Immortal Protector

by Claire Ashgrove

  The way Iain studied her made her wonder if she’d let too much emotion show through that remark. She’d meant it to sound offhand, as if it were knowledge gained from her teaching, and not the brutal truth she’d learned in her own teenage years. And the good Lord knew, she’d been terrified more nights than not.

  She looked away from Iain’s penetrating gaze. “I’ll see what I can do. If you and Marie can convince him to stay, Tane, I’ll get in touch with his teacher over the weekend. I’ll see if she’ll let me swing by and pick up the test and administer it here Monday night.”

  Which would mean escaping the archives over the weekend. A feat she wasn’t entirely sure how she’d accomplish, but somehow or another, she’d find a way. If it meant walking out under the condescending eye of Helen Margaret, she’d do it.

  “Precisely what I wished to talk to you about, Catherine,” Tane murmured. Leaning over his desk, he rested his arms on the top, his expression deadly serious. “We encountered a significant problem this afternoon when the instructor we had arranged to work full time accepted another offer. I overheard you with Darrin. Iain says you are a teacher.”

  Her breath caught long before he ever got around to making a formal job offer. Dimly, she heard it, logically connected the words, Could I entice you to consider? But her head buzzed so loudly, his voice drowned out. A job teaching those who really needed help. Making a difference.

  Iain’s brother had just given her the glimpse of a dream come true.

  She felt her head shake, declining, though she hadn’t instructed it to move. The words came automatically, a hollow echo she didn’t feel in her heart. “I can’t. I’m otherwise…committed.”

  Iain’s voice filtered through the commotion of her rattled thoughts. “Catherine is a novitiate at the abbey in Atchison.” Flat and unemotional, he offered nothing but the truth.

  So why did she want to leap up and object?

  She gripped the arms of her chair, grounding herself. She didn’t want to object, not really. She was happy with her chosen path. She wanted to give more of herself, by committing herself to the greater good, in service to the Church.

  “Ah, I see.” Confusion registered on Tane’s furrowed brow as he glanced at Iain. It lingered only a moment before his smile returned. “Well, if you should happen to hear of anyone who would be suitable, please let your colleagues know we are looking. We cannot operate at full capacity until the position is filled, and we are desperate to find someone soon.”

  Pushing away from his desk, he stood. “’Tis late. I have phone calls to make before it grows even later. Iain, will we see you tomorrow?”

  He hesitated for a split-second before he nodded. “I will stop in. I must complete some research, but shall make a brief appearance.” He slid out of his seat and reached for Catherine’s hand once again.

  This time, she braced herself for the contact and held her breath as she laced her fingers through his. It didn’t help—her heart still did a rapid tap dance and a shiver rolled down her spine. If she possessed sense—and she was rapidly coming to accept she no longer owned any—she’d wrest her hand free. But touching him quieted something inside her that she couldn’t explain.

  Iain led her from the room, down the hall, to where they’d dropped off the couch, and opened the sliding glass doors to the fenced-in patio. Outside, small lanterns set into the building’s exterior gave the pavestones an inviting light. The sounds of the city surrounded them, but tranquility descended on the cozy iron table and chairs, muffling the noise.

  He pulled a chair out for her. “Marie will bring us dinner shortly.”

  As he sidestepped to his own seat, Catherine caught the glow of a flickering gaslight positioned in the middle of the table, along with two dewy glasses of water. That tiny little light revealed Iain put thought into this. It wasn’t just some rushed meal they were having because they lacked better options. Sometime during his excursion with the two teens, he’d planned a genuine dinner.

  She stole a glance at him as he looked over the yard, beyond the fence, his expression thoughtful as ever. Kind, generous, and romantic…not to mention incredibly easy on the eyes. Five years ago she’d have been sucked right into the fantasy.

  Oh, who was she kidding? She was already falling for this man. In two days she’d broken more expectations, more self-promises, more commitments than she had since she’d decided to volunteer at the abbey. Even in the midst of a terrible depression when her adoptive parents died, she’d managed to make prayers with the community. Now . . .

