‘Need of a wife?’ he growled out the words as he grabbed for her. ‘You will not be his wife.’
Aidan’s fingers slid along the shift, grazing those breasts and finally sliding in under her arms. Holding on to her waist, he lifted her and dragged her up to sit on his lap. With her legs spread on either side of him, the wee beastie between his legs surged between them. She gasped and slid back just enough so that she did not sit on top of it.
‘Again?’ she asked.
‘Still.’
‘Oh.’
Her mouth formed the sound, but it was the wonderment in her gaze, reflected by the fire’s light, that undid him and his efforts not to try to tup her this night. That and the way her gaze followed her hands down his body to where he really wanted them to be. Now he, Aidan MacLerie, heir to the earl and the consummate lover and seducer of women, found that it was his turn to beg.
Chapter Twelve
She was truly a failure in life.
She had killed her mother in childbirth.
She had failed to be a boy who could have helped her father more than a worthless girl.
When she was grown and could have helped his aims by accepting the marriage he’d arranged, with a pretty purse of coins going in his pocket, she had refused. He had beaten and starved her until she gave in, barely able to see or speak at her wedding due to the bruises on her face and body.
That had mattered little and had not stopped Torcaill, a vicious, dangerous man, from claiming his marital rights on her whenever and wherever he wanted. And he’d wanted. Insatiable in all things, his desires for fleshly pleasure were known throughout their village. Whether wife or whore or unfortunate in his path, he swived his way through life, as though it mattered more than breathing or eating did. Refusal on her part was not an option. He demonstrated that well and frequently, shaming her before her kith and kin and even strangers passing through the village.
Fighting back aroused him even more, making him more and more vicious, so she learned to lie still and let him do what he would do to her. When he realised what she was doing, it infuriated him. Then he would slap her and pinch her until he got a reaction, leaving marks and bruises all over her. Once he caned her so badly she could not sit for days.
Even when the healer had told him she was carrying and that treating her harshly could end both the pregnancy and her life, Torcaill shrugged and took what he wanted anyway—as he always did. She tried to say no and tried to explain that she was beginning to bleed. Incensed by her attempt to refuse him, he finished tupping her and then beat her until she lost the babe inside. And, as the healer told her when she came to after the bleeding and the fever that racked her for four days, she had also lost the ability to bear other children.
She prayed as she faded in and out of consciousness that day—prayed for her own death and his. And when the Almighty answered part of her plea and ended Torcaill’s life, she smiled for the first time in months. Catriona had outlasted him and would survive.
Her father showed no remorse at all for her treatment at Torcaill’s hands. He belittled her for not taking rightful care of her lawful husband and set out to find her another one. He needed coin and decided that whoring her out would make more of it faster than trying to find another husband for the barren, worthless woman she was.
Barely out of her sickbed, he dragged her to the village centre and began offering her to any man who would meet his price. And, for the first time in her life, with nothing left to lose, she fought back. Her loud struggles were what had drawn Gowan’s attention and his intervention.
She’d cost him a huge sum, all his coins, not something a simple warrior could earn back quickly in service to his chieftain, and she could give him nothing in return. Even those few, early attempts to please him in bed turned into horrifying and embarrassing encounters. So she turned her efforts to being whatever kind of wife he needed.
Yet not a day passed that she did not feel that she had failed Gowan. He said he needed and wanted no more children, but a few words spoken in passing made her believe he did.
He stopped sharing her bed years ago, never returning after those few attempts proved so much a failure. It was not for a lack of need on his part, for she knew he paid coin to lie with one of the village whores from time to time.
And she could not even be a good mother to his son, for Munro had rejected her place in their household from almost the first day she returned with Gowan.
Then, not knowing how to deal with the flirting of this handsome, young, bold man, she’d dragged Gowan’s good name into the dirt along with hers. It all proved she was the worthless slut her father had called her all those years ago.
Laughter bubbled up inside her, threatening to escape, while tears began to burn her throat and eyes. Worse than either of those, she wanted to touch this man who’d bought her way out of poverty on just the promise of attempted seduction as his collateral.
In the dark of night when emotions and guilt attacked her, she was tempted to get up and walk away. To walk until she could walk no more. And then to lie down and let go of life. The temptation to do that this night tormented her and Catriona might have done that except for Aidan’s words.
‘Touch me. I beg you. Put your hands on me now.’
Startled at the vehemence of his words, she felt the tension increase in his hard thighs beneath her. His breathing grew shallow and fast and heat poured off his skin. His body readied itself for pleasure and she watched as his flesh pressed against the lacings of his trews. She’d seen it earlier, naked and bold in his hand, and now hers itched to release it and hold it.
She shivered then and it shook her whole body. But it was not in fear or because the air chilled her—it was plain and simple desire that coursed through her. When once and always in the past, the thought of pleasing a man turned her stomach, now she wanted to touch him, to taste his skin, to caress the hard, rising flesh to its full size. What had once been a weapon of terrible pain and fear now intrigued her.
