Chapter Fourteen #2
Nothing made sense in this day. Nothing.
When he was close to the clearing where the bothy was located, Harry hung back. He dismounted and tied Ajax to a tree. The horse knew he was close to the cottage where he’d spent agreeable hours grazing while Harry had been taking his pleasure with Portia. He rumbled his protest.
“I’m sorry, old friend, but you are best tied up right now.”
With a pat on his horse’s neck, Harry went out into the clearing. He didn’t see anything amiss. He also didn’t see Portia, and he grew afraid.
What was the matter with her? She should have more common sense than to traipse around the countryside in the dark.
By the light of the solstice moon, all appeared calm and serene, and yet Harry’s instincts warned him to be prepared for anything.
He walked toward the bothy, pushing aside his coat and reaching for his pistol. He moved slowly, stealthily. “Portia?” he said, daring to call her name.
A woman gasped her surprise, the sound coming from inside the bothy. Harry rushed forward, just as Portia started to run out of the cottage.
They collided in each other’s arms. He had cocked the hammer. He now pointed the pistol in the air as his other arm came around her.
“Harry,” Portia said, startled to find him right outside the cottage’s door. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask the same of you,” he said. He had a hold around her waist as strong as a vise. “Why are you going prowling around in the dark? Don’t you have more sense than to go out alone?”
The criticism stung. “I could ask the same of you.”
“I was watching over you,” he said.
“Watching?” She frowned. “Whatever for?”
“You were upset when you left that madwoman’s hut. I wanted to be certain you were safe.” He had not let go of her.
“I’m safe,” she said, not really wanting him to let go. An hour before, she’d been weeping over never feeling his arms around her and now she had him.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“Owl wanted me to come here,” she confessed. “And I don’t know why I did. I suppose it was all that talk of reincarnation and the incident with Lizzy today . . . I, well, the cat acted as if I should follow and she led me here.”
“Where is she now?” Harry asked. He released his hold around her waist to go into the cottage, his hand reaching for and finding her hand. He laced her fingers with his. He held his pistol up and ready.
The moon through the open window cast a ray of light upon the floor.
“I don’t know,” Portia said as he looked around the room.
“She came in here and I followed and then I lost track of her. It was as if she disappeared into the corners. But it doesn’t mean anything, Harry.
She’s a cat. Cats have the ability to vanish when they wish. ”
“As effectively as this cat seems to do so?” Harry asked, his skepticism clear.
“I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense.”
“No, it doesn’t,” he agreed, turning to her, and she was aware of how close they stood to each other.
She didn’t dare look up at his face. He was her weakness. She should step away now, but she didn’t.
“Why are you here?” she asked.
He uncocked the pistol. “I was worried about you. This afternoon you were upset.”
“I see.”
“I stood guard.”
“Over what?” she asked.
“Over you.”
She stood silent, suddenly aware of the racing beat of her own heart, feeling his pulse as well, even through his gloved hand. He didn’t speak, either. She knew she should leave. She didn’t want to.
“Portia,” he said, her name barely a whisper, and that was all it took. With a shuddering breath, she looked up at him, and she was lost.
There was so much concern in his expression, it was the excuse she needed to rise on her tiptoes and plant a kiss on his lips.
Foolish, foolish Portia, she thought, a sentiment that was wiped from her mind when he set his pistol on the window ledge, put his arms around her, and kissed her back.
They knew what each other liked. Their lips always fit together perfectly and this moment was no exception.
His hand smoothed the curve of her hip. He held her tight, possessively against him. He was ready to make love. He wanted her, and that she could evoke such strong passion in her lover filled Portia with joy.
He might never be hers completely. He would leave. But for tonight, she could pretend that all was how she wanted it in the world. His arms were around her and that was all that mattered.
Their kiss deepened. Their tongues met and teased each other. Their hands began pulling at laces and buttons.
Why was it that whenever she was with him, she was so needy for his touch? He had set his brand upon her.
Harry spread out the fur blankets. The patch of moonlight from the window fell upon them as he brought her down to lie beside him.
Their fingers intertwined; he covered her with his body.
His weight felt good upon her. She cradled him with her legs.
He positioned himself, kissed her cheeks, her nose, her ears, her mouth . . . and slid into her.
The first moments of their joining were always overpowering to Portia. She adored the feel of him, the connection. It was as if their souls were mating and not just their bodies.
Harry began moving in her. He whispered in her ear, telling her how lovely she was, how desirable, how perfect.
Didn’t he understand? Her love for him transformed her from plain, sensible Portia to a creature of light and being. She offered herself wholly and without reservation.
She took from him in the same manner. She circled his waist with her legs, bringing him deeper.
They were moving harder, faster. He held himself up over her.
Sweat formed on their bodies. He held nothing back.
Portia would not have it any other way. She strove with him, a spiral sensation beginning to form within her.
It began where they were joined, growing tighter and tighter until she could take it no more.
Portia cried out his name, pulling him even closer to her. The sense of completeness overwhelmed her. She felt as if she’d reached the highest heights in the heavens and had then shattered into a shower of stars; glorious, bold, sparkling stars.
She was not alone. Harry came with her. She felt him stiffen, felt his release. They’d been so careful, but they were not this night. This night, they were both caught up, and to have cut any of this short would have been unthinkable.
His seed was a wondrous thing. And Portia knew in this moment that they truly had become one. She would bear his child, but she was not afraid. Suddenly, her life made sense. Creation made sense. She’d found her destiny.
Harry held her fast. He rolled over onto his back, carrying her with him. His whiskered jaw felt good against her fevered cheek.
The air smelled of the fragrant night and their bodies.
She kissed his lips, the underside of his chin, his neck. His lips curved into a smile. “You are magic,” he whispered.
No hosanna could ring louder than this praise from her lover.
He brought the blankets up around them. The air might be cold, but snuggled close to him, she was warmer than she would have been in her own bed. “I swear, if I had the finest sheets, they would never feel as good as your skin against mine,” she whispered.
Harry kissed the top of her head. His arms held her as if he would not let her go and that was completely fine with Portia. She couldn’t have gone anywhere. She was spent, pleasurably exhausted.
His hand stroked and played with her curls.
No matter what would come their way, she knew she was his. It was her choice . . . or perhaps not. Perhaps they had been destined to be together.
“Harry, have you ever been afraid?” she asked.
“Many times,” he answered.
“Are you afraid now?”
The movement of his hand paused. “No. This feels right. It is right.”
She smiled and held him tighter. She knew she should move. She needed to return home before she was discovered missing.
But being with him like this, being in the moonlight and the night air, felt too good for her to move.
And then he was making love to her again. He lifted her up, placing her astride him. He knew she liked this. Watching the changing expression on his face as he lost himself in her made her feel bold, pagan, all-powerful.
He was her man, and she loved him.
When they were done, Portia fell upon his chest, her spent body as languid as a cat. His arms around her, she fell asleep, but not before she murmured the words upon her heart, “I love you.”
He did not respond. She had assumed he was asleep and would not know. But she had to speak them aloud. Their truth could not be denied.
At first, Portia thought it was the sunlight that woke her. She thought she was in her bedroom at Camber Hall and was so disoriented, she thought she was falling out of her bed—and then she realized it wasn’t the bed moving, but Harry.
She’d fallen asleep in his arms and the day, judging by the brightness in the bothy, was well into the morning.
He brought the covers around her to hide their nakedness, and that was when she realized they were not alone.
They were surrounded by a pack of dogs, their tails wagging even as they began barking and baying to signal they had found their quarry.