  Iain’s thoughtful gaze drifted to her, quietly studying her as she considered the angular lines of his handsome face. Tingles rippled across her skin, and that same heavenly warmth spread through her veins, pooling in her belly until she felt liquid and pliant inside.

  Now all I want to do is spend time with him.

  He lifted their joined hands, a wistful expression drifting across his face as he looked at them. His thumb stroked hers. Then he let out a sigh and lowered their hands once more. “Tell me how you know so well what ’tis like to live on the street.”

  His quiet interest was fringed with a touch of speculation she wanted to avoid, but couldn’t any longer.

  “I grew up there.”

  “You were an orphan?” He sounded surprised.

  “No.” Catherine stared at the back of a neighboring building, forcing down the distasteful memories of the pathetic childhood she’d known. A hard edge filtered into her voice. “I’m the product of a sperm donor and a mother who didn’t want a kid. She was gone a lot, doing God only knows what. When she didn’t come back for a week, and I didn’t show up at school, well…the state stepped in. I was twelve.”

  The tightening of his fingers against hers was the only outward reaction he showed. In that clench, she recognized a spark of disapproval, maybe even anger. But the firming of his grip unwound a knotted part of her soul, and she exhaled long and slow, pushing away the buried anger. It hadn’t been all bad, not in the end. Talking about it now couldn’t hurt her. They were all just memories that Bob and Linda had erased.

  The doors behind them slid open, and Marie stepped out, carrying two plates of spaghetti. No doubt sensing she’d interrupted a conversation, she said nothing as she set them down, merely smiling before she ducked back inside.

  Iain didn’t even glance at his food. “Continue?”

  Catherine nodded. “My first foster home—he beat me. I skipped school? I got the belt. I forgot my homework? I got the back of his hand. I met a boy? Well, no kid of his was going to have a kid, and that earned me fists. So I ran.”

  Iain’s exhale came out on a hiss. For an instant, the squeeze of his fingers became painful. He let go before she gasped, but that evidential anger settled around his mouth, tightening his expression to granite. She’d received sympathy before, even pity, but not once had someone been angry on her behalf. Seeing that reaction now shook her. She didn’t know what to make of it, how to react, though her natural inclination was to try and assuage it. So, she kept talking, hoping when he realized she’d come out on top of the odds, he’d relax.

  “Pretty much the next three years I spent on the street. Begging for handouts, petty theft for food.” Sleeping around to find myself a dry bed. She skipped that detail—even now it humiliated her. “The system would catch me, put me in another home, and I’d be gone as soon as they stopped hawking over me.”

  Leaning forward, she drank from her untouched water glass, taking a second to organize her thoughts. As she swallowed, Bob and Linda’s kindly faces surfaced in her memory. Two God-fearing people who’d cared whether she lived or died, who had come to mean the world to her, even if she’d despised them in the beginning. A chuckle escaped as she set her glass back down.

  “I was fifteen when I landed in the last home. I’ve never met more religious people in my life. We prayed over everything. And they forced me to go to church.” She gave into a rueful smile. “And I was more determined to leave th
em than anyone else.”

  “But you did not?” Iain released her hand and picked up his fork. He watched her as he twirled the pasta around the tines.

  “Not for lack of trying.” She laughed again. “It was like they had some sixth sense and always found something for us to do as a family the day I planned to make a break for it.”

  He paused, his bite of food halfway to his mouth. “And ’tis how you came to want to dedicate your life to the Church?”

  Instantaneous heat filled Catherine’s cheeks, and she avoided his gaze. “Ah…not quite.”

  “Why do you blush, mademoiselle?”

  Oh dear heavens, he could see the stain on her face? If it were possible, her cheeks heated even more. “Um. Well. I was pretty wild still a year later. And we got a new priest. A young, really attractive priest.” She waited a beat, then added, “Who I was absolutely convinced would give up his collar to date me if I flirted enough.”

  An unmistakable chuckle reached her ears. When she found the courage to look at Iain again, amusement danced in his eyes. “I presume he did not cooperate with your plan?”

