Highland Arms

by Cathie Dunn

  “This is hard for me. It’s not you.”

  “I know it’s not me. It never is.” Her voice wobbled. She was right back in the rain-swept cottage. All alone.

  “I…I have to focus on the cause. We, the Jacobites, are about to organize another rising, and anyone associated with me—” He stopped, looked away as if choosing his words carefully. “You’re in danger if we go on like this. I can’t risk it.” His voice broke, his warm breath brushing her neck. “I’m sorry.”

  Tears pricked her eyes but she didn’t turn around. “So am I.”

  “’Tis for the best. But I’d still like to show you the manor. Auntie Meg would wonder if I didn’t.”

  She nodded, her mind hollow. “Yes, we should go on as if nothing happened.” Unable to hide the bitterness in her voice, she added, “After all, nothing has happened.”

  He stepped back. Cold air engulfed her. “Be ready tomorrow after breaking your fast. We’re going to take a boat out on the loch.” His voice held a ragged note.

  She heard him pour some wine and put the decanter back on the sideboard. “I wish you sweet dreams.” His footsteps stopped at the door, and he opened it. “Oh, and please stay away from the library at night. I don’t want you to meet any danger.” As silence descended—only interrupted by the ticking of the clock—tears streamed down her face.

  ***

  Catriona came to his bed unbidden. Her thick tresses tumbling over her shoulders, she wore nothing but a thin, silken nightdress. In the candlelight, he saw her taut nipples, dark behind the sheer fabric. The curly triangle between her thighs called out for his touch. Smiling, she leant over the edge of the bed, and he shifted to make way for her, his arms stretched out to pull her close.

  She slid into his embrace, her hair brushing softly over his naked chest. Slender fingers caressed the outlines of his muscles, leaving a trail of tingling skin. Her full mouth lowered to follow where her fingers led. Rory leaned back, his hands catching the long, thick waves of her hair. Her fingers reached the throbbing heat of his erection and encircled him in a firm grip. His fingers lost hold of her hair as her head moved to follow her hands.

  “Cat!” Rory gasped as he opened his eyes, his hands reaching into empty space.

  Faint light filtered through the curtains. He was alone. Swearing, he kicked the bedcovers off to cool his burning body. His cock was throbbing for release. He turned to the side and pulled up his knees, cursing himself for allowing Catriona to take control. Despite the very real danger she’d be in if they grew too close, he found himself aching for her touch, wanting to take care of her.

  He turned away from the window. She was probably still asleep now. Why had he agreed to take her out? He’d have to keep tight rein over himself. Giving in was too much of a risk. She already invaded his mind more often than he thought sensible.

  He rose from the bed and stepped to the window. The early morning sun was already rising over the hills. The water of the loch lay in semi-darkness, as the sun’s rays touched the peaks of the hills on the western shore. Like long, slim fingers, the rays traveled slowly down the slopes. He stood and watched, mesmerized by the awakening of nature. He loved spring in the Highlands.

  When the light touched the water, sending shimmering ripples across the surface, he turned. He dipped his hands into the bowl on a side table, remembering the morning Catriona caught him washing himself in the kitchen. Since then, his instructions to Mairi were clear—a fresh bowl of water was to be left in his room every night.

  The coolness invigorated his skin, still burning from the dream. Trews seemed more appropriate for a boat trip than a kilt. Should he fall into the water, the thick fabric of the kilt would pull him under.

  Boots in hand, he tiptoed down the stairs to the kitchen. Surprised at sounds coming so early from the room—Cook hated early mornings—he pushed the door open an inch and peeked through. The view that met him made him grin.

  The lad Jamie sat on a stool at the large table, a bowl of steaming porridge in front of him. Mairi stirred the thick liquid with a wooden spoon before handing it over to him. As their hands brushed, they giggled.

  Rory coughed and pushed the door wide open. Jamie’s sheepish expression and the maid’s blushes made him laugh out loud. “You’re up early, my lad.” He walked over and ruffled the boy’s hair, amused by the sudden red coloring of Jamie’s cheeks. “Don’t mind me. I’m just passing.”

