Chapter Twenty One
Water tumbled in a rush of color and sound in front of the cave entrance.
The music of the waterfall concealed their hideaway, shielding their love.
Quinn pressed a kiss to Catarina’s brow.
She had fallen asleep with her head resting in the crook of his arm.
He softly grazed her cheek with his finger.
She had become so very dear to him. Surrounded by the roar of the rushing water and enclosed deep within a stone belly, he felt as if he had, at last, found a place where they could truly disappear.
He pulled the Sinclair plaid higher about her shoulders.
Summer’s heat could not reach their small cavern, which was cool and damp.
Her eyelids fluttered, and her arm circled around his neck, a soft smile playing at her lips.
“I love you,” she whispered.
His heart soared. Never had he imagined a creature more exquisite.
She was so strong and yet so achingly vulnerable.
He pulled her close, wishing there was a way to keep her in his arms, forever shielded from harm.
“I love ye,” he whispered before playfully nibbling her ear.
Then he pressed his lips to the velvety skin of her neck.
Easing his body over hers, his kisses became more ardent, trailing across her shoulders then lower to the swell of her bare, full breasts.
Her dusky rose nipples stood like rigid peaks, begging to be taken into his mouth and savored.
She arched her back and dug her hands into his hair when his lips surrounded first one hard nub and then the other.
His body throbbed with need, fueling the strength of his hand which coursed down her torso, gripping her waist possessively before sweeping over her hips and stroking her smooth, soft thighs.
She moaned, drawing his eyes to her face.
Her black, silken hair fanned out beneath her.
His own hunger was mirrored in her amber eyes, her lids half closed with wanting.
“My body is on fire for you,” she breathed.
Her words stripped away his control. A growl escaped his lips. He kissed her with all of his passion, all of his love. His hand parted her thighs, and he settled himself between her legs and slowly entered her. Filling her, he held himself still, savoring her heat.
“Quinn,” she cried out as though in pain. Her face winced with need. The pang of her nails, digging into his shoulders, triggered his hips as he thrust deep inside of her again and again; until, at last, they rose together toward bliss.
He lay on top of her while she clung to him, both still reveling in their euphoric pleasure. The sound of their ragged breathing competed with the roar of the waterfall. Then another sound found his ears. He froze.
“What is it?” Catarina said.
He pressed a finger to his lips to signal for her to stay quiet. For three days, he had listened to the waterfall. Its sound was constant and unchanging, a comfort in its forceful regularity. He held his breath and waited. And then the intruding note rang out above the din of the fall.
“We must go,” he said, sitting up and grabbing his tunic. He gathered their clothes into a bundle in one hand and grabbed his sword in the other.
“I will be back straightaway,” he said, before diving through the waterfall.
After swimming to the side and climbing the rocks to the top, he piled their belongings alongside a mound of dirt, which marked where he had buried their other supplies.
Then he went back for Catarina. Holding her against his chest, he swam with one arm to the side and then helped her climb to the top.
“Hurry and dress,” he said.
She lifted her dripping kirtle. “Everything is wet.”
He snatched it from her hands and wrung it out before giving it back to her.
“Put it on,” he said, his voice stern. Then he did the same to her tunic before he helped her pull it over her head.
She jumped when the intruding noise rang out with piercing clarity in the absence of the waterfall’s power.
Eyes wide, Catarina said, “What is that?”
“Dogs,” he said bitterly. “They have bloodhounds and no doubt something that carries yer scent. We have to run and try to throw them off, or I fear all is lost.” He did not wish to frighten her, but he also needed her to understand the danger they were in.
“We cannot delay,” he said. After she put on her slippers, he grabbed her hand and headed deeper into the woods, following the river that fed the waterfall.
“Why do we not run through the river,” Catarina said breathlessly behind him. “Surely they will lose our scent in the water.”
“We are faster on land. Right now we want to put as much distance between us as we can.” He knew the water offered little protection.
Bloodhounds could track a scent even through water, but he did not wish to frighten her any more than she already was.
She cried out behind him, and he caught her just before she hit the ground.
“I tripped on a root,” she said. Already he could tell she tired.
“Forgive the indignity of this,” he said before picking her up and tossing her over his shoulder.
He trudged into the river. It swirled in a rush about his knees.
He stayed course in the water for several minutes before he headed back up on land.
He broke into a sprint. Her stomach jarred against his shoulder.
She would undoubtedly bruise from his efforts, but bruising was preferable to capture, which she clearly understood, for she grunted but did not complain.
The baying of dogs once more reached his ears. They were closer, much closer.
“Damn,” he cursed. He crossed back into the river, splashing through and then out to the other side.
“Nay,” a man shouted ahead of him.
Quinn stopped in his tracks, looking for the source of the voice. Then a Highlander in a ragged-looking plaid—the pattern of which he did not recognize—jumped down from a large oak just ahead of Quinn.
“Who are ye?” Quinn barked, putting Catarina on her feet and stepping in front of her like a shield.
The man held his hands out as if he was addressing a spooked horse. “My name is Thomas Monroe from the Clan Monroe. My father is laird of my clan. I mean ye no harm.”
“What were ye doing up that tree,” Quinn said, narrowing his eyes on the poorly dressed man.
“I heard the dogs coming. I thought they were coming for me.”
Again, the dogs sounded their persistent call.
“God’s bones,” Thomas swore. “I don’t care who they’re coming for. I’m not getting caught, and if ye’ve any sense ye’ll follow me.”
“Why should I trust ye?” Quinn said, still shielding Catarina from view.
“Because,” Thomas said. “Ye’re on my father’s land. I know where to go.”
Quinn hesitated for a moment, but the urging of the dogs spurred him forward. He picked up Catarina to keep her scent off the ground and followed on the heels of the Highlander.