  “Nope. But he did get me going to church willingly. And he got me listening. He convinced me to talk also, which led me to really see how I was treating Bob and Linda.”

  “Your foster parents?”

  “Yeah. Two years later, after I graduated school and turned eighteen, I asked them if they’d adopt me.” Her smile faded as a touch of sorrow infiltrated her happier memories. “Linda died three years ago. Bob the year after.”

  Iain changed hands with his fork and settled his right over her left. Ever so slightly, his fingers curled into her palm. Quiet. Supportive. Offering strength in a way she’d never imagined a simple touch could create. Catherine fell into silence, absorbing him and the slow, pleasantly painful swelling of her heart.

  Nine

  Long after they had finished dinner and the drive to Atchison had concluded, Iain still chewed over the glimpse of Catherine’s childhood he had witnessed. ’Twas no wonder he recognized that look of fear when the man she had collided with reached for her. ’Twas the exact same reason Ella cringed each time a man moved too fast. And he experienced the same, violent desire to do harm to the man who had put his fists to Catherine as he had with Ella’s abuser. Even now, though their conversation had shifted to more pleasant subjects, and he had laughed with her uncountable times, fierce protective instincts surged beyond his control.

  “Iain?”

  Sweet sacred Mary, he loved the sound of his name on her lips. “Aye?” he answered hoarsely, struck once more by something even more intense than the urge to keep her safe. Desire barreled through his bloodstream, hot and unwanted, craving far more than his name on her lips and the feel of her hand against his.

  He wanted more intimacy than that of conversation. And yet, he could not allow the craving to know freedom. The abbey rose before them. Even if he ignored her dedication to the Church, there would be no privacy to be found long enough to sate the fire that simmered in his veins.

  Her words tumbled out in a rush. “Iain, I’m not ready to go home.”

  As if she had thrust the pommel of a sword into his gut, his diaphragm constricted. Nor was he ready to part. But if he did not deliver her to the abbey, he could not trust himself to recall his determination to refrain from swaying her convictions. He opened his mouth to offer a plausible excuse before want of her could override logic.

  “It’s a beautiful night. Would you walk with me in the garden for a while?” As she looked at him, she tipped her head, and her hair tumbled over her shoulder. In the moonlight, it shone like lengths of silver that he ached to draw his fingers through.

  Iain groaned inwardly. Nay. Nay. He could not. Perhaps another night, when he had not seen her with a student and witnessed a side of Catherine that was so compelling he yearned to somehow be part of it, of her.

  “I do not think such would be wise,” he answered with difficulty as he pulled into the abbey’s parking lot.

  Puzzlement creased her brow. “Because of the sisters? It’s after midnight, they are all sound asleep.”

  Sighing heavily, he braked to a stop in front of the main entrance. “Nay, Catherine.” He dropped his head against the headrest and closed his eyes. Excuses did her a disservice—she deserved better. “There are things I want from you, you cannot give.” He pursed his lips, hating circumstance. “’Tis best if I leave.”

  “Oh.” She shifted position. Silence began to descend. Awkward, thick, and a worse experience than any confrontation with Azazel’s demons.

  Iain grimaced. Damnation! He abruptly sat up and opened his door. “I shall walk you to the door.”

  Catherine pointed ahead of the car. “Better drive over there. The main entrance is locked at night. I have keys to the side.” She drew her purse in front of her, rummaging until she produced her key ring.

  He ducked back in and did as she requested, parking a good fifty feet farther down the lot. This time, when he opened his door, she did as well. He met her on the curb, instinctively reaching for her hand once more. At the last instant, he stilled his arm. All night he had indulged. If he intended to distance himself, touching her must cease.

  Head bent, eyes cast to the sidewalk, she led the way to the small door on the side of the building. A single lamp lit the solitary step. Overhead, narrow windows overlooked the lush lawn, their drawn curtains barring the moonlight. Catherine came to an abrupt halt in front of him. He had to check his stride to keep from crashing into her.

