Catriona’s Secret

by Madeline Martin

  But she could not bring herself to take her babe’s life. Not when it was the most innocent victim of all.

  “I’m glad you came home,” she whispered. Her fingers swept over a scar along his abdomen. “I hate that you’ve endured so much hurt and that you were at risk every time you went into battle.”

  “I survived.” He watched her as he spoke, his gaze dark with something that gave a decadent ripple of chills over her skin.

  A warning at the back of her mind told her to withdraw her hand, to stand and walk away. The greater pull within her, however, nudged her onward and she touched the small wound near his navel. His stomach flinched in a lovely show of taut muscle. She let her hand linger for a moment longer than was necessary and met his gaze.

  His stare dipped to her mouth and she knew immediately that he intended to kiss her.

  Geordie’s skin hummed with the delicate touches Cat delivered to the scars over his body, the perfect balm after her excruciating task of sewing his shoulder closed. Her tentative stitches had dragged the process out for far too long, despite the care she used. In truth, he preferred the brute force of the barbers on the field. They were merciless, aye, but they were swift and the mess of it was done in only seconds.

  The interminable process, however, had been worth every slow puncture of her needle for this moment with her hands whispering over his body, her gaze locked on his.

  She cared for him; he knew that much. Or she wouldn’t have stayed by his side when he had fever or insisted on closing his wound. She tucked her lower lip into her mouth and shifted her touch to the side of his hip where there was obviously a scar or mark that he didn’t bother to acknowledge right now.

  He wanted that fragile touch on every inch of him, running over his chest, his back, down his stomach. Feather light strokes over his cock. Heat effused his body and his loins responded in kind.

  He reached up for her face with his good arm and her eyes closed in expectation, as though she’d been anticipating his kiss. He closed his mouth over hers, sweet and tender as he had before, savoring the softness of her lips. She lifted her chin and kissed him back, this time with a little sweep of her tongue.

  Her boldness, the sensual touch, having her in his arms again—all of it sent tingles of pleasure raking over his skin.

  Her fingers on his torso drifted upward, teasing with her touch. He held the back of her head with his hand and tentatively let his tongue graze hers. She gave a low moan and opened her mouth to him. Geordie’s pulse went wild with the sound, encouraged by her enjoyment and wanting to give her more.

  The next brush of their tongues was not as tender; it was stroking and tasting. This time, it was Geordie who made a sound of desire with his low groan. Cat’s fingers trailed over his chest, apparently no longer seeking scars, but wanting to mold her palms to the shape of his body.

  Oh, and how he wanted to caress her as well, to sweep over her flawless skin, cup the weight of her silken breasts in his palm, to trace the line of her legs with his fingertips. Their kissing intensified, losing all sweetness and giving way to passion. The sounds of their lips parting and touching, the panting of their breath, all of it swirled around them and poured into the well of his need.

  He moved his hands over her, mindful of his new stitches. First, he caressed the dip of her waist, then up higher to where her breasts swelled against her bodice. Her fingers continued to wander over him as well, no longer at his chest, but down his abdomen. His cock raged with hardness in his trews.

  They continued to kiss, their tongues mating with one another in wild abandon. They should stop, he knew. His training and duty rushed forefront, to be chivalrous at all times, to respect women. He began to draw back when her hand brushed the tip of his cock. Pleasure rocketed through him and overwhelmed his senses.

  Cat gasped. No doubt in horror at seeing such a thing on a man.

  “Forgive me,” Geordie said raggedly. “I…you…”

  She kissed him then, with her lips and the hot stroke of her tongue. This time, the grazing of her hands over his hardness was no doubt intentional. The warning in Geordie’s mind went dim, shoved to the back of his lust-hazed mind.

  Geordie’s kisses became hungrier, desperate. His fingers skimmed the top of her bodice to the delicate line of her collarbone and the silky-smooth skin of her bosom where the swell of her breast began.

  Her hand bumped over the head of his cock again and he nearly burst with need. Unthinking, he put his hands to her backside and drew her against him. She spread her legs to fit over his lap. The pressure of her weight settled over his arousal and they both gasped in unison at the awareness of how very close to such intimacies they truly were.

  It was wrong what they were doing. He knew better. He was stronger than this.

  Or perhaps, he was not. Mayhap Cat was as much his weakness as she was his strength. His hips lifted and thrust his swollen shaft between her legs, and though the cloth of his trews and her skirt separated their sexes from one another, pleasure gripped them both. It raked over Geordie’s skin and made him pull her more tightly to him. Cat’s eyes fluttered closed, dark lashes sweeping down over her flushed cheeks as she gave a breathy cry.

  He needed to stop.

  His hips flexed upward again, grinding their pelvises together with the most wonderful heat and friction.

  He had to stop. He broke off their kiss and gritted his teeth against the searing power of lust.

  “Cat.” He said her name on a ragged growl.

  Her fingers trailed over his naked chest and sent a shiver teasing down his spine. She nuzzled her chin against his, letting their lips brush against one another in delicious little grazes.

  “Cat,” he said again and rested his forehead against hers. “Say you love me.”

  It wasn’t what he’d meant to say. It wasn’t what he should have said.

