by Cathie Dunn
He felt the quickening beat of her pulse at her wrist. His loins contracted, and his own heartbeat rose to match hers. He released her arm and walked to the water. Dipping his hands into the fresh coolness, his breathing steadied. She was probably just chilled. After all, she should not have left the house without a cloak. Those fancy sleeves were for city summers, not the Highlands.
Rory turned to find her standing behind him. She stared out over the water, shielding her eyes with her hand against the glaring sun. Her lips parted as she breathed in the scent of the sea. The breeze from the loch played with her curls, sending them swirling around her head. She looked like a dark faerie, with her long tresses and golden eyes. Bewitching.
Dear Lord, what was he thinking?
“It’s time we went back to the house, Catriona. You don’t want to catch a cold.”
She looked at him as if from afar. Then she nodded and turned toward the path. Rory unpinned the silver clasp that held his plaid in place.
“Wait.” Coming to stand next to her, he wrapped the thick fabric around her shoulders, enveloping her into it with his arm. She shivered, again. Surely ‘twas the cold. He tightened his grip around her and felt her sigh, and her body relaxing. Was she also drawing nearer to him? It seemed that way, as they set off at a stroll. His body hardened. But this time no cold water could douse the heat erupting inside him. He prayed she did not notice.
They headed toward the house. It was still out of sight but he spotted wisps of smoke in the air behind a small hill ahead. Good. She needed the warmth of a fire when they arrived home.
Her subdued silence unnerved him. “What happened?” he asked gently, keeping his gaze ahead.
Her body stiffened. “Nothing.”
He pulled her closer against him, offering unspoken comfort. Though he towered a head over her, she fit snugly into the curve of his arm. Like she belonged. The heat inside him turned into a raging fire.
He glanced at her but she kept staring ahead. Increasing his steps, he hoped to douse the sensation with the cool air. He had to put a stop to this now.
“So…” He purposely made his voice sound harsh. “You were hiding in the boathouse in a gown suitable for a soiree, crying your eyes out for no reason at all?”
“No. Yes.” She took a deep breath and looked up, meeting his eyes. “My brother…insulted me. I will ignore him from now on.”
Rory stopped and turned to face her, his fingers tracing the line of her chin, and her high cheekbones. Her eyelids fluttered yet she didn’t shy away from him. Most interesting. He smiled and pulled her closer, the plaid enveloping them both in a warm embrace. Why not give into what his body told him to do? After all, she had freely submitted to a man’s advances before. And while enjoying himself he’d also ensure she kept her freckled nose out of his business.
“Your brother is an idiot.” He bent down and brushed her cheek with his lips. She trembled. Her hands lay flat against his chest. He gently bit her lower lip, as his fingers traced the line of her slender neck.
Catriona clung to him, wrapping her hands around his torso. Rory kissed her chin and slowly inched toward the tender spot behind her ear, nibbling the flushed skin. A moan escaped her lips.
Rory realized too late his own body had already betrayed him. His breathing was ragged—the pressure in his loins almost too painful to bear. He’d lost control. So much for using her to his advantage. He must never lose control again.
With more effort than he anticipated, he took a step back, holding her at arm’s length. Her eyes fluttered open. Her cheeks, so pale not much earlier, turned crimson. Large amber pools stared at him as her hands withdrew from his back and flew to her mouth. A sense of loss coursed through him. Turning away, his arm and plaid still draped around her shoulders, he muttered, “We should be moving on.”
Catriona shrugged his arm off. “Yes, we...we should,” she stammered. “But not together.” Her hands gathered her skirts as she pulled away from his arm and ran up the path toward the house, all propriety disregarded as she revealed shapely ankles, her hair trailing behind her in the wind.
Rory stood still, deliberately taking deep breaths to steady himself. He watched until she disappeared around the bend. A spark had ignited between them, that much was certain. Slowly, he wrapped his plaid around him and secured the clasp back on his shoulder. Finding her in the boathouse was worrying. She clearly had a tendency to wander about on her own. The chance of her spotting him near the cave where he met his associates was too great. God only knew whom she might alert—inadvertently or not.
