by Lisa Plumley
‘Just have a care in this. You have a few choices to make in the coming months and I would not see her harmed because you mistook your father’s assistance as permission.’
’Twas natural, he supposed, for his mother to worry over the women who lived in the keep or the village. As lady and countess, they were under her control and supervision. Well, usually ’twas only the women of the keep, but the Beast’s mate had extended her control and he’d allowed it. Nothing about the MacLeries was done according to the usual custom of things.
He nodded. As he turned to leave, he caught sight of a book on her shelf there. An old one that he thought he remembered from his childhood. Filled with letters and stories and prayers, it had beautiful colours and images throughout its vellum pages.
‘May I borrow this?’ he said, lifting the book from its place.
‘This is not what I would have expected you to borrow. Mayhap the book of battle strategies? Something about Carthage?’
‘’Tis not for me,’ he said. ‘Catriona is learning her letters and numbers and I would share it with her.’
‘Take it then,’ she said. He glanced again at his mother’s face, for her voice had shaken then. ‘She can borrow another one if she would like.’
Aidan found a piece of oilcloth and wrapped the precious book in it to keep it safe. He had no doubt that Cat would enjoy seeing it. He kissed his mother’s cheek as he left, deciding to see if Cat had gone to his cousin’s after all.
If he realised that he’d almost never visited any of his previous bedmates during the day, he did not remember. And he did not see the shocked expression on his mother’s face as he pulled the door closed.
* * *
Aidan arrived at Cat’s house and tethered his horse outside her door. He heard no one moving about inside, so he went in and found it empty. She must be still at Ciara’s or, more likely, at Muireall’s, so he gently placed the book on the table and turned to leave. He smiled when he noticed the flower he’d pulled from beside the road now sitting in a cup of water there on the shelf above the hearth.
The softest snore echoed through the air, catching him unaware. Walking softly to the doorway, he found her curled up on the bed, sleeping. On her side, with one hand tucked under her face, she looked relaxed, though dark circles smudged the skin beneath her eyes. Had she slept the morning through then and not gone to Ciara’s?
Nay, the gown she wore spoke of her dressing. The worn and dusty leather shoes by the bed told him she’d left the house. Some aromatic brew sat steeping near the fire, so he knew she’d had something to drink this morn. Walking to the pot and lifting the lid, he inhaled and recognised the smell of betony—his mother’s favourite tea when she was aching or overwrought. He dropped the lid harder than he’d planned and he heard her stir behind him on the bed.
‘Aidan?’ she said, her voice still thick with sleep. She pushed up on her elbow and ran her hand through her hair, dragging it out of her face.
And he wanted her. Now. Again and again.
In the dark of night. In the light of day. It mattered not.
He wanted her.
‘I did not mean to disturb your rest, Cat,’ he said softly, trying to make himself believe the words as he uttered them. ‘Are you well?’
It had been cruel of him to keep her up through the night with little sleep, but, try as he might, he could not feel guilty about it. Part of him, the randy lad below his belt, urged him to take her now. He resisted, knowing she needed to rest if she was still abed. If not grief, then becoming accustomed to this new place, would keep her from resting well for some days.
The first step he took proved difficult, his cock hard and aching. Why could he not control this overpowering need for her? He’d lusted after many women, but this was something too strong, too different.
She pushed up to sit and let her legs slide over the edge of the bed. He swallowed hard as the skirt of her gown caught beneath her and exposed her shapely legs to him.
‘I pray you, pardon my laziness,’ she said, standing next to the bed and pulling her shoes on. ‘I would have been ready to greet you, but I did not expect you until later.’
His pride swelled as she blushed then. She thought he’d arrive at night to bed her.
‘I doubt you have had a lazy day in your whole life,’ he said, with a laugh. The dark, enigmatic expression that filled her gaze for only a moment surprised him. ‘I meant no insult by it, Cat. You answer to only yourself now, so if you are tired and sleep, so be it.’
‘I do not know how to be on my own, Aidan. I have always answered to someone else’s demands on my time.’
‘Then you need to set things to be done on your own time. Your errands and chores are yours to command.’ She studied him silently and he could have believed she agreed with him, save for her doubting expression. ‘If you would like, you can hire someone to help you. There is coin enough for that.’
‘I have nothing to fill my days now and you would have me pay someone to work for me?’ she scoffed.
They were so different from one another. Their lives were so different. He’d grown up with servants and teachers and soldiers who lived to serve him and to fulfill his every need. She’d worked from dawn to dusk, serving her family and then her husband. It would take more than a few days for her to accustom herself to having her own house and money to support herself, if she could at all. He’d seen those who rose from poverty and adversity to new wealth and somehow their thrifty ways followed them through life.
‘‘Did you go to my cousin’s?’ he asked. ‘Surely that will fill some of your days?’
‘I did. I tried not to embarrass you with my efforts,’ she said. She leaned over and smoothed the bedcovers, tempting him in so many ways that he forgot to breathe.
