Chapter Six #2
With sudden clarity, he knew he would rather stay here with this girl as long as he could.
He wished he had time to learn more about her, and perhaps time to blissfully explore each other as they had begun last night.
Her passionate response had stirred him fiercely—but what the devil had gotten into him, to love her like that?
She was lovely, lush, charming, and gentle, and somehow she had slipped past his usual defenses. And he had lost his customary control.
Now, holding her close and hearing her even, steady, sleepy breaths, he felt desire resurge in him. But disgracing a girl was not his wont, and in this case, hardly a gracious return to a girl who had saved his life.
He sighed, regret mixed with desire that must be tabled. She sagged against him, warm and trusting in sleep. Last night, they had needed to share warmth and needed the comfort of another soul in this lonely place. What would happen once they left this hut?
He owed her an apology and more, though he was not yet sure how to make amends for his ungentlemanly actions.
He had nearly breached her innocence—for he had that sense from her.
She had been curious and willing and very attractive, which had challenged his reserve.
Lost in her loveliness and comfort, he had nearly done what could not be undone.
He scarcely knew her, yet he desired her deeply.
Long after he left this place, his heart would belong to her.
No woman before her had such an effect on him, or the natural allure to drive him to madness.
She soothed him, understood him, suited him as no other he had known, and he could not explain it.
Dipping his head, he kissed her brow. He felt a sort of magic course between his body and hers like the pull of a magnet. Soon the weather would clear, and this sojourn would end, but for now, he did not want to disturb her rest.
Nothing needed solving quite yet. The hour was early, and the day would be long, and there would be time to gather things, make their way down to the glen, and say farewell. That was a moment that he wanted to delay.
He held her, savored the sweet, toasty feel of her, the scent of her, and soon slid down into dreams beside her.
*
“Catriona!”
She stirred, hearing her name, thinking Evan had spoken, although the sound was oddly distant. She opened her eyes to bright morning sunlight seeping into the shadowed interior. She had slept far later than she had thought she might.
He lay beside her, his arm circling her. The warmth felt wonderful. “Evan,” she whispered. “Did you call me?”
“What?” He blinked at her sleepily.
“Catriona!” The voice shouted again. “Where are you?”
She gasped. “My father!” She sat up. “He’s outside!
“Catriona! Are you in there?” Reverend Thomas MacConn’s voice was clear now.
She scrambled out of the plaid, but Evan pushed her down, pulling the wool over her. “Stay there,” he murmured, getting to his feet. She reached toward him. “Stay down!” he said. “You’re not dressed.”
“Oh, no,” she groaned, remembering her state of undress in chemise and knickers, with her gown and other things spread out on the bench to dry by the fire—which was very low, the hut cold, the bed warm. Warmed because she lay with this man.
“Oh, dear God,” she said, sitting up. “What will we do?”
“Catriona!” The door burst open, and pale light poured inside.
In the doorway, a giant of a man was silhouetted against the gray sky. He wore a black suit and carried a long walking stick. A bowler hat crushed a leonine mane of gray hair. He cast a formidable shadow on the threshold. And then he stepped inside.
“Catriona!” he thundered. “Are you in here, lass?”
Heart slamming, she glanced anxiously at Evan, who sat on the edge of the bed, curtain half hiding them. He squeezed her hand. When he began to answer, she cut across him to call out.
“Here, Papa!” She slid off the edge of the bed, plaid wrapped around her.
“Thank God! She’s here, lads!” MacConn shouted back over his shoulder, waved to someone, and came deeper into the hut, walking stick tapping. Four men entered behind him, filling the room, blocking the light, and sweeping clean, chilled air inside with them.
Pulling the plaid more completely around her, she faced her father, not sure what to say. She stood half clothed, clearly alone with a vigorous and beautiful stranger.
“Lord be praised! We’ve been searching all over!” He strode toward her. “We feared something terrible had happened—you, sir! Are you—”
“I am,” Evan said quietly, as if he knew what the question was. Catriona frowned.
“Papa, this is Mr. Evan Mackenzie. He was injured, you see, and we were stranded in the storm. All is well,” she said hastily. “Finlay, and Mr. Grant! And you as well, sir. Thank you.” She greeted them in a rush, smiling, though she did not know the fourth gentleman.
Good heavens, did her father have to bring so many in his search party? Soon the whole glen would know of her disgrace.
In the moment, under four puzzled and concerned gazes, with Evan silent beside her, she was keen with embarrassment, pulling her long plaid shawl around her, bare feet peeking out. Evan was in shirtsleeves, open vest, trousers, stockings, and his dark hair was mussed.
The truth was as clear as the crisp morning air filling the shabby room. Time stilled.
And her father reddened in the face. “Sir, how is it you are here with my daughter in such a shameful state!” It was not a question.
“Reverend, I assure you we had good reason,” Evan replied calmly.
“We were stranded in the storm, and fortunate to find this place,” Catriona said. “Mr. Mackenzie was injured in a fall.”
“Mr. Mackenzie? Is that what he told you?” her father asked.
“What?” she asked, puzzled.
“Sir, I am a physician,” Grant said. “Are either of you hurt?”
“I am fine. Mr. Mackenzie had a bad knock to the head.”
“He is not just Mr. Mackenzie,” her father said, glowering.
“I do not understand.” She looked at Evan in surprise. He met her eyes steadily.
“Father, save that for now,” Finlay stepped forward, a knapsack on his shoulder. “They need food and warm clothing. This place is freezing.” He set the pack on the table. “Later, we can ask what happened. Whisky? Oatcakes? A plaid?” He brought the things out of the sack.
“Thank you, sir,” Evan said.
“This is my brother, Finlay MacConn,” Catriona told him.
“I want to hear what happened,” her father growled. “Now.”
“Father, they are safe, and that is most important. They need rest and sustenance. You know that,” Finlay said.
“They look hearty enough to me.” Reverend MacConn folded his arms.
“Good grief, Kildonan! Deuced good to see you!” The fourth man entered the hut and shut the door. “Bad night, eh?”
“Poor weather, Fitz,” Evan replied. “Miss MacConn, Arthur Fitzgibbon. A friend.”
“Pleased to meet you,” she said, though everything seemed felt absurd just then.
“I feared the worst when you did not return when that storm blew in,” Fitzgibbon said.
“I rode through the glen and met these gentlemen, who were searching for Miss MacConn. We retreated as the weather worsened. Bad night all around, ice and snow, and it was no picnic climbing up here this morning. But what luck to find both of you together!”
“That,” her father said, “is a problem. You owe us an explanation, Kildonan.”
Catriona’s heart faltered. She stared up at Evan. “Kildonan?”
“Aye.” His hazel eyes, grim and dark, met hers. “I am Lord Kildonan.”