Tears trickled down her cheeks and her hands were clenched in the folds of her gown.
“But what if the wonderful never happens again?” she whispered. “What if, for some people, life is just one big storm after another and the light never shines again? What then?”
He stepped toward her, his heart breaking at the fear and the grief and despair and loneliness in her eyes. “I believe there is always light. Sometimes it takes longer to shine, and sometimes you have to drag yourself to it, but it’s there.”
She looked up at him, those heartbreaking tears running down her cheeks. “I wish I believed what ye believe.”
“Maybe you don’t believe it now, but if you give me a chance I’ll show you.”
She huffed out a laugh and wiped her cheeks with the back of her hands. “Ye’re incorrigible.”
“It’s my worst trait.”
“No’ yer worst.”
“And what would my worst be?” He wanted to hug her tightly but held back.
“Ye always think ye’re right.”
“That’s not a bad trait to have. If I think I’m right, then people do as I say.”
“Is that yer secret, then? Just plow yer way through?”
“I never thought of it that way, but I guess it is.”
“That’s very brave and very stupid of ye.”
“I never said I was smart, just stubborn.”
“And incorrigible.”
“And incorrigible.”
She drew in a shaking breath. Her face was pale, and she seemed about to fall over.
“Come here,” he said softly, holding his hand out to her.
She remained still for the longest time while he held his breath, waiting. Finally, she took it. Her fingers were cold and trembling, and he closed his hand around hers, pulling her toward the settee, where he sat down and tugged her onto his lap.
To his surprise and relief, she snuggled into him and laid her head on his shoulder. Tiny tremors ran through her body, and he rubbed her back. Slowly, she relaxed against him, her breathing evening out, although she continued to sniff.
“Part of me hates ye,” she said.
“That’s definitely not encouraging.”
“Ye couldn’t leave me be, could ye?”
“No.”
“And will ye leave me alone now that ye made me admit that ye were right about everything?”
“No.”
She sighed. “I thought not.”
If anything, he was more determined and believed in her more than ever. He thought he might be falling in love with her, and that was a strange feeling.
“I don’t want to move back to the big house,” she said.
“I’m not asking you to move back to the big house.” Not yet, at least. Even he understood that this would take time. Though he wanted her with him, he wouldn’t push it.
She tilted her head back to look up at him. “Did I misread yer intentions?”
“No. But I won’t push you. If you’re comfortable here, then this is where I will be.”
She raised her brows. “Ye’re moving in with me? Won’t people talk? Won’t ye be needed at the big house?”
He smiled. At least she wasn’t pushing him away and telling him he had to leave or she was moving to Sutherland land. That was a step in the right direction.
“I’m no’ moving in. But make no mistake, I will come here as often as I can get away.”
“Ye mean ye don’t already do that? I feel like ye’re constantly underfoot.”
He chuckled. “That’s nothing compared to what I’ll be like now.”
She looked at him solemnly. “I’m not ceasing my activities with Sutherland. I like what I do, and I like that I’m helping people move toward the wonderful after the horrible.”
He plucked the pins out of her fiery hair and untangled the strands as they fell about her shoulders. “You’re using my words against me.”
“If I’m to believe ye, then everyone has a wonderful after the horrible, and I hope that’s true for the people who come through my home.”
He concentrated on running his fingers through her hair. It was so many different colors, all related to fire. One would think it would be hot to the touch, but it wasn’t. It was cool and smooth and silky. “While I don’t like it because I fear for your safety, I know I can’t stop you from doing something you truly believe in.”
Chapter 22
Cait sighed and rested her head on Iain’s shoulder. She felt like she’d fought a fierce battle and still wasn’t certain whether she was the victor.
She was uncomfortable with the things Iain had forced her to face. She’d believed she’d rebuilt her life. She’d been happy with helping Sutherland and those who came to her for healing. Maybe she was not so much happy as she was content.
Were there times when she was lonely? Yes. But she’d never considered that she could change her circumstances or that she even wanted to. Change was frightening, and she would admit that she was frightened by Iain coming around more often because he wasn’t going to let it go. He was going to force her out of her comfortable life bit by bit until she was vulnerable again.
She started at that thought, never realizing until now that what she’d felt was vulnerability. Could she be blamed for protecting herself from yet more grief? A person could take only so much before breaking. She had broken the day Iain came to tell her that John had died.
Iain shifted, and she realized that she was probably too heavy for him. She made to move, but his arms tightened around her. “No,” he said drowsily. “Stay.” His eyes were half closed, peering at her from beneath his lids.
“I have things to do.”
“They can wait.”
She glanced out the window and was surprised to see that the last of the sun was fading. She felt like she’d lived three days in the last few hours.
Black Cat appeared from somewhere and was sitting in the middle of the room, the tip of his tail swishing as he stared at her in disdain.
“I don’t think Black Cat likes ye here,” she said.
“He’ll have to grow accustomed to it.”
“How often will we have to accustom ourselves to yer presence?”
“However often I can get away.”