  “Say it only if it’s true,” he added quickly. He hadn’t felt this awkward and foolish in years. His gaze lifted to find her watching him with her large blue eyes. “Do you love me?”

  Her brows flinched. “Geordie, it’s…”

  He shook his head. “It wasn’t right to ask. I shouldn’t have even…”

  Lust clouded his mind and made his thoughts scattered. He was making things worse. Like last time at the monastery.

  When would he learn?

  “It’s so much more complicated than simply love.” She bit her lip.

  “Complicated.” He threaded his hand through hers and ran his thumb over her ragged nails. “Is that what makes you do this? Is that why you push your food around on your plate? Because of a complication you won’t share with me?”

  “Geordie…”

  He shook his head. “When you kiss me like this, make my body burn for you, it feels like you love me.” He shouldn’t say it, but the words slipped from his mouth once more. “The way I love you.”

  14

  Cat stared into Geordie’s familiar gaze, knowing she ought to offer him some sort of reply.

  She should say she did not love him, to dissuade him for good. If she didn’t love him, she knew he would leave her be. But if she spoke such words, they would be the greatest lie of all time. For she did love him.

  As a girl, she’d loved him as a companion. As a woman, she loved him as a woman loves a man, in the truest way. She admired his strength and his confidence, his drive to get the redemption he’d wanted so long by proving himself a better man than his father.

  Cat had not divulged the real reason for her desire to go to court, and doubtless had told small mistruths along the way to cover her condition and shield him from hurt. But in this one thing, Cat knew she could not lie, not when it would wound him deeper than any weapon. And not when she loved him so fiercely.

  “I do love you.” Cat closed her eyes against the admission.

  “Cat.” His hands were on her face, gentle and stroking. “My Cat.”

  He kissed her again, as hungry and eager as before. His tongue
met hers and made everything in her go soft. Desire still hummed through her from their shared passion before he’d spoken, burning in her veins and demanding satiation of a need beyond anything she’d ever felt before.

  She knew he wanted to know about what she’d summed up as “complications.” Such a simple word to encompass so much. Giving in to her lust was easier than explaining, than thinking.

  He pulled her against him and the hardness rising from his trews pressed at her skirts, directly between her legs. She gasped in pleasure and ground her hips against him to feel more. Her fingers moved restlessly across his powerful body, dipping and rising over muscle and scar alike.

  He lowered his hands from her face to trace a sweet line over her collarbone, then trail lower to the tops of her breasts just beneath her bodice. She pressed more firmly into his touch, wanting him to continue down into her dress to brush his fingertips over her aching nipples. Their bodies moved and flexed over one another in desperate need, grinding their sexes with layers of cloth separating them.

  This was how her first time should have been. Not like what she’d experienced with Sir Gawain. Not while she was drunk and pressured.

  The spice of wine floated in the air still from when she’d washed Geordie’s wound. It stuck in the back of her throat now. A night of too much wine, of allowing herself to be taken without a fight.

  She gripped Geordie’s back and sat more firmly atop him, kissing him with desperation, longing to live in the moment. To forget the past. Geordie growled against her lips and met her passion with his own.

  His fingers went to the hem of her skirt, resting just at the ankle of her stocking. She squeezed her eyes shut and kissed him harder, knowing it to be his hand and not that of Sir Gawain. Higher and higher the hand went, up her skirt until he went over her stocking just above her knee, onto her naked skin.

  The odor of wine swirled noxiously around her. It pounded in her head like it had that fateful night. Geordie’s hand going higher, higher, higher, like Sir Gawain’s had.

  Cat’s breathing came fast, but not with lust–with fear.

  “Stop.” She’d meant it as a command, but it came out only in a thready whisper, one barely audible even to her own ears.

  But it had been enough. The hand immediately pulled from her skirts.

  “Forgive me, Cat.” It was Geordie’s voice, not Sir Gawain’s.

  She opened her eyes and found Geordie’s long-lashed brown eyes stretched wide.

  “Forgive me.” He gently eased her from his lap and got to his feet before pulling her up beside him with his good arm. “I never should have kissed you like that, touched you like that, put you against me.” His hands clenched into fists. “I did not act like a knight.” He shook his head angrily. “I acted like an animal, driven only by lust.”

  “You were not alone.” She lifted his tunic from where he had folded it carefully on a dry patch of dirt and handed it to him. “I wanted to kiss you, to feel your body against mine.” Her cheeks went hot. “I enjoyed it.”

  “I won’t do this again,” he vowed. He took his tunic from her and tugged it over his head, mindful of his bad arm.

  Cat helped him work his injured arm through the sleeve and said nothing. If he did not kiss her again, her strength would not be tested against the heat of his kisses, and yet a greater part of her was disappointed to think she might not taste him again.

  Yet it was for the best, she knew, for she was finding it difficult to control her desire for him.

  It had been a mistake to tell him she loved him and then to kiss him so. Sir Gawain had been right about her playing the wanton. She’d done it with him, and the cost had been high. She did it now, and Geordie would be the one to suffer for it.

  Nay, she could not allow his kisses anymore, nor any of his affection.

