by Cathie Dunn
“No, but my bet is she’s on her way home. Even though they don’t want her.”
He sighed. “That seems to be the problem. She’s terrified of what might happen to her.”
“Aye,” Mairi said. “But why would she leave this time of day?”
He met her gaze, ignoring the suspicion in her eyes. With a final glance at the loch, he made up his mind. “I’ll go after her. Have my horse saddled!” Hurrying, he grabbed his plaid from his clothes chest, his flintlock musket, stacked behind the door, and his gunpowder pouch. His gaze fell on the window. Seeing the clouds sink lower into the valley, he swiftly loaded his musket and, leaving it half-cocked, slung the metal strap over his shoulder, and wrapped himself into the plaid. He prayed he did not need to use the weapon.
“Best be prepared,” he muttered as he shut the door behind him. Outside, a lad waited, holding the reins of Rory’s favourite mare, Ish.
“Godspeed, Rory. Bring her home safe.” The message in Mairi’s eyes was unmistakable. She blamed him.
No wonder. He blamed himself.
“Wish me luck.” He heaved himself into the saddle and spurred the mount along the path to the shore. Without a backward glance, he urged Ish on the lane to Baile a Chaolais. A fine drizzle settled on his skin as his gaze explored the hillsides. Not a soul in sight. Surely she’d have stayed on the path and not ventured from it uphill? The forests were teeming with wild animals. Worry and fear gnawed at his gut, leaving a bitter aftertaste in his throat. If anything happened to her...
He shook off his gloomy thoughts and focused on the path ahead. Only a couple of miles to go. Rain drenched him by the time he reached the settlement. No-one was out. He squinted his eyes and reined Ish in outside the first hut. He jumped from the saddle and banged his fist on the door.
“Open!” he bellowed against the howling wind.
The door creaked open a couple of inches and a pinched face, lined and drawn, glared at him. Then the man relaxed and opened the door further. “Ruairidh? What brings ye out so late? Has aught happened to Lady Meg?”
“Sorry to disturb you, Stewart. Lady Meg’s in good health but our visitor’s missing. Have you seen a young lass today? Quite tall, dark hair?”
Stewart’s eyes widened. “The lass from the ferry the other day?”
Rory nodded. “Aye, the same. She seems to have...gone walking.” Heat shot into his cheeks. Hopefully the dim light hid it from the crofter.
“Nay, haven’t seen her. Why d’ye think she’s here?”
“She might want to go home to Edinburgh.” Rory shuffled his feet. “You sure she hasn’t been in the village?”
“Aye. We’ve all been oot today but seen no-one. Sorry, Ruairidh. Guess the lass might’ve taken cover?” Stewart glanced past him and Rory turned, the stiff breeze ruffling his hair. To his relief the rain stopped.
“You may be right. I’d best head back.”
He turned and mounted, Ish’s rump wet under his trews. He raised a hand and nodded. “Thank you, Stewart.”
As the crofter closed the door, Rory urged Ish back onto the path. His breathing ragged, worry for Catriona’s safety pushing him onwards. Steady! No need to rush.
He slowed Ish to a trot. The lass must be somewhere near. But the trees on the slope provided little shelter. He rode on, cursing his own stubbornness again. If he had not pushed the lass, she’d be safe at home.
His hopes plummeted as he rode on, his gaze drifting back and forth over the hillside, but he kept it away from the water. Cat was too clever to fall in. With a damp hand he shoved his hair from his face. His insides turned raw with fear.
A shadow loomed halfway up the hill, partly hidden by trees. He caught his breath as his heartbeat quickened. Of course, the abandoned croft! Rory let out a sigh of relief. That must be her hiding place. He jumped from the saddle and tied Ish’s reins to a branch of a spruce.
Careful not to slip on the wet rocks, he climbed the slope until he came to a halt outside the gaping hole in the wall. What if she was not here? He swallowed hard. Please.
For an instant he closed his eyes, then took a step over the threshold, ducking to avoid the low frame.
Adjusting to the dimness, he scanned the croft. “Catriona?” It came out as a whisper. He cleared his throat. “Catriona?”
“Rory?” A whimper came from a corner hidden under the roof in complete darkness.
