Chapter Eighteen
Catherine danced a reel in the Great Hall, and by some miracle, remembered all the steps without having to think. Though she could not remember anything about her life, she somehow knew how to dance, how to ride a horse, and she could recite the Lord’s Prayer perfectly well.
Her cheeks were flushed with heat when the dance ended, and she fanned herself with her hand. She was still laughing when she turned and saw Lachlan on the other side of the Hall, standing under a stone archway, watching her with passionate intensity.
Their eyes locked on each other, and a spark of excitement lit in her belly.
In the glow of the candlelight, he leaned one broad shoulder against the stones, and with his strapping form and powerful stance he flaunted a breathtaking masculinity that was unmatched by any other man in the room.
The fine, chiseled features of his face, and his dark probing eyes, only served to increase his allure.
No other Highlander could rival his extraordinary beauty.
The fiddle music roused her spirits as she became embroiled in a flood of heated emotion. It was too much. Too overwhelming for her heart and mind. She was forced to tear her gaze away from his awe-inspiring image and instead went to the table, in search of something to eat.
She picked up a bright red apple and bit into the juicy flesh, reminding herself that Lachlan did not welcome her attentions.
He had made that abundantly clear when he was lying on her bed that afternoon.
He did not want her to touch him. And yet he had not taken his eyes off her in the past few minutes since she finished the dance.
He may have been watching her the entire time for all she knew.
She glanced over her shoulder at him again. He was still watching her. A hot pulsating thrill coursed through her body.
Did he know? Could he see how she responded to him? Could he sense her desires?
In that heart-pounding instant, he pushed away from the stone archway and began to shoulder his way through the crowd, keeping his eyes trained on hers the entire time.
As he walked toward her, everything about him exploded with erotic allure, and she wondered if all the other women in the room were melting with desire, as she was. Or was she the only one who could feel it?
It didn’t matter. She did not care—and she wasn’t about to take her eyes off him to look at anyone else.
He reached her at last and held out a hand. “Walk with me.” The deep timbre of his voice sent a hot thrill through her bloodstream, and she placed her hand in his.
He led her across the crowded, festive Hall.
“Where are we going?” Though it hardly mattered. She would follow him anywhere.
“Not far.”
He took her through a wider arched doorway and pushed through a pair of planked oaken doors that creaked and groaned on their enormous hinges.
Outside in the bailey, the night was illuminated by a bright three-quarter moon that cast long shadows across the ground. The air was crisp and cool on her cheeks.
“I can see my breath,” she said, stopping to tip her head back and close her eyes.
He was still holding her hand, and when she opened her eyes again, he was watching her expression with interest.
“There is something about you,” he said, “that makes me feel … different.”
“How so?”
His dark eyes scrutinized her. “I’m not sure how to describe it, except that tonight I felt young again. Sometimes you make me forget certain things that have cast a shadow over my life.”
“Perhaps my memory loss is contagious,” she said with a hint of a smile.
His eyes warmed. “I would not be sorry,” he replied, “if I could forget certain elements of the past and begin again. I think it would be a very pleasant way to live.”
“What would you wish to forget?” she asked, wanting to know him better. She longed to know every last detail about his life.
“I would forget my wife’s death, and all the pain that followed.”
Catherine drew back in surprise. “You were married?”
“Aye.”
She could not believe it. Lachlan MacDonald, the charmer, the flirt, had taken a wife?
“It was more than ten years ago,” he explained, “and she died giving birth to our first child.”
All Catherine’s emotions flooded to the surface, and again she longed desperately to touch him. She reached out and cupped her hand around his arm. “I’m so sorry, Lachlan. I didn’t know.”
Catherine fought through the cobwebs of confusion in her mind.
She had thought this man incapable of true intimacy or commitment, but it seemed he had once loved a woman deeply enough to marry her and had not been able to love again after the loss of her.
In more than ten years, he had engaged in only superficial affairs, hence the legend of his reputation as a heartbreaker.
The details of the curse came hurling toward her suddenly, and she frowned. “Did my sister know about your wife?” The possibility turned sour in her stomach.
