Dreamer (Highland Treasure Trilogy) (28 page)

He was too affected by her words to
be able to say anything himself. Lifting his hands and framing her delicate
face, he stared into the depths of her misty blue eyes.

“I love you, John Stewart,” she
whispered as sparkling tears escaped, running down and scorching his fingers
with their heat. “As much as you may think me unworthy of your trust, I...”

He kissed her with all the passion
that was burning in his heart. He sipped her lips, trying to quench the
insatiable thirst of his soul.

“What am I going to do with you?”
he said a moment later, pulling back slightly and combing his fingers through
her hair. He pressed soft kisses against the injured skin of her face.

“Keep me! Trust me! Swear to me
that you will remain my husband!”

She hadn’t said love me. And he understood. Considering the base knave he’d been, ordering her never to confuse the
purpose for their marriage with
love
, he understood perfectly her words.
She did not want that rejection again.

He was indeed undeserving of her affection.

I love you, Catherine! I do!
He could think the words--scream them in his thoughts--but she would never be
able to read his mind.

But to say the words now would
serve no purpose. She would not believe him. She would think them simply
meaningless sounds. Nay, he would wait for the right moment. The perfect
moment.  The moment when he would sweep her off her feet with his
declaration...as she had done to him.

His voice was husky and raw with
emotion when he spoke again. “I am your husband and, though I did not know you
then as I know you now, I have always had every intention of honoring my vows
to you.” 

“You are and always will be the
only man in my life.”

His thumb gently wiped away the
tracks of tears on her cheeks. “I will cherish you, Catherine, and protect
you...if you will allow me. And I promise I will be worthy of your trust.”

Catherine’s chin lifted, her eyes
moving until they entrapped him in their misty depths. “And you! Will you keep
me as the
only
woman in your life?”

“My sweet Catherine.” He smiled as
the warmth spread through him. “I do not think another woman exists who could
take me from anger to desire in the span of a heartbeat. You are my weakness.
You are a habit that I can no longer do without. You will be the only woman in my
life.”

She looked down and then smiled
shyly. The same enchanting smile that always seduced him.

“John, will you take me? Make love
to me?”

Athol cocked an eyebrow at her, and
when she looked up, she had mischief in her eyes.

“I have a bit more to reveal to
you, but ‘tis something I could only divulge when I am certain that you are
feeling completely agreeable.”

John couldn’t hold back his
laughter as he drew her roughly into his embrace. He devoured her smiling lips
and let her push him down on the narrow bed. He lay still as she started
undressing him.

“Considering what you did to me
this past night, it might take a very long time before I’ll ever again be
‘completely agreeable.’”

“We have time,” she whispered,
placing kisses on his bare chest. Unfastening his kilt, she lifted the
nightshirt to her waist and nestled against his rising manhood. She nipped at
his jaw, encouraging him to start. “I’ll do whatever you say, husband...follow
your lead...do what must be done to prepare you for the news.”

“I like the sound of this. Your
learned methods of persuasion. Your argument from a position of strength!”

 “And trust me,” she gasped as he
entered her body. “You’ll appreciate the rest, as well!”

Lady Anne Stewart dismissed all but
Auld Mab. Motioning for the door to be barred, the dowager pulled herself to a
sitting position as the ancient servant placed the lighted taper in a carved
wooden holder on the bedside table.

“Did she tell him where she went?”

“Not while the others were there. But from the looks of her, she must have done battle with a dragon.”

“I’ll wager the dragon lost.” The
dowager pointed to the large chest sitting against the opposite wall. “Bring it to me!”

The serving woman moved briskly to
the chest and, after opening it, started taking out and putting on the floor
pieces of folded linens and clothing one layer at a time.

While watching her, the dowager sat
straighter in the bed. “Is my son still with her?”

“Aye, Jean said he is, m’lady. And from the looks of things he might stay there for some time.”

A pleased smile broke out on the
dowager’s face. “That Catherine Percy has more control over her husband than
she knows herself! That’s good! Very good! This is exactly what John needs. A
woman as smart as he is, himself.”

Smoothing the quilted bedclothes
across her lap, Lady Anne nodded approvingly when her maid removed a small,
ornate box from the bottom of the large chest and brought it to her.

“Was everything on top of it left
untouched as you arranged it before?”

“Aye, ‘twas, m’lady. The same as ye
directed.”

The dowager reached inside of the
neckline of her bedgown and started pulling out a long chain. Auld Mab helped
her to pull it over her head and produce the key.

“When the sun is up, I want you to
go and bring Catherine to me.”

“What happens if the earl is still
abed? I know he is customarily an early riser, but...”

The two women exchanged a knowing
look. “In that case, I want you to wait.” The dowager smiled. “If she is woman
enough to keep him in bed when the sun is in the sky, then we can be patient enough to wait before giving this token of her mother’s to her.”

