What could have been done to her that she reacted so? Lying like a dead thing, eyes scrunched closed tightly, her body lifeless beneath him? He suspected he knew the truth of it, but it turned his stomach to think of a woman, any woman, being misused like that.
Oh, he could not deny it happened, and happened regularly, for the Church and the law proclaimed a woman was the property of her father and then her husband to do with as he wished. It was the way of things among men and women and the world.
His father took a harsh view, though, of his kith and kin if they mistreated their women. So, either men did not or they kept it hidden from the earl’s gaze and that of his wife and those who served him.
Would Gowan have done such a thing to her? He let out a breath. The man travelled on the earl’s business and spent much time away from her. She never seemed in fear of him, even when Aidan was pursuing her. Nay, from what he’d discovered about Gowan, he seemed to genuinely care for Catriona. Both his mother and father spoke highly of the man and a few casual words shared when they did not know he listened about the couple’s arrival in Lairig Dubh reaffirmed that.
Unless he asked her about it, there was no one else to ask. In spite of Munro having known her for nigh to eight years, Aidan would not bring up his stepmother or her history to him.
That left Catriona and, though he wanted to ask her, her reaction left him convinced she would not speak of such matters with him. Deciding that she must be sleeping, he rose and took careful steps across the floor, trying not to wake her. His hand was on the door latch when he heard it.
Crying. And crying while trying not to be heard. Muffled by the pillow more likely than not. It drew Aidan to her, the desire to ease her pain and her fears stronger than he would have expected towards a woman he wanted for nothing more than bedplay.
Or did he want only that?
He pushed away any ideas of the sort and walked back into the bedchamber. The crying stopped as soon as he entered as though waiting for him to leave once more.
‘Cat?’ he whispered softly enough that he would not wake her if she did indeed sleep.
The fire’s glow cast shadows across the chamber and across the bed, distorting everything around him and making it impossible for him to see her. She turned to face him and the tears streaming down her cheeks let him know he was right—she was crying.
He did not think about what he should do then. Aidan sat down on the bedside, the ropes creaking beneath his weight, and he removed his boots. Then he leaned back against the headboard and pulled her up into his arms, holding her head under his chin and brushing her hair from her tearstained face.
‘Hush now,’ he soothed.
His actions and words had the opposite effect of what he was trying to do, for instead of easing her misery, she cried even harder. So he waited, much as he used to for his sister when she came to him with her heartaches or other feminine disasters that befell younger sisters.
Aidan wondered if she’d not grieved for Gowan’s loss yet. The days and weeks since his death had not been easy for her and she may not not have let her weakness show, even with her friend Muireall. He’d only watched her from afar during the funeral and saw only the stony, shocked façade worn by those who have suffered a great loss.
His conscience bothered him once more. If he had not seen her and decided to pursue her, he would not have sent Gowan away. If Gowan had remained, Aidan would have lost interest at some point and moved on to easier quarries. Even with all of that being true, he still wanted her in a way that was new to him.
She began to quiet in his embrace and, as she relaxed against his chest, he wondered where this would all lead. Somehow, he knew that it would be very easy to get deeply involved with her and that it would not end just as easily. And once more, that thought did not frighten him off as it should.
‘I think you may have got the worst part of this arrangement between us, my lo— Aidan MacLerie,’ she whispered in between sniffling. ‘I have never been good at anything in my life and now I cannot even be a good whore to you.’
‘You are not a whore, Catriona.’ He smoothed her hair again. ‘You could never be any man’s whore.’ She pushed back to look at him then and he released her from his embrace. ‘And what else have you failed at in your life?’
‘But that is what you wanted me to be, is it not? What else do you call a woman who gives herself to a man not her husband, to a man who could never be that?’ She ignored the other question completely, not willing to share her past with him yet. Or ever?
Words flew through his thoughts—words to ease her pain and confusion—but he could not say any of them. No matter how she felt, he would never have thought her his whore.
‘Just so,’ she said with a sad shake of her head before he could explain. ‘I have been thinking about how to end this.’
He sat up then as she sat back on her heels in a shift too thin to hide any of her body from his sight—even if the fire did not light the bedchamber the way he’d like it to be lit. ‘End this? Have we even begun it yet?’ he asked her.
‘No matter,’ she said, brushing off his words. ‘If you would but lend me a small sum of money, I can leave and make my way—’
‘To where, Cat? Where would you go?’ He wanted to know because, at this moment, the thought of her leaving him did not sit well with him.
He wanted her. Damn it to hell, he wanted her!
His question stopped her then. She had not thought it out, that much was clear. She shrugged then and tossed her hair over her shoulder. Her full breasts strained against the thin fabric, visible there to him. His erection sprang to life on only a threadbare hope such as that.
‘I will accept Hugh’s cousin’s offer of marriage, I think,’ she said without a hint of awareness of the danger rising in him about her leaving with another man. ‘He lives in the north and has need of a wife. Well, his five motherless bairns have need of a new mother.’
