Her first attempts to learn and write. His heart swelled with pride as he said the numbers and she pointed to them.
‘One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven...’ He paused and turned the slate a bit. The next one did not look like any number. But it mattered not for she had tried...for him. ‘Eight. Nine. Ten.’
‘Two small circles should not be difficult to draw, but I struggled with them,’ she admitted. ‘Ciara gave me this...’ she held out a small piece of parchment ‘...as a guide so I can practise.’
‘I brought you something that could help you as well,’ he said. Her gaze moved to the table and the book that lay there. ‘From my mother’s books.’
‘I could never,’ she protested. ‘Even if my skills improve, ’tis too costly for me to touch.’
‘We can read it together. I will begin it and, as you learn, you can say the words. Or the numbers, for it contains both.’
She looked on him with an expression of such adoration then that Aidan knew he must get out or he would touch her. She would be safest from his lust if they were outside, where people would see them and he could not throw her on the table, toss up her skirts and have her...many times...to slake his hunger for her. The randy lad approved of that second plan.
‘Have you eaten?’ he asked, taking her elbow and guiding her towards the door. ‘’Tis a beautiful day and we should not waste it.’ He knew he was speaking nonsense. Her questioning gaze confirmed it. ‘I sat with my father to hear disputes this morn. You sat with Ciara, hard at work on those. Come, let us walk a bit.’
Chapter Fourteen
Cat kept glancing at Aidan as he took her by the hand and led her outside. He guided her along the path that led to the centre of the village.
When she’d returned from Ciara’s and from hours of intense concentration, determined to learn her numbers, her head had ached. Her body reminded her of their more exquisite exertions of the night and her exhaustion pushed her to a short rest on the wonderful bed he’d bought. She never thought she would awaken to find him there, staring at her.
Unsure of his intentions, she’d dawdled there in the bedchamber, expecting—from the fierce desire that he ever wore in his eyes—to be tossed on the bed and tupped. Though she should have been too exhausted by his efforts of last night, all night, her body already warmed to the thought of joining with his.
When he did not, she decided to show him what she’d learned so far and he gifted her with the warmest smile over the curling, tilting, scrawled numbers there on the slate. She would practise for hours to see that expression again.
Now, they walked together, her hand in his, and, for the first time since becoming his leman in fact, they would be seen so. And she could not do it. As they approached others, she tugged her hand from his and walked a step behind him instead of by his side. He paused as though he thought she would speak to the two women and waited for her.
She let them pass with just a nod and waited for him to walk again. He did not.
‘Catriona? Is aught the matter?’ he said, holding out his hand to her once more.
‘I...cannot,’ she said, shaking her head at the proffered hand. He startled at first and then dropped his hand to his side.
‘Ah.’
Was he angry? Did he understand she could simply not proclaim their relationship to one and all, not now, not in the village where everyone saw and judged her?
‘Come, then,’ he said. ‘Walk with me.’
This time he walked without touching her, pacing his longer strides to hers so that she was near him. When people passed, they bowed or nodded to him and greeted her as well. The same men who had leered at her just days before now only gave her respectable words or glances. Several men asked Aidan’s views on various matters affecting the village or the fields. It would be time to plant very soon and his opinion about when that would happen and which crops would do best this season seemed to matter.
He was his father’s son, after all, and would own and control all of this some day.
The one person she did not see and had not seen in days was Gowan’s son Munro. It was as if he did not live in Lairig Dubh any longer. No one mentioned him to her, not even Muireall, so she had no idea of his whereabouts or his circumstances. She just feared seeing him here while Aidan escorted her, his leman, for all to see.
When one discussion went on for several minutes, she considered how inappropriate she was for him. He was wealthy, learned, heir to a huge estate and titles that would take him even to the king’s court and possibly beyond that. She was the impoverished daughter of a whoremonger who’d barely survived with her life and could offer him nothing of worth. Not even a fertile womb. She’d been lost in her thoughts when his hand took hers.
‘Catriona?’ he said.
To pull away now would be an insult to him in front of these people, so she left hers in his larger one and walked with him along the path. He took it another step when he moved her hand on to his arm and placed his hand on top to keep it there.
They continued as such as though it a natural thing. Once, nay, twice, his hand slipped and touched the side of her breast. She thought it an accidental slip until she met his gaze and realised he did it a-purpose. Then, even as in the darkest part of last night, her body answered the slightest hint from him.
‘Again?’ she asked, the words escaping before she could stop them. He turned and pulled her close, now those aching breasts leaned fully on his arm.
‘Still.’ One word, said on an exhale and she was ready to lose herself in the passion he promised.
‘Now?’ How long would it take them to return to the house? she wondered. Not as long to get there as it had to reach this point, if they spoke to no one and rushed their pace a bit.
‘Now.’
One word and she was his. He began to turn back towards the house when a young boy called out to him.
‘My lord! The laird calls you to the hall. There are guests, he said.’
