'Come, my heather girl, I've waited so long for you.'
Suddenly she was shy. What she'd longed for so often, thought she was prepared for, was about to happen. This was the life, the man she wanted more than anything else. She rose and went through into the bedroom. He closed the door and pulled her into his arms.
'My love, my dearest love!' he murmured, and she lifted her face to his.
The kiss was a revelation to Catriona. Compared with this one Rory's kisses these past days had been restrained. First he stroked her face with fingers so gentle she could barely feel them, yet they sent the most delightful sensations racing all over her body. He traced the contours of her face with feathering kisses, driving her wild for more, until finally his lips met hers. They were soft, and gentle, and she clung to him, willing him to hold her even more closely.
As his tongue roved over her lips, her mouth opened and she sighed with pleasure. When he broke away she felt a shattering sense of loss. She opened her eyes and stared mistily at him.
'Come, let me undress you.'
He led her to the bed, and busied his hands with the fastenings of her gown. Soon it slid to the floor, to be followed by her petticoats. Rory stepped back and looked at her.
'Cat, my beautiful wildcat, you're even lovelier than I ever imagined.'
He began to kiss her again, his mouth and hands were all over her body, worshipping her. He rolled off her stockings and she was overwhelmed with new, strange but increasingly urgent desires like nothing she'd ever felt before. These were demanding, not to be denied, far fiercer than the emotions she had felt the last time they'd been together on this bed.
She began to fumble with his clothing, breathing rapidly, desperate for even closer contact, for his body and hers to meet without hindrance. His heart was beating strongly under her hand, and hers throbbed with the same rhythm.
'Another time, wife! For now, I'm too impatient to want you to valet me.'
Laughing, he released her and swiftly discarded his coat and shirt. Kicking off his shoes he slipped off his breeches, dragged off his stockings, and stood before her, as naked as she was.
Catriona recalled the time when she'd bandaged his shoulder and leg. Why had she not realised then how magnificent a body he had? His shoulders were broad, the muscles rippled over his torso, and down his lean hips and long, shapely legs. She hadn't appreciated how beautiful a male body could be. People always described girls as beautiful, but to her, Rory's body seemed perfection. She moved towards him, stroking the dark, curling hair which covered his chest, and he gasped.
'No, Cat! Wait!' Then he lowered her to the bed, and began to kiss and caress her all over again.
Catriona had never imagined such ecstasy, such prolonged sensations of quivering delight. He finally claimed her, raising her to such an incredible peak of rapture that she cried aloud from the joy of it. She thought she would expire from sheer wonder that her body could have harboured the ability to create such sensations, without her being aware of it.
'I do so love you,' he murmured at last, and she sensed his reluctance to let her go was as great as her own to be separated from him, to lose this magic she had never before imagined.
He pulled her close, recovered the sheet and blanket which had fallen from the bed, and held her tightly in his embrace.
'Sleep now, my dearest. We've a whole lifetime of loving ahead of us.'
*****
It was Rory who wanted to remain, and Catriona who insisted it was time they went back to Scotland. She was tempted to stay, exploring the delights he had shown her several times during the previous night and early morning, in between brief hours of sleep when they had recovered from their exertions.
'Rory, no!' she said, laughing, as he tried to entice her back to bed after they'd eaten a late, and hearty breakfast. During it she had demanded all his news, and frowned when she heard of the various problems he'd encountered. 'You know I want you, but we must be sensible! There's a great deal to do in Glasgow, from what you tell me. We must buy that workshop before he sells it to someone else.'
'Do you truly think we should buy Mackenzie's workshop?' he asked, reluctantly beginning to pack the few clothes he'd brought with him, and the new ones he'd bought for his wedding.
'It would be ideal. There is plenty of water in that stream which runs right through the site and into the Clyde. And there is space there, I recall, for other buildings. You could have an office, proper storage sheds for the yarn and maybe even the sort of display my great-aunt had.'
'What do you mean? Have we time or money to spare for such decorative ventures?'
