Catch Me If You Can

by Donna Kauffman

  His smile was slow, and filled with such emotion, it made her throat tight. “So… that’s a yes?”

  “Aye.” Then she wrapped her arms around his neck. “It only took three hundred years, but the Morgan finally came back to claim what was his. And you had the right of it. All this time lost, and all they had to do was be willing to try.” She kissed him. “I can’t believe we were the first ones to finally figure that out. But lucky for me, we were.” Grinning, she slid from his arms. “Now come on, let’s go look at our stone circle.”

  Chapter 21

  Tag felt like he’d just had the entire world handed to him. And maybe, just maybe, he had. All he knew was that the most important part of it was standing right in front of him. “Maura—”

  “Uh uh,” she said, dancing out of his reach. “Because the way you’re looking at me right now, we’ll be back in the tower or naked right here on the ground.” She took off on an easy run, shouting over her shoulder. “Last one to the woods has to be bath slave later.”

  He grinned. “Well, when you put it like that.” And he took off at a dead run.

  She was faster than she looked. And crafty, dodging and weaving. He scooped her off the ground about fifty yards from the edge of the woods, making her whoop with laughter as he spun her around. “Come on,” he said, breathless and happier than he could ever remember being.

  “This way.” Most discoveries were shared with the dig crew, but this was his first time sharing this with someone he cared about. It was silly, but he was as nervous about it as he was excited.

  She hopped in front of him and touched the first tree they came to, then smiled devilishly back at him. “Anything you say. Bath slave boy.”

  His grin spread. “We’ll see who the real loser of this little contest is later.”

  Her eyes darkened, just at the suggestion, and the next thing he knew, he had her up against the closest tree, his mouth on hers. Relief, joy, excitement, anticipation all pounded through him and he couldn’t go another moment without showing her, touching her, telling her. His hands were in her hair. Hers were fisted in his jacket. And they suddenly couldn’t get enough of each other.

  Lifting his head, his eyes blazed into hers. “It’s always going to be like this, isn’t it?” he said, his breath coming in short gasps. “Why do I know I will never have enough of you?”

  “You’ve had me for centuries,” she said, her smile sure and knowing. “And if that wasn’t enough, then no, it never will be.”

  There was a story there, in her eyes. And he would hear it. But first… “This way,” he told her, taking her hand, leading her into the woods, around trees that had stood here for centuries. Deeper into the forest they went, and he helped her over fallen trunks and through heavier undergrowth.

  “How on earth do you know where you’re going?” she asked.

  “You don’t forget something like this.” A few minutes later, they climbed down a short, rocky embankment, and stopped in front of a mound of overgrowth. “There,” he said, more breathless with anticipation than exertion. “See that tree?” He pointed to a massive trunk about fifteen yards away.

  “The oak?” she said, pushing her hair from her face.

  “The Piets were reputed to be very superstitious about trees. Especially oak trees.”

  “And you think they actually worshipped under that one?”

  He nodded, “I know they did. The altar stone is there. They believed old, wise spirits resided in oak trees. They made sacrifices to them on altars built beneath them.” He turned her around, then reached out to the overgrown mound, and very, very carefully, pushed away a small section of the leaf and shrub covering. “And then there is this.”

  Maura leaned forward, peering through the gloom of the forest, to see what he was so carefully exposing. “All I see is what looks like rock.” She straightened. “This area isn’t much more than a tumble of rocks. Why do you think this is a standing stone?”

  He could have shown her the markings, but it took a trained eye to see past what looked like nothing more than weather marks. There was a more direct way to prove his find to her. He let the tangle of leaves and barbs shift back to cover the spot, then turned her and pointed to similar mounds dotted amongst the trees. “Look. See? There,” he pointed. “And there, and there.”

  She gasped.

  The circle wasn’t that wide, and no one was likely to notice the pattern of the mounds, as the whole area was rocky strewn and overgrown. But once you noted the pattern, it was impossible not to see it for what it was.

  “My God. To think I’ve walked through here so many times.” She looked at him. “How did you ever find this?”

  He pulled a folded piece of yellow paper from his jacket pocket. “This map.”

  She looked at the series of lines, squiggles and compass notations, then glanced up at him in disbelief. “You took this? And found this?” She swept an arm out before her.

  He pulled her back against him, circling his arms around her waist, so they both stared out at the mounds before them. “What can I say? I’m good with directions.”

  “I’m beginning to think you’re good at a whole lot of things.”

  He tucked her closer to his body. “You want to race me, double or nothing, back to the tower and test that theory out?”

  She covered his hands with her own. He’d expected some smart remark, but instead she sighed and leaned back against him. “This is really something, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” he said, looking down at her, for once in his life, having something to look forward to, as well as back. “Yes, it is.”

  “There’s an old man, in the village,” she said, serious and intent. He could hear the wheels all but turning now and his grin was fierce with satisfaction. She understood. This would mean something to her.

  “His name is Kester,” she went on. “He’s something of the village historian. If anyone knows anything of this, it would be him. Maybe we should pop down, have lunch, chat him up.”

