Chapter Twenty-nine
Lachlan galloped ahead of the coach, determined to put some distance between him and Catherine.
Christ almighty. He had made love to her.
Without ever intending to, he had slid into her depths and remained there for a perilous amount of time, unable to withdraw; then he had slid back in, again and again, until the pleasure had snuffed out all logic and self-control.
He had taken her rashly and impetuously, and still he wanted to take her again.
Even in the coach just now, he had wanted to hold her, to kiss her sweet lips and run his hands through her hair. It was all he could think of—to lie with her again, to make love to her, every night, freely, without constraints, for the rest of his God-forsaken life.
Or hers, which might not be such a very long time.
It was an unpleasant reminder, and he had to shut his eyes against the image of her death.
Bloody hell, he had proposed to her!
And she had refused!
And yes, by God, he had considered the notion that it might be a brief marriage, but it would be better than no time at all.
He would give anything to know that the curse could be lifted, that she was not in any real danger. He would marry her either way, of course, which was why her refusal had pushed him over the edge.
Had she really thought so little of their lovemaking? Did she not understand? Did she not feel what he felt?
He was overcome suddenly by a terrible rush of grief.
Bloody hell! He never asked for this. He didn’t want this kind of pain.
And he meant what he had said. He would kill Raonaid if he had to. He would do anything to protect Catherine, even if it meant she would hate him forever.
He would protect her at any cost. Even that.
Because he loved her.
* * *
It was past midnight when the coach finally rolled to a stop outside the Edinburgh hotel. Catherine sat up groggily and rubbed her eyes. She had fallen asleep at some point and had no idea what time it was.
The latch on the door flicked open, and she squinted as light from a lantern spilled across the floor of the coach. It was Alex, holding the lantern aloft.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Lady Catherine,” he gently said, “but we’ve arrived. Lachlan has already secured a room for you. I just need to take you upstairs.”
“Thank you,” she replied.
She sidled across the upholstered seat and took his hand.
A few minutes later, she was collapsing onto a soft feather bed with freshly laundered sheets and closing her weary eyes.
It had been an exhausting day, crossing the Lowlands with few stops other than to change horses. Catherine could barely move.
Each endless mile of the journey from Drumloch Manor to Kinloch Castle—then south again to Edinburgh—seemed to merge together into one grueling blur of movement and scenery.
Her body groaned in protest from all the jostling about in the coach that day.
All she wanted to do now was sleep for an eternity.
* * *
When Catherine opened her eyes, it was pitch-dark in the room. She was still dressed in her day clothes, lying flat out on her back, on top of the covers. Every muscle in her body ached and throbbed.
Sitting up drowsily, she cupped her forehead in a hand. “Good Lord, what time is it?” She swung her legs off the edge of the bed to touch the floor.
“It’s four o’clock in the morning,” a voice said.
Lachlan.
Instantly awake, she noted his shadowed figure in a rocking chair by the window. He held a musket across his lap.
“Could you light a lamp?” she asked, squeezing the edge of the mattress with her hands. “I need to see where I am.”
He rose from the chair and lit a candle. The room brightened to a warm golden glow.
“Are we in Edinburgh?” she asked.
“Aye. We arrived a few hours ago, but none of us are in any condition to meet Raonaid or Murdoch. It’s been a long day. The others are sleeping. We’ll ride out to Blue Waters first thing in the morning.”
She ran her tongue across her dry lips. “I’m thirsty,” she said. “Is there anything to drink?”
“I’ll pour you some wine.”
Catherine waited for her thoughts to stir into something tangible while she watched him uncork a bottle and fill a small glass. He strode forward and handed it to her.
“Thank you.”
Still feeling groggy, she took it in both hands and sipped heartily. The dark flavor awakened her senses as she looked all around the large room. It was a luxurious space. The walls were paneled in oak, and the furniture was upholstered in a floral brocade.
“How long have you been sitting here?” she asked.
“Since we arrived.”
“But you must be exhausted as well,” she noted with concern.
“Aye,” he admitted. “And I confess I might have dozed off for a minute or two in the past few hours.”
