Dangerous Pride (37 page)

Within a few moments, several lads from the kitchen had placed a tub in front of the fire, filling it with steaming buckets of water.  Catriona pretended disinterest as her husband quickly stripped off his shirt and kilt, but her eyes surreptitiously raked over his powerful, muscular body as he stepped gingerly into the hot water.  “I have to be careful no’ to burn aught that’s important,” he joked, as he slowly settled his tall frame into the wooden tub.

Restless, Catriona set aside the book she’d been reading and went to stand before the window, her hands braced on the casing as she looked out at the inner bailey.  Night had fallen heavily around the keep, and save the few torches that cast light upon the darkness, there was little sign of activity.  Indeed, all had sought the warmth and comfort of their modest homes, for though it was not yet fall, the nights were chilly and damp.  Steady plumes of smoke rose from the crofthouses which lay past the mill and the stables, keeping the occupants safe and warm inside.  Music and laugher filtered from the great hall, where the Duke and his entourage continued to enjoy the evening’s entertainment, despite the laird’s absence.

As Catriona vaguely registered the sound of her husband splashing about, she reflected on how quickly she too had come to regard Tolquhon as her home, as a part of her.  She’d discovered a comfort and burgeoning sense of belonging that she had never thought possible.  And she hadn’t even realized it was happening.

Catriona turned to face her husband, smiling to herself as she watched him lather his hair, struggling to keep the thick white suds from sliding into his eyes.  He had given her so much, more than he realized, and she would forever be grateful to him for offering his world to her, without reservation or hesitation.

Rarely did she have a chance to see beyond the serious, responsible laird to the boyish enthusiasm that lurked beneath Lachlan’s commanding exterior.  It warmed her heart to see him free of the responsibilities and obligations that would cripple a weaker man, if only for a few moments.  His unfettered joy in the moment reminded her of the lad she had known since she was herself but a bairn.  She had loved him then – a simple, childish love that was unquestioning and unshakable, a bond between two souls who had known each other from their earliest memories.

But did she love him now?
she wondered, a frown darkening her features as she studied Lachlan more closely.  There was no question she desired him, she admitted honestly, her eyes straying to the dark mat of hair that covered his chest, and the broad, muscular shoulders that made her feel safe and cherished when they were wrapped around her, pulling her close.  Years earlier, her childish love for him had deepened into a consuming fixation, an obsession that had been dismissed by him out-of -hand.  She knew she would carry the pain of that rejection for as long as she drew breath, for she had long since accepted she would never love as deeply – or trust as completely – as she had before she had felt the sting of his denial.

In truth, the worries she had felt earlier about living with Lachlan – and being his wife – had been largely unfounded.  They had achieved a kind of peace between them, though whether that peace would grow into anything deeper or more meaningful remained to be seen.  They had a healthy union based on respect, and some measure of affection, and an enjoyment of each other in the marriage bed.  It was more than many enjoyed, she admitted to herself, and she would do well to content herself with that, and not wish for that which was beyond her.

With a sigh, Catriona forced herself to put her foolish yearnings aside.  Thoughts of undying passion and deep, abiding love were fodder for foolish young girls, not women who lived in a time when their own desires were of little consequence to a world dominated by the greed of men.

“Yer a world away, Catriona,” Lachlan called gently, wrenching her from her thoughts.  She matched his smile with hers, walking slowly to the side of the tub.  Reaching for the sponge Sorcha had left behind, she began to scrub his back, eliciting a contented groan from her husband.

“It’s no’ every day a woman must prepare a keep to meet someone of the Duke’s status,” she teased, sweeping broad strokes across his deeply tanned back.  “You would do well to praise me, my lord, particularly if you do no’ want to have that bucket of cold rinsing water dumped over yer stubborn head.”

Lachlan laughed softly, groaning with contentment as she ceased sponging his back in order to massage the tense, aching muscles of his neck.  “I’m verra proud of you, lass.  To be honest, I was worried when I learned the Duke would visit Tolquhon.”  He winced as she playfully pinched a muscle in his shoulder, letting him know without words that she hadn’t missed his teasing insult.  “It is no’ that you are no’ capable.  But you have no’ called this keep home for long, and I did no’ ken how you would manage demands the likes of which the Duke of Marlborough was sure to make.  He is no’ an easy man to abide – he’s wily, and he does no’ do aught without having a hidden agenda.”  As if by unspoken consent, neither mentioned the presence of Catriona’s father – a fact that weighed heavily between them, but one they both realized would not benefit from discussion.