  His arms tightened around her. “Thank you,” he whispered against her hair, hoping she understood the depths of his gratitude. “For sharing this with me. For sharing all of this with me. And I’d very much like to meet this Kester.” He kissed the side of her neck. “Tomorrow.” When she arched her neck around to give him a surprised look, he smiled. “I don’t want to share you quite yet.” His smile grew. “In fact, I think someone has a bath promised to them.”

  “And a slave to go with it, if I’m no’ mistaken.” She turned in his arms, and the desire in her eyes was banked with a quiet intensity. “I want to make another deal with you.”

  “Does it involve racing?” he asked, smiling. “Because I’m afraid I’m somewhat hampered at the moment.” She was tight up against him enough to know what he meant.

  Her lips curved. “No racing. Ye’ve lost that one fair and square, there’ll be no getting it back.”

  “Okay then, what’s the deal?”

  She cupped his cheek, pushed his hair from his face. “You tell me everything you know about these people, this place. I want to understand the power and pull of it, as you do.” She searched his eyes. “And I’ll tell you tales of the Morgans and Sinclairs that came after them. Ramsays, too.”

  He turned his head and pressed a kiss into the palm of her hand. “That’s a deal,” he said, looking back in her eyes, moved beyond words.

  She pulled his mouth down to hers, and the kiss she gave him was a promise. A promise to try. And just as he knew they were standing in the middle of something very special, here in the north woods of Rallantrae, something possibly historic. He knew he was standing in the circle of something even more powerful as long as her arms were around him.

  “Now,” she said, when she finally lifted her head, her eyes lit with desire and need, “I believe I’d like that bath now.”

  “Does the slave get to be in the bath with you?” he asked.

  She smiled then. “Only if he’s very, very good.”
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  He let his hands drift down between them, let his thumbs trace over the nipples he knew were hard beneath her coat Still, her breath stuttered, and her throat worked as she swallowed. Hard. Settling his hands on her hips, he tugged her closer, then slid his palms around to cup her tight against him. “Why don’t I let you be the judge of that?”

  “Yes,” she managed. “Why don’t you.”

  * * * * *

  He wouldn’t exactly say they raced back to the tower, but they definitely didn’t waste any time. He had his hands on her the moment the tower door shut behind them.

  “Wait, wait,” she said, breathless and laughing as she smacked at his hands. “We’re going to do this properly.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “You have proper rules for bath slaves, do you?”

  “Well, now that you mention it…” She pushed him toward the stairs as she dragged his coat off his arms. “I’m thinking naked bath slave has a really nice ring to it.”

  He was halfway up the stairs, and paused to look down at her, mouth curving into a lethal grin. “I think I can handle that.”

  She let her gaze drift slowly over him. “We’ll see who handles what.”

  He started shucking his clothes right then and there.

  She laughed. “My, you are impressionable.”

  “Just following your command, oh mistress of the bath,” he said, a decidedly wicked note in his voice.

  She climbed the stairs until she stood a riser or two below him and motioned for him to turn around. “Stop,” she said, when his back was to her.

  The next thing he felt was her hands skimming over his calves and up the outer flanks of his thighs. His body hardened and twitched as her hands slipped so close, but moved upward, over his stomach to his chest, as she stepped up behind him. “Just making sure you’re up for the job,” she whispered behind his neck.

  “I only have one question,” he asked, enjoying her brand of torture quite a bit.

  “Ask it.”

  He dared to dart a quick glance over his shoulder. “Do you get to play bath slave next time? Because you’re giving me some really interesting ideas here.”

  Her pupils shot wide and her lips parted at the mere suggestion of it, and it was all he could do not to haul her upstairs to bed right then and the hell with the damn bath. But he was definitely winning the next bet

  “I don’t know,” she said at last but there was a rough undernote to her voice now. “I suppose you’ll find out if you win the next bet.”

  Then she shocked him by smacking him right on the ass. And damn if that didn’t make him twitch even harder.

  “Upstairs.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said with an amused smile. Oh, there was going to be another bet, and soon. Or maybe he’d just talk her into it. Either way, his turn was going to be a hell of a lot of fun.

  He went right to the bathroom and turned on the taps, then when the water was adjusted and steam began to rise, he put in the plug and reached across for the bath salts sitting on the wicker side stool. The fragrance was spicy rather than floral, which he thought suited her perfectly.

  He rose to find her standing behind him, still fully dressed. Without being asked, he approached her, and slowly, perhaps even a bit deferentially, he began to undress her. He’d never been much for bedroom games— sex was difficult enough a maneuver in a hammock—so this was a new thing for him. And perhaps all the more fascinating because of it.

  He drew her sweater off, then began unbuttoning the blouse she wore beneath it. After each button was released, he parted the fabric wider, and placed one kiss on the newly bared patch of skin. Her swift intake of breath told him he was on the right path. When she started to reach for her waistband, he caught her hands and put them down by her sides. “Allow me,” he offered, his voice having gone deeper as well.

  She kept her hands by her sides, but said nothing.