The momentary insanity that gripped them dissolved as duty called him to the keep. She knew he must heed his father’s summons and do it with some haste. Her body ached for his to ignore it and come with her. He nodded to the boy and faced her.
‘Later.’
Her body trembled, hearing all the promise in that one word it wanted to hear. Another night spent being pleasured by his skilled and questing hands and mouth and... She shivered again at the memories that flooded her now.
‘Your horse,’ she forced out. At first he frowned and then he laughed for clearly he was not thinking of his horse either.
‘I will leave it. I’ll send a boy to tend to it.’
He released her and she nearly melted there at his feet. Her body was not her own any longer. She was not her own. In only one night, she had lost herself to him and his, their, desires. She belonged to him and it had taken hardly any time at all for her to fall from grace completely and utterly. Far less time or effort than she thought it would have taken.
As he walked away, she understood one thing—this would not end well at all, for she was already half in love with a man she could never call her own.
* * *
She dared not seek her bed. Or should she?
Would he wake her with a word? A caress? A kiss?
Cat paced around the room that had once seemed so large to her and now could not contain her restlessness. The wrapped book on the table caught her gaze, but she’d decided to wait for his return before opening it.
Was this to be her life now? Waiting on him? She shook her head in denial, yet here she stood, not knowing if he would return or when. Duty came first so it was possible she would spend this night alone. She would spend many nights alone.
Cat promised herself in that moment that she would move past this infatuation, enjoy it for all the pleasure and joy it brought, and then find a balance and a pacing to her life.
Once she had learned to read and write, she had a skill she could barter with—for the cost of a monk or b
rother to teach those skills was far more than anyone here earned in a year. But she could trade that for the goods and supplies she needed.
Once he left her behind to carry on with his life.
And, oh, aye, he would do that sooner rather than later. Word of three possible brides and all sorts of guesses spread through the village the same evening as the announcement was made. His younger sister had been married twice to join clans. His cousins and other kin the same. As the heir, his marriage would be grander than anyone else’s.
Shaking off these thoughts of weddings and of a time too far in the days to come to worry, she filled the pot with water and pulled it over the heat to boil. Surely a cup of her tea would calm her nerves while she waited.
The slate still lay on the table, so she gathered the chalk and a damp cloth to clean the surface and practised her numbers. She knew how to use the numbers to add up purchases and to tally her coins. Writing them was another thing. She’d promised to take the lessons seriously, so she leaned down and concentrated on getting them right.
When the cleaning cloth dried out too much to work, she stood to rinse it in the bucket and saw him there. When he’d entered, she knew not. He stood, leaning against the door, his arms crossed over his chest, just watching her.
‘I did not hear you,’ she said. ‘Why did you not say something?’
‘You were bent to your task and I did not want to interrupt you. My cousin would be pleased,’ he said, walking towards her. He inhaled as he bent down to review her work. ‘That is betony that you use in your tea?’
‘Aye,’ she said. ‘Would you like some?’
At his nod, she fetched a cup, poured the tea in and added a dollop of honey, making it the way she liked it before asking him. He took a drink of it and laughed.
‘This tastes just how my mother makes hers,’ he said.
‘Does she grow betony in the keep’s garden for it?’ she asked. Cat sat down on the bench at the table and sipped her cup. The tea had soothed her, but her body and the rest of her reacted to his presence, his nearness.
‘Aye, along with so many other herbs. You should visit her and let her show you.’
‘I hope to plant it here,’ she said. ‘My garden at home is quite pitiful.’ She realised her error as soon as the words were out. ‘At Gowan’s,’ she corrected. ‘Was.’
‘What else did you grow in your garden there?’ he asked.
She spent a few minutes while he finished his tea telling of her successes—few—her errors—many—and her hopes for this new garden. Once his cup sat empty, her mouth went dry.
‘You did not open the book.’ He nudged it towards her.
‘I waited for you,’ she said. ‘It is your mother’s?’
She peeled open the oilcloth and moved it aside to place the book flat on the table. Careful not to move the candles too close, she marvelled over the elaborately decorated, thick leather cover. The colours sparkled in the flickering light.
‘Aye,’ he said, with a frown. ‘But I do not think that is the book I thought it to be.’
‘Should you return it now?’ she asked, picking up the wrapping to prepare it.
He opened it and let the pages separate. She saw numbers, large ones, painted in bright colours and gold and silver on their edges.
‘Will you read it? Some of it? Even if you must return it?’ she asked, leaning her chin on her uplifted hands. His voice always thrilled her, so she could not wait to hear him read passages from it. ‘Is it in Latin? Greek?’ Since she could read neither those nor any other, it mattered not. Only that he could mattered.
‘Neither. French, the language of the royal court,’ he said. ‘Choose a number you have practised and I will read that page.’
Aidan walked around the table and sat next to her. The bench was not so long that she could get very far from him. And that was a good thing, for he wanted her close, under his hand, able to be kissed when he wanted to.
‘As you can see,’ Cat said, pointing at the slate, ‘I struggle with even the simplest number. So, page one.’