'This would be of practical use, too. She had a room, remember? I did tell you. It was for displaying all her fabrics. Hers was more of a museum, though, all the old ones. We could show samples of all our designs, and drawings of new ones, and customers could see what we have done, order new ones, even help us to design exactly what they want.'
'I knew I was right to marry you,' he teased, and tried to kiss her again.
'No!' She laughed as she twisted away from him. 'Where are we going to live? In your rooms?'
Rory shook his head. 'I haven't even thought about it. I didn't dare hope too much you'd be coming back with me. I couldn't make plans. We must buy a house immediately, but I think my landlady will permit you to join me for a while. She doesn't usually have anyone but single men,' he added, and Catriona chuckled.
'Then we must certainly find a house as soon as possible. It wouldn't do for you to have to smuggle me in. Can you afford to buy one, or should we rent? Don't you need to invest all you have in the business?'
'No, I can afford a house, if I sell the one my father left me, near Dundee. There are tenants living in it at the moment, but I am sure they would like to purchase it. That will provide security for you, even if the business fails.'
Catriona frowned. 'It won't fail!' she said vehemently. 'We must never even think of the possibility, for that might be an encouragement for it to happen!'
'I do love your positive approach. Let's rent some rooms first. Once the business is running properly once more, we'll have time to choose. Joshua told me Mackenzie's house was to be sold too.'
Catriona thought of the time she'd gone to it. 'It's rather large,' she said doubtfully.
'Big enough for a family?' Rory asked, and she felt herself grow warm all over.
'We don't need that yet. I don't mind the workshop, that will be altered so that it won't remind me of him, and what he tried to do to you. But I don't think I'd like to live in his house. That can't be changed. I'd rather have something we can make our own.'
'Then we could build exactly what we want, for the future Napiers. Would you prefer to look for land to the west of Glasgow, where all the merchants seem to be moving, or stay on the east near the new manufactory?'
'It would be more convenient to be close to the workshops.'
Catriona was not much interested, the very notion of living with Rory for the rest of her life was too new for her to want to be concerned with mundane domestic details. She was more eager to discuss the business.
Throughout the journey they made plans. It took longer than they had expected, for they stopped early each evening and, sated with lovemaking, set out late in the mornings.
When they finally reached Glasgow they spent the next month, while revelling in their deep intimacy, working long hours organising the new buildings, equipping them, and moving everything together.
Matthew Ogilvie was willing to sell them some of his bleaching fields.
'You soon recovered from your disappointment with Susannah, and loss of Silas's money,' he cackled, leering at Catriona who grinned back at him.
'I feel badly about you losing my money,' he went on, unusually placatory. 'This will make amends for you no longer being my heir.'
There was so much to do apart from supervising the new buildings. Catriona offered to oversee the clearing of the trenches, and find workers for the bleaching fi
elds, and to Rory's delight she discovered a man who knew all about the process, and declared he was a match for any prosy Minister who tried to interfere with his business, Sabbath or not.
Rory and Joshua set up their new network of spinners and weavers, and Rory was surprised and gratified to discover how many of his former workers wanted to be employed by him.
'You're straight, Mr Napier,' one of the weavers told him when he rode out to discuss something. 'Your uncle, well, over the last few years he became a mite unpredictable. And that Angus Mackenzie, he was a rogue! He promised us higher rates, but his overseers made certain they faulted so much work we never got what we expected. And most of the time, I'm damned sure, the work wasna faulty at all! I'm a good weaver, my cloth's some of the best in Scotland!'
Gordon had almost wept with relief when Catriona walked into the workshop the day after they arrived back in Glasgow.
'You've done wonders,' Catriona reassured him. The workshops were not as efficient as when she'd been in charge, and she dismissed the new designs as boringly unoriginal, but Gordon had proved reliable.
'I don't like the responsibility,' he confessed. 'I don't know what we need to order, and if something goes wrong I can't always see what's needed to put it right. And the customers are clamouring for new patterns, the ones you were suggesting. I kept those blocks of the stags' heads you'd just made safely, they're ready for you to use.'