  He grabbed an apple from a bowl on the table, and walked out the kitchen door into the yard. Once outside, he bit into the fruit, holding it with his teeth, and leaned against the wall to pull on and secure his boots. The sun had yet to cross the peaks, and the sky was a clear, light blue. There was nothing better than an early morning walk along the heather. Taking another bite, he munched as he walked behind the house to climb the hill. The full sunrise was best enjoyed from the top.

  Chapter Nine

  Several hours later, the sun high in the sky, Rory returned to collect Catriona for their scheduled boat trip. He’d meant to banish her from his mind, but instead found his thoughts wandering to the vision of her waking up in bed. Of course, his mind then veered off to her curves, most likely clad in nothing but the silky dream he’d seen her wearing that first morning. His body reacted to the picture with violent longing, which took him some time to suppress.

  But he reaffirmed his intentions. Catriona must never be more to him than his aunt’s goddaughter. Any closeness only led to danger. To her, and to him.

  Now, having searched the drawing room, parlor and kitchen, he was about to give up when he heard a female voice humming the melody of a Gaelic lullaby. Following its origin, he pushed open the door to the library. She sat reclined in an armchair, legs tucked underneath her skirts, reading. At the sound of the door opening, she raised her head and smiled.

  “Good morning, Rory. Lovely day, isn’t it?”

  “Good morning, Catriona. You’re up early.” His hand on the door, he watched as she put the book aside and rose, sliding her stocking-clad feet into her slippers. He found watching her unnerving, yet compulsive. This was dangerous ground. She’d been upset when he left her the night before, but now she seemed cheerful. The hairs on his neck stood on end, a tingling reached down his spine. What changed?

  “I hope it’s not too much trouble, taking me out on the loch.” Her gaze sought his, her smile all temptation. Silently, he cursed himself for even agreeing to this endeavor.

  “No trouble at all, as I said last night.” He saw her flinch. Ah, she was not as composed as she wanted him to believe. He gestured toward the corridor. “Shall we?”

  A waft of lavender engulfed him as she strolled past and led the way out of the house. He followed with grim resolve. This was already proving trickier than he expected.

  ***

  Leaning back, the breeze cool on her face, Catriona let her gaze drift across the rugged landscape. Wild flowers, just come into bloom, dotted the hillsides, their petals forming a colorful blanket on the steep slopes. What would it feel like to lie back on that blanket, inhaling the sweet scent of the flowers?

  Rory interrupted her contemplation. He brought in the oars and pointed a finger to the far shore. “On that side lie Macdonald lands.” He frowned and extended his hand in a wide gesture toward the shore they left earlier. “All this here is Cameron land. Our estate reaches well beyond the peak behind the manor, a few miles up the loch—far behind that corner there—and down to Baile a Chaolais.”

  He turned back to face her. As he dipped the oars into the water again and continued to row, the boat rocked a little. Soon, they lost sight of the house. Only the peak, rising high above the surrounding crests, reminded them of its location. The hill drifted farther and farther away as Rory pushed the boat northwards.

  She took in the expanse of the estate, surprised at how much Auntie Meg owned, then watched Rory. His upper body moved with the flow of the boat, his biceps rippling to the rhythm of the oars.

  Did he expect
to inherit it all? If he did, surely he’d not be pleased about her growing closeness to Auntie Meg.

  Perhaps there was some truth in her suspicion that Auntie Meg intended to marry them off to each other? The wily old lady certainly made much of them spending time together. After all, he was a fine example of a Highlander.

  She let her gaze roam idly over the muscles, busy at work under the tight linen shirt; the uncovered, tanned neck; the strong legs pushing against a plank for momentum. The memory of his kisses came unbidden. Her cheeks heated, and she averted her gaze toward terra firma, only to spot a strange rocky outcrop on the shore.

  “What’s that?” She pointed her finger, intrigued. Was this the entrance to his cave? A heightened sense of direction made her certain.

  Rory grunted. “Just a lump of rock overhanging the water.” He pulled the oars in, letting the boat bounce on the waves. Turning over, he pointed to a hut on the far shore. The roof was long gone, the shutters swayed in the wind.