He rushed over, nearly toppling over her outstretched legs. Relief flooded through him. He crouched next to her and gingerly wrapped her in his arms. “Catriona, are you all right?”
She nodded against his shoulder. “Y-y-yes.” She sniffled, and let out a deep breath. Her hands clung to his arms and her body shook.
“Damn it,” he swore and unpinned the brooch holding his plaid in place. He wrapped the thick blanket around her and pulled her to his chest. “You’re safe now, mo chridhe.” He closed his eyes and breathed in her scent of lavender and sea air. Her shivers slowed, and her body relaxed in his embrace. A sense of belonging invaded his mind, replacing the guilt. He touched his lips to her damp forehead.
“You’re safe.”
***
Rory paced the length of the drawing room. Hands fidgeting behind his back, he stopped and scowled at his faint reflection in the windowpane. His conscience never pricked him but it did now. Strange, as he most certainly did not care for her.
He refused to care for her.
Vigorously, he shook his head to rid himself of the conflicting thoughts. Seducing the lass only to make her leave was inexcusable. That was the reason she ran.
Was he such a fiend? It seemed so. She was a danger to the cause, a danger to him, her curiosity nearly killing her. But to flee into the approaching night, in utter disregard of her safety?
He scowled at his reflection. Shame washed through him, and he pulled the curtains to cover his image.
A sigh reminded him he was not alone. His gaze fell on Auntie Meg, reclining on the sofa with her eyes closed, her feet close to the brazier. The flames warmed the room yet still his body shivered. He’d nearly caused the lass to die.
Crossing to Auntie Meg, he adjusted the blanket over her thin body. She opened her eyes, and he read the accusation in them. “Don’t fret, Auntie Meg. Catriona will be fine in the morning.”
“It’s a blessing you found her, Rory. We must discover what made her run and ensure it doesn’t happen again.” Her gaze bored through him, an eyebrow raised. “You wouldn’t know a reason why Catriona wished to leave Taigh na Rhon?” When he shook his head, she closed her eyes. “’Twould pain me to see the two people dearest to my heart quarrel.”
He winced, and went to sit in the armchair, resting his head against the cushioned back.
The minutes ticked by, the sound of the clock reverberating in his head as his mind whirled. He must find a way to keep Catriona safe and away from his business at the same time. Her returning to Edinburgh seemed like the only solution. Yet why did it feel like a loss?
When Mairi entered, he looked up. “How is she?”
“Warm and cozy, no thanks to you.”
Irritated, he stood. “So you think I’m the reason she ran?”
Mairi huffed in frustration. “She wouldn’t tell me. But neither Lady Meg nor I made her leave.”
“I’m relieved to hear she’s recovering,” he growled as he brushed past her.
***
After a day’s rest under Mairi’s care, Catriona arrived early for dinner, only to find Rory and Auntie Meg already gathered. Their conversation stopped the moment she entered, and an uncomfortable silence fell. Had they been discussing her? She looked at her godmother—the heightened color in her face proof of some form of disagreement.
Heat rose in her cheeks as her gaze met Rory’s. The memory of when he found her—how he held her close, whispering words of reassurance—came flooding back. He had saved her, brought her home.
Did he care for her?
Embarrassed, she rushed past him
and took her godmother’s hand. “Good evening, Auntie Meg. How are you feeling? Would you like me to pour you some wine?” She led the frail lady to her chair and helped her settle in.
“No, thank you, dear. I think I’ll leave that to Rory.” Her gaze was still on her nephew, a hint of question shining in her eyes.
“Of course, Auntie Meg.” Rory strode over to the sideboard, poured the dark red liquid into a crystal glass, and handed it to Auntie Meg with a mock bow. “Happy to oblige.” He filled Catriona’s, an intense look in his eyes, sending delicious shivers down her spine. Then he strolled over to his chair and flopped onto it, stretching his long legs.
Catriona sighed inwardly. The sight of him wearing tight trews only led to thoughts of a scandalous kind. What if he’d worn a kilt? Oh, dear Lord. The memory of his legs, the soft light hairs sprinkled over sun-darkened skin holding those muscles into place came unbidden to her mind. She blinked and forced her attention to her godmother.