'I'm here now to see to all that,' Catriona said. 'But you have made sure the printing's up to the quality our customers expect. Will you oversee that?'
'Me? Won't you be doing that?'
'I'll be busy doing the things you say you can't do, and making new designs.'
'Don't you want a proper manager?'
Catriona looked at him affectionately. 'You're too modest! You can be a proper manager, Gordon! And if you need me to sort anything out, I'll be here.'
They intended to employ more printers, and hoping to give Gordon some confidence Catriona insisted that he met the people applying for the jobs. There were plenty of these. Before she left her designs had been talked about, and she had her pick of the best printers in Glasgow. To her secret satisfaction she saw that Gordon could judge as well as she did the skills and capabilities of the printers, and one niggling concern had been resolved. She could safely leave things to him while she concentrated on other matters.
'Can I travel to London?' she asked Rory one evening a few weeks later.
He stared at her in amazement? 'Why? Surely you don't wish to leave me so soon?'
She laughed. 'It will be a great sacrifice! I want to visit some of the printing works there, before winter comes. Wilhelm told me of a new technique they are using, invented, I believe, by a man called Nixon. He used it in Dublin, but he is now near London.'
'Spare me the life story. I shall be jealous of him if you are too interested. What technique?'
'Instead of using wooden blocks, which cannot be very big because of the weight, he uses much bigger copper plates. It makes the whole process so much faster, and more accurate, and we can make much larger designs.'
'How can you carve copper?'
'The plates are engraved. That's what I want to find out about. Wilhelm said it was possible to print fabrics many times faster, but only in one colour, which means different designs. I saw some Mr Nixon had done, and I think they would be popular here.'
She returned full of enthusiasm, with a rather bemused copper engraver she had found in London and persuaded to join her.
'Mr Benson will copy my designs onto the plates, and if we can build another workshop we can start producing a few samples by next month,' she told Rory that evening as they sat over supper.
'Why such a hurry? I recall you once left me because you felt I was trying to expand too rapidly,' he said mildly.
Catriona grinned, and rose from the table to walk round and lean over his shoulder, stroking his face. 'Yes, partly, but that was when you wanted me to run two separate workrooms. It's not the same now. And it wasn't just that, Rory, my darling. We could probably have resolved that difficulty. It was an excuse. It was really because I couldn't bear to stay in Scotland if you married Susannah. I'd have been so jealous, resented her so much, and it would have been agony to be with you and know you belonged to her.'
'I was such a fool,' he admitted, swinging round and pulling her onto his lap.
A few minutes later, flushed and somewhat dishevelled, she giggled. 'Rory, what will our landlady say if she comes in to clear the table? Do you want to eat any more?'
'Not now!'
'Then come to bed. There's another reason I'm in a hurry,' she added softly to herself.
An hour later, sated with love and lying in Rory's arms, she spoke sleepily. 'Rory? Are you still awake?'
He pulled her round to face him. 'Yes. Awake enough to do all that again if you wish,' he said, beginning to kiss her.
She laughed and pushed him away. 'Not yet. I must tell you first.'
'Tell me what?'
'We ought to decide on a house soon.'
He groaned. 'Cat, leave business out of our bed! I don't want to share you.'
'Well, Mr Napier, I think it will be rather difficult not to. Share me, I mean. But we do need a house, these rooms won't be large enough for a baby as well.'
His fingers tightened suddenly on her shoulders. 'Cat! You mean, ours?'
'Mine, I assure you. And yours too, you need have no fear of that,' she said, giggling. 'Is it so surprising?'
'When?'
'In the summer. June, I think.'
Rory sat up in bed and ran his hands through his hair. 'Cat, if you are having a baby, ought we – won't it damage it? I can sleep in the other room.'