  “This is where the Redcoats caught a number of our men after the rebellion five years ago.” He looked her in the eye. “They were taken outside and shot. No trial for common folk. No defense. No chance.” He snorted. “The soldiers threw their bodies into the loch.”

  Catriona shivered as if a cold hand touched her. She stared into the dark depth, almost expecting to see a corpse appear from beneath the surface.

  Rory laughed, a dry sound bereft of humor. “No worries, lass. Our clan pulled them all out after nightfall. The men received a proper burial, if naught else.” His eyes, hard as flint, searched her face. What he was looking for, she did not know.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  Any other words were pointless, fake. She wanted to reach out and take away the pain in his eyes, smooth the harsh lines that settled on his face the moment he told her of the fate of his clansmen.

  She saw the raw anger and grief hidden inside him, suppressed for years, but never fully conquered. This was the first time he allowed her such a close glimpse at his feelings. She leaned forward, barely aware of the rocking boat, and took his hands between hers. His sudden, direct gaze scorched her.

  “Are you?” His tone was cynical, his mouth twisted into a cruel smirk. “After all, Miss Catriona MacKenzie was safely tucked away in a big, luxurious house in the city. Far away from the troubles, from the poverty, from desperation.” He jerked his hands from her grasp and knelt in front of her, pulling her toward him. He buried his fingers in her hair and brought her to her knees. “But I was there. I saw brave men killed and helpless women and children slaughtered. I fought. And I lost.”

  He swallowed. The boat rocked but she hardly noticed. His eyes held a gleam she found impossible to escape.

  “How...how did you survive?” She caught her breath as his gaze darkened even further.

  “Auntie Meg’s connections and luck. They lacked proof of my involvement. As the heir to her estate, I was to be tried, and not just shot. After they arrested me in Inverness, I managed to escape en route to the Edinburgh goal and went into hiding. Two years later Auntie Meg sent me a message saying it was safe to come home. To this day, I don’t know how she did it, how she got the Redcoats off my back. She never mentions that time. I’ll be forever in her debt.”

  Their bodies but inches apart, her heart was pounding in her ears. With shaking hands, she touched his face.

  “I can’t help my upbringing, Rory, can’t change my background. But I can empathize with—”

  He glowered at her, their breath mingling. “Are you really saying you understand poverty? I bet you sat in your plush parlor, gloating with your friends about the misfortune of those stupid Catholics up north. Little Miss know-it-all!” He pushed away from her, bitterness apparent in every move.

  “Yes, I can understand.” She was close to losing her patience. Why did he not believe her? “I’ve seen misery. I’ve been to the poorhouses. And before you say it—no, not to boast about it to my friends, only to help. I was appalled by the injustice of it all.” The skepticism in his gaze did not diminish. “Oh, believe what you like!”

  But she could not take her gaze from his face, twisted with emotions he’d probably deny even feeling. His breathing was harsh with anger, and he watched her with an intensity she didn’t understand.

  As moments passed, the anger turned to hunger. Catriona remembered the pact they made the night before, to keep away from each other. But she could never deny him when he was hurting.

  “Rory—" she began but then his mouth came down hard on hers, and Catriona parted her lips without thinking, abandoning herself to the emotions raging within him. He pushed her onto the hard boards, his tongue searching hers in a battle neither could win.

  She flailed for a moment, sure the boat was going to capsize, but Rory managed to keep it from overturning, maintaining the balance with his knees as he moved on top of her. The hard planks hurt her back but she ignored the pain, allowing him to move a leg between hers.

  When her skirts hampered him, he pulled them above her knees. Rough hands roamed her body, pulling at the stays covering her breasts. The cool breeze on her burning skin fanned her desire. He lowered his head to one and licked the sensitive skin around her nipple. It hardened even more when he pulled it between his teeth, his tongue flicking around it.

  Catriona gasped, her body twisting beneath his. Any notion of resistance melted away. Her hands loosened his shirt and slid underneath, caressing hot skin. Her fingertips brushed the welts of scars across his back and her heart reached out even more. What had he endured during that failed uprising?