“Aye, it’s why she chose that particular curse. She knew how to hurt me in the worst way, and she did so on the tenth anniversary of my wife’s death.”
Catherine fought to control the effect of that horror on her heart. That anyone could inflict such cruelty upon another was unthinkable to her.
“You have indicated many times that my sister has a vindictive side, but this is very disturbing to hear. It is beyond malicious.” She inclined her head at him.
“I am almost afraid to meet her now. You and everyone else seem determined to prepare me to meet a wicked hellion who might fly into a rage and put a deathly hex on me. Maybe it’s true.
She sounds like a person without a conscience. Perhaps I should not go to Edinburgh.”
“Raonaid does lack a human conscience,” he replied.
“At least from my experience.” His eyes slowly gentled, and his shoulders rose and fell as he took a deep breath.
“But Angus reminded me tonight that she was his lover once, and that he genuinely cared for her. I could never imagine why, but if she is your sister, there must be a trace of decency in her. I will try to remember that when I see her again. I owe that to you, lass. I want you to know it, and I believe you must resolve this missing piece of your life.”
Catherine regarded him in the moonlight and felt as if she were falling from a very high place.
Lachlan looked away, toward the main gate, and his voice dropped to a hush. “You look beautiful tonight. I watched you dance, and all I wanted to do was find a way to be alone with you.”
“And here we are,” she replied with a seductive purr in her voice that came completely unbidden. “Together and alone.”
His dark eyes locked with hers, and she felt breathless, panicked under the sudden fever of his expression.
“I need to touch you,” he whispered.
A small involuntary whimper escaped her as he strode forward, took her by the hand, and led her across the bailey into the stable, where the scent of hay and horses was thick in the air. A startled groomsman looked up from his task of pouring water into a trough, and Lachlan pointed at the door.
“Leave us,” he said in a gruff, commanding voice.
The groomsman dropped the wooden bucket with a clatter onto the hay-strewn floor and ran out. Lachlan smoothly pushed Catherine up against the wall.
“All night I’ve been fighting the urge to kiss you,” he said, “and hold you in my arms.”
“Please don’t fight it anymore. It’s just a kiss. Surely there can be no danger in it.”
“There is danger in what it would lead to.”
She wet her lips, trembling with anticipation, while he kept her pinned up against the wall, his hungry gaze sweeping over her whole face.
Catherine’s voice shook with need. “Today, you said it’s been forever since you let a woman touch you. Why not let me? I will not ask you to make love to me, and I trust that you will not try.”
Something dark flared in his eyes, and he needed no further pleading. In a flash of heat and aggression he covered her mouth with his own in a deep, open kiss of extreme sensuality and slid his big hands down the front of her gown.
Oh, at last … At last … Her body exploded with pleasure and delight.
He wrenched her closer, so that his pelvis squeezed against hers, and her breath caught in her chest. With blinding need and trembling hands, she grabbed at his shoulders and clutched at his shirt, gathering the heavy linen in her fists and pulling him closer.
The damp, open pressure of his mouth upon hers sent a fresh flood of desire into the pit of her belly, and she raised a knee to rub the inside of her thigh along the outside of his.
He took her face in both his hands, dragged his lips from hers, and spoke against her cheek. “If it were not for this bluidy curse, I’d be inside you by now.”
He pressed his lips to hers again with a passion that was unbearable, for there could be no more than this.
He could kiss her and caress her with his beautiful, masterful hands, but it could never go any further.
With or without the curse, she was not some happy-go-lucky tavern wench.
She was the daughter of an earl, and a wealthy one at that.
One day there would be offers and negotiations for her hand in marriage, and this reckless moment up against a stable wall with a wild Highlander would not improve her already-damaged reputation.
“I want so badly to have you,” he whispered as he blazed a trail of damp, openmouthed kisses down the side of her neck. “I want to run my hands over your sweet naked flesh, and taste you everywhere with my mouth.”
“You can,” she told him, and though she knew it was risky, she whispered, “I want you to.”
His fingers brushed lightly over her skin, just above her neckline, and he followed their path with a series of small, tender kisses. His tongue darted and probed under her low neckline.