Chapter Eighteen #3
Slowly, he began to move, filled her, withdrew, and filled her again.
The pain ebbed and the pleasure returned, and she watched the muscles in his neck cord and tighten, hooked her ankles around his hips, telling him what she wanted.
She was breathless with need, and he moved faster, thrust harder, and she clung to his shoulders, wanting this to go on forever.
She cried out as the sensation poured over her again, lifting her hips to draw him deeper, and he cried out, tensed against her, buried within her, and she felt him shudder before he collapsed against her, his heart pounding against hers.
She folded her arms around him, held him to her.
So this was how it felt to be loved by a man.
She hadn’t known. She marveled at the joy she felt.
It was magic indeed. His heart beat against hers, his breathing slowed to match hers, and he kissed her face, stroked her hair, and murmured to her in Gaelic.
Was he professing his love? It didn’t matter.
He moved off her, and she felt the chill of the night wind against the places he’d warmed.
He pulled her against his side, and wrapped them both in his plaid.
Caroline blinked up at the moon, and fell asleep in the warm sanctuary of her lover’s arms.
Skylarks held their own raucous celebration as the first fingers of dawn reached over the horizon.
They swooped and dove above the tower, wild with joy.
Caroline snuggled deeper into the soft bedcovers, unwilling to wake just yet.
She’d had the most wonderful dream, all about— The soft exhale of breath beside her made her open her eyes wide.
She turned to look at the sleeping profile of Alec MacNabb, lying beside her, sharing the soft blanket.
It hadn’t been a dream. Panic gripped her.
She looked beneath the covers, and realized she was indeed naked.
Another peek told her he was likewise unclothed.
She dropped the covers, feeling hot blood filling not just her cheeks but her whole body.
It wasn’t a dream. She had jumped the fire by his side, danced with him, kissed him, and— She stifled a gasp.
She wondered where her clothes were, and saw the linen gown reclining over a chunk of masonry, half covering the carving of a smirking face.
The wilted crown of flowers sat askew over carved eyes, a laughing mouth, mocking her.
She glanced at Alec again. His face was soft and boyish in his sleep.
Long lashes lay against his stubbled cheeks; his mouth was soft, sweet.
Her heart flipped in her chest. He was magnificent. She recalled the pleasure he’d given her quite clearly, the kisses, the caresses . . . It had been the most incredible, unforgettable night of her life.
It had also been the most foolish thing she’d ever done. She was governess to Alec’s sisters, a servant in his household. Her cheeks burned at the thought.
The girls. She sat up with a gasp. If she’d ended up here in the tower in a compromising position, where on earth were they?
She slipped carefully out from under the warm plaid and scooted around his sleeping figure to snatch up her gown.
It was cold as she pulled it over her head and belted it with Sorcha’s ribbon.
The dress was wrinkled and stained with telltale green marks of moss, the black of soot, but it couldn’t be helped.
She glanced up at the sky, pink with promise, and sent up a prayer that it was still early enough that she could make it back to the castle unseen.
She cast one last look at him as he lay asleep, as beautiful as an angel, and hurried out into the predawn darkness.
“Don’t you think we should wake him, send him after her?” Angus asked as Caroline fled down the hillside, her hair trailing behind her in wild, love-tangled curls. He’d loved to coil Georgiana’s curls around his finger as she lay in his arms after they’d made love.
Georgiana shook her head. “No, she’ll need time to think, to realize . . .”
“What?” Angus prompted when she didn’t finish. He grinned. “Let me guess. She’ll need time to realize that it was the best night o’ her life.”
Georgiana rolled her eyes. “She’ll need time to realize that she loves him, despite what happened here this night.”
“Despite it?” Angus cried. “Because of it, more like.”
Georgiana set her hands on her hips and glared at him. “A little rough wooing and you think she can’t live without him, that no other man—any other man—could do what he did? How arrogant you are! She was a virgin, and he seduced her in a crumbling tower, on the hard ground.”