‘Need of a wife?’ he growled out the words as he grabbed for her. ‘You will not be his wife.’
Aidan’s fingers slid along the shift, grazing those breasts and finally sliding in under her arms. Holding on to her waist, he lifted her and dragged her up to sit on his lap. With her legs spread on either side of him, the wee beastie between his legs surged between them. She gasped and slid back just enough so that she did not sit on top of it.
‘Again?’ she asked.
‘Still.’
‘Oh.’
Her mouth formed the sound, but it was the wonderment in her gaze, reflected by the fire’s light, that undid him and his efforts not to try to tup her this night. That and the way her gaze followed her hands down his body to where he really wanted them to be. Now he, Aidan MacLerie, heir to the earl and the consummate lover and seducer of women, found that it was his turn to beg.
Chapter Twelve
She was truly a failure in life.
She had killed her mother in childbirth.
She had failed to be a boy who could have helped her father more than a worthless girl.
When she was grown and could have helped his aims by accepting the marriage he’d arranged, with a pretty purse of coins going in his pocket, she had refused. He had beaten and starved her until she gave in, barely able to see or speak at her wedding due to the bruises on her face and body.
That had mattered little and had not stopped Torcaill, a vicious, dangerous man, from claiming his marital rights on her whenever and wherever he wanted. And he’d wanted. Insatiable in all things, his desires for fleshly pleasure were known throughout their village. Whether wife or whore or unfortunate in his path, he swived his way through life, as though it mattered more than breathing or eating did. Refusal on her part was not an option. He demonstrated that well and frequently, shaming her before her kith and kin and even strangers passing through the vil
lage.
Fighting back aroused him even more, making him more and more vicious, so she learned to lie still and let him do what he would do to her. When he realised what she was doing, it infuriated him. Then he would slap her and pinch her until he got a reaction, leaving marks and bruises all over her. Once he caned her so badly she could not sit for days.
Even when the healer had told him she was carrying and that treating her harshly could end both the pregnancy and her life, Torcaill shrugged and took what he wanted anyway—as he always did. She tried to say no and tried to explain that she was beginning to bleed. Incensed by her attempt to refuse him, he finished tupping her and then beat her until she lost the babe inside. And, as the healer told her when she came to after the bleeding and the fever that racked her for four days, she had also lost the ability to bear other children.
She prayed as she faded in and out of consciousness that day—prayed for her own death and his. And when the Almighty answered part of her plea and ended Torcaill’s life, she smiled for the first time in months. Catriona had outlasted him and would survive.
Her father showed no remorse at all for her treatment at Torcaill’s hands. He belittled her for not taking rightful care of her lawful husband and set out to find her another one. He needed coin and decided that whoring her out would make more of it faster than trying to find another husband for the barren, worthless woman she was.
Barely out of her sickbed, he dragged her to the village centre and began offering her to any man who would meet his price. And, for the first time in her life, with nothing left to lose, she fought back. Her loud struggles were what had drawn Gowan’s attention and his intervention.
She’d cost him a huge sum, all his coins, not something a simple warrior could earn back quickly in service to his chieftain, and she could give him nothing in return. Even those few, early attempts to please him in bed turned into horrifying and embarrassing encounters. So she turned her efforts to being whatever kind of wife he needed.
Yet not a day passed that she did not feel that she had failed Gowan. He said he needed and wanted no more children, but a few words spoken in passing made her believe he did.
He stopped sharing her bed years ago, never returning after those few attempts proved so much a failure. It was not for a lack of need on his part, for she knew he paid coin to lie with one of the village whores from time to time.
And she could not even be a good mother to his son, for Munro had rejected her place in their household from almost the first day she returned with Gowan.
Then, not knowing how to deal with the flirting of this handsome, young, bold man, she’d dragged Gowan’s good name into the dirt along with hers. It all proved she was the worthless slut her father had called her all those years ago.
Laughter bubbled up inside her, threatening to escape, while tears began to burn her throat and eyes. Worse than either of those, she wanted to touch this man who’d bought her way out of poverty on just the promise of attempted seduction as his collateral.
In the dark of night when emotions and guilt attacked her, she was tempted to get up and walk away. To walk until she could walk no more. And then to lie down and let go of life. The temptation to do that this night tormented her and Catriona might have done that except for Aidan’s words.
‘Touch me. I beg you. Put your hands on me now.’
Startled at the vehemence of his words, she felt the tension increase in his hard thighs beneath her. His breathing grew shallow and fast and heat poured off his skin. His body readied itself for pleasure and she watched as his flesh pressed against the lacings of his trews. She’d seen it earlier, naked and bold in his hand, and now hers itched to release it and hold it.
She shivered then and it shook her whole body. But it was not in fear or because the air chilled her—it was plain and simple desire that coursed through her. When once and always in the past, the thought of pleasing a man turned her stomach, now she wanted to touch him, to taste his skin, to caress the hard, rising flesh to its full size. What had once been a weapon of terrible pain and fear now intrigued her.