“You will enjoy dinner tonight, Auntie Meg. Cook has agreed to prepare a game pie, Mairi tells me. And did you notice the smell of fresh bread? She’s been so busy, just to spoil us a little.” She settled in her own chair, painfully aware of her incessant chattering, and prayed the old lady didn’t notice her trembling hands. She kept her gaze strictly on her godmother, a wide smile on her face. A smile intended to hide her frayed nerves.
Rory sensed it, no doubt. She didn’t dare glance at him. She must banish the memory, the light brush of his lips on her forehead, the tender care he took when he lifted her onto the back of his horse.
Now she knew why girls in their first season became infatuated with rakes. Of course, men had kissed her before, a few vain attempts by keen suitors, and her bastard of a former betrothed. But no-one came close to causing such sensations in her body. When Rory was with her, her insides whirled like wild waters. One look, one touch, and all propriety went out the window. He pulled her into depths she’d never experienced before. And perhaps even more dangerous, after last night, he made her feel safe.
How ironic, after she’d thought he meant her harm! Instead, he came to her rescue, proving her foolish thoughts wrong.
He glanced at her, their gaze meeting. For a long moment he held it. Too long. Catriona averted her eyes and interlaced her fingers in her lap.
When dinner was served, Catriona made up her mind to ignore Rory, and focus on her food instead. She involved Auntie Meg in a conversation about the old lady’s health. A safe topic. Just as long as she did not risk a glance toward Rory who remained silent.
Her skin tingled as she felt his gaze on her throughout the meal, and she caught her godmother watching him. The tension in the air was palpable.
The dishes removed, silence fell once more as they sipped their port.
“I’m tired,” Auntie Meg announced after finishing her drink. “But before bed I’d like a minute alone with Catriona.”
Catriona held her breath, hoping Rory would find an excuse to stay.
But he dashed her hopes.
“Of course. I have papers that require my attention.” Rory stood in the door, his eyes resting on his aunt. “I wish you a good night.” Then the door closed behind him.
“Now, dearie,” Her godmother turned to her. “I wish to know what sent you out into the night yesterday. I was so concerned about you. We all were.”
Catriona focused on her hands clenched in her lap. What could she say? She had been scared of Rory? She expected him to harm her? No, she must find a quick excuse although the suggestion of lying to Auntie Meg hurt her.
“I was…erm…confused.”
“Confused?” Auntie Meg’s eyes blazed. “What does that mean, child?”
Catriona’s mind whirled. “’Tis nothing to worry about. I just wasn’t sure I was still wanted here.”
“Catriona MacKenzie!” Auntie Meg’s voice held a stern note. “This is ridiculous. Of course you’re wanted here. Now tell me what happened to give you such foolish thoughts.”
Catriona looked down at her hands in her lap. Finally, she met her aunt’s gaze once again. “I’m sorry to have caused you such worry, Auntie Meg.”
“Did Rory have anything to do with it?” The question came like a shot.
“Rory? Certainly not.” She prayed her godmother did not notice the tremble in her voice. “Why do you think so?”
“Just a feeling I have. You see, I’ve been watching you two, pacing like a pair of lions around each other. Something must have occurred.” Her face softened yet the determination was still clear in her eyes.
“With everything that happened back home, and coming here, I’ve just been a bit confused. It was silly of me to run away.” And that was all she would say.
“I wouldn’t calling risking my life silly but so be it.” Auntie Meg sighed. “I shall have to make up my own mind.”
Catriona jumped up as her godmother stood. She handed her the walking stick and turned away from the table, to help her to her room. “No thank you, Catriona. I’ll manage just fine on my own. Mairi will be at hand to assist. I wish you sweet dreams.”
With a final glance at her, Auntie Meg shuffled into the corridor. Mairi’s voice reached her, assuring her she’d take care of the old lady.
Catriona’s cheeks burned, and she was suffused with shame. She sat and rested her hot face in her hands. How could she lie to her godmother? Yet, Auntie Meg would never accept the truth.
Much to her embarrassment, Rory appeared, closed the door, and turned. Leaning back, one booted foot against the wood, he crossed his arms.
