Lachlan looked down at her from high up on Goliath’s back. A wintry breeze lifted his dark hair while his enormous mount stomped restlessly in front of the team. “Do you need help?”
“No, I most certainly do not,” she assured him. “I’ll just be a moment.”
She picked up her skirts and waded into the leafy green ferns along the side of the road and went behind a bush.
Greatly relieved to have that particular necessity taken care of, she dropped her skirts and returned to the coach. Lachlan dismounted and led his horse around to the page board at the back of the vehicle.
“What are you doing?” Catherine asked.
“I’m going to join you for a bit.” He looked straight into her eyes while he tied his horse to the rear handrail.
Not knowing what to expect, Catherine returned to the side door and allowed the driver to hand her up.
Seconds later, Lachlan’s broad, tartan-clad form filled the open doorway, blocking out the light. He took hold of the handle and swung inside, his long hair flying about as he shut the door behind him. His clean outdoorsy scent, mixed with leather and horse, permeated the interior. He settled himself on the opposite seat.
They faced each other in silence while the coach bounced under the driver’s weight outside. Soon they were rolling again, less hurried now.
“I’m surprised you’re sitting here with me,” Catherine said. “I didn’t think you’d ever want to look at me again after what happened, much less be alone with me.”
He adjusted his sword belt and scabbard and took his time replying. When at last he spoke, his forehead was creased with concern.
“You were right,” he said. “I did not want to see you. I’ve been avoiding it, because I cannot bear to think of what I did to you this morning. I will never forgive myself.”
“It wasn’t just you,” she insisted. “It was my fault as well. I moved a certain way, and suddenly you were right there.… You slid in so easily, and I wanted you. I just couldn’t bring myself to stop.”
He wouldn’t look at her. “I should have stopped it myself. Much sooner. I don’t know why I couldn’t.”
“I couldn’t, either, if it helps you to know that. I knew it was wrong, but I couldn’t resist. I couldn’t let you go.”
Her racing heart compelled her to move across the coach and sit beside him. “I’m sorry, Lachlan. I didn’t mean to cause all this.”
“You’re apologizing to me?” he practically shouted. “You’re the one who stands to suffer the most. And besides, you didn’t cause it.” He frowned almost viciously. “Your sister did, and I swear, with every breath in my body, that I will make her pay for this. There is nothing I won’t do to make her reverse it. I’ll kill her if I have to.”
Catherine shook her head. “Don’t say such things. She is my sister.”
A muscle clenched at his jaw, and he spoke in a dangerous snarl. “She is a witch, and her curse upon me came straight from the fires of hell. Do not forget that my wife died in childbirth. She cried and begged God not to take her from this world. Then she pleaded with Him to let the bairn survive.…” He paused a moment to steady his voice. “I loved my wife, but I had to bury her, and my child as well. I will not let that happen to you.”
“But it’s not up to you to control how, and when, people die,” she argued. “You don’t have that power. Even if there was no curse, there could be no guarantee that I would survive giving birth to your child. No woman can have that assurance. Life is a risk. Every day, for all of us.”
Lachlan glared at her fiercely. “Raonaid shouldn’t have that power, either—to decide when someone will die.”
He looked away from her, toward the window. The coach bounced over a rough patch of road, and Catherine’s head pounded from the constant jostling and relentless strain of the situation.
He turned his searing, bloodshot eyes to her. “Marry me,” he said.
Her heart turned over in her chest. “I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me, lass. We made love this morning. You could be carrying my child. I know I’m not good enough for a highborn lady such as you—I am a Highlander without title or property—but we’ve lain together. I must marry you.”
She paused while all the blood in her veins slowly went cold. “You’re only proposing to me because of the curse,” she said. “You think I’m going to die, and you feel responsible. Isn’t that it?”
He spoke with dangerous antagonism. “Don’t say that. You’re not going to die. We will reach Edinburgh tonight.”
“But it’s true,” she continued nevertheless. “You would not be proposing otherwise, and I will not accept such an offer from you. I desire you, Lachlan, but how could I marry a man who only expects nine months of matrimony? What if I am not with child? What if we stopped in time? Have you even considered that?”
He dropped his head into his hands and refused to answer.
“I understand your concerns,” she said, more calmly now, “but I think we should at least wait to see if I am with child. Perhaps I am not. Remember, you did not take all of your pleasure inside of me.”
His gaze shot to hers. “Pleasure? You think I enjoyed that? It was torture!”
She frowned at him and sat back against the cushions. “How romantic of you. And here I thought you had a reputation for being charming.”
“So your answer is ‘no?’” he hotly replied.
“Of course it is ‘no!’ I have no memories! I don’t even know who I am, much less if I am expecting because of your wretched curse. Besides all that, how can I agree to become your wife when I am about to meet a twin sister who was separated from me at birth—a sister you want to kill!”
“You are in danger because of her.”
“She is still my sister, and she certainly didn’t intend to curse me. She doesn’t even know I exist.”
Suddenly a grim shadow settled over his features, and he spoke in a growling voice. “Sometimes when I look at you,” he said, “I see her, and I want to close my eyes.”