  Her gaze locked with his, sending a jolt of electricity down his spine. He tightened a fist against the exquisite shock and focused on leveling out his breathing.

  “Iain, I just…want you to know . . .”

  Lips parted, her words trailed into silence. Her gaze canvassed his face, holding him spellbound in their pale blue depths. Time poured by like molasses. Crickets sang at their feet. In a nearby tree, an owl hooted. Iain could not tear his eyes from her, no matter how he ordered himself to look elsewhere. She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, and he felt the slow sweep deep inside his soul.

  He swallowed with effort. “Aye, mademoiselle?” he whispered.

  Her voice was a quiet scrape against the stillness. “I just want you to know how much . . .”

  Catherine’s throat clogged again. He was here, right in front of her, having just admitted he desired her as she desired him. And yet, she was still trying to force out a sensible good night, when what she truly wanted defied logic.

  She took a half step forward, shivering beneath the bright burn in his dark eyes. With the slight movement, the vise around her throat let go. “How much I want to kiss you,” she murmured absently.

  She rose to her toes, following sheer instinct. Leaning closer, in search of what she couldn’t ignore any longer, her breasts brushed against his chest. As her lips touched his, she gasped, the simultaneous contact of his body and his mouth more electrifying than any lightning storm.

  Slowly, she explored the soft contours of his mouth, catching his lips, letting them go, taking her time to savor each lingering caress. Iain’s hands settled on her hips, holding her in place, allowing her to become familiar with the fall of his breath on her cheek, the feel of his heart beating in time with hers. When the need to experience the taste of him became unbearable, she slipped her tongue out to glide it over his.

  A low, throaty groan rumbled in Iain’s chest as he met her inquisitive foray. His stroke was gentle, almost lazy, but filled with an underlying urgency that worked its way free the longer they remained fused together. He slid one hand up her spine, fisted his hand into her hair, and tugged her into an angle that allowed him to take control of the kiss.

  Catherine surrendered with a soundless sigh. Heaven. She’d forgotten how wonderful it was to kiss a man. How delightful it felt to be held in strong arms and feel an even stronger body pressing against hers. But even those distant memories were nothing compared to t
he incredible sensation Iain awakened as his fingers moved against her scalp, gathering more of her hair, pulling tight as if he fought a greater need, and then relaxing as he deepened the kiss.

  Struck by soul-deep longing that left her shaking, she looped her arms around his neck. The hand he held at her hip pressed against the small of her back, melding her against his powerful body. From her flattened breasts to the tops of her knees, she felt every hard muscle strain against the desire flaring between them. The ache inside her deepened, the craving for more of Iain Donnelly now an unquenchable thirst.

  His teeth caught her lower lip, tugged as he released her mouth. Then his breath scalded down the side of her neck, hard and unsteady. He tucked his face into the hollow at her shoulder, and exhaled audibly. Gradually, his fingers loosened in her hair.

  “Catherine.” He drew in a breath that expanded his shoulders, and he lifted his head as he distanced their bodies. His eyes gleamed with feral light that sent another volley of shivers sliding down her spine. “I must go, or we shall both regret this eve.”

  “Both?” Five years of cloistered life slipped off her shoulders as easily as if she removed a coat. She tucked her fingers into his shirt and tugged. He swayed willingly into her, sliding his knee between hers until their bodies once again aligned. The hard length of his confined erection pressed against her abdomen. “I won’t regret anything, Iain.”

  What happened next occurred so quickly, she couldn’t process every nuance. Sensation blistered through her as Iain’s mouth crashed into hers. Before she could recognize they were moving, her back was flush against the abbey’s brick wall, and he leaned into her, his hands braced above her head, trapping her against the heat of his body. His low groan filled her ears as he sank his hips into hers. She hooked her ankle around his calf, lost to the assault of his kiss and the utter abandon of the moment. She didn’t care who witnessed them, didn’t care if the prioress herself walked out that side door. Just so long as Iain kept touching her, filling her up drop by drop with need that raced through her veins like wildfire.