The dowager put the key into the
lock of the chest and turned it. Once the lid was lifted, she patted the sealed parchment that Nichola Erskine had sent her to give to Catherine.

“After having it so long, why have
ye decided to give it to her now? Ye might have given it to her earlier.”

The dowager looked up and met the
sharp blue eyes of Auld Mab. Of all of the servants she’d had for years, this
woman was the only true confidante she’d ever had.

“Nichola asked me to hold on to
this until I was certain that the lass was safe. That she was set to stay for
good.”

“A very wise woman, to know
beforehand, about the earl and her daughter.”

The dowager met the older woman’s
knowing smile with one of her own before closing the lid. “You might say we
both...guessed. We both hoped. And we both planned for them as far as we could.
The rest one can only leave to the hand of fate.”

“Has Nichola been told of the
marriage?”

“Aye, she has.” The dowager placed
the small chest next to her hip on the bedclothes and lifted a bony finger to
her lips. “Her daughters think there is no way for them to get hold of their
mother. But have no fear, Mab. Nichola Erskine has an eye on all of them.”

******

The noise of the household stirring
in the corridors. The smells of and shouts wafting up from the kitchens. The
clang of swords as the men trained in the courtyard.

Nay, none of the everyday routines
of the Highland castle were going to move John Stewart.

He gazed down at the woman tucked
in his embrace. He didn’t want to tear his eyes from her angelic face as she
slept. He sure as hell wasn’t going to disturb her. Whatever her ordeal had
been last night, it had exhausted her so much that she’d fallen asleep the
moment they’d finished their lovemaking.

Now it appeared that the rain had
stopped, for the sky outside the window was brightening. Casting his gaze about
the small bedchamber, his eyes lit on the cloak, and he looked back at the thin
scratches on her face. There was no reason for him to doubt what she’d told him
regarding where she’d been. But still, her motive for going puzzled him. He
still intended to ask her the questions he’d meant to ask this morning...before
they both had been overcome by the moment’s desires.

Tracing with the tip of his fingers
a long scratch that crossed her brow, Athol leaned down and placed a soft kiss
on the wound. There were no words to describe the ache he’d felt in his heart,
imagining her hurt or in pain. Before meeting her, he’d known many women. He’d
experienced passion, the physical power of desire. But Catherine had managed to
awaken so much more in him. His continuous hunger for her, his need to be with
her, his desire to have her by him in all things, all of this was new to him.
All of this--he was certain--meant that the love that he had for her was like
no other.

And somehow he had to make her hear
this. He had to make her believe it. He wanted her to believe it the same way
that he had believed her own profession of love.

He watched her eyelids flutter and
open. The midnight blue orbs gradually focused on his face. She immediately
lifted her head off his arm.

“Tis morning! I forgot to leave
your bed.”

He smiled and rolled onto his back,
pulling her body on top of him and reveling in the feel of her skin against
his. He brushed her lips with his own.

“Your secrets are spilling out,
lass.” He ran his hands over the smooth curves of her back as she nestled her
body against him. “As you can see, this is your bed and your chamber. But you might as well get used to the idea that if you leave my bed in the middle of the night,
from now on I’ll follow you...wherever you go.”

She feigned an angry frown and then
glanced around the room, inspecting the burned out embers in the hearth, the
cast-off clothing on the floor. Her eyes narrowed though at seeing the pile.

“I fell asleep, I take it.”

“Not so very quickly.” He slowly
pushed the blanket off her shoulders and gazed appreciatively at her shoulders,
at her full breasts pressed seductively against his chest. “But aye, you fell asleep. In fact, our bodies were still as one when you drifted off to the
fairy lands.”

“And--bold thing that you are--you
removed my shift?”

“I did.” He loved the way she
wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her body closer to his. “I thought
having you in my arms, in the condition God made you, would give me the
advantage I sought.”

“Advantage?” she smiled, nipping at
his chin.

“Aye! I thought, considering the
draftiness of this wee hole you call a bedchamber, you’d stay with me at least
for the warmth of my body.”

Catherine now gave him one of her
magical smiles. When she did that, he thought contentedly, she made him feel
like a lovestruck abbey school lad.

“Shouldn’t you be up and about?”
She slowly slid against his body, placing kisses on his throat, his chin, his
chest.

“Can you not feel it, woman? I am
up.”

“That I can, husband. But don’t you have warriors that need you to oversee their work? Crofters with disputes that
have to be heard? Pheasant and deer that need to be hunted?”

“Aye! There are all those things
and more. But first, there is a wife that needs to be made love to.” He rolled
both of them around until she lay pinned beneath him. He lowered his head and flicked
at her breasts with his tongue. The nipples hardened under his attentions, and
he took a moment to suckle them both.

Catherