by Susan King
"We need more fuel," he said. "But the rest of the peat in the corner is damp."
"My skirt," she said quickly.
"We're not that desperate yet," he drawled.
"In the pocket of my skirt there are some papers. We can burn those."
He reached for her skirt, groped, found the folded pages. "Are these letters?"
"Notes," she said. "Just some songs."
"Aye?" He glanced at the pages. "Musical notations." He looked at her as if puzzled.
"I collect old Gaelic songs from some of the Highlanders in this glen," she explained. "I've been learning them for years and writing down all the songs I learn, to keep them."
"Fascinating," he said. "So you transcribe musical notation and speak not only Gaelic and English, but French, Italian, and German, as well."
"And a little Greek," she said.
"Not the typical Highland mountain lass, are you."
"I'm a minister's daughter," she said. "What did you expect, that I spend my time walking the hills in bare feet and ragged skirts, babbling in Old Irish and following a flock of sheep? Education is as important in the Highlands as elsewhere. I had tutors and I spent two years studying in Edinburgh. I'm as well educated as you are. Well, but for engineering."
"I cannot write in musical scale," he said. "Nor can I manage Italian."
She smiled a little. "Burn the pages, Mr. Mackenzie. They will give us some light and heat, at least for a while."
"I cannot burn these. There are several songs here, with the melody carefully transcribed, and the verses translated in Gaelic and English. This is a great deal of work."
"I can redo them. I remember most of them, and Morag, my friend, will help me with the rest. Burn the pages, do. We have no choice."
Relenting, he tossed the pages on the fire one by one. Light and heat bloomed. Catriona watched the papers crumble and spark, and frowned, trying not to regret the lost songs, glad for the heat they provided. She could recreate those pages.
"Mr. Mackenzie, you will be cold without your jacket. Take it back now."
"Your wee songs are keeping me warm." He smiled, and she laughed. "Good night, Miss MacConn."
"Good night," she murmured, feeling a sudden disappointment to lie alone in the dark and the cold. She drew her knees up, feeling a chill despite the jacket and plaid. Earlier, straight, strong whisky had created a hot core in her belly, but now the knife edge of the wind was cutting through the hut.
Lowering the plaid, she peered at the man. The papers had burned down quickly, and the flames were diminishing. In the glow, she saw that he was still awake. She felt guilty, for he lay without blanket or jacket, while she had both.
"Are you very cold, sir?" She knew he must be.
"I admit I am wondering what else we can burn," he drawled.
"I am cold, too." She drew a breath. "Would you mind... if we bundled again?"
"Not at all." Hearing a note of relief in his voice, she was glad she had offered. As he came toward her, she felt a lightning stab of anticipation, felt her heart begin to thud.
Crouching, he touched her cheek. "You feel cool."
"I cannot... get warm." Her feet felt like ice. "The chill in here seems worse."
"It does. Must be the weather worsening," he said. He removed his boots and opened the blanket to settle in beside her. They lay face-to-face, and he folded an arm under his head, then slipped his outside arm over her. Spreading his hand open, he rubbed her back in circles. She felt his stockinged feet touch hers, lending her bare feet a little protection.
Closing her eyes, she let her cheek rest on his shoulder, exhausted from fighting the chill and the shuddering of her body ever since she had come in from falling in the stream. She began to press closer.
"Come here, lass," he said, wrapping his arms securely around her. "The air is miserably cold and the plaid is thin for two to share. Miss MacConn, the best hope of heat we have, I fear, is each other, if you do not mind."
She nodded, her shivers easing as he rubbed her back gently. Setting an arm around his waist, she stroked his shoulders and back to bring him some warmth too. Her fingers grazed over the satin backing of his vest, and she felt, under the layered cloth of shirt and vest, the remarkable width of his shoulders and the smooth, hard contour of the muscles along his spine.
