He went inside, leaving Palmer outside with the horses. Immediately, Black Cat streaked out of the cottage and straight into the woods. There were no horses or men. Iain checked on the animals in the barn to make sure they had food and water. The chickens scattered at his presence, squawking angrily.
The sun was setting as he walked back through the house. Donaldson rode up alone. He hesitated when he saw Palmer outside and stiffened when Iain walked out of the cottage. Donaldson slid off his mount and saluted Palmer. “Sir.”
“Lieutenant,” Palmer said.
Iain took Donaldson’s measure. He was a supercilious bastard, and while he was standing at attention, Iain got the feeling that he resented having to do so. Iain guessed that the man did what he wanted when he wanted. He had the look of nobility; then again, so did Iain. And he used it to his advantage now.
Donaldson’s eyes flashed irritation, but he maintained his stance while seeming to look down on Iain.
“I hear you spoke to Cait Campbell,” Iain said.
Donaldson’s jaw worked. “I did.”
“I’m here to tell you that she is not to be disturbed or bothered by you again.”
Donaldson’s eyes narrowed. “How can I be bothering her when she invited me here?”
Fury propelled Iain forward. Palmer’s arm flew out to stop him. “She is a Campbell, under my protection. You are not welcome in her home or on my land.”
Donaldson smirked. “You have no authority over the English army, and you cannot tell me where or where not to go.”
“Enough, Donaldson,” Palmer said quietly. “Lord Kerr is a supporter of the English. An important supporter. You will do as he says, and if that’s not good enough for you, then I will make it a command. Cait Campbell is not to be disturbed by you or your men again. If you see her, you don’t speak to her.”
Palmer had used Iain’s English title, and Iain could tell that Donaldson recognized it. The tip of his nose and cheekbones were red with anger. Still, Iain worried that Palmer’s authority would not be enough to keep the man in line.
“The lady asked me to pay her a call,” Donaldson said. “But if you don’t want me here, I won’t come calling again.”
This time Palmer’s arm was not enough to keep Iain in line. He stepped close to Donaldson. They were of the same height, eye to eye, nose to nose, toe to toe. “We all know the truth, Donaldson. But hear me now. If I hear you have bothered her again, I will come after you.”
Cait was right. The man’s eyes were soulless, and Iain wanted to wipe the smug smirk off his face. But he restrained himself, heeding Palmer’s earlier warnings. There was something about the man that made Iain pause. He had come across a lot of English soldiers and a lot of English aristocrats. Donaldson was a dangerous combination of both. A man who bought his way through life and thought nothing of those he considered beneath him. No doubt Iain’s title was above Donaldson’s, but because Iain was Scottish, the lieutenant thought Iain beneath him.
Donaldson’s gaze slid to Palmer. “You will let a Scottish heathen speak to an English officer in this way?”
Instead of being angry, Iain was glad to see his speculation proved correct. The man was dangerously supercilious.
“Iain Campbell is the Marquess of Kerr and the Earl of Corrington. He possesses both an English title and a Scottish title that are older than your father’s. So if I were you, Donaldson, I’d walk away and forget this day ever happened.”
For a long moment Donaldson stood stiff and unyielding, his cold gaze locked on Iain. Iain’s muscles tensed in preparation for a fight, but Donaldson turned on his heel, mounted his horse, and rode off.
Chapter 26
Iain didn’t go to Cait’s bedchamber when he returned home. He couldn’t go to her in the mood he was in at the moment. He needed to calm down and think. So he paused in front of her door for a moment, then moved on.
As angry as he was at Donaldson, he was grateful that Palmer had been with him. He didn’t know what he would have done to the bloody ijit if they’d been alone. It was men like Donaldson who gave English soldiers and men in general a bad name. Even the usually loquacious Palmer had been subdued after the encounter. “I apologize for Donaldson’s behavior,” he had said once they reached the entryway to Iain’s home.