  She rested her hands above his heart, taking in the strong, steady beat. A comforting beat. Sure and certain as the light of day.

  Her breathing quickened as his hand moved to stroke her thigh, sending goosebumps over her skin. His thumb caressed the inside, kneading its way higher, until he pushed the hem of her sark over her hips. Her eyes flew open and she met his gaze, clouded with need.

  Her hand clasped his and held it from moving any closer to her. He was going too far, too fast.

  “Cat,” he whispered, bringing his mouth close to her ear. His teeth nicked her lobe and she closed her eyes, delighting in the sensation.

  No! She must stop him.

  But when his fingers stretched from her grasp to touch the soft skin between her legs, she gasped. Her body betrayed her good sense, as shivers ran through it in waves. His thumb nudged closer until it found her most sensitive spot.

  She moaned, shaking her head to match the rhythm of his thumb rubbing against her. He sent her body into spasms she’d never dared dream of. Unable to tear herself away from his touch, she gave in, allowing her body and mind to dissolve.

  ***

  Catriona’s kisses sent shivers down Rory’s spine. The trace of her hands left a scorched trail of pins and needles all over his body. His mind told him to overpower her, to lose himself in her. She’d never understand his pain. Her body moved beneath his, legs wrapped around him, pulling him closer. Any self-control he possessed—no, he thought he possessed—was slipping away fast.

  He let his tongue roam over the sensitive flesh of her neck, her breasts, sampling the sweet taste of a small, puckered nipple.

  Not content with simply devouring her, he sent his finger into her soft core, rubbing and nudging the damp flesh, driving her to writhe in abandon. Aye, this was how he wanted her, completely depending on him, dependent on his touch. She raised her hips against his, tantalizing him, tempting him to take her. The need to remove his straining trews and push himself deep inside her, to take her with him on that final, ecstatic journey, was overpowering. Was she aware of what she was doing to him?

  Was she aware of what she was doing?

  He raised his head and looked at her. An innocent beauty lay beneath him, quivering from the exertion. Her long hair let loose, the tresses lay spread out across the planks. Her breasts, the rosy peaks so invitingly close to his mouth, tempted him to distraction.

/>   Her face shone in pleasure.

  Rory swallowed hard. What was he doing? Was he really seducing this girl on a boat, simply out of lust? Shame washed over him like an autumn flood. He meant only to show her the estate, not take out his needs on an innocent girl.

  He kept watching her as he sat back and pulled his knees up. “We need to move on.”

  Her eyes fluttered open and she looked around, as if in a daze. They finally met his and he watched them change from delight to sadness. He reached out to help her steady herself but she flinched. Suddenly aware of her disheveled state, she scrambled to the far end of the boat, pulling her skirts tightly around her legs and covering her breasts.

  “Why did you...?” Her cheeks turned crimson. Quickly, she lowered her gaze onto her folded arms and shut him out.

  “I must apologise again, Catriona. ’Tis better this way. Safer. Trust me.”

  His heart mourned the loss, and his body ached with unfulfilled desire, but his mind was relieved. Perhaps she was one step closer to leaving. Then she’d be safe from the dangers lurking in the Highlands. And from him.

  Rory swore as he grabbed the oars and shoved the ends into the water. Ignoring the splash, he turned the boat and aimed for the boathouse. Looking around, he searched the lands for signs of any spies. His mouth set, he kept his gaze away from her. How could he put himself—and her—at risk, straight into a potential firing line? He must be mad.

  He was still tying the ropes of the boat when she slipped past him out of the boathouse without another word. After a final tug he rose, left the shed, securing the door behind him.

  Ahead in the distance he saw her walking at a brisk pace. Her back straight, head thrown back with scant regard of her hair flowing wildly down her back. The breeze caught the burnished ends, tumbling them in her wake. He longed to catch them, to touch the softness, to let the tangled mass run through his fingers. It was pointless. He shoved his hands into his pockets and shook his head. Slowly, he began his walk back to the house. He needed to pack. And he needed to banish Catriona from his mind.