Catherine glared at him with burning shock while a terrible knot of grief exploded in her stomach.
“Then you should be thankful I declined your offer of marriage just now, or you would have been quite miserable over the next nine months.”
For a long moment they stared at each other; then he pounded on the roof. The coach pulled to a halt, and he did not wait for it to stop before he swung the door open and leaped out.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Lachlan galloped ahead of the coach, determined to put some distance between him and Catherine.
Christ almighty. He had made love to her. Without ever intending to, he had slid into her depths and remained there for a perilous amount of time, unable to withdraw; then he had slid back in, again and again, until the pleasure had snuffed out all logic and self-control. He had taken her rashly and impetuously, and still he wanted to take her again.
Even in the coach just now, he had wanted to hold her, to kiss her sweet lips and run his hands through her hair. It was all he could think of—to lie with her again, to make love to her, every night, freely, without constraints, for the rest of his God-forsaken life.
Or hers, which might not be such a very long time.
It was an unpleasant reminder, and he had to shut his eyes against the image of her death.
Bloody hell, he had proposed to her!
And she had refused!
And yes, by God, he had considered the notion that it might be a brief marriage, but it would be better than no time at all.
He would give anything to know that the curse could be lifted, that she was not in any real danger. He would marry her either way, of course, which was why her refusal had pushed him over the edge.
Had she really thought so little of their lovemaking? Did she not understand? Did she not feel what he felt?
He was overcome suddenly by a terrible rush of grief.
Bloody hell! He never asked for this. He didn’t wa
nt this kind of pain.
And he meant what he had said. He would kill Raonaid if he had to. He would do anything to protect Catherine, even if it meant she would hate him forever.
He would protect her at any cost. Even that.
Because he loved her.
* * *
It was past midnight when the coach finally rolled to a stop outside the Edinburgh hotel. Catherine sat up groggily and rubbed her eyes. She had fallen asleep at some point and had no idea what time it was.
The latch on the door flicked open, and she squinted as light from a lantern spilled across the floor of the coach. It was Alex, holding the lantern aloft.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Lady Catherine,” he gently said, “but we’ve arrived. Lachlan has already secured a room for you. I just need to take you upstairs.”
“Thank you,” she replied.
She sidled across the upholstered seat and took his hand. A few minutes later, she was collapsing onto a soft feather bed with freshly laundered sheets and closing her weary eyes. It had been an exhausting day, crossing the Lowlands with few stops other than to change horses. Catherine could barely move.
Each endless mile of the journey from Drumloch Manor to Kinloch Castle—then south again to Edinburgh—seemed to merge together into one grueling blur of movement and scenery. Her body groaned in protest from all the jostling about in the coach that day. All she wanted to do now was sleep for an eternity.
* * *
When Catherine opened her eyes, it was pitch-dark in the room. She was still dressed in her day clothes, lying flat out on her back, on top of the covers. Every muscle in her body ached and throbbed.
Sitting up drowsily, she cupped her forehead in a hand. “Good Lord, what time is it?” She swung her legs off the edge of the bed to touch the floor.
“It’s four o’clock in the morning,” a voice said.
Lachlan.
Instantly awake, she noted his shadowed figure in a rocking chair by the window. He held a musket across his lap.
“Could you light a lamp?” she asked, squeezing the edge of the mattress with her hands. “I need to see where I am.”
He rose from the chair and lit a candle. The room brightened to a warm golden glow.
“Are we in Edinburgh?” she asked.
“Aye. We arrived a few hours ago, but none of us are in any condition to meet Raonaid or Murdoch. It’s been a long day. The others are sleeping. We’ll ride out to Blue Waters first thing in the morning.”
She ran her tongue across her dry lips. “I’m thirsty,” she said. “Is there anything to drink?”
“I’ll pour you some wine.”
Catherine waited for her thoughts to stir into something tangible while she watched him uncork a bottle and fill a small glass. He strode forward and handed it to her.
“Thank you.”
Still feeling groggy, she took it in both hands and sipped heartily. The dark flavor awakened her senses as she looked all around the large room. It was a luxurious space. The walls were paneled in oak, and the furniture was upholstered in a floral brocade.
“How long have you been sitting here?” she asked.
“Since we arrived.”
“But you must be exhausted as well,” she noted with concern.
“Aye,” he admitted. “And I confess I might have dozed off for a minute or two in the past few hours.”
She took another sip of wine. “I’m surprised it’s you who is watching over me. You could have left Alex outside the door. I’m sure he would have been devoted enough to the task.”
“He’s a good lad,” Lachlan said. “Now go back to sleep, Catherine. You need your rest. Tomorrow is an important day.”
She set the glass down on the bedside table. “Indeed. I am going to meet the twin sister who was separated from me at birth. I hardly know what I will say to her.”
“Don’t get your hopes up for a tearful reunion. The last time I saw Raonaid, she was pouring a bucket of bones all over me, and hexing me straight to hell.”
Catherine swallowed uneasily. “Perhaps she has changed.”
He shook his head.
“How do you think she will react when she sees me?” Catherine asked.