She wasn’t sure she liked that. She wanted a routine so she could plan her day. “I’ll no’ be stopping my chores and such whenever ye decide to pop in and out.”
“I’ll not ask that of you.”
Damn him. Every time she thought she could throw a roadblock into his plans, he just rode right around it or plowed his way through it.
“You’re panicking,” he said drowsily.
“I’m no’ panicking.” She was panicking. The more she thought about it, the more she didn’t want her nice, calm life disrupted.
Iain kissed the top of her head. “Relax, mo gradh.”
“Ye’re asking me to change everything I’ve known for the past four years.”
“We’ll take it slow,” he told her. She sighed in agitation and Iain chuckled. “You think too much.” He tightened his arms around her. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and she raised her head to listen as rain softly pattered against the roof.
“It’s raining,” he said as he laid his head back against the settee.
“It is,” she said.
“I prefer not to ride home in the rain.”
“It would be terribly cold and uncomfortable,” she admitted.
“Aye. That it would.”
“I suppose ye’ll have to stay the night.”
She could feel him draw in a silent breath, and she grinned, turning her face to bury it in his warm, solid chest. He smelled of leather and horse and the outdoors. The anticipation of him spending the night made her warm on the inside.
“I should probably bring some firewood in,” he said, his voice resonating through her. “Before the rain gets too bad.”
“There’s some stacked just outside the back door.”
; “I need to bring Ord into the stable and make sure he is fed and bedded down for the night.”
“Aye.”
Neither of them moved until the thunder rumbled closer.
Cait reluctantly rolled off of him, and Iain left to get the firewood and tend his horse. She felt like she’d been dragged by a horse. She’d had no idea that facing her emotions and her past could hurt physically as well as spiritually.
She had a lot to contemplate, but Iain was right. Every time she thought about it, she panicked. She didn’t want to think about it tonight. She wanted to enjoy being with Iain and explore the possibility of more time with him. One day, one moment, at a time.
Those would be her new words to live by. One moment at a time.
And maybe she would walk into that light.
She watched sleepily as Iain brought more firewood in and stoked the dying embers. She was surprised to find that she was shivering. The storm was bringing in cooler air, and she trembled with a sense of foreboding.
None of that tonight. Tonight was about the present, not the future.
Black Cat ventured out the back door but raced back in after being pelted with rain that was beginning to fall more heavily. Iain disappeared outside again. She should get up and make them some sort of meal, but she couldn’t move.
Iain came back in, shaking the rain from his hair. Black Cat hissed and streaked under the settee as a burst of cool air blew in behind Iain. It was a true Highland storm raging outside.
Iain lifted his head, saw her watching him, and paused. “You keep looking at me like that and I’ll combust.”
“Like what?”
“Like you want to eat me.”
“Maybe I do.”
“Bloody hell, Cait. You can’t say things like that.”
“What if it’s the truth?”
Her need was so great that she was nearly shaking. It came from nowhere. One moment she was thinking of fixing a meal, and the next she could barely stand because she wanted him so much.
“And you say I’m incorrigible?” he asked as he came toward her.
She almost wanted to shrink from him because he reminded her of Black Cat with a mouse in his sights. Iain was very, very focused, his gaze fixed on her, his movements slow but determined.
He stopped in front of her, and she placed her palms on his chest. His shirt was wet from the rain and his skin cool, but beneath that his heart hammered against her palms.
“Should we do this the right way?” he asked.
“And what’s the right way?”
“In a bed.”
“I don’t believe the hayloft was the wrong way.”
He grinned and took her hands in one of his. She was manacled and she didn’t care. “Come,” he whispered, and he led her up the stairs to her small room and even smaller bed. They looked down on the bed. “If I keep coming around, I’ll need to get you a larger bed.”
“I think we can manage.”
He sat on the edge and pulled her between his knees. “I’m wet,” he said.
“Aye. Ye are.”
He cocked his head. “Are you wet?”
“Aye,” she breathed. “I am.”
His eyes darkened in desire, and he ran his hands up the outside of her thighs, over her hips and waist, until she was shivering with need. Up and down his hands roamed as his dark eyes studied her intently.
She was unable to make her own hands work, her body so hot that she feared she was burning with fever. She ached between her legs and he’d barely touched her.
His manhood was outlined against his breeches and she had a thought that it had to be painful, pushing against the fabric like that. But the thought was fleeting, gone with the movement of his hands.
Slowly, he pulled up her skirts, inch by excruciating inch. She felt the cool air on her ankles, her calves, her knees. And then his hands were on her bare skin and she sucked in a breath. Her knees were trembling so badly that she had to put her hands on his shoulders to prevent falling over.
“Hold your skirts up,” he said.
She grabbed the fabric of her skirts with one hand, keeping the other on his shoulder as he bent forward to place his mouth on her center. She was so shocked that she cried out, and then his tongue was licking, parting her folds, and she groaned as her hips surged toward him.
Pulses coursed through her, and she released his shoulder to put her hand on the back of his head, digging her fingers into his scalp. His hands slid to her backside and he kneaded her bum, pulling her closer to his mouth.
“Iain,” she said in warning, her voice strangled. “I’m going to…Oh, God. Iain, please.” She didn’t want to end this just yet, they’d barely started, but she was racing toward her climax and there was no way she could stop it.
“Iain,” she warned one last time. And then she cried out, pressing his head against her as she ground her hips into his face. She gasped for breath, and in the back of her mind she wondered if she was suffocating him.
He pulled back and her knees buckled.
“Whoa,” he said on a laugh and caught her, pulling her down on top of him as he fell back on the bed.
She sprawled on top of him, breathless and boneless, her insides still quivering. His engorged manhood pressed against her thigh, reminding her that he’d not yet had his completion.
He rolled her to her back and was suddenly above her. He pushed the hair out of her eyes and smiled at her.
“Will we ever do this unclothed?” she asked.
“Someday. But not today.”
He yanked her skirts out of the way and unbuttoned his breeches one-handed while supporting his weight with the other hand. She helped him pull his breeches down and his manhood sprang forward, red and angry. She took it in her hands and he moaned, his head falling as he gasped.
She was always amazed by the male body. It was so hard in so many places, even here. She stroked him, feeling the ridges and the smooth tip of his head, concentrating on the moist slit. Iain grunted, his hips moving to the rhythm of her hands, until he grabbed her hand and pulled it away. “Enough,” he ground out.
He guided himself into her as she lifted her hips to fully accept him. She’d thought that she was finished, but as soon as he was moving inside, her need began to build again. She’d never done this twice and was a bit stunned to find that the release was coming on her quickly.
She gasped and pumped her hips with his. Iain started out slowly, but even he was racing toward his completion far more quickly than either of them wanted.
The faster he moved, the more her need built, until it exploded and she arched her back, gritting her teeth and biting back her groan.
“Oh, God,” he moaned, and she felt his seed shooting inside her.
—
At some point in the middle of the night, they finally took off their clothes and made love while the rain pattered softly against the roof and thunder rumbled far away. A lone candle cast a warm glow over the room. It was cozy and intimate, and they laughed and giggled and slept.
Sometime toward midnight, they stumbled down the stairs and rummaged through the kitchen. They ate sitting side by side at her tiny kitchen table.
“How do ye do it?” she asked as the few candles flickered and the rain fell heavier. She pulled the blanket tighter around her, though she wasn’t really cold. She was warm and tingling from their lovemaking.
“How do I do what?” he asked, taking a bite of bread.
“How do ye pretend all the time? How do ye keep up the energy to do what ye do? Don’t ye ever get weary?”
“I don’t think about it,” he said. “It’s just something I do.”
“I get weary,” she said. “I just want peace.”
Iain sat back and contemplated her. “England and Scotland have been at odds for centuries. It almost seems a way of life, doesn’t it? However, I want peace, too. Just like everyone else. Well.” He grinned. “Everyone except MacGregor.”
She smiled, but her heart a
nd her thoughts were tormented. She was suddenly frightened, and she didn’t know what she was frightened of.
Iain leaned forward and put his hand over hers, squeezing her fingers. “No heavy thoughts tonight.”
She shook off her melancholy. “Ye’re right.” Despite everything, she yawned, and he laughed.
“Sleep,” he said.
She stood, wrapping her blanket around her. Iain watched, his eyes darkening at the sight of her bare legs peeking out of the blanket.
“Sleep,” she reminded him as she grabbed his hand and dragged him up the stairs. She ached in places she’d never ached before, and she swore Iain had touched every inch of her skin. She should be exhausted, but she found her body waking up yet again.
They slept. Much later, but they slept.
And then they were awakened by someone pounding on her front door.
Chapter 23
Iain hopped from one leg to the other out of her bedchamber as he quickly pulled on his breeches.
“Iain, wait. It could be someone who needs help.” Cait had rolled quickly out of bed and was searching frantically for her discarded gown. Her heart was pounding, even though she’d had plenty of late-night visitors at her door. She felt irrationally angry that someone had interrupted her night. She wanted to prolong her time with Iain, and she didn’t want word to get out just yet that they were together.
Also, whoever was pounding on that door wasn’t bringing good news, and her feeling of foreboding returned.
“Another English soldier was killed,” Iain said grimly as he came back into her bedchamber before she had even thrown her wrinkled gown over her head.
“Oh, no.” Her heart sank. “On Campbell land?”
He shook his head. “But close. On the border of Campbell and Graham land.”
Alasdair Graham would not be pleased. Then she thought of Halloway, and a tremor of fear raced up her spine. “Do ye know who was killed?”
Iain shot her a frustrated look as she grabbed his shirt and shrugged it on; it seemed disrespectful to talk of the dead while she was naked. “Are ye worried about yer English soldier? Hallobert?”
“Halloway. And yes, I am. We’re friends.”
“I don’t know who was killed.” He bent to put on his boots.
Campbell's Redemption Page 15