She took another sip of wine. “I’m surprised it’s you who is watching over me. You could have left Alex outside the door. I’m sure he would have been devoted enough to the task.”
“He’s a good lad,” Lachlan said. “Now go back to sleep, Catherine. You need your rest. Tomorrow is an important day.”
She set the glass down on the bedside table. “Indeed. I am going to meet the twin sister who was separated from me at birth. I hardly know what I will say to her.”
“Don’t get your hopes up for a tearful reunion. The last time I saw Raonaid, she was pouring a bucket of bones all over me, and hexing me straight to hell.”
Catherine swallowed uneasily. “Perhaps she has changed.”
He shook his head.
“How do you think she will react when she sees me?” Catherine asked.
“It’s difficult to say. I’ve known her to be volatile, so I will go first and deliver the news. I will also make sure that Murdoch will not be a source of danger.”
Catherine nodded. “That will be best, I suppose. She should be warned, for the news will come as a shock. No doubt she will need time to prepare herself.”
Still half in a daze, Catherine pulled the covers back, kicked off her shoes, and slid between the sheets.
She and Lachlan watched each other steadily through the flickering candlelight for a long while, and she wished things were different between them.
She wanted to be close to him, but she dare not invite him back into her bed.
She’d done enough damage and was not sure he would ever forgive her.
“Are you still angry about what happened today?” she asked, unable to avoid the subject of their argument in the coach.
“Just go to sleep, lass.”
“But I want to talk about this. Please, Lachlan. You proposed to me today.”
The rocking chair creaked slowly back and forth across the floorboards. “Do you mean to change your mind?”
There it was—the hint of seduction, the teasing quality in his voice that always excited her and drew her in.
She hesitated, then answered shakily, “No.”
“Then what is there to talk about?”
She cleared her throat. “You are still angry with me. I only wish you could understand.…”
He stopped rocking. “What do you expect, lass? When a man makes love to a woman and proposes marriage, it’s safe to assume his feelings have become engaged.”
“You are hurt by my refusal?” she said, leaning up on an elbow.
“Nay, not hurt,” he insisted. “Angry. Everything about this angers me, because you are in danger, and I cannot live with that.”
She wet her lips and pondered how best to explain her true feelings.
“I wish to marry for love, Lachlan,” she said at last. “Not for protection. Very soon, I will have a substantial fortune of my own, and I will be quite capable of taking care of myself. And under no circumstances will I allow any man to marry me out of anger. When I marry, it will be by choice—not force, or necessity. I want love. I want the passionate, all-consuming kind, where nothing is held back. I want babies and grandchildren, and I want to live a long and happy life with my husband, who will make love to me, regardless of the risk.”
He sat very still, and all she wanted was for him to come to her, to drop to his knees and tell her that he felt the same way.
To confess his undying love for her, to kiss her and hold her and convince her that she was wrong about him, that his proposal was not just about responsibility, or a need to protect.
She wanted to hear him say that he could not live without her.
Whether she died tomorrow or lived to be an old woman, she wanted him to be grateful for the passion that could be theirs, if only he could just love her.
But he said nothing. He started rocking in the chair again, and eventually he turned his eyes away.
Catherine inhaled deeply and let out a quiet sigh.
“Well, now you understand my reasons for refusing you,” she said, determined to keep a cool head.
“We are hardly—either of us—in a position to make decisions about the rest of our lives. I have no memories, and you have just made love for the first time in three years. It’s bound to make things seem more intense than they really are.
I’m sure that when all of this is over, you will thank me for turning down your offer. ”
He rose quickly from the chair and walked to the door. “I’ll keep watch from just outside,” he gruffly said, “and tomorrow we’ll see Raonaid. Everything will seem much clearer then. For both of us.”
With that he left her to wonder if perhaps she was the one who needed to be reminded that this situation was not normal.
It’s bound to make things seem more intense than they really are.…
Perhaps that’s all it was, she thought, and all she needed to do was keep better control over her heart until life returned to normal.
Oh, she wished it could be so. But somehow she knew that was a wish not likely to be granted.