But it appeared he’d just discovered a way to distract her from poking her cute nose into his affairs. This could prove very useful. And once he’d had enough, he’d send her packing.
He simply must stay in control. He’d never give a stranger the chance to foil the Jacobites’ plot. Their cause must prevail. The matter decided, Rory set off at a stroll back to the house.
Chapter Five
Oh Sweet Lord, she was cursed. Catriona slowed her step when she deemed herself safely out of Rory Cameron’s sight. She was a sinner after all. A harlot. A strumpet. Angus was right. She was no different than the painted women who entertained her brother. She glanced behind her again but, thank God, Rory was nowhere to be seen.
Not wanting her aunt or brother to see her, she went around to the back of the house. Through the kitchen window, she spotted Mairi. With a shaky hand, she pushed the door open and entered. The maid turned to her and stared.
“What happened to you, Miss Catriona?” Mairi rushed forward but stopped short of touching her. “Were you attacked? We were worried about you, Lady Meg, and me. You were gone for so long.”
“Just help me to my room, Mairi, to get rid of this mess.” Her hands grabbed the folds of her dress, fresh tears burning in her eyes. “I just want to rest.”
Mairi took her by the arm and led her up the stairs. Heat from the brazier kept her bedroom warm. The maid saw her glance over and said, “We thought you’d need to warm up after your walk. Little did we ken how much you’d need it. Here.” She sat Catriona on the bed to remove her shoes, “I’ll have water heated for a bath, Miss. We don’t want you to catch a chill.”
Catriona stood on bare feet, holding her arms up for Mairi to remove the sodden dress. She’d never wear it again. “I’d love a bath. But do stop calling me Miss. Out here, I’m plain Catriona.”
Mairi laughed. She shook the dress out, leaving Catriona to fall back onto the bed in her shift and stays. “As you wish, Miss. Though you’re anything but plain.”
She grinned as she dropped the dress beside a chest by the door and picked up a linen sheet kept near the brazier. Then she sat on the bed and set to work untangling the bindings of Catriona’s stays. “You must’ve turned quite a few heads at those fine balls.” She smiled, removed the stays, and wrapped her into the warm linen. Catriona curled up on her side. The maid dropped the stays onto the chest, picked up the gown, and went to the door where she turned.
“It’ll take a wee while but I’ll get your dress back to its former glory. Nae worry. You’ll be able to sparkle in it soon again. The men won’t be able to keep away.” She winked and pulled the door shut behind her.
Catriona sighed. What was it about her and men? Mairi’s words only brought back the memory of her shameful actions. How could she allow a stranger to touch her, to pull her as close as he had? Shivers trickled down her spine, and she wrapped the warm blanket tighter around her. His kiss felt so different from John’s rushed fumbling, his forceful kisses, and wandering, kneading hands. Rory’s hands had wandered, too, yet the sensations they caused were different.
All-consuming.
Her whole body reacted in a way she never expected or experienced before. He made her quiver under his touch, her skin tingling where his hands left a trail. His kisses set her on fire, her whole being shaking with...desire? Was she falling for him?
Her eyes flew open. No. She glared at the wall, cheeks fl
aming. She rested a cooling hand against her scorching skin. He must have felt it, her acquiescence at everything he did to her.
How utterly embarrassing! And in full public view. Never mind no-one appeared to be around in this deserted land. The thought of someone witnessing her shameful display made her gag. She swallowed hard.
What if Angus saw them? Oh, dear God, please no! He’d force her into marriage to one of his friends with ease. She was a strumpet. How could she face Angus now, after this? Or ever speak to Rory again? Even Auntie Meg was bound to guess something was amiss, and that it was all her fault. At worst, the gentle lady would send her back in even greater disgrace. She closed her eyes and let the tears flow, shutting out the world around her.
When Catriona came downstairs, refreshed from her bath and a brief nap, she had her feelings under control again. She’d be polite to Rory, ignore her brother, and be most attentive to Auntie Meg.