So, could she? Was she ready to invite her seduction to reach its conclusion? Or should she walk away before this fire of passion that threatened to ignite between them did, burning them both in ways she could not even contemplate?
‘Cat. Pleasure me.’
Those words, usually a demand followed by forced measures, should have stopped her, but they did not. They were not an order this time, but a plea and spoken by a man who could have forced her the same way others had. The flesh between her legs began to ache with the same need he’d caused in her earlier—one that he could incite and then soothe with his touch. Now he asked her to take control of his body. To touch him.
To please him.
She remembered watching him fight once, in the yard, surrounded by his friends and the men who would one day serve him. His tall, muscular body had glistened in the sun as he and Rurik’s son took down all the others. Now she wanted to caress his skin to see how it felt under her hands.
Reaching for the ties on his long shirt, she tugged them loose and leaned up to pull it over his head. Cat gasped as her breasts slid along his skin as she pushed it up his arms and off. Though he did not resist, he did not help much either, forcing her to move closer to him to do it. Tossing the shirt aside, she sat back and tried to decide where to touch first.
The dark curls on his chest that trailed in a narrowing path from his neck down to his manhood beckoned her hand, so she began there. She ran the back of her hand across his chest, swirling in the curls, and discovered that touching his nipples drew out a gasp from him. Empowered by such a reaction, she grazed her fingers over them, watching as his eyes darkened and his mouth opened. He’d put his mouth on hers and caused a fiery heat to burn throughout her body—could she cause the same to him?
Leaning forward, she kissed the side of his neck and then she kissed one of his nipples. He shuddered under her. Doing it again brought another shudder. When she tried to suckle on it as he had hers, his body bucked beneath her. Cat liked the way it felt, to be the one causing him to respond with her touch.
She caressed his chest, running her fingers over the curls and tracing them down, down, down until she reached his belt. Without looking at him, she unbuckled it and then tugged on the laces of his trews.
He stopped breathing then. Aidan closed his eyes and leaned his head against the board behind him, giving her leave to do as she willed to him. So, she loosened the leather laces and spread the fabric apart to take him in her hand.
Smooth, like a rich fabric she’d felt once, and hard, his flesh rose against her palm, the skin drawing back to expose the tip of it. A bead of moisture appeared at the tip and she rubbed her thumb across, causing the flesh to surge against her hand. Aidan’s breathing stopped and his body tensed under her. Cat slid one hand down the length of his manhood and touched the rest of him there.
‘Cat,’ he growled through tightly clenched jaws. ‘You are killing me!’ The guttural tone caused vibrations to echo into her, deep inside of her, and her body began to tighten at the sound of it. When she glanced up, her hands still encircling him most intimately, the desire glowed in his eyes.
‘Should I cease?’ she asked, not knowing if this was pleasure or pain for him.
‘Nay,’ he shouted aloud. Then he smiled at her. ‘Nay.’ A bit softer then, but still thick with his need.
She was teasing a caged animal and she knew it. His control would break and it would be her doing. That should have terrified her and yet it did not. Somehow she knew she was safe in his arms. At least her body was. A man like this could be dangerous to a woman’s heart.
He raised his hands and covered hers then, guiding her into a pattern of caressing the length and then around the width of his flesh. His breathing grew louder and raw, his jaw still clenched and
his body tensed beneath her. In her grasp, he hardened and she knew his release was nigh.
‘Cease,’ he whispered, lifting his and her hands off his flesh then. Leaning back on her heels, she knew he wanted to finish within her body.
But could she?
‘You have that look in your eyes again, Cat.’ He shifted and lifted her off his legs then. Sliding from the bed, he stood and pushed his trews down and off. ‘I do not want that look to be between us.’
He stood before her then, bathed in the fire’s light, exposing himself to her and letting her just gaze on him. Unashamed. Unabashedly male. Hard everywhere, strong muscles that tensed as he moved towards the bed. His manhood rose from the curls at its base, inviting her touch once more.
‘That is the look I wish to see in your eyes,’ he said.
‘What do you see?’
‘You look hungry and curious at the same time,’ he said on a laugh. ‘Your tongue keeps peeking out of the corner of your mouth as though you would...’ His words became strangled then, as she did what he was describing.
‘Taste it?’ she finished.
His flesh pulsed then, his body tensed and hers answered with the same. She reached out, but he stopped her questing hands.
‘Not this time.’ He shook his head and reached for her now.
Pulling her on to her knees, he grabbed hold of her shift and pulled it over her head. Tossing it aside, he climbed back on the bed and knelt before her. After only a moment’s delay, he tugged her towards him and embraced her. The heat of his skin shocked her as their bodies touched.
‘Do not think, Cat. Just feel what I do to you,’ he whispered as he tilted his head and touched his mouth to hers. Her body understood and reacted to his promise now.
She let go and let him do as he would then, her body a thing unknown to her as it blossomed under his touch. Whether hands or mouth and skin, it mattered not for he used every part of him to bring the need within her to life, to stoke it like the fire and to promise to vanquish it before she burned up from it.
Yield to the Highlander Page 11
