxed than you did in my room this afternoon. What was that all about?” She took a sip of tea and handed the cup to him.
He shrugged carelessly and looked into the fire. “Nothing of any importance. I am sorry if I frightened you when I rushed into yer room. I hope the cut’s no serious. How is it now?” He lifted the vessel to his lips for a drink.
“It’s fine. See for yourself.” Pulling back the cloak, Cate extended her leg.
When he choked, she knew it had nothing to do with the tea. She pounded on his back.
“You’ve nothing on yer legs, lass.” He gasped between coughs. “What the hell are you wearing under that cloak?”
“Your shirt. And I have as much on my legs as you have on yours. In fact, I’m wearing a bit more than you are. I’m not the one sitting around naked from the waist up.” She arched an eyebrow at him.
“Thank God,” he breathed, looking nervous. “And I’m no naked. I hae my plaid over my shoulder.” Now he sounded offended. “Would you prefer I put my shirt on then?”
She tipped her head and considered. “No. I’d prefer you just sit where you are.” There was no way she would willingly have him cover that magnificent chest. Let him think what he would.
Now it was his turn to arch an eyebrow. “Brazen hussy tonight, are you?”
“No. I’m just trying for complete honesty tonight. Somehow that seems like the right thing to do, since we’re getting married tomorrow and all.”
Connor paused a moment, studying her before he responded. “Verra weel. To complete honesty between us then.” He picked up the tankard and saluted her with it.
“It’s weird, isn’t it? Thinking about getting married tomorrow, I mean?”
“Aye. Verra strange.”
“Well, you already know what I’m wearing now, so I guess I don’t need this anymore.” She shrugged the cloak off her shoulders, allowing it to pool behind her. “It’s too hot in here for that, anyway.” Rising to a kneel, she strained more of the tea into their tankard.
When she turned, Connor was staring at her through narrowed eyes, head tilted to one side.
“What? What are you thinking? Right this minute. And remember, we agreed on the whole honesty thing.” She smiled at him.
“I was thinking what an unusual woman you are.” He continued to stare at her, stretching out his legs toward the fire, leaning back on his elbows.
“Thank you, I think.” Cate stretched her legs out toward the fire as well, leaning back on her elbows next to him. She giggled.
“Yer turn, lass. What are you thinking right now?”
“You won’t like it.”
“Remember ‘the whole honesty thing,’ ” he echoed her words. “I answered when you asked.”
“I was just thinking how odd it is to be in a place where the men wear shorter skirts than the women do.” She giggled again when he sat up straight, looking offended.
“I dinna wear a skirt. This is a plaid. And yer no wearing a skirt at all. Only a shirt.”
“Whatever. I knew you wouldn’t like it. Tell you what.” She sat up. “I’m feeling charitable. You get two questions to make up for that since you didn’t like my answer. How’s that?”
“Verra weel. I’ll agree to that. Let me think. I wouldna want to waste one of my valuable questions.”
She was beginning to get uncomfortable under his scrutiny by the time he finally spoke again.
“The dress you brought with you, the one you plan to wear tomorrow? Is this the dress you’ll wear when you marry that Richard?”
His eyes were guarded. She could read no expression there at all.
“First of all, I’ve already told you. I’m not marrying Richard. Second of all, that dress was my grandmother’s. She wore it when she married my grandfather. Then my mother wore it when she and my father were married. There’s no way I’d ever get married now in any other dress.”
“So, when you were planning to marry Richard, that was the dress you were going to wear?”
“No.” She turned to him then. “See, you have to understand. That’s part of the reason I’m not marrying Richard. He didn’t like that dress, didn’t think it was good enough. He said it wasn’t stylish, didn’t fit who we needed to be. He’d already picked out a different dress for our wedding.”
“So yer not marrying him because he didn’t like yer grandmother’s dress?” He looked confused now.
“No. I’m not marrying Richard because he didn’t love me enough to let me to wear the dress that made me happy. Because how I looked was more important to him than how I felt. There are lots of other reasons I’m not marrying him, but that pretty much sums up our relationship.”
They sat quietly for a while, passing the tea back and forth.
“I hae my second question now.” Connor finally broke the silence.
Cate turned to look at him. His eyes were dancing, twinkling in the firelight. He looked like a mischievous little boy. She smiled. “I’m ready, I think.”
“I dinna ken what you were saying to me this afternoon. Weel, in all honesty, since we’re being honest tonight, there are many times when I dinna ken the half of what yer talking about. But the whole idea of not wanting to get married with hairy legs confused me.” His eyes were still twinkling above an amused little smile.
“In my time, many women find it more attractive to remove the hair from their legs and their underarms.” She stopped when both his eyebrows rose. “Yes, underarms, too.”
“Women find this attractive?”
“Yes, well, mostly because we assume men find it attractive.”
“So, you remove yer hair because the men in yer time find it attractive. What about it do they find attractive?” His voice was low and soft.