When his massaging palm skimmed over her lower back and down to the upper curve of her behind, she drew a quick breath. A feeling stirred in the core of her body, a melting, tingling sensation. She sighed out, wanting more, but he drew his hand slowly upward again to shape and press her shoulder.
Heat gathered between them, and she felt his hand on her head, sweeping over her hair, then down her back. Somehow it did not matter that she was in a stranger's arms, nearly unclothed. She felt as if she had always known him. His physical heat and his caring wrapped around her like another blanket.
As her body began to throb under his gentle caress, she knew that desire had begun to heat her from within—and she wondered if he felt that, too. His touch felt like fire suddenly, burned through the cloth. She began to breathe with him, and every part of her being craved more of his touch.
"Are you still cold?" His voice, low and close, made her shiver, made her close her eyes.
"Aye, a little." Her heart thundered, and as she lay in his arms, she felt passion flutter and stir. She shuddered, but not from the chill any longer. "And you?"
"A little." His breath brushed her cheek, and as she moved her head, his lips touched the corner of her mouth. Her heart pounded, and a rush of desire poured through secret places. She tilted her head in the darkness, and her nose nudged against his.
Sighing, she tipped her head back and let her mouth meet his. So easy, that first touch, so cool and tender. This did not feel wrong, she thought—it felt innocent. Dear God, it felt like she had found heaven. She pulled in a soft breath, opening her lips for more.
His arms tightened around her, and his mouth moved over hers, and suddenly he was kissing her harder, deeper, with such strength and passion that she felt it strike down through her feet. She thought she might melt from the pure bliss of it, feeling as helpless as butter over flame.
Chapter 6
She had never been kissed like that, never. She had not known that it could feel like a fall from a great height or like a pouring of liquid sunshine, hot and splendid. Nor had she realized how desire could spread heat from within.
He claimed that she had saved his life, but she knew without doubt that he was saving hers. His caring, tender touch and his deep kisses were rescuing her from the oblivion of loneliness to which she had long been consigned.
Just once, she would follow will and desire and discover what love felt like. Just once, and then he would be gone from her life. For now, she wanted to let him fill her with more of his fire. In seeking bodily warmth, she had unleashed a feverish power and deep need within her.
I need you, she wanted to say. As he kissed her again, she shuddered with pleasure. And I've needed this so much.
Whatever the price would be, she would gladly pay it. Will and desire drove her onward, compelled her.
Evan drew back a little, touched her hair with his hand, a sweet caress. "Warmer now?" he whispered.
"Some," she breathed, nudging toward him for another kiss.
"Your toes still feel cold," he whispered, as his feet caressed hers. She slid her fingers over his jaw, through the thick gloss of his hair. "So do your hands. Here."
He opened the buttons of his vest and his shirt, baring his chest. Slipping his hands under the jacket and around her waist, he pulled her close, nearly skin to skin, with only her thin chemise between them. Her belly fluttered, her breasts tingled. A bliss of searing warmth radiated from him.
Angling her face to his, she waited, and a moment later he kissed her again, tender and exquisite, so that she opened her mouth to his and sighed. To feel so safe, so comforted, so loved, even if only for a brief time in her life, was the
most wonderful feeling she had ever known.
His hand at her waist smoothed over her lower back and her hip, then slid along her outer thigh. Moving upward again, his fingers grazed along her rib cage, shaping her there, his thumb grazing the side of her breast. She closed her eyes, allowing him to explore her curves and hollows, touch her however he pleased, for his caresses stoked a deep fire within her.
As his fingers moved again, she sucked in her breath, for he contoured his palm over her breast, and his fingertips roused her tightening nipple. She gasped then, for he lowered his head and his mouth traced over her collarbones and lower still, until his breath heated her breasts through the cloth of her chemise.
Arching toward him, she felt his hand nudge aside the cloth of her chemise. Quick and sure, his hand settled over her bare breast, his touch delicate at first, then firmer, until she moaned out, fearing she might dissolve from the sheer pleasure of it.
She slid her own fingers over his bared chest, kneading warm skin dusted with springy hair, her palm following the planes of hard muscle. Pressing herself against his hips, she felt him harden against her, and she moved a little, trying to ease the growing, demanding ache deep inside of her. He shifted his head and took her mouth again, his kiss deep and strong, his fingers kneading her breasts, her nipples, so that a sort of lightning struck through her.
Desire came fully alive within her then, beating its wings against the cage of her body, struggling to burst free. Writhing, crying out softly, she silently asked for more.
He moved his hand downward, over the bunched chemise, until he found her thigh and tucked under the damp hem of the cloth. She waited breathlessly, her belly fluttering. As his fingers eased over the apex of her thighs, then gently slipped into the hidden cleft, she gasped again.
At first his touch astonished her, and then her body flooded with luscious, white-hot fire. With soft cries, she rode his touch, rocked with it, felt as if she turned molten. Suddenly she felt herself climbing, then reaching a blissful peak that she had not even known was there, like a burst of light in darkness.
Mind and reason no longer held sway as a magnificent inferno built in her and the craving grew with it, until she could not bear it. Pleading with her body, with her hands and her mouth, she wanted to feel him deep within her, instinctively knowing only that would sate the hunger he roused in her.
Sliding over his bared chest and flat stomach, tugging at his clothing, at drawstrings and hooks in the darkness, she touched him boldly, her heart pounding. She had not known what to expect, but he felt wonderful to her, like velvet over warm steel, powerful and beautiful. Feeling an urgent desire, she arched against him, whimpered, pleaded for what her body understood better than she did herself.
Slipping her fingers along the length of him, she felt him surge in her hand, sensed his gasp as his lips touched hers. And his fingers touched her, too, tracing exquisitely over her breasts, sliding downward over her belly, raising a deep flutter of excitement there. Then he began again to caress that secret part of her, and under the astonishing tenderness of his fingertips, she felt once more that glorious sensation spiral through her.
Yet it was not enough, for the craving grew insistent, more powerful than anything she had ever known. Responding to instinct, she opened her legs, writhed against him. He groaned low and moved, his grip fervent on her waist. Now she suddenly, overwhelmingly, knew what she wanted, and she could not wait, could not.
Arching toward him, shifting, she felt him slip into her, felt him harden and push, gently at first, until she felt a small burst of pain and gasped. By the time she drew a new breath, the subtle shock of his entry eased into a wave of relief. Moaning with the deep, indescribable pleasure of it, she heard him groan low, and she pushed down over him, taking him into her fully. She felt him throb inside of her, part of her now, and she cried out as he thrust, hard and deep, to satisfy the deepest need, body and soul, that she had ever known.
Rocking with his rhythm, she felt the drumbeat of her own heart as her body merged with his. Wrapping her arms around him, she felt him shudder in her arms, breathe out, grow still.
Then he swore something under his breath and pulled away quickly, separating his body from hers. Holding her tightly for a moment, he breathed hard and fast. Catriona felt the damp sheen of sweat on his back through shirt and vest and felt her own body dampened, as well. She felt exhilarated, relaxed, fearless. She felt deliciously warm and safe.
But he shook his head. "No," he whispered, half to himself. "Dear lass—God, I am sorry. That should never have happened." He rolled away from her, sat up, pushing the plaid away. Chill air invaded their nest, sweeping away the warmth, the passion.
She felt her heart sink in that moment. "Please—Evan, wait," she said, reaching for him. "I did not mind—"
"I minded," he snapped. "Now go to sleep. You're warm now. We're both warm—blast it, that's how all this started, and it went too far. I took it too far. Damn," he whispered, shaking his head. "How could I—Catriona, I thought I could be near you without that. But what happened was certainly not what you needed."
But it was, oh God, it was. She knew it as surely as she knew her own name. She would never have a moment like that again. She drew breath to tell him so, but he turned away abruptly and rose to his feet.