To her surprise, she found the dining table laid with silver cutlery and delicate porcelain plates. She had never seen such intricate designs, not even at her parents’ house. Lifting a plate with both hands, she gingerly turned it over, examining each fine stroke of paint. Expert craftsmanship, definitely not native. With great care she put the precious object back in its place. How could Auntie Meg afford such luxuries when she lived in the most remote wilderness?
When Mother wished to buy a fine set for dinner parties with important guests, Father refused her outright. It was too expensive. Yet here it was.
Not daring to touch one she looked at the wine glasses, admiring the vibrancy of colors brought to life by the flickering light of the candles. Hues of blue, green, and orange flashed in the delicate glass as she moved. She caught her breath. Almost like a rainbow. She shook her head, remembering the plain crockery and glass used the night before. Why tonight? She turned when the door opened and Auntie Meg walked in, leaning on a sturdy walking stick.
“There you are, my dear,” Auntie Meg came over to her and kissed her on the cheek. Catriona helped her settle into her chair at the head of the table, and leaned the stick gently against the sideboard. “I’ve been remiss in my attention to you, Catriona. I must apologize.”
Catriona sat at her aunt’s left as on the night before. “No need to apologize, Auntie Meg. I hope you’re well rested.” She picked up a napkin and folded it into triangles, smaller and smaller. Fear of facing Rory, or worse, Angus, settled in the pit of her stomach.
“I am, thank you. So much so that I hope to go out of doors tomorrow, should the weather—and Rory—permit it. I’m in need of some fresh air. Resting is all good and fine, but nothing invigorates the body and heart more than the fresh Highland breeze. Will you accompany me?” Her gaze fell onto the napkin, which Catriona quickly unfolded and returned to its place.
“With pleasure.” She beamed at her godmother as she flattened the napkin with her hands. “I can’t wait to hear of the stories Mairi said you have to tell. I want to know all about the house, the family, and the land.”
Auntie Meg smiled and patted her hand. “I canna wait either.” Her speech slipped briefly into dialect. “There is so much to know, my dear. So much for you to learn before...” She hesitated, her gaze resting on Catriona’s face.
“Before what?” Catriona was puzzled. What was going on?
The door opened, startling them both, and Angus came strolling in, his gaze drifting to Auntie Meg’s hand on Catriona’s. The old lady removed it and folded her hands in her lap.
“Good evening, ladies,” he drawled and walked over to the cabinet where he poured himself a generous measure of whisky. “This is fine stuff, Auntie Meg. I’d take some to Edinburgh if you had a keg to spare.” He came over and sat facing Catriona. “To your health!” He emptied the glass and set it on the table. Clearly, it was not his first drink of the day, and not likely his last.
The old lady bristled. “This is a fine uisge beatha from the glens in the north. It’s not for sale or taking.”
“And you’ve consumed enough of it anyway, brother,” Catriona added. She turned to Auntie Meg. “Would you like me to pour you some wine?”
“Yes, dear, if you don’t mind?”
“Not at all.” Catriona rose and walked over to the sideboard to pick up a carafe filled with a glowing, ruby red liquid. She opened the stopper and breathed in the heady scent. It was high quality wine, most likely from Burgundy. Again, she wondered how this remote house held so many alien luxuries. She had just poured a small measure into the Venetian glass at her aunt’s side when Angus’ hand shot forward, dangling his glass in front of her.
“I don’t mind some either, sister.” He grinned, his gaze challenging her to decline. Shrugging, she gave him what he wanted and filled her own glass last before placing the carafe on the table by her side, well out of her brother’s reach.
Angus stared at the crystal glass in his hand, then his gaze wandered over the table, taking in the precious plates. “This is nice crockery. How the hell did you get it? Not even Father owns such exquisite items.” He fingered his plate but stopped with a grin when a bony, wrinkled hand slapped his.
“Do tell me, Angus, dear. Were you born rude or did you turn into such an obnoxious character in one of your gentlemen’s clubs?” Auntie Meg’s eyes blazed.
