"Is it?"
"For always, Catriona."
For a moment, she couldn't speak, remembering all her fears on the night they had met, and how, deep inside, she had wanted to be his even then. And, yes, it was indeed a thing to be feared, this losing all of oneself to another. Yet there had been no other choice for her on that night. Nor was there now.
He lowered his mouth to her breasts, darting his tongue back and forth across her pink nipples until she felt faint with pleasure. She closed her eyes with a dreamy sigh as he pressed her deeper into the couch. She managed only a perfunctory murmur of protest when she felt his hand sliding beneath her skirt, his palm cool against her skin. His strong fingers circled the sensitive underside of her knee. Shocks of decadent sensation tingled along her nerve endings, and her muscles began to relax at his masterful touch.
"You deserve better than a few stolen moments in a musty summerhouse," he said wistfully. "I wish you were in my bed, where I could take my time to do this."
His fingers brushed the damp hollow between her legs, played with the soft flesh there that ached for him. She gripped his wrist and moaned, uncertain whether she could stand this much pleasure. "Is the rakehell suffering a pang of conscience?" she teased him.
He leaned down to kiss her. "Actually, it's a pang of the most painful lust he has ever known. I don't think I can move—do you know I am dying to be inside you?"
"What does it feel like?" she whispered.
He groaned against her mouth. "Are you torturing me on purpose?"
She pushed up on her elbows and began kissing him back. "Is it all right if I do this?" she asked softly.
For several moments, he did not move, except for the shudder of lust that moved down his shoulders and into his spine. But her sweet, demanding kisses destroyed him, not that when it came to her he was a pillar of strength to begin with. He hesitated for only a second, his jaw clenched, before he lifted his free hand impatiently to unbutton his shirt. His pantaloons followed, and then, reaching for a sheet from the top of the couch to cover them, he pressed his naked body to hers. The bliss of forbidden flesh-to-flesh contact burned away the final vestiges of his restraint.
In a few days, she would be his wile, but he didn't think he could wait to take physical possession. He had never felt such a primal need to mate, to leave his mark, and deep beneath the urgings of nature was the fear of losing her, the fear that as mysteriously as she had come into his life, healing his heart, she would disappear.
But he was going to ensure that Catriona did not just pass through his life. He meant to make her a permanent fixture, the mother of his children, matriarch of the family, the woman beneath whose portrait future generations of Rutleighs would pause to remark, "She never wore shoes, they say, and she slept with magical stones under the bed."
He touched her face in a gentle caress and nudged her legs apart with his knee. For an interval, he could do nothing but stare at her. Her body was female perfection, ripe curves and intriguing hollows, and he felt a momentary reluctance at bringing her pain; it promptly dissolved as she shifted restlessly beneath him.
"What are you thinking?" she whispered, rubbing her face against his hand.
"Let me show you." His breath came in hoarse exhalations as he brought his head to her breasts, sucking hard at her nipples. She arched against him and slid back into his arms with a shiver of submission. He wrapped his fist in her hair and sank down beside her, caressing the curves of her hip and belly before lowering his hand to her sex, spreading her open with his fingers.
Another shiver rocked her. He looked so intense. The feelings that burgeoned inside her were too much to bear. "Knight—"
"Shhh. I don't like to be interrupted when I'm making love."
He flexed his shoulders, reaching around with his left arm to make sure the sheet was secure. Catriona stole a look at his powerful body and swallowed a gasp at the sight. A current of unadulterated pleasure shot down deep into her belly. He was so beautiful, his body firmly muscled and blatantly male. Lying beneath all that restrained strength was the most exhilarating sensation in the world.
She raised her face to his. "What if someone sees us?"
He grunted. "With this sheet bumping up and down, I suppose we'll be mistaken for a restless spirit." Not that anything could stop him when he was so close. He curled his hands under her soft white bottom and lifted her against him. She was a natural seductress, to be sure, but he had to teach her a thing or two about the timing of her conversations. "Lift your legs around my back, and hold on tight. Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea how good you feel."