In the darkness, she watched him cross the hut and open the door to step outside into the bitter cold. The chill entered the room, flooding the emptiness where he had lain beside her.
Closing her eyes against sudden tears, she curled tightly in the lingering warmth inside the blanket. The thrill he had given her faded, replaced by a loneliness more intense than ever.
In his arms, she had felt beautiful, enchanting. In the wake of his rejection, she felt plainer than ever, big and clumsy and undesirable. She had always thought that love would not be hers, but Evan Mackenzie had given her a little hope. He was strong and beautiful and kind, and she deeply, keenly desired him. But he did not really want her. Tomorrow they would both return to their lives and forget each other.
Finally the door opened and he came back inside, returning to kneel beside her. Catriona pretended to be asleep, her back turned to him. After a while he lay down beside her again, and she did not stir. His breathing deepened and finally slowed, and she felt herself drifting to sleep.
She still felt cold, for the shared warmth under the plaid was nothing compared to the fervent heat they had created between them earlier.
* * *
Evan woke with Catriona tucked in his arm, her head on his shoulder. His breath frosted in the air as he exhaled, and he felt icy drafts leaking through the walls and roof. The hour must be near dawn, he thought, for gray light filled the little house.
Although he did not hear rain, he knew that the slopes leading down to the glen would still be dangerously slippery. He and Catriona should stay in the shieling hut a little longer.
With a strange clarity of thought, he knew that he wanted to stay here with her as long as he could. He wished they had the freedom to blissfully explore each other, as they had begun last night, when her passionate response had stirred him fiercely.
What the devil had he been thinking, to love her like that? The memory felt like a hot dream now, but it had been far too real. The girl was charming and gentle and had slipped past his usual defenses. And then he had lost his customary control.
Holding her close, he felt desire resurge. But disgracing her was no payment for saving his life.
Tightening his arm around her, he sighed with regret mingled with longing. She sagged against him, warm and trusting in sleep. They had both needed heat last night, and the succor of another soul in this lonely place. But what would follow next, once they left this hut?
He owed her an apology, and more, though he was not yet sure what to do, what to say to her. He had acted neither rationally nor gentlemanly. The damage was done. Her innocence had been intimately breached, and he was at fault for that—despite the fact that she ha
d been curious and willing.
He scarely knew her, yet he desired her and felt bound to her. Long after he left the shieling, his heart would belong, a little, to her. No woman had ever had quite so intense an effect on him or so much natural power to drive him to madness. She had soothed him, suited him, understood him as no one ever had before, though he could not explain why.
Dipping his head, he kissed her brow. The magic still coursed between his body and hers—he could feel it like a magnet's pull. But the weather would soon clear, and the world waited for them, and all this would end.
He was exhausted, and she was asleep, and nothing needed solving quite yet. Holding her, he felt himself sliding back into dreams alongside her.
* * *
"Catriona!"
She stirred, hearing her name, thinking Evan had spoken, although the sound was oddly distant. She opened her eyes to bright morning sunlight seeping into the shadowed interior. She had slept far later than she had thought she might.
He lay beside her, his arm circling her. The warmth felt wonderful. "Evan," she whispered. "Did you call me?"
"What?" He blinked at her sleepily.
"Catriona!" The voice shouted again. "Where are you?"
Then she knew. "My father," she blurted, sitting up. "He's outside—"
"Catriona! Are you in there?"
She scrambled out of the plaid, but Evan pushed her down, pulling the wool over her. "Stay there," he murmured, getting to his feet. She reached toward him. "Stay down!" he said. "You're not dressed."
"Oh, no," she groaned, remembering that she was not. She clutched the plaid.
"Catriona!"
Then the door burst open, and pale light poured inside, silhouetting a giant of a man wearing a black suit and a bowler hat crushing a leonine mane of hair. He cast a formidable shadow as he stood gripping a long walking stick.
"Catriona," he thundered, peering into the dim interior. "Are you in here, girl?"