“You’re not the one who should be apologizing. The fact that the bastard lied and said that Cait had invited him…” Iain couldn’t even finish the sentence, he was so furious.
“We all know he was lying,” Palmer said.
“It doesn’t matter what we know. What matters is what he says, and I better not hear him spreading his lies about the countryside.” Iain’s back teeth came together. He should have incapacitated the man right away, and then he wouldn’t have to worry about any of this.
“Give me a few days,” Palmer said. “Let me see what I can do.”
“If you don’t do something, I will.”
They parted ways, Palmer to the study for a drink before going to bed, Iain to see Cait. Except he couldn’t go in just yet, not until this paralyzing anger dissipated a bit. He entered his bedchamber, shrugging out of his coat and throwing it on the bed before heading toward the decanter of Scottish whiskey to pour himself a generous portion. A fire—presumably lit by his housekeeper in anticipation of his return—blazed in the hearth.
He was arrested by the sight of Cait rising from the overstuffed chair in front of the fire.
She was still in the dressing gown she’d worn earlier. Her hair was dry but unbound and flowing down her back in soft, fiery waves.
“Cait,” he said on a strangled breath.
“My apologies if I’m intruding,” she said softly. “I wanted to hear what happened and didn’t want to stay in my own room.”
“You’re not intruding.” He was glad she was here. He’d been wrong, he realized. He hadn’t needed to avoid her because of his foul mood. He’d needed her presence to lessen it.
She was watching him with big green eyes, her face pale, the bruises on her jaw stark against the creaminess of her skin. “What happened?” she asked, clutching her hands in front of her until her knuckles were white.
He poured his drink and took a swallow, enjoying the burn all the way to his gut, where it spread its warmth through him. “He won’t be bothering you again.” He wasn’t about to tell her the details, that Donaldson had blamed her for his presence there. That he’d lied and said Cait had invited him and that he was a bloody bastard who needed a good thrashing.
Her eyes widened. “Is he…”
“He’s not dead.” Iain wished to God he were.
Her shoulders slumped and she passed a hand across her eyes. “I feel silly.”
“Why do you feel silly?”
“Ye probably think I made too much of this. And I did. Ye even brought Palmer into it, and it was probably all for nothing. The man…Donaldson…was probably—”
“I don’t believe that for a moment. You were truly frightened, and you have bruises. Don’t ever feel silly asking for my help.”
“I could have—should have—handled it myself.”
“You don’t really believe that.” She was having second thoughts about coming here; she was a strong woman who took care of herself, and she hated having to rely on him. He understood that, but he also knew that she was no match for a man like Donaldson. “He was there tonight, Cait. Just like he promised he would be. I have no doubt his intentions were not honorable.”
She shuddered and rubbed her arms as she stared into the fire.
Iain grabbed a blanket from the foot of his bed and draped it around her shoulders. It was a cool night, and the fire chased away some of the chill, but he feared she wasn’t so much cold as she was frightened.
“Thank ye,” she said softly.
“I’d do anything for you, Cait. I hope you know that.”
She glanced up at him, but he could see she wasn’t ready to hear that just yet, and it frustrated him. He wanted to tell her of his
feelings. Feelings that grew as the days wore on. They weren’t going away. They weren’t abating. They were here for good, and it was so damn frustrating that every time he tried to tell her, she backed away. He was weary of tiptoeing around her. Still, he had no other choice, and tonight was not the night to address it.
“Did you eat the dinner I brought up?” he asked, feeling silly that they were standing while having this conversation. But he couldn’t sit until she did, and she was staring blindly into the fire. “Cait?” He touched her elbow and she jumped, startled.
“I’m sorry. I was woolgathering.”
“You were very far away. Sit down.” He guided her to the chair and settled the blanket around her shoulders, thinking of the night he’d spent in her cottage, sitting at her kitchen table, eating bits and pieces of the food she’d scrounged up for them while wearing a blanket. That had been the best night of his life. He’d been happier, more comfortable, than he’d ever felt. He could happily spend more nights that way. Hell, he could happily spend the rest of his life that way. With Cait, he didn’t need a large house or titles or wealth. She made the simple seem extravagant and the most mundane moments the best memories.