Angus pushed his cap back on his head, staring at the telltale glitter in her eyes.
She floated before him, but her eyes were on Caroline.
He felt an almost overwhelming wave of sadness.
“I thought this was what you intended to happen between them. It was the same for us, was it not? You were a virgin the night when we—” He stopped to clear his throat.
“Are ye saying that ye regret what we did?”
She fixed her eyes on him. “Of course not. I regret that it was the one and only time, and that nothing ever lived up to that moment again. Oh Angus, have we made a mistake? What if we’ve only caused them more unhappiness, sentenced them to a lifetime of regret and pain?”
He came closer, raised his hand to her cheek, felt nothing but frustration that he could not touch her, even to offer comfort.
“Is there a battle tomorrow I don’t know of?
He’s got no brothers to drag him away from the lass, and she’s no father to drag her back to England.
They’re here, together. They aren’t going anywhere.
Why, later this morning, he’ll wake up and return to the castle.
He’ll seek her out, and drop to one knee and—”
Georgiana whooped as Alec ran right through his grandfather’s shade, his plaid belted askew as he tried to pull on his shirt and run down the hill at the same time.
They stared after him as he leaped over the last embers of the dying Midsummer fire, dodging the folk still sleeping peacefully in the dew-soaked grass, before pausing, returning to look into their sleeping faces.
“There now, you see?” Angus said smugly, straightening his plaid. “He’s looking for her now.”
“Sophie?” They turned at the sound of Alec’s whisper. “Are you here?”
“Sophie?” Georgiana repeated, her horrified whisper rustling the trees, startling a bird into panicked flight. “He still thinks Caroline is someone named Sophie? Even after—”
Angus felt a hard knot of trepidation in his gut. He watched his grandson search among the sleeping lasses for the woman he’d just spent the night with, a woman whose name he didn’t even know.
“They couldna introduce themselves?” Angus asked. “Just a potion, ye said, woman. That’s all it would take and everything would unfold as it should, and the curse would end.”
“It must have been too strong, too much meadowsweet, perhaps,” Georgiana fretted.
“It was only the potion, don’t you see? She isn’t the right woman, or he isn’t the right man!” Angus said angrily. “It didn’t work.”
Georgiana’s eyes widened. “How can you say that? You saw how they were dancing, the passion in their eyes—”
“ ’Twas the ale and the firelight, nothing more,” Angus grumbled. “He’s obviously in love with someone else, someone named Sophie.”
Georgiana shook her head, wringing her hands. “No, it’s not possible! If he loves this Sophie, then why is he here, dallying with Caroline?”
Angus gave her a level look. “He’s a man, gràdhach, and she’s a lovely lass.”
“Oh, what have we done?” Georgiana cried. “I must go to Caroline, though heaven knows what I can do to help her now. Nothing, nothing at all.”
Angus watched her fade away against the dawn, and stared at Alec, who was staring up at the tower as if he were daft and bewitched both.
Angus recalled exactly that feeling. He’d stood in the same spot on a Midsummer morning long ago, unable to think of anything or anyone but Georgiana, and the sweetness of the night in her arms. Even when his brothers had climbed the hill to take him, he’d stood there, unable to move for pure love, for joy.
He’d opened his mouth as they reached him, ready to declare his love for Georgiana, but Niall had drawn back his fist and punched the grin off his face.
The next thing he knew he was waking up on a ship, sick as a dog.
He’d certainly felt daft and bewildered then too, and for an entirely different reason.
Angus watched as Alec turned to look down at the road.
There was a grand coach trundling along the rutted track, followed by several carts, all heavily laden.
He frowned at the grand gold crest on the side of the coach, at the six matched white horses that drew the vehicle toward Glenlorne.
Angus drifted closer to his grandson’s side.
“Now who’s this coming?” he asked, though he knew Alec could not hear him.
“Sophie,” Alec murmured, and took off running down the hillside.