Without warning, Lachlan broke the awkward spell of the moment as he reached back, grabbing her wrist in a viselike hold, and hauling her into his lap.  Too stunned to reply, she could only look at him in amazement as he leaned down to claim her lips in a branding kiss.  “You did us all proud, Catriona, as I kent you would.  But the Duke is a difficult man, and I did no’ want to leave you alone to deal with the likes of him.”

Catriona’s shock gave way to pleasure as she lost herself in the passion of his kiss, and the soothing balm of his praise.  Before she could protest at the water that lapped at her body, drenching her light shift, Lachlan had clasped her hips in his hands, twisting her body around until she sat facing him.  Any surprise or irritation she might have felt was erased the moment she saw the passion and desire reflected in his deep grey eyes.  Letting go of her hips, but refusing to release her eyes, Lachlan reached down to pull her soaking shift up until it was bunched above her waist.  “If I did no’ ken better, I would swear yer a witch, lass,” he growled as he ran his hand from the tempting softness of her breast to the lush curve of her hip.

With a groan, he reached down to cup her bottom in his strong, muscular hands, still peering deeply into her emerald eyes.  Gently he lifted her weight, shifting her body until she straddled him.  “You tempt me to madness, wife,” he whispered as he reached down to caress the tender flesh at the apex of her thighs, his breath warm and hot against her ear, sending a shiver coursing down her spine.  Catriona sighed her contentment, tossing her head back as she shifted in his lap, desperate for the feel of him.  “Nay, lass, I would watch as I give you pleasure,” he said softly as he cupped her chin in his hand, bringing her back to face him.

Catriona could feel the heat of her blush spreading across her cheeks, but she held his gaze as he continued to touch her with gentle, teasing strokes.  “I would wait for you,” she gasped as she felt the familiar ripples of passion begin to spread through her body.

“Do no’ fight it, love,” he whispered as he expertly stroked her, carefully thrusting his finger inside her tight sheath.  His passion-glazed eyes seemed to peer into her very soul as she gave way to the peak her body begged for, her world an overwhelming whirl of color and emotions as she dug her fingers into his shoulders, pulling him closer.  Lachlan held her tightly as her body trembled with her passion.  Exhausted, and spent, her lips eventually found his.  Murmuring shy words of gratitude against his mouth, she kissed him with a fierceness that made Lachlan question his ability to restrain his need for her.

Unwilling to break the kiss, Lachlan reached up to bury his hands in her thick, rich tresses.  Impatiently, he pulled the pins from her hair until it cascaded down her shoulders, surrounding them both.  As she timidly teased him with her tongue, he could stand her attentions no longer. Gently, he pulled back, his eyes peering deeply into hers.  Carefully, he lifted her again, slowly lowering her onto his throbbing shaft.  “Yer so beautiful,” he whispered as he entered her body, filling her with his rising passion.  He could see the desire in her eyes begin to flare again as her body stretched to accommodate his.

When she shifted her weight, taking more of his length into her warmth, he was lost.  Grabbing her hips with his hands, he pulled her closer, throwing his head back as his passion overtook him.  He could feel her body tensing around his as she found her own release.  Lachlan held her close as the tremors overtook his body; as he spilled his desire deep inside her.

Long moments later, Catriona’s head rested against his broad chest as he tenderly caressed her back, silently offering a prayer of gratitude for being given the gift of such a passionate wife.  He would have been content to lie there for hours, but the water was growing colder by the minute.  Gathering her into his arms, he rose from the tub, ignoring the spray of water that coated the cold stone floor as he walked to the side of their bed.  Gently, he sat Catriona on the edge of the mattress, silently taking pleasure in the satisfied, exhausted expression that softened her beautiful features.  Reaching down, he pulled the soaking shift over her head, tossing it nearer the hearth so that it would dry with the heat of the fire.  Grabbing the toweling, he tenderly dried her body and the ends of her hair that had been dampened by the water.