She had only the vaguest idea what to expect, and his first thrust, the deep stroke of his penis into her most tender tissue, took her by surprise. She tightened her muscles, but he did not stop except to reposition himself and thrust deeper, until she felt herself yield, the sensation causing her to gasp. Somewhere in her dazed state, she drew a breath, feeling him shower kisses on her face and throat as he muttered that he hadn't meant to hurt her.
"It's just that I can't—"
"Don't worry." She arched into him as she whispered the words. No, she wouldn't go back in time for anything. She wouldn't take away this moment even as their bodies strained together, even as he battered at her until she thought she would shatter. Then, just when she told herself that she could relax a little, he braced both his arms beneath her and rammed upward with all his might, driving the very breath from her body.
"I love you," he said, his hands gripping her hips as he impaled her. "I love you, and now I have exactly what I want."
She did shatter then; she broke apart into the most blissful state of being she had ever known. The pleasure that rippled through her belly was almost unbearable, so intense she could not be sure her heart was still beating. Then she felt him climax, warmth flooded her womb, and she could only sigh, bereft of words to describe what it meant to belong to him, to feel cherished for the first time in her life. Who would have thought this man with the forbidding cast-iron features capable of such tenderness?
She breathed another sigh into his neck as he snuggled down beside her, one muscular leg anchored over her hip as if to remind her that her place in the world was at his side.
"Oh, Knight." She whispered his name against his shoulder, savoring the musky scent of his skin. "Do you think, um, should we at least get dressed?"
"No." He locked his arms around her waist. "I'm never moving from this couch again. This is heaven."
"Except—oh, goodness!" She struggled into an upright position. "We have an audience, in those trees—"
Catriona had never seen a man move so fast in her life. One moment, she was being cuddled by a strong male body; the next, that body was hopping around into a pair of pantaloons and buttoning its shirt in a blur of panicked motion that made her dizzy to watch. She pulled the sheet over her head to muffle her giggles.
He yanked the sheet down to her shoulders, his hard-planed face stark white with anger. "Where is he? Jesus God, I'll kill the bastard."
She put her hand to her mouth as another giggle threatened to escape. "Who?"
'The man—or woman—who was watching us." He ran his hand through his crisp dark hair and looked around in annoyance. "And pull your dress up," he added in a furious undertone. "It's bad enough for me to be caught with my bare arse poking out from a sheet, but I won't have anyone ogling my bride-to-be's charms."
She grinned in delight, her giggles erupting into the tranquility of the night. "It was only an owl! An owl took flight over the treetops, and I first thought— oh, Knight, if you could have seen how ridiculous you—"
"An owl?" He glanced out disgustedly into the trees. "Oh, for God's sake, why didn't you say so in the first place?"
"As if I had the chance." She wiped a tear of mirth from the corner of her eye. "I suppose that charming little act came from some past experience of being caught by an irate husband?"
He scowled at her. "Actually, I was imagining Marig
old on reconnaissance in the rosebushes. Can you imagine the old battleaxe's reaction if she found us in the altogether?"
She laughed again. "Especially if she saw you bobbing up and down like a puppet on a string."
"Bobbing?"
"Well, that thing—" Her eyes glittered with irrepressible mischief. "What did she call it, anyway, a tallypole?"
"Wag," he said after a brief startled silence as he wondered how this particular part of his anatomy had become the topic of family conversation. "A tallywag. And the word bobbing makes it sound even more undignified. Where is that damn owl, anyway? Are you sure it was even there?"
"Of course I'm sure." She stared out into the woods, her mood suddenly subdued. "And I can't help thinking that those birds are going to bring me trouble," she added in a worried voice.
He turned abruptly and swore. "It looks as if you might be right about that."
"What?"
"About the trouble." He reached down and deftly rehooked her gown. "My sister is heading straight this way. Pull down your skirt."