  He walked around behind her, and skimmed the blouse down her arms slowly, letting the soft cotton drift along her skin before finally letting it drop to the floor. He kept his lips close to the nape of her neck, inhaling the scent of her mixed with the steamy fragrance of the bath. Fingering the thin straps of her bra, he dropped a kiss to a spot between her neck and the curve of each shoulder, as he slowly tugged the straps over her shoulders to let them dangle there.

  Stepping closer, his body almost, but not quite, brushing up against her bare back, he skimmed his fingertips across her collarbone.

  She sighed and her body swayed a little. He glanced up to see her eyes had drifted shut. His fingertips dipped down to trace the edge of her bra, then with as much patience as he could find, he slowly, so slowly, peeled the soft fabric back. She gasped as he let it scrape ever so lightly across her nipples, before freeing her breasts fully to his view. She sighed in disappointment when his hands left her, but gave no order otherwise.

  He flicked open the hooks and her bra fell to the floor. Standing close once again, he sunk his teeth into one earlobe, making her gasp again, then moan softly when he took it into his mouth. “Tell me what you’d like me to do next,” he whispered.

  She shook her head slowly from side to side.

  So he reached around her waist, careful to barely brush her skin with his, and freed the button on her pants. Again she swayed slightly, letting her back rest against his chest with a long sigh as he lowered the zipper, then pushed them down over her hips, taking her panties with them.

  He slid his body down along hers, steadying her hips with hands when she swayed again. Now it was his palms skimming along her thighs, down to her calves. “Step free,” he told her, holding her as she stepped out of her pants. He shoved them out of the way, then, still kneeling, gently turned her to face him. Slowly, so slowly he thought it might kill him, he skimmed his hands up the front of her body, dipping between her thighs, but not touching her where he knew she’d be wet and aching for it. He stood as his palms rode upward, barely testing the slight weight of her breasts, whispering over her nipples, making her jerk and moan, as he straightened completely and pushed his fingers through her hair and dropped one achingly tender kiss on her unsuspecting mouth.

  She groaned deep in her throat, but just as she opened to him, he stepped back and scooped her into his arms. Her eyes flashed open in surprise and she quickly threw her arms around his neck for support.

  “What are you—”

  “Shh,” he soothed. “Let me take care of you.” His cock was so rigid by now it was painful, but he was enjoying every minute of attending to her. It was worth a little discomfort. He carefully lowered her into the steaming, silky water, making her groan as her body unfolded and stretched out the length of the tub.

  “Lay back,” he told her, dropping a folded towel over the higher curved end, then reaching for a washcloth from the pile on the wicker stand. “Close your eyes.”

  He turned off the taps, then knelt next to the tub, wanting to squeeze his eyes shut, too, against the absolutely stunning picture she presented. He wanted nothing more than to slide in that warm water with her, lift her over him, so he could sink into her until he filled her so fully, so lightly—

  He had to shut that track down, and momentarily closed his eyes to find some thread of control. Then he dipped the cloth in the water and began at her ankles, slowly, gently working his way up her legs. She was writhing ever so slightly by the time he reached the top of her thighs, and he drew the towel slowly between them, making them both groan when she arched.

  Before either of them could lose control, he slid the towel upward, trailing one corner around her breasts, then letting it barely drift across her nipples. Her groan was so deep, it was more growl than moan. She arched her head back, thrusting forward, seeking out the feel of the towel across her nipples again. Once, twice, he gave her what she wanted. Then he dropped the towel and ran his fingers over them instead, rolling them gently, making her hips jerk, the water slosh. Her hands came up to grip the sides of the tub as he rescued the cloth a
nd once again drew it down to the vee of her thighs, only this time he let it lay more heavily, drew it across her more slowly, until her knuckles whitened and her legs trembled from the restraint it took for her not to take hold of the rag and finish herself off.

  “Tell me if you want something more,” he told her. “Perhaps you’d prefer this.” He dropped the towel and slid his finger between her slick, heated folds. “Or this.” And he entered her, sending her immediately over the edge. She bucked, water edged over the tub, cascading over his thighs and his rigid, dancing cock. And her eyes opened then and she looked directly into his, her climax still ripping over her.

  And his control snapped.

  He slid his arms beneath her, pulling her from the tub in a cascade of water, still shuddering and moaning, so soft and pliant, wet and slippery. Heedless of the mess he was making, he carried her to the bed and her back had barely come into contact with the sheets when he was on top of her, and in her with one long growling thrust.

  She arched instantly, clutching at his shoulders and back, her legs wrapping tightly around his waist as he drove into her, again and again. And his own climax was upon him before he could master any semblance of control over it, so he buried himself to the hilt and let it take him over, shouting through the deep, shuddering spasms that rocked him, and her, right to the edge of the bed.

  He managed to catch her before they both slid to the floor, and rolled so she was sprawled across him, wet and damp, the sheets clinging to them both.

  They were both breathing so hard, it took long minutes before either of them could lift their heads, much less for speech. Maura’s hand finally slid up and over his still-thundering heart.

  “Remind me,” she rasped, “to win every bet from now on.”

  He laughed hoarsely. “Shouldn’t be too hard since I plan on throwing every single one.”