She couldn’t break eye contact with him now if she tried. Looking into those eyes, she was having difficulty thinking of words. “Smooth. Because of the way it feels smooth, I guess.”
“Smooth?” It was just the one eyebrow raised, framing heated blue eyes, eyes she felt she might melt in.
She reached over and took his hand, laying his palm down on her leg, just above her knee. Then, still holding her hand on top of his, she ran his hand down her leg and back up. “Smooth. See?” Her leg was on fire under his hand. His fingers flexed on her knee.
“Aye.” His breathing sounded a bit heavy. “And in yer time, do many of the men go about feeling yer smooth legs?” His voice was still low, but came out rough now.
“Only if I were to let them.” She could float in those eyes.
Eyes that narrowed now as he smiled, a slow, predatory smile. His hand began to slide up her leg, under the tail of the shirt, as he leaned over her and took her lips with his own. She was drowning in the sensation of him and it felt wonderful.
Her ow
n hands were busy discovering the contours of his back as his continued its journey up her leg, now on her outer thigh, reaching the satin barrier of her lacy panties. His hand slid past that, across her bottom and up her back, pulling her to him. She moved her arms to his neck, pushing the plaid from his shoulder before her fingers traveled up, weaving into his soft hair. His tongue slid insistently between her accommodating lips. He ravished her mouth, his tongue dancing with hers.
She wanted this moment to continue forever. She wanted more.
He moved over her, freeing his other hand to start a journey of its own, never interrupting the kiss that was consuming her body and soul. The hand behind her back moved up to cradle her head, supporting her as he deepened the kiss. His other hand lightly skimmed her stomach, upward until it reached the swell of her breast.
Her breasts throbbed, demanding his touch. When at last his thumb played over her hardened nipple she gasped, arching her neck, giving him access to her throat. He moved down her neck, kissing, nipping, tasting, until he met the laces of the shirt she wore.
She wanted to cry out when he moved his hands from her body until he slowly, very slowly, began to loosen the laces, unthreading them until he held one long string in his hand.
She lost track of what happened to the lace as he lowered his head to the deep, open V of the shirt, his fingers drawing back the cloth that had so recently impeded his way. His hair trailed over her breasts as his warm, moist mouth slid over her heated skin until at last he reached the breast his hand had so recently deserted.
Once, twice his tongue flicked over the sensitive nipple, his breath on the moistened tip sending waves of desire shooting straight to her core.
His hands glided down her waist, again reaching the lacy barrier she wore. One hand slid to the small of her back, while the other continued down, pressing it’s way under the material, resting for a moment on the smooth skin there before continuing on, pausing only to caress the mound of curls just below.
His mouth closed over her breast, gently sucking her in, the pressure driving her wild with want. She moaned and he pulled again, taking more of her into his mouth.
The hand that had stilled moved on, lower, as if searching for the center of her need. When one lone finger moved lower still, parting the curls, she gasped, every nerve ending in her body alive.
His hands sent electrifying pulses radiating out all over her. She clasped his head to her breast and rocked against the hand he’d pressed into her.
“Oh God, Connor, please,” she moaned, not knowing what she wanted of him, only that she wanted more, that she wanted him as much as she knew he wanted her. She could feel his need pressed against her leg.
He stilled. His rapid breaths felt cold against her heated skin, and when he pulled back from her, she felt the loss intensely. She opened her eyes to find him staring down at her, his breathing ragged.
Then he smiled. A wonderful, bewitching smile that made her want nothing so much as his mouth on her again.
“Yer the most beautiful woman I hae ever held, wee Caty. And if I dinna pull away from you now, I’ll no be able to. Then, on the morrow, you’ll no want to marry me. And marry me you must.”
Her own breathing was a ragged match for his. There was nothing she could say. If she opened her mouth now, it would be to beg him not to stop.
He moved off her, rising to a crouch next to her, and sliding one arm under her legs and the other behind her back, he gathered her in his arms and stood. He didn’t take his eyes from hers as he carried her to her bedchamber. There, he kicked opened the door and carried her to the bed. He paused, holding her for a moment, as if his determination wavered. She still couldn’t speak, could barely breathe.
“When I’ve returned you to yer home and you think back on this time, know that resisting yer body was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. It’s my sworn duty to protect you from harm, and that’s what I’ll do now.” Then he kissed her gently on the forehead and, after laying her on the bed, walked out the door and shut it behind him.
Cate simply lay there, trembling, looking up at the canopy above her, feeling her heart pound throughout her body.
One thing was for sure: she had an answer to her questions.
What was it Jesse had said? Love sneaks up when you least expect it. Well, she sure hadn’t expected it here. Not in this time. Not with this man whose devotion to duty outweighed everything else.
All she could say was, these magic-manipulating Faeries had either really bad timing or a terrifically sick sense of humor.