She sprang from the couch, hiding behind his large frame. "Oh, goodness. I gave her my word I'd stay in my room tonight. How are we going to explain being together in the dark?"
"We aren't. Do you think you can make it back to the house by yourself if I distract her?"
"Of course I can." She came out from behind him. "Will you be able to manage her alone?"
He kissed her on the tip of her nose. "I think so. However, if I do not appear by breakfast tomorrow, you shall know where to look for my body."
She bit her lip. "Perhaps I should stay to defend you."
"And face a three-hour lecture into the wee hours on our immoral behavior?"
"You're right. Defend yourself."
She backed away, then paused on the steps of the summerhouse to blow him a kiss. He grinned and watched her disappear into the trees that encircled them. He was going to have to find a plausible excuse, and fast, to explain to Olivia his presence in a place he had avoided for almost three years now.
* * *
Murdo Grant sat in the woods, absorbing the healing powers of the ancient trees. A large owl fluttered down onto a branch above. Murdo smiled. Ah, yes. To those who could perceive, the birds served as messengers of the otherworld. Murdo and his cocky apprentice, Lamont, had been able to keep track of Catriona's whereabouts by sending their winged friends to find her. And now Murdo must simply wait for her to find him.
The moment approached. He had already touched her mind on several occasions, made her sense his existence. In fact, he could feel her mischievous presence nearby, her youthful energy clashing with his calm wisdom.
Come to me, Catriona. I am your own. We are both healers. The world does not understand us.
He ached to see her again, to reconcile, to guide her into her powers. Above all, he wanted to make sure she did not follow in her tragic mother's footsteps.
He smiled. She was coming.
Chapter 18
Catriona was congratulating herself on skirting the summerhouse undetected when she spotted Mrs. Evans standing guard on the bridge. Now, how was she supposed to get back into her room without Olivia seeing her? She glanced up as a blur of light from the house caught her eye. Oh, wonderful. Wendell was in the bedroom window, waving a candle like a French spy warning away a ship from the cliffs of Dover, which meant that Marigold must be on guard in the hallway. This did present a problem.
She had no choice but to retreat into the woods until the coast was clear. She glanced back over her shoulder at the summerhouse. There was something unfair about having to go into hiding after such a heart-stirring experience.
She hugged herself as the breeze scattered the leaves around her feet. She was shivering with sheer happiness, instead of shame at her complete ruination. She felt so alive she could run across the moor in the moonlight like a young pagan. She was his.
Voices drifted from the summerhouse. She retreated impulsively into the sheltering womb of the woods. She wasn't afraid of nature, not even at night. It was only people who had ever hurt her. Animals merely wanted to be left alone, to obey their instincts.
She stopped in her tracks and stared through the trees, the nerves at the base of her spine prickling.
Across the clearing sat a tidy heap of dirt beneath the very tree where she had buried the Earth stone. No squirrel had kicked up that mound of soil, nor had a woodland creature left the footprints that led away toward the moor.
She took a deep breath and forced herself to walk forward. She didn't want to discover anything that would ruin her lighthearted mood. Just for once, she wanted to pretend she was like any other ordinary young woman. She peered down into the gaping hole, then plunged her hand into the soft earth. It was as she'd feared. The stone was gone.
Uncle Murdo had found her.
******************
Knight lounged back awkwardly on the couch, his long legs dangling over the walnut-inlaid arm. He felt too contented, too hopeful, too damn pleased with himself to resent Olivia's interference. After all, they both loved Catriona and wanted the best for her— a good marriage, a secure future. And in that future, Knight would have plenty of opportunities to enjoy his young wife's passionate nature. He sighed deeply, remembering the scent of her, female musk and herbs, remembering the precise moment when he had embedded himself inside her. God help him, his heart had actually stopped beating, and he had almost climaxed like a young boy on his first sexual adventure.
Olivia pushed his feet to the floor in an angry swoop. "Where is she, you scoundrel?"