Catriona was too exhausted by her passion and the stress of the day to offer any comment as he tucked her into bed.  “Sweet dreams, wife,” he whispered as she rolled to her side, curling her knees to her chest with a contented sigh.  As he looked down upon her, drifting to sleep in the warmth of the bed they shared, he was struck by an incredible sense of peace and fulfillment.  Whatever else life might have in store for him, he doubted he would never experience greater contentment than that which he had found with this woman.

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It was well past dawn when Catriona finally awoke the following morning, stretching her arms and yawning widely as she gradually shook off the comforting web of sleep.  When she opened her eyes, she could see the sun streaming in through the window of the chamber, casting a wide beam of light across the room.  Lachlan had pulled back the heavy brocade curtains that surrounded the bed, allowing the light to penetrate the warm, cozy cocoon in which she was happily nestled.

The deep, sensual timbre of his voice brought her swiftly from her reverie.  “It warms me to see you wake with such a contented smile on yer lovely face,” Lachlan commented huskily as he pushed himself from his chair and walked to her side, balancing his weight on the edge of the bed.  “I suspect I woke with a similar expression myself this morning.”

Gently, he bent down to cup her cheek in his hand, caressing her face tenderly with the pad of his thumb.  “I have overslept then, have I?” she asked, holding the blankets to her chest with one hand while she reached down to the foot of the bed to grab her robe.  Despite the pleasures they took in each other, she still felt awkward lying there before him, naked under the layers of blankets.

“I wasn’t planning to wake you, for I kent you would need yer sleep,” he said kindly, his smile broadening as she nervously twisted the robe in her hands.  His bride’s gentle, innocent nature – in direct contrast to the passion she showed in his arms – never ceased to please him.  Or arouse him, for that matter, but then there was no time for such distractions at the moment.

“I arose rather early myself, for I did no’ want to leave the Duke to his own devices.”  Lachlan smiled at the look of panic that crossed Catriona’s features as she abruptly remembered the presence of their guests, and frantically began to struggle into her robe.  Stilling her with the gentle caress of his fingers along her wrist, he immediately set to putting her mind at ease.  “You need no’ fash yerself, Catriona, for you have no’ overslept.  There was much left unsaid between the Duke and I, so I set about speaking with him before the household came alive.  He has asked me to ride with his party to the Gordon holding this morning, which of course I shall do.  I had only come to the bedchamber to retrieve my sword when I saw you sleeping so contentedly.  I watched you for a spell before you stirred, hoping I might have a chance to say goodbye.”

Panic was plain on her features as Catriona tossed back the covers, heedless of her nakedness as she pulled on her robe.  “Surely I must see to the Duke’s breakfast before he leaves,” she replied, her tone laced with worry.  Again, Lachlan placed a comforting hand along her cheek, stroking her soft skin.  He could not seem to keep himself from touching her.

“The Duke does no’ want a grand sendoff, lass.  He’s received word there is trouble on Gordon land, and he rides there to ensure they recognize his authority – and his orders.  As much as I do no’ want to ride with him, the Gordons have long been a thorn in our side.  And besides, the Duke might have need of my sword.”

Catriona had to admit that tales of conflict between the Forbes and Gordon clans had become the stuff of legends throughout much of Scotland.  Storytellers enjoyed recounting the story of the Forbes laird who achieved a tentative piece with his Gordon neighbors.  As he plied his guests with drink and food in his great hall, he was asked by a Gordon laird if the Forbes men had been prepared to do battle.  The Forbes replied that each of his men had been instructed to plunge their dirk into the heart of the Gordon nearest them if he saw the agreed upon signal.  When asked what the signal was, the Forbes laird obligingly stroked down his beard, which prompted all his loyal men to kill the Gordon beside them as instructed.

Catriona’s emerald eyes were wide with surprise and concern for her husband’s safety.  “The Gordons are hardly regarded as an honorable clan.  Are you sure you want to ride with the Duke, and risk their ire?  I would think it unwise to rouse that particular sleeping dog.”

“I do no’ have a choice in the matter, lass, though if it was up to me I would rather leave the Gordons be.  But the Duke wants to show them he has the support of other powerful clans in the area, and that if they continue to be disobedient and disloyal, they will face retribution from their fellow Scots.”