“Finally we’re alone,” he said, his eyes unreadable. “I’ve been watching you, Cat. You’re still not yourself. Are you not fully recovered yet?” He strolled back toward the table, rounded it, and came to a halt in front of her. Her mouth went dry.
Resting his hip against the back of a chair next to hers, his gaze roamed her body. Heat of a different kind flooded back into her cheeks as, at leisure, his gaze rested at her exposed neck, her breasts, rising and falling too fast for her liking, and her hips. She tried to slow her breathing. The intensity in his eyes made her feel exposed. Naked.
She swallowed, her feet frozen to the spot, her mind blank. Do something! Because she did not want to brush against him—which she’d have to if she passed him—she sat back down. Immediately, she realized her mistake. For now her eyes were level with his flat stomach and narrow hips, the tight trews pronouncing his masculinity. Dear Lord!
The heat in her cheeks grew deeper, and she lowered her gaze. Her fingers linked tightly, she felt like a naughty child. No, not a child. The sensations coursing through her body were most definitely not childlike. Rather like Eve tempted by the apple, with Rory as Adam.
Rory lifted her chin with his hand, his forefinger resting underneath while his thumb stroked her lips. “Are you still afraid, mo chridhe?” The soft Gaelic lilt sent a delicious shiver down her spine. “Because if you are, there’s no need.”
He took her hands and pulled her up against him.
“As I said last night, you’re safe.”
Any wriggle to free herself from his grasp only brought her closer. Her legs parted to the pressure of his thigh, her hands found themselves nestled against his chest.
A warm sense of belonging spread through her. Once again, she was safe.
Underneath his linen shirt, his heartbeat increased against her palm, flexed muscles tempting her fingers to explore. Nudged by him, she gave in, her arms making their own way around his neck. Resistance was pointless. A sigh escaped her as his hands slid down her back, pulling her even tighter against him. Her breasts, confined under the rigid surface of her stays, pushed against his chest. The rush of excitement, so new and forbidding, made her head spin.
He brushed her mouth with his before his lips moved across to the sensitive spot under her earlobe, further down her neck, leaving a trail of soft, hot kisses in their wake. He nudged the border of her gown off her shoulders with his teeth and nibble
d at the exposed flesh. Another sigh escaped her, lost in the rush of blood in her ears.
“Catriona.”
Rory’s hand moved over her hips, inch by inch upwards to her breasts. A sweet dizziness came over her as his fingers slid into her stays and caressed the sensitive skin. When his thumb brushed over her hardening nipple, she whimpered.
Her gasp was instantly crushed by a kiss very different from any that came before. Rory’s mouth was hard on hers, his tongue demanding entry into unexplored territory. She opened her lips to allow him in and he took full control, reaching deep inside to nudge her tongue to respond. The thrill was tearing her apart, her skin tingling, her brain numb. Following an unknown instinct, she pulled his head even closer as her heart pounded to bursting point.
Catriona shuddered with the unexpected pleasure of it, her breathing ragged. His hardened shaft pushed against her and she shifted her legs as if by silent demand. He moved between her thighs, one hand on her bottom to pull her tighter. The pressure melted her lower regions into sweet dampness, making her body writhe as he rubbed against her. With the last of her reserve gone, she explored his mouth with a hunger matching his, their kiss an endless game of tempting and responding. Unable to resist, she clung to him as his hands roamed over her exposed skin, her body softening against his.
Then Rory broke the kiss.
“Rory,” she whispered. When he didn’t reply, she opened her eyes and found him staring. Startled at the intensity in the dark green, unreadable pools, she tried to make sense of his abrupt withdrawal.
He took a step back, and ran his hands through his ruffled hair. “I’m sorry, Catriona.”
Her body shivered but not with excitement. Bereft of something she could not name, a chill settled on her still hot skin. She rushed past him to the window, trying to control her breathing, her whirling emotions. She grabbed the windowsill for support and leaned her forehead against the glass, cooling her burning skin. Tears stung behind closed eyelids. What had she done?
“This has gone too far. I can explain—”
She forced out the words, “I don’t want to hear it.”
His steps on the wooden floor came closer until she felt the heat from his body behind her. His hands hovered over her arms but he withdrew without touching her.