He sat in the opposite chair and sipped on his whiskey while the silence wrapped around them. She didn’t seem inclined to talk, and he was content just sitting there with her. He finished his whiskey but was loath to get up and refill his glass for fear of breaking the spell.
He thought of nights in the future, that there could be so many more of them like this. Cait was the only woman he felt truly comfortable around. She didn’t pretend. She didn’t put on airs. She didn’t agree with him because that was what she was told to do. Hell, half the time she didn’t agree with him at all and had no problem telling him. She cared about everyone. Jacobite refugees. English soldiers like Halloway. Even her grandfathers who had hurt her so terribly. Although she probably wouldn’t admit to caring for those last two.
The clock struck midnight, startling him. He’d had no idea they’d been sitting here that long.
“I don’t want to go back to my room,” she said softly.
“Then stay here.” Good Lord, but his body was suddenly awake with longing. He’d not even been thinking of making love to her, and now he was on fire with the need. But that probably wasn’t what she meant, and he was the worst sort of cad to be thinking of making love while she was obviously very low.
She stood, and the blanket slipped from her shoulders to fall in a puddle on the floor. The firelight shone through the thin fabric of her dressing gown, outlining her lithe body. Iain swallowed. She held her hand out to him. “Come to bed with me.”
He blinked and could have sworn that this was some ethereal being come to haunt his dreams and not Cait standing before him. Her hair was like the flames of the fire, alight with golds and oranges and deeper reds.
He stood, finding his legs almost unable to hold him. His cock was fully engorged and painful. He’d never had this reaction to a woman, this intense desire that nearly brought him to his knees. He could barely breathe through it and had to clench his teeth against it.
He took her hand and she led him to the bed. They stood facing each other, linked only by their fingers as the fire crackled and popped and lit the room with dancing shadows.
Gently, he took her face between his hands and kissed her softly. She kissed him back, her hands at her sides but her mouth and tongue willing. They kissed for a long time, just their mouths touching and his hands cupping her face. Her skin was warm and soft from the fire, and his thumbs traced lazy circles across her jaw and cheek.
She pulled away and looked him in the eye. “Make love to me.”
He grinned. “Yes, my lady.”
Her eyes lit with a smile that didn’t touch her lips. Slowly, he lowered her to the bed and untied the sash at her waist, pulling the sides away and unwrapping her like the gift she was. He’d seen her naked before, but now he took his time, his gaze roaming her body before he allowed his hands to do the same.
She looked up at him, giving him the time he needed to look at her. Her stomach was flat, her hips narrow. There were shiny white marks on her stomach where the skin had stretched during pregnancy. They only added to her charm and were a reminder that she had lived a life before him, a life completely different from his. Her breasts were neither small nor large, and he thought of the daughter who had suckled them, another reminder that she came to him with memories that he would not be able to touch.
The patch of hair between her legs was a fiery red, much darker and coarser than the hair on her head, the curls springy. She bent her knees, opening herself to him, and he looked at her quickly. Her expression was so serious. They’d made playful love before. They’d made passionate love before. But he felt that tonight was different. This would be a deeper lovemaking, something that was going to touch his soul.
She had freckles almost everywhere. At least everywhere the sun touched. Her neck, her arms. Only the hidden parts of her were devoid of freckles. An interesting phenomenon, as if the sun had kissed her.
“Ye are fully clothed,” she said with a touch of censure.
“Let me rectify that.” He stood and pulled off his waistcoat, then his shirt. It was strangely erotic to have her lie there and watch him, her eyes following his every move.
He stood naked before her and let her gaze wash over him as his had done to her. It was so exciting that his breathing felt labored.
She held out her arms to him. “Come to me.”
Released from the strange paralysis of her gaze, he climbed on top of her and groaned at the feel of her skin against his. He pressed his aching cock into her thigh in the hopes of alleviating some of the pain, but that only intensified it, and he groaned again.