So, could she? Was she ready to invite her seduction to reach its conclusion? Or should she walk away before this fire of passion that threatened to ignite between them did, burning them both in ways she could not even contemplate?
‘Cat. Pleasure me.’
Those words, usually a demand followed by forced measures, should have stopped her, but they did not. They were not an order this time, but a plea and spoken by a man who could have forced her the same way others had. The flesh between her legs began to ache with the same need he’d caused in her earlier—one that he could incite and then soothe with his touch. Now he asked her to take control of his body. To touch him.
To please him.
She remembered watching him fight once, in the yard, surrounded by his friends and the men who would one day serve him. His tall, muscular body had glistened in the sun as he and Rurik’s son took down all the others. Now she wanted to caress his skin to see how it felt under her hands.
Reaching for the ties on his long shirt, she tugged them loose and leaned up to pull it over his head. Cat gasped as her breasts slid along his skin as she pushed it up his arms and off. Though he did not resist, he did not help much either, forcing her to move closer to him to do it. Tossing the shirt aside, she sat back and tried to decide where to touch first.
The dark curls on his chest that trailed in a narrowing path from his neck down to his manhood beckoned her hand, so she began there. She ran the back of her hand across his chest, swirling in the curls, and discovered that touching his nipples drew out a gasp from him. Empowered by such a reaction, she grazed her fingers over them, watching as his eyes darkened and his mouth opened. He’d put his mouth on hers and caused a fiery heat to burn throughout her body—could she cause the same to him?
Leaning forward, she kissed the side of his neck and then she kissed one of his nipples. He shuddered under her. Doing it again brought another shudder. When she tried to suckle on it as he had hers, his body bucked beneath her. Cat li
ked the way it felt, to be the one causing him to respond with her touch.
She caressed his chest, running her fingers over the curls and tracing them down, down, down until she reached his belt. Without looking at him, she unbuckled it and then tugged on the laces of his trews.
He stopped breathing then. Aidan closed his eyes and leaned his head against the board behind him, giving her leave to do as she willed to him. So, she loosened the leather laces and spread the fabric apart to take him in her hand.
Smooth, like a rich fabric she’d felt once, and hard, his flesh rose against her palm, the skin drawing back to expose the tip of it. A bead of moisture appeared at the tip and she rubbed her thumb across, causing the flesh to surge against her hand. Aidan’s breathing stopped and his body tensed under her. Cat slid one hand down the length of his manhood and touched the rest of him there.
‘Cat,’ he growled through tightly clenched jaws. ‘You are killing me!’ The guttural tone caused vibrations to echo into her, deep inside of her, and her body began to tighten at the sound of it. When she glanced up, her hands still encircling him most intimately, the desire glowed in his eyes.
‘Should I cease?’ she asked, not knowing if this was pleasure or pain for him.
‘Nay,’ he shouted aloud. Then he smiled at her. ‘Nay.’ A bit softer then, but still thick with his need.
She was teasing a caged animal and she knew it. His control would break and it would be her doing. That should have terrified her and yet it did not. Somehow she knew she was safe in his arms. At least her body was. A man like this could be dangerous to a woman’s heart.
He raised his hands and covered hers then, guiding her into a pattern of caressing the length and then around the width of his flesh. His breathing grew louder and raw, his jaw still clenched and his body tensed beneath her. In her grasp, he hardened and she knew his release was nigh.
‘Cease,’ he whispered, lifting his and her hands off his flesh then. Leaning back on her heels, she knew he wanted to finish within her body.
But could she?
‘You have that look in your eyes again, Cat.’ He shifted and lifted her off his legs then. Sliding from the bed, he stood and pushed his trews down and off. ‘I do not want that look to be between us.’
He stood before her then, bathed in the fire’s light, exposing himself to her and letting her just gaze on him. Unashamed. Unabashedly male. Hard everywhere, strong muscles that tensed as he moved towards the bed. His manhood rose from the curls at its base, inviting her touch once more.
‘That is the look I wish to see in your eyes,’ he said.
‘What do you see?’
‘You look hungry and curious at the same time,’ he said on a laugh. ‘Your tongue keeps peeking out of the corner of your mouth as though you would...’ His words became strangled then, as she did what he was describing.
‘Taste it?’ she finished.
His flesh pulsed then, his body tensed and hers answered with the same. She reached out, but he stopped her questing hands.
‘Not this time.’ He shook his head and reached for her now.
Pulling her on to her knees, he grabbed hold of her shift and pulled it over her head. Tossing it aside, he climbed back on the bed and knelt before her. After only a moment’s delay, he tugged her towards him and embraced her. The heat of his skin shocked her as their bodies touched.
‘Do not think, Cat. Just feel what I do to you,’ he whispered as he tilted his head and touched his mouth to hers. Her body understood and reacted to his promise now.
She let go and let him do as he would then, her body a thing unknown to her as it blossomed under his touch. Whether hands or mouth and skin, it mattered not for he used every part of him to bring the need within her to life, to stoke it like the fire and to promise to vanquish it before she burned up from it.