  She pressed her lips together, knowing she should tell him about the babe, about how she had been one of those empty-headed women who fell for a man’s smooth words at court. Mayhap she could tell him and refuse to divulge who it had been. Energy pumped through her veins and nausea swam in her nearly empty stomach.

  Nay, not now. She couldn’t now, and she knew her hesitation for what it was: cowardice.

  For she did love Geordie, enough to wish every day and night that her life had turned out differently, that her admissions of love could be given without pause or thought.

  Anger flared through her suddenly, white hot with intensity. Sir Gawain had taken everything from her, and though she had the ability to fight him off, she had not. She had let him ruin her life. And she could not now ruin Geordie’s as well.

  Geordie had apparently exacerbated Cat’s “complications” further. In the following days of their journey, she went out of her way to avoid being in a position to speak privately with him. And he had tried.

  Not only had he wanted to apologize for his behavior, he wanted her to know what his ultimate plan was for them. If only he’d been granted a position within a baron or an earl’s household like some of the knights.

  Geordie was left with no knowledge of his future; made to wait and hope. Everything hinged on the king’s generosity with land and employment. It had been in Geordie’s mind to wait until they arrived at court to talk to Cat, once he ascertained what reward he might receive for his efforts on the battlefield. However, now with London on the horizon and Cat avoiding him, he had no choice but to tell her now.

  If he did not, he might well lose her to Lord Loughton’s son.

  He waited until she had finished her pottage and was straightening in an attempt to get to her feet.

  “A moment,” Geordie said in a soft voice he’d meant only for her.

  She paused and slid him a wary glance.

  “I need to speak with you,” Geordie said. “Please.”

  She dropped her gaze to the table as though she could not bring herself to meet his gaze and nodded.

  Geordie glanced around their surroundings, where people gathered in groups, drinking and laughing. Durham spoke in low tones with Freya, who listened intently and nodded to whatever it was he said, while Eldon had made his way across the room to converse with a comely redhead. “Somewhere with more privacy.”

  The trepidation in her gaze was a barb to his heart. He leaned toward her to ensure his words remained private. “I told you I would not kiss you again. I am keeping to my word.”

  Her cheeked reddened. “The hour is drawing late, and we will be at Westminster on the morrow.”

  “Which is why I must speak with you.”

  She lifted her eyes to his and nodded once more. He got to his feet, then offered his hand to aid her to hers. Her fingers touched his palm and his heartbeat came a little more quickly. It was time to tell her, before any land had been granted to him, before he even had employment secured. This was not how he had wanted to tell her, with nothing but hopes to recommend him, but if he did not do this now, he might lose her forever.

  He said nothing as he led her to a corner where they could speak with a modicum of privacy.

  After a quick glance about to confirm they were indeed alone in the corner, he gave a quiet sigh. “I didn’t want to say anything until I was fully ready.”

  “About what?” She crossed her arms over her chest, clearly discomfited by his sudden need to speak with her.

  He couldn’t botch this, not like before. Nay, he was clear-headed this time, not addled with illness or lust.

  “I want to marry you.” Geordie wanted to reach out to hold her hand, or stroke her face, but suppressed the desire. “I had wanted to wait until I had land and income. I believe I may be given both at this meeting with the king.”

  Cat blinked up at him and the muscles of her neck stood out. She swallowed. “You want to marry me?”

  Anxiety coursed through Geordie and knotted his stomach at his admission. “I haven’t told you because I’ve been working to build a future for us first. I had to be worthy enough for you.”

  “Geordie.” Her fac
e softened and she reached out to him. “There’s nothing you’ve ever had to prove or attain first. Especially not when it comes to me.”

  “Always when it comes to you.” He folded his hand around hers and drew her closer. “You are the sun in the sky, spreading light and joy. You are the strength that kept me alive in battle. You are the reason I fought so hard to come home. You are beautiful and pure and everything any woman could ever aspire to become.”

  She drew in a shaky breath and shook her head. “You think too highly of me.”

  “I think everything of you, but it is never too highly.” He gave into temptation and stroked the back of his index finger down her cheek. “You deserve every compliment I have given you and more.”

  She shook her head again, tears welling in her eyes. “You put me on a pedestal where I do not belong.”

  Her humility was admirable, as with everything she did. He wiped at a tear that trailed down her cheek. “I love you, and I know you love me. Marry me, Cat. Be my wife.”

  “But…Lord Loughton.” The excuse stammered from her lips.

  A sharp pain twinged in Geordie’s chest. “You don’t love him.”

  She shook her head. “I do not even know him. I…I imagine I will love him in time.”

  “Have you already become betrothed?” Geordie was breathing faster. Had he missed something? A legally binding agreement between Cat and another man?

  “Nay.”

  “And you do love me,” Geordie confirmed.

  Her eyes squeezed shut and another tear slid down her cheek. “I never should have said that.”

  He gritted his teeth. “Because it isn’t true?”

  She shook her head. “Because I’m not the person you think I am.”

  The fear raising his shoulders abated and his muscles relaxed. “The complications,” he murmured. “If you tell me, mayhap we can resolve it together. Nothing is so bad that it could prevent two people who love one another from being together.”