She reached between them and took his cock in her hand, gently squeezing, causing him to gasp and the room to dim.
“Oh, God, yes,” he moaned, his eyes drifting shut as her fingers squeezed and then released. He pumped into her hand, unable to stop himself, but after a moment she stopped and he dropped his head to her shoulder, breathing deeply. If he wasn’t careful, this was going to end before it even began.
He rolled to her side and propped himself up on his elbow to keep temptation at bay. She turned her head to look at him, her expression still serious, but there was an answering need in her eyes.
He fingered the curls at the juncture of her thighs, lightly brushing his hand across them. She opened her legs. He was far past teasing or playing. He took the invitation for what it was and parted her folds to press his finger against the nub inside. She gasped and raised her hips, pushing against his finger. He slid another finger into her passage while moving his thumb across her nub.
Her eyes drifted shut and her hips moved with his finger, slowly at first. He was hard and aching, but he watched her expressions, fascinated. She pressed her palm against the back of his hand, forcing his finger to rub harder as she emitted an approving hum. Her hips thrust upward, forcing his finger deeper inside of her. She moved faster, and a small line formed between her drawn brows.
She began to pant, her hips coming off the bed, causing the bed ropes to squeak in protest. He could only watch in rapt enthrallment as, pressing hard on his hand, she cried out. Instantly, his fingers were wet with her juices and her passageway pulsed around his finger. She lowered her hips and thrust up again, harder this time. Her toes curled, her legs went rigid, and her hips bucked.
When the pulsing slowed, she lazily opened her eyes and smiled at him. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes shone. The back of her hand skimmed the head of his penis and he nearly came undone.
Gently, she tugged on his arm and he rolled on top of her, sheathing himself. For a long moment he lay still, luxuriating in the tight, warm feel of her. But then she moved, squeezing her inner muscles.
“Ahhh,” he groaned, his body clenching to stave off his release.
“Don’t stop,” she whispered. “Don’t hold back.�
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His brows cocked, he looked down on her in question. “Are you certain, lass?”
“Please,” she said.
He moved inside her. She clenched his buttocks with both hands, forcing him deeper, setting a swift rhythm that was hard to deny. “Don’t stop,” she repeated.
He continued to pump into her, not slowing. His completion was coming too quickly, but he knew she didn’t want him to stop, so he didn’t. It rushed up on him, overcoming him before he knew it, and all at once he was spurting inside her, his release so powerful that goosebumps rose on the backs of his legs. He’d been afraid that it was over so quickly she wouldn’t find her release, but he’d been wrong. She’d come just as quickly, crying out as she went stiff underneath him.
—
“Don’t go,” he mumbled, pulling her tighter against him.
“I don’t want to, but the entire house doesn’t need to know I’ve been in yer bed.” She resisted the urge to snuggle against him. She must be strong in this. She didn’t want to be known as Iain’s lover or mistress. She’d worked hard to lead a quiet life free of drama and rumors, and she wanted to keep it that way.
With great reluctance, she slid out of bed and reached for her shift while Iain sighed and scooted up in bed to pull the sheet over his lap. “What does it matter if people know? Are you ashamed of us?”
She paused as she pulled on her robe. “I’m no’ ashamed.”
“But neither are you proud.” He was watching her with his dark eyes, and she found it disconcerting. “Your silence tells me all I need to know.”
“It has nothing to do with pride. I like my independence, and I like being left alone.”
“I want more, Cait.”
She sighed, wishing this weren’t the conversation he chose to have. She was drained from her breakdown earlier in the evening, and even though she’d slept while Iain was gone, this was a bone-deep weariness. She’d cried until she’d had no more tears left, and it had been cathartic, releasing all of her anger, but now her mind was fuzzy and she felt as if she could sleep for another three days. She also needed time alone. There was much she had to think about; much had come to the surface that she’d pushed away for far too long.
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