Aidan carefully lifted the pages until he found the one embellished with the number she chose. Opening it and spreading it out before them, he noticed the illustrations were of a garden, filled with many flowers and plants and trees. A voluptuous woman, with the same colouring as Cat, stood in the middle with her arms open in welcome.
‘My beloved is mine, and I am his. He feedeth me among the lilies.’
The images might have been tame enough, but these words were words of love and desire, expressed by a king. This book was not the storybook he thought he’d taken from the shelf, but another kind of book completely.
‘Let me try another,’ he said, turning to Catriona. ‘Choose another page.’
‘Four,’ she whispered.
Aidan turned back to that page and read the verse at the top to her. This one was covered in vines and grapes. Barrels of wine sat in the centre of it.
‘Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth: for his love is better than wine.’
These verses were the infamous Songs of Solomon, words of love and passion and desire. Words usually kept hidden from those not educated to read in Latin. But these words were in French, the language of the English court. And he doubted that this book had been created by the holy monks.
He was about to close the book when Cat tugged on his arm.
‘Page six, I pray you,’ she said on a sigh. She did not lean away this time after making her request and he could feel the weight of her breasts against his arm and her thigh against his. So could the randy lad.
‘A bundle of myrrh is my well-beloved unto me. He shall lie all night betwixt my breasts.’
‘Oh, my.’ Her voice was breathless and her own breasts strained against her gown. She leaned over to look at the images on this page and she gasped.
No flowers. No vines. No plants, except for the small pouch of leaves resting between the breasts of the same voluptuous woman from page eight, now naked and lying with a naked man.
‘Page eight,’ she said, her hand on his thigh now, urging him on. Aidan turned to it, not daring to glance at the illustrations first.
‘Awake, O north wind; and come thou south. Blow upon my garden that the spices thereof may flow out. Let my beloved come into his garden, and eat his pleasant fruits.’
Catriona was panting now, pressing against him and stroking his thigh. Did she even realise she did these things? Or was the spell of the words and images so strong that her body reacted without thought? His gaze took in her open mouth and her breasts against his arm, threatening to spill out of her gown, and he dared a look at the images that she saw there.
The naked woman reclined on a bench while wisps of wind blew above her. Her legs lay spread open and her lover... He closed the book, nearly catching her nose as she leaned in to look more closely at the forbidden images there.
‘What kind of book is this, Aidan?’ she asked.
‘A forbidden one,’ he said, his own body ready to experience the delights described within it. ‘One meant to entice and arouse.’
‘Are you enticed, Aidan?’
He swallowed and swallowed against the desire pouring through him. He would have thought her innocent and unaware had her hand not slipped at just that moment and touched the very proof of how aroused he was. ‘Aye, Catriona, I am that.’
Pleased by her growing boldness, he slid his hand up under her gown and shift and sought proof of her body’s reaction. The folds of flesh between her legs were moist and she arched against his hand, pushing his fingers in deeper.
‘As am I.’ She sighed.
Boldness to meet hers, he pushed the book aside and lifted her on to the table. It took no time at all to throw her skirts out of his way, loosen his trews and fill her. She grabbed on to his arms, her head tossing side to side as her flesh tightened around him, urging him on to the oblivion of release. Faster than he could have imagined, his erection tightened within her, pouring
his seed deep in her womb. Her own release, coming in waves of spasms he felt surrounding his flesh, milked him dry.
Their breathing echoed through the chamber and it took some minutes for them to gather their wits. How did she drive him so mindless with desire? ’Twas not as though he was some untried youth, never having tupped a woman before. He was practised and experienced, yet he acted in an artless, hungry manner whenever he could have her. He could blame it on the long interval between taking a woman to bed, but he’d had longer. He could blame it on the length of time it had taken to have her, but he’d pursued other women for longer.
So, it came back to her. Catriona MacKenzie caused this reaction, this constant need for her, this growing desire to be with her, to be in her.
He stepped back and tied his laces and then held out his hand to her.
‘You must object, Cat, and not let me treat you so,’ he warned. ‘If you do not require better behaviour from me, you are likely to find yourself—’
‘Tupped on a table?’ she asked. Pushing her skirts down and sliding from the table, she looked back at it. ‘’Twas more pleasant than I expected it would be.’
‘Catriona!’ he pleaded. ‘You must set bounds, for I have none when it comes to seeking pleasure with you.’ ’Struth, he would have her in any manner at any time and in any place, if it were up to him.
‘Are there bad places to...tup?’ she asked, gathering her tangled hair and shaking it loose over her shoulders. Those breasts pressing against her gown... All this talk of tupping right after they’d tupped was not good. It would lead to more. Still, she had asked.
‘I have not found any yet, though I do seek comfortable places. A bed is my favourite place.’
‘Let me wrap the book so you can take it back,’ she said, reaching for the cloth and the book.
‘Ah, but there are so many numbers you have not learned yet. Let us keep it for a while longer.’
Terri Brisbin Highlander Bundle Page 77