Catriona opened her mouth to reprimand her brother when the door opened again. She glanced over as Rory entered, and caught her breath. She had not seen him since their encounter earlier in the day, and she was surely not prepared for this. He wore a white shirt with ruffles at neck and wrists, shiny black boots, and a pair of cream-colored breeches that clung tightly to his muscled legs. No plaid tonight. No kilt. No other adornments. Only his hair was tied back at the neck with a ribbon.
Rory’s watchful eyes locked with hers for a moment. It seemed like an eternity. Shocked with her reaction, she lowered her gaze to her hands fidgeting with the napkin again. What was the matter? In the city, she had seen many gentlemen well-attired. But never before had the sight sent her heart racing, and her stomach aflutter. What made this man so different?
“Good evening, all.” He strolled over, gave Auntie Meg a peck on the cheek, and took his seat opposite his aunt’s. “May I?” He pointed at the carafe. Catriona held it out to him, their hands touching briefly as he took it from her, and she pulled hers back as if burned.
She felt rather than saw all eyes on her. Damn! As she turned her head, she met Auntie Meg’s gaze. Following an assessing look, a slow smile formed on the old lady’s face. Catriona pretended not to notice and glanced at her brother.
Angus stared at her as if deep in thought. The corners of his mouth twitched, yet his was not a smile but a smirk. She did not dare look at Rory, but the memory of the passion she glimpsed in the depth of his eyes earlier came to her unbidden. His kisses that caused her legs to buckle, and aroused her nearly to the point of no return. She blushed. ‘Twas a good thing he broke it off.
Picking up her glass, she sipped at the wine. Too late did she realize it revealed her shaking hands.
Pull yourself together, Catriona.
Firmly, she set the glass down, her gaze melting into the colorful play of crystal and red liquid.
“So that’s how the land lies.” Angus exclaimed as he lifted his own glass, casting a knowing look between her and the Highlander. A darting glance revealed Rory’s face, his expression inscrutable as his gaze in turn traveled from Angus to Catriona. When their eyes met, he cocked an eyebrow. She wanted to run away. Not since John’s advances in her bedroom had she been so mortified.
Just as she decided to excuse herself on some spurious excuse, Mairi entered carrying a tray laden with delicate bowls of food. Grateful for the intervention, Catriona busied herself taking the bowls of steaming venison stew, carrots, and neeps, along with the loaf of freshly baked bread from the maid, and placing them at intervals on the table.
“Enjoy your meal.” Mairi curtsied and darted out of the dining parlor. Catriona was not surp
rised. The tension inside was palpable enough to set the house on fire.
“Carrots, Auntie Meg?” She smiled sweetly.
They ate the meal accompanied by Auntie Meg’s light chatter about housekeeping issues. Angus seemed absent minded, staring at each piece of crockery as if it was beaten gold, obviously assessing its value. Rory remained silent, only nodding his approval of his aunt’s suggestions when prompted.
Catriona picked at her food, pretending to listen but not taking in anything. Her mind was reeling. Why must men all think the worst of her? Nothing was going on between her and that Highlander. Her fingers itched to slap her brother for his blatant insolence.
Only later, when Catriona retired to the drawing room with Auntie Meg, and settled over a glass of sweet dessert wine, did she find the courage to ask her godmother why she chose to use the nice crockery.
“Ah, yes. I thought we’d celebrate your arrival in our home properly, Catriona.” The old lady gave her a warm smile before she turned impish. “And I wanted your brother to see that we’re not just country bumpkins.” She burst into an endearing giggle. “I think it worked.”
Catriona stared at her. “You were winding him up? On purpose? Oh, you are wicked, Auntie Meg!” She laughed out loud and refilled her godmother’s glass. “You definitely succeeded. His eyes nearly popped out when he saw the quality of your crystal.”
“Aye, you could almost hear him do the sums in his head. He’s so obvious, your brother. In fact, you don’t seem like siblings at all, him so materialistic and superficial, and you so...” Her gaze lingered on Catriona’s face. Heat rose in her cheeks under the old lady’s scrutiny.
“So...?” she whispered, not daring to pick up her wine glass in case her trembling hands betrayed her again. Why was it she turned into such an emotional wreck after only two days in the Highlands?