As the first moments of release began, he moved between her legs and drew them up around his hips. Instead of fear, she felt need. The need for him to fill her emptiness, to take her over the edge to mindless pleasure.
And he did.
His flesh slid into her, the moisture of her body easing its path. He lay over her, his face intense from his own building arousal, as he moved deeper and deeper within her flesh. Ever did he watch her, waiting for some sign he needed to stop, she supposed. Then all thoughts evaporated as he took her to the edge of release over and over before letting them, nay, pushing them to, both crash over it.
He toppled on her and then rolled them both to their sides, never letting her go. They lay in the silence, not speaking, as she listened to the pace of their breathing. A while passed as their bodies calmed and his flesh withdrew from her. But she would never lose the sense of awe or forget what he’d wrought within her during this joining.
No pain. Oh, as she shifted against him, she knew her body had been entered and filled, but the place there felt empty now. No pain.
He reached down and tugged loose the bedcovers beneath them. Pulling them up, he covered them and then rested his chin on her head and encircled her with his arms.
Sleep captured her then and she sank into a rest unlike any before. She was replete. She was emptied.
She was safe.
* * *
In the morning she could not remember how many times they’d joined. A touch of a hand. A kiss. Shifting bodies. Any small caress seemed to ignite the heat between them.
Cat remembered the second time, for Aidan drew it out in anguishing, slow strokes that made her cry out in need. Even when he entered her, he made her feel each moment of his flesh in hers.
The next time he took her, he stoked her arousal fast and hard until she screamed out her release.
Then....
She did not remember the rest for they faded into a sensual fog of excitement and release, torment and easing, touching and taking and possessing. He’d taunted her, teased her, caressed her, tasted her through the whole of the night. Even now, her body wanted to respond to even the memories of it all, but exhaustion prevented it.
So, how did one greet a man in the light of morning after a night of such abandonment and pleasure? When sleep finally gave up on her, Cat knew she must face the dawn and find out.
Opening her eyes, she found herself alone in the bed. Sitting up, she stretched, trying to ease some of the overused muscles and realising that Aidan’s youth and strength would wear out her older body very quickly. Laughing, she reached for her shift and found a clean gown to wear.
When she opened the door of the bedchamber, she found an empty room. Aidan was not there.
The silence surrounding her told her he was gone. Gone without a word to her. But a fire burned in the hearth, so he had at least thought of that.
She poured some water into a pot and put it on to heat. Her one luxury, the one thing she spent her pennies on that was not a necessity, was a special tea from the healer. The healer’s herb garden was the best in Lairig Dubh and she provided Cat with betony leaves that steeped into a wonderful concoction.
Taking out a leaf and crushing it into a battered metal mug, she poured the steaming water over it and set it aside to brew. With a drop of honey to sweeten the taste, she went looking for something to eat and found the oatcakes left from the day before wrapped in cloth. A simple way to break her fast, but she wanted nothing more this morn. Making her way not to the table but to the cushioned chair, she sat down and sipped the tea.
Her body, though not well rested, felt alive for the first time. There was not a place on her he had not touched last night. He’d pleasured her so many times and so much that she lost herself in it. She should be tired. She should be exhausted, but she was not. Truth be told, she wanted to run laughing along the lanes and share the joy she’d had with anyone who would listen. She wanted to tell Muireall that she understood now what she’d meant.
But she would do none of those things for to do so would make them all question whether or not this affair had begun before Gowan’s death. They would look a
skance once more, in spite of Aidan’s protection, and she could not bear that.
And now? Now what would she do?
Even the betony tea did not soothe the slight of his wordless leaving. Looking around the empty house, the truth struck her—this is how a man treated his leman.
No explanations, no excuses, no leavetaking. None of that was necessary when a man paid a woman for her time. He did not answer to her, but she did to him.
That stung even more.
Oh, Cat had accepted that he was not hers and would never be, but the truth of her circumstances was harder to ignore in the cold light of day. A night of passion spent did not grant anything more than that. Many questions turned over and over in her thoughts and the betony tea provided no clarity. She allowed herself only until she finished, before deciding that she would seek out Muireall and offer her help this day.
The sharp rapping on the door surprised her, for no one had come to call on her since she’d moved in just days ago. Walking to open it, she found a wee lad who stood there, holding out a flower torn from some bed.
‘The laird’s son bid me bring this to you and say...’ He paused, shuffling his feet in the dirt there and shaking his head as he whispered to himself.
‘What is your name?’ she asked, crouching down so she could look him in the face. His mop of red hair stood on end and a thick sprinkling of freckles on his face reminded her of the miller’s oldest.
‘Alasdair,’ he said, before returning to his whispered words.
‘Aidan MacLerie sent you here?’ Her heart lightened in that moment. Mayhap it was better than she thought? ‘He sent this flower?’ She brought the blossom, one that grew along the paths in the forest, to her nose to smell its scent. Aidan must have passed them on his way out this morn.
‘Aye, he did. And he said...’ His face filled with misery then and tears threatened to spill. ‘I have forgotten the rest, mistress.’
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