CHAPTER 20
The morning broke to reveal a gray, misty sky. Unable to sleep, Cate watched it arrive. She felt as gloomy as the view out her window.
While last night had called for a bachelor party, this morning screamed for a pity party. Somewhere along the way, life had taken a decidedly unfair twist. Not that she had ever expected a fairness guarantee, but her current situation was really on the far edge of just-so-not-right.
In a few hours she would marry the man she loved. The same man who did not, would not, love her in return. Oh, he desired her, she didn’t doubt that, but love wasn’t in his equation. He was all about honor and duty and sending her home, as he’d reminded her last night. He’d been honest from the beginning—he had no wish to be stuck with any woman. And even if she could somehow come to terms with all that, could accept loving someone who would never love her in return, it wouldn’t matter because she was going to be whisked away, never to see him again.
She sighed deeply, sitting up on the edge of the bed. Some days weren’t worth getting up for. A smile flitted across her face as she thought of the T-shirt she wore to bed at home with that very sentiment emblazoned across the front of it. What would Connor think if he could see her wearing that particular shirt? It barely covered her bottom.
Embers still smoldered in the fireplace, and with only a little effort, she was able to coax new flames. She set her pot of water over them to boil and waited. Her kettle had been left behind in Connor’s room downstairs, so she put her herbs and honey directly into her cup. When the water boiled, she poured some into her cup and the remainder into the bowl on the table to use for washing her face.
The soap burned her cheeks and neck, instantly bringing to mind the dark stubble that covered Connor’s face last night, and how wonderful it had felt moving across her skin. Chills ran up and down her body.
“I am never going to get finished by the time Rosalyn and Mairi arrive if I don’t stop mooning over that man.”
She’d just finished washing her face when the first knock sounded at her door.
It was Mairi, carrying the garland she and Rosalyn had finished making the night before. They had woven ivory ribbons together with heather and lavender and some lovely white flowers Cate couldn’t immediately identify. It would be tied around her head, allowing the ribbons to trail down her back.
Rosalyn arrived shortly after Mairi. Together they helped Cate into her wedding dress, all the while marveling at the design and the material. The underdress was an antique ivory satin, sleeveless, with an empire waist. The neckline plunged in the front. The whole was covered with an antique ivory lace, which squared across the neckline, creating a discreet peek-a-boo effect. Tiny pearl buttons ran down the back. They also ran the length of the lace sleeves from the elbow to the wrist.
It was a dress she would never have been able to get into by herself. As the dress slid over her hips, Cate noted absently that she must have lost that extra ten pounds after all. The dress smoothed down, fitting like a dream.
“I hae never seen such a gown.” Mairi spoke admiringly, reaching out to touch the sleeve. “These tiny bits upon the sleeves are beautiful.”
“Aye, she’s a fair bonny bride.” Rosalyn nodded, placing the garland on her head and beginning to weave small locks of Cate’s hair around the garland to help hold it in place.
“Oh, wait.” Tugging the garland out of her hair, Cate ran to her bed, searching frantic
ally under her pillows until she found what she wanted.
“Here.” She held out the worn little strip of cloth from Connor’s plaid. Mairi had gathered it up with all the other things from her room at Dun Ard when she brought them here.
“I’d like to weave this around the flowers in the front before we put it on. Do you think we can do that? So that it will plainly show?”
Rosalyn nodded in satisfaction. “Aye, lass. I’m sure we can manage that.”
The garland securely in place, Mairi picked up the necklace from the table and started to lift Cate’s hair.
“No. You can’t put that on me.”
“But you must wear yer betrothal gift for the wedding.” Mairi’s shocked tone was echoed in her face.
Cate’s eyes twinkled. “Oh, I plan to wear it for the wedding, all right. It’s just that I prefer to have someone else assist me in putting it on. Someone very masculine.” She grinned and Mairi threw her arms around Cate, kissing her cheek.
“I’m so happy yer to be my sister. Yer exactly what my brother needs to brighten the whole rest of his life.” Mairi hugged her again and started out the door ahead of them.
Cate exchanged a look with Rosalyn before heading out herself. The whole rest of his life? Only if his life was limited to just one day. Of course, in a way, it was. When she returned home, he would be . . .
I will not cry. It would be her mantra today.
She had always wanted a sister, a built-in someone to be her best friend. Now she was this close to having one she liked so much, and she’d only get to keep her for a matter of hours.
Within the space of the next twenty-four hours, she expected to lose a best friend and the man of her dreams.
In spite of her mantra, the threat of tears rose in her throat as she descended the stairs.
* * *
Connor was so handsome standing there she could barely breathe at the sight of him.
He stood in the main hall, fidgeting with the emerald pin at his shoulder. When he looked up and smiled helplessly at her, she was momentarily stopped in her tracks. Had she thought he was merely handsome before? The man was truly magnificent.
Thirty Nights With a Highland Husband Page 18