“It’s difficult to say. I’ve known her to be volatile, so I will go first and deliver the news. I will also make sure that Murdoch will not be a source of danger.”
Catherine nodded. “That will be best, I suppose. She should be warned, for the news will come as a shock. No doubt she will need time to prepare herself.”
Still half in a daze, Catherine pulled the covers back, kicked off her shoes, and slid between the sheets. She and Lachlan watched each other steadily through the flickering candlelight for a long while, and she wished things were different between them. She wanted to be close to him, but she dare not invite him back into her bed. She’d done enough damage and was not sure he would ever forgive her.
“Are you still angry about what happened today?” she asked, unable to avoid the subject of their argument in the coach.
“Just go to sleep, lass.”
“But I want to talk about this. Please, Lachlan. You proposed to me today.”
The rocking chair creaked slowly back and forth across the floorboards. “Do you mean to change your mind?”
There it was—the hint of seduction, the teasing quality in his voice that always excited her and drew her in.
She hesitated, then answered shakily, “No.”
“Then what is there to talk about?”
She cleared her throat. “You are still angry with me. I only wish you could understand.…”
He stopped rocking. “What do you expect, lass? When a man makes love to a woman and proposes marriage, it’s safe to assume his feelings have become engaged.”
“You are hurt by my refusal?” she said, leaning up on an elbow.
“Nay, not hurt,” he insisted. “Angry. Everything about this angers me, because you are in danger, and I cannot live with that.”
She wet her lips and pondered how best to explain her true feelings.
“I wish to marry for love, Lachlan,” she said at last. “Not for protection. Very soon, I will have a substantial fortune of my own, and I will be quite capable of taking care of myself. And under no circumstances will I allow any man to marry me out of anger. When I marry, it will be by choice—not force, or necessity. I want love. I want the passionate, all-consuming kind, where nothing is held back. I want babies and grandchildren, and I want to live a long and happy life with my husband, who will make love to me, regardless of the risk.”
He sat very still, and all she wanted was for him to come to her, to drop to his knees and tell her that he felt the same way. To confess his undying love for her, to kiss her and hold her and convince her that she was wrong about him, that his proposal was not just about responsibility, or a need to protect. She wanted to hear him say that he could not live without her. Whether she died tomorrow or lived to be an old woman, she wanted him to be grateful for the passion that could be theirs, if only he could just love her.
But he said nothing. He started rocking in the chair again, and eventually he turned his eyes away.
Catherine inhaled deeply and let out a quiet sigh. “Well, now you understand my reasons for refusing you,” she said, determined to keep a cool head. “We are hardly—either of us—in a position to make decisions about the rest of our lives. I have no memories, and you have just made love for the first time in three years. It’s bound to make things seem more intense than they really are. I’m sure that when all of this is over, you will thank me for turning down your offer.”
He rose quickly from the chair and walked to the door. “I’ll keep watch from just outside,” he gruffly said, “and tomorrow we’ll see Raonaid. Everything will seem much clearer then. For both of us.”
With that he left her to wonder if perhaps she was the one who needed to be reminded that this situation was not normal.
It’s bound to
make things seem more intense than they really are.…
Perhaps that’s all it was, she thought, and all she needed to do was keep better control over her heart until life returned to normal.
Oh, she wished it could be so. But somehow she knew that was a wish not likely to be granted.
Chapter Thirty
How should one prepare to meet an identical twin for the first time? Catherine wondered anxiously as the coach rumbled up the long, steep hill to Blue Waters Manor and came to a halt at the bottom of the lane.
Lachlan and Gawyn had ridden ahead to announce her arrival and ensure that there was no danger while the others stayed behind to guard the coach. Catherine was to wait until there was some indication that she would be both safe and welcome.
While she waited, she tried not to think of Lachlan and the argument they’d had the day before, and how she could not bear the thought of losing him. It was quite likely, however, that she would. One way or another. Even if Raonaid agreed to lift the curse, he would soon escort Catherine home to her family.
Growing increasingly troubled, she thrust that thought from her mind and instead tried to focus on her first meeting with her twin sister. What questions would she ask? She would inquire about Raonaid’s childhood, of course, her special gifts as an oracle, and her life in the Hebrides.
Catherine wondered curiously if Raonaid had an aversion to onions, as she did, or if she could not fall asleep on her stomach. They were twins after all. Since they were identical, would they share the same tastes in everything? Would they have the same mannerisms? All these trivial questions and details seemed fascinating to Catherine, and each moment that passed seemed to stretch on forever while her heart beat faster and faster. Her life was about to change irreversibly. She was going to meet her twin, and nothing would ever be the same again.
Sitting forward, Catherine peered out the window, through the early-morning light. What was happening inside the manor house? Had Lachlan told Raonaid the news yet? Had he asked her about the curse?
* * *
With his targe hanging at his back, his hand gripped around the hilt of his sword, Lachlan strode slowly into Raonaid’s parlor. A housekeeper had greeted him at the door and informed him that Murdoch was not at home and would not return until the evening. The lady of the house, however, would be downstairs shortly.
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