'Don't you dare! I consulted a fashionable London doctor, and though he thought I was very forward to ask, he said no harm could come from – ' she adopted a rather disdainful tone ' – normal marital behaviour.' She giggled again. 'Though when I grow huge some of that behaviour might prove rather difficult!'
'You can't go on working.'
'If you think I'm going to sit here all day embroidering baby clothes, Rory Napier, you're wrong! I have to get everything started and running smoothly before I need to take a few days off for the birth. But Rory, won't it be wonderful to have a son? Someone to take over the Napier business after us?'
'Or a daughter who looks just like you.'
'No, it will be a son, I know it.'
*****
Charles Napier was born in the middle of June, in the house his parents had built on an eminence overlooking both their enlarged workshops and the River Clyde. He came into the world easily, bawling lustily, and within days, despite Rory's worried objections, Catriona had returned to work, taking him with her. He lay contentedly in his crib, in her office or under the shade of an oak tree just outside. Catriona grew tired of chasing the women workers away from him.
'He's the bonniest babe I ever saw,' was a frequent comment.
'He'll be the most obnoxious brat if you all spoil him so much,' she retorted, but was secretly as besotted as they were. It was difficult to drag her attention away from him, but she and Rory both accepted that her contribution to the business, her constantly changing designs, her innovations, made the difference between a profitable, well-run concern and one which had the possibilities of unlimited prosperity.
'And we want that, the best we can possibly provide, for our children, don't we?' she asked Rory.
He held her in his arms and kissed her, slowly and languorously, and led her to their bed. Their passion for one another had never diminished. It had even grown since Charles's birth.
'I want more children, soon,' Catriona said sleepily some time later as she lay in Rory's arms.
'We'll found a Napier dynasty,' he replied, chuckling and kissing her ear.
'We'll see, my darling, we'll see.
###
THE END
Marina Oliver has written over 60 novels, and has converted most
of them to ebooks. Others have been or are being published as ebooks by other publishers.
For the latest information please see Marina's web site:
http://www.marina-oliver.net
Now read an extract from another book about the Highland Clearances:
TO A FAR COUNTRY
By Marina Oliver
May 1807 The Highlands Of Scotland
'Here ye are. She's a bonny lass,' the midwife said. 'I'll be askin' your man in now ye're both neat and tidy.'
'Thank you, Eliza,' Flora said, her voice weary. She had been prepared for pain, and surprised that it was so bearable. She had never expected giving birth to be such hard work, or take so long, and she was exhausted.
Eliza smiled. 'Never mind, next time it'll be a son, and then ye'll soon be catching me up,' she said cheerfully.
Flora shuddered. Eliza had six brawny sons, aged from eight to twenty-two. She had no wish to live surrounded by such an abundance of vigorous masculinity. Of course she wanted sons, that was the problem. It went without saying a man wanted a son to follow him, but not so many of them.
'And before ye know it, they're wanting to be off on their own, like my Andrew,' Eliza went on. 'Mr Jamie will be giving him old Stuart's croft, won't he? He said he'd think about it, and my Andrew's terrible keen to try out some of these new-fangled notions that his dad don't hold with.'
'I can't speak for Jamie, Eliza,' Flora said. 'You know others are wanting it too, men older than Andrew. Good land is scarce in the glen.'
'Well, I'm sure ye'll put in a word for Andrew. You've always been friends,' Eliza said confidently. 'He may be only two and twenty, but he's for ever reading about turnips and hardier sheep and new-fangled ploughs.' She went to the door and opened it, calling to someone in the other room, while Flora stared blankly at the baby thrust into her arms.
She was sturdy-limbed, pink-cheeked, deliciously warm and soft, with a cap of red hair much brighter than her own auburn locks, and incredibly long, dark eyelashes. She was beautiful, but Flora felt nothing, no rush of overwhelming love such as she had expected to feel when her first baby arrived. And it had been an easy birth, Eliza said. She was an ungrateful wretch to feel this sense of disappointment, of weary resignation. Perhaps it was just exhaustion. But she'd been so sure it was a son.
Wild Catriona Page 24