He sat up, so caught up in his erotic memory that her actual arrival had surprised him. "Who?"
"Don't treat me like a ninnyhammer, Knight." She was practically panting with fury, her hands on her slender hips. "I am not one of your buffle-headed women. I know that smile of yours and what it means. Where have you hidden her?"
He grinned. "Buffle-headed women?"
She pulled the sheet from the couch. Heavens above, he thought in amazement. Was she expecting to find Catriona cowering beneath it? The wheelbarrow came next. His eyebrows rose as he watched her slowly touch a stalk of withered bluebell, turning it between her fingers.
"Olivia," he said gently.
She turned, her eyes meeting his. She had to be remembering that day, he thought, as he put his feet to the floor. She had to be remembering the moment he'd told her Lionel was not coming home. All of a sudden, he stood and wanted to put his arms around her, as he had done then, to promise her that he would take care of her, that she would never have to be alone.
"You sneak," she said. "You—you tallywag waver."
His eyes widened. "What did you call me?"
She threw the withered stalk of bluebell at him. "Don't give me that wounded air, lounging in your lair like a big tiger who's just made a tasty snack of a mongoose. You ought to be ashamed. Just tell me where she is. Where have you put her, you monster of immorality?"
He blinked, unable to believe his ears. He had expected her to cry, to crumple, to relive the day she'd learned she was a widow, not to insult and assault him with dead flowers. This was such a wonderful surprise, the best evidence of her healing, that he broke into a smile.
She gave a little shriek of disgust. "And you have the gall to actually grin about your conquest!"
He sobered as she looked around for something more effective to throw at him than a bluebell. "If you don't tell me where she is right now—"
He ducked the musty cushion she hurled at him. "She's probably fast asleep in her room, unless all the commotion you are making has disturbed her. Look— there's a light in her window right now. Shame on you, Olivia, for waking her up."
Another cushion came hurtling at his head. He backed around the wheelbarrow, throwing his leg over the summerhouse railing to escape into the garden. He didn't like the way she was looking at that rusty shovel.
"The light in her window is Wendell, you idiot, as if you didn't know," she
said. "As if this tryst weren't planned, and him taking your side. And she isn't in her room, because I checked. She left a rolled-up blanket and one of Aunt Marigold's wigs under the bedcovers to fool me."
He chuckled softly. "Check again, Olivia," he said, confident that his resourceful Catriona would have made it back upstairs by now. "I think you are mistaken."
He jumped down into the garden as she grabbed the shovel and rushed the railing. "That's right," she shouted at him. "Run, you rogue. Run with your tail between your legs. You can't hide from me forever. If I don't catch you tonight, I will at the breakfast table tomorrow."
******************
Catriona spun about in the direction of the sum-merhouse, staring through the trees. "Oh, my. What was that?"
The short red-haired man who had been waiting patiently for her stepped away from the tree that had concealed him. "I believe it was the sound of some heavy object being thrown in anger."
She swallowed over the lump of anxiety in her throat and turned to face the uncle whom her mother had banished from their lives when Catriona was a child. The reason for the breach between brother and sister had remained a mystery in her mind, some dark family secret not to be discussed, an "adult" matter. Catriona had always suspected the estrangement had evolved over her father, but whatever the reason, Uncle Murdo had become a forbidden topic of conversation in the house.
An irate female voice shouted a string of insults into the night. The actual words were muffled by the time they penetrated the woods; the meaning was clear enough.
Catriona shook her head in distress. "That's Olivia and Knight," she said distractedly. "I should have stayed to help him."
"But you sensed me calling to you," Murdo said in satisfaction. "You knew I would come, didn't you?"
She turned to examine him more closely. He had settled down like a garden gnome on the boulder she had passed a few moments ago. His red beard reached to his chest, and his tartan jacket and trousers seemed too large for his frail-boned frame.
"You're short," she said in surprise. "I always pictured you as a giant."
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