‘What did Ciara say? About your efforts?’ he said against the rush of heated blood through his veins. Aidan moved away from her and the bed as the chamber grew hotter each moment.
‘If you promise not to laugh, I will show you.’
She went into the other room and he followed, waiting to see what she thought would make him laugh. Her hips swayed enticingly and her hair swung around her like a curtain moving in the breeze. Would it always be this way between them? He was completely lost in every move she made, every word she spoke, every expression that shone from her eyes?
Cat opened the drawer in the cabinet in the cooking area and lifted something out. Turning, she held it out before him. He must not laugh, no matter what it was. A small piece of flat slate with something scrawled on it with chalk. Aidan reached out and turned the slate so he could read it and saw clusters of numbers written on its surface.
Her first attempts to learn and write. His heart swelled with pride as he said the numbers and she pointed to them.
‘One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven...’ He paused and turned the slate a bit. The next one did not look like any number. But it mattered not for she had tried...for him. ‘Eight. Nine. Ten.’
‘Two small circles should not be difficult to draw, but I struggled with them,’ she admitted. ‘Ciara gave me this...’ she held out a small piece of parchment ‘...as a guide so I can practise.’
‘I brought you something that could help you as well,’ he said. Her gaze moved to the table and the book that lay there. ‘From my mother’s books.’
‘I could never,’ she protested. ‘Even if my skills improve, ’tis too costly for me to touch.’
‘We can read it together. I will begin it and, as you learn, you can say the words. Or the numbers, for it contains both.’
She looked on him with an expression of such adoration then that Aidan knew he must get out or he would touch her. She would be safest from his lust if they were outside, where people would see them and he could not throw her on the table, toss up her skirts and have her...many times...t
o slake his hunger for her. The randy lad approved of that second plan.
‘Have you eaten?’ he asked, taking her elbow and guiding her towards the door. ‘’Tis a beautiful day and we should not waste it.’ He knew he was speaking nonsense. Her questioning gaze confirmed it. ‘I sat with my father to hear disputes this morn. You sat with Ciara, hard at work on those. Come, let us walk a bit.’
Chapter Fourteen
Cat kept glancing at Aidan as he took her by the hand and led her outside. He guided her along the path that led to the centre of the village.
When she’d returned from Ciara’s and from hours of intense concentration, determined to learn her numbers, her head had ached. Her body reminded her of their more exquisite exertions of the night and her exhaustion pushed her to a short rest on the wonderful bed he’d bought. She never thought she would awaken to find him there, staring at her.
Unsure of his intentions, she’d dawdled there in the bedchamber, expecting—from the fierce desire that he ever wore in his eyes—to be tossed on the bed and tupped. Though she should have been too exhausted by his efforts of last night, all night, her body already warmed to the thought of joining with his.
When he did not, she decided to show him what she’d learned so far and he gifted her with the warmest smile over the curling, tilting, scrawled numbers there on the slate. She would practise for hours to see that expression again.
Now, they walked together, her hand in his, and, for the first time since becoming his leman in fact, they would be seen so. And she could not do it. As they approached others, she tugged her hand from his and walked a step behind him instead of by his side. He paused as though he thought she would speak to the two women and waited for her.
She let them pass with just a nod and waited for him to walk again. He did not.
‘Catriona? Is aught the matter?’ he said, holding out his hand to her once more.
‘I...cannot,’ she said, shaking her head at the proffered hand. He startled at first and then dropped his hand to his side.
‘Ah.’
Was he angry? Did he understand she could simply not proclaim their relationship to one and all, not now, not in the village where everyone saw and judged her?
‘Come, then,’ he said. ‘Walk with me.’
This time he walked without touching her, pacing his longer strides to hers so that she was near him. When people passed, they bowed or nodded to him and greeted her as well. The same men who had leered at her just days before now only gave her respectable words or glances. Several men asked Aidan’s views on various matters affecting the village or the fields. It would be time to plant very soon and his opinion about when that would happen and which crops would do best this season seemed to matter.
He was his father’s son, after all, and would own and control all of this some day.
The one person she did not see and had not seen in days was Gowan’s son Munro. It was as if he did not live in Lairig Dubh any longer. No one mentioned him to her, not even Muireall, so she had no idea of his whereabouts or his circumstances. She just feared seeing him here while Aidan escorted her, his leman, for all to see.
When one discussion went on for several minutes, she considered how inappropriate she was for him. He was wealthy, learned, heir to a huge estate and titles that would take him even to the king’s court and possibly beyond that. She was the impoverished daughter of a whoremonger who’d barely survived with her life and could offer him nothing of worth. Not even a fertile womb. She’d been lost in her thoughts when his hand took hers.
‘Catriona?’ he said.
To pull away now would be an insult to him in front of these people, so she left hers in his larger one and walked with him along the path. He took it another step when he moved her hand on to his arm and placed his hand on top to keep it there.
They continued as such as though it a natural thing. Once, nay, twice, his hand slipped and touched the side of her breast. She thought it an accidental slip until she met his gaze and realised he did it a-purpose. Then, even as in the darkest part of last night, her body answered the slightest hint from him.
‘Again?’ she asked, the words escaping before she could stop them. He turned and pulled her close, now those aching breasts leaned fully on his arm.
‘Still.’ One word, said on an exhale and she was ready to lose herself in the passion he promised.
‘Now?’ How long would it take them to return to the house? she wondered. Not as long to get there as it had to reach this point, if they spoke to no one and rushed their pace a bit.
‘Now.’
One word and she was his. He began to turn back towards the house when a young boy called out to him.
‘My lord! The laird calls you to the hall. There are guests, he said.’
The momentary insanity that gripped them dissolved as duty called him to the keep. She knew he must heed his father’s summons and do it with some haste. Her body ached for his to ignore it and come with her. He nodded to the boy and faced her.
‘Later.’
Her body trembled, hearing all the promise in that one word it wanted to hear. Another night spent being pleasured by his skilled and questing hands and mouth and... She shivered again at the memories that flooded her now.
‘Your horse,’ she forced out. At first he frowned and then he laughed for clearly he was not thinking of his horse either.
‘I will leave it. I’ll send a boy to tend to it.’
He released her and she nearly melted there at his feet. Her body was not her own any longer. She was not her own. In only one night, she had lost herself to him and his, their, desires. She belonged to him and it had taken hardly any time at all for her to fall from grace completely and utterly. Far less time or effort than she thought it would have taken.
As he walked away, she understood one thing—this would not end well at all, for she was already half in love with a man she could never call her own.
* * *
She dared not seek her bed. Or should she?
Would he wake her with a word? A caress? A kiss?
Cat paced around the room that had once seemed so large to her and now could not contain her restlessness. The wrapped book on the table caught her gaze, but she’d decided to wait for his return before opening it.
Was this to be her life now? Waiting on him? She shook her head in denial, yet here she stood, not knowing if he would return or when. Duty came first so it was possible she would spend this night alone. She would spend many nights alone.
Cat promised herself in that moment that she would move past this infatuation, enjoy it for all the pleasure and joy it brought, and then find a balance and a pacing to her life.
Once she had learned to read and write, she had a skill she could barter with—for the cost of a monk or brother to teach those skills was far more than anyone here earned in a year. But she could trade that for the goods and supplies she needed.
Once he left her behind to carry on with his life.
And, oh, aye, he would do that sooner rather than later. Word of three possible brides and all sorts of guesses spread through the village the same evening as the announcement was made. His younger sister had been married twice to join clans. His cousins and other kin the same. As the heir, his marriage would be grander than anyone else’s.
Shaking off these thoughts of weddings and of a time too far in the days to come to worry, she filled the pot with water and pulled it over the heat to boil. Surely a cup of her tea would calm her nerves while she waited.
The slate still lay on the table, so she gathered the chalk and a damp cloth to clean the surface and practised her numbers. She knew how to use the numbers to add up purchases and to tally her coins. Writing them was another thing. She’d promised to take the lessons seriously, so she leaned down and concentrated
on getting them right.
When the cleaning cloth dried out too much to work, she stood to rinse it in the bucket and saw him there. When he’d entered, she knew not. He stood, leaning against the door, his arms crossed over his chest, just watching her.
‘I did not hear you,’ she said. ‘Why did you not say something?’
‘You were bent to your task and I did not want to interrupt you. My cousin would be pleased,’ he said, walking towards her. He inhaled as he bent down to review her work. ‘That is betony that you use in your tea?’
‘Aye,’ she said. ‘Would you like some?’
At his nod, she fetched a cup, poured the tea in and added a dollop of honey, making it the way she liked it before asking him. He took a drink of it and laughed.
‘This tastes just how my mother makes hers,’ he said.
‘Does she grow betony in the keep’s garden for it?’ she asked. Cat sat down on the bench at the table and sipped her cup. The tea had soothed her, but her body and the rest of her reacted to his presence, his nearness.
‘Aye, along with so many other herbs. You should visit her and let her show you.’
‘I hope to plant it here,’ she said. ‘My garden at home is quite pitiful.’ She realised her error as soon as the words were out. ‘At Gowan’s,’ she corrected. ‘Was.’
‘What else did you grow in your garden there?’ he asked.
She spent a few minutes while he finished his tea telling of her successes—few—her errors—many—and her hopes for this new garden. Once his cup sat empty, her mouth went dry.
‘You did not open the book.’ He nudged it towards her.
‘I waited for you,’ she said. ‘It is your mother’s?’
She peeled open the oilcloth and moved it aside to place the book flat on the table. Careful not to move the candles too close, she marvelled over the elaborately decorated, thick leather cover. The colours sparkled in the flickering light.
‘Aye,’ he said, with a frown. ‘But I do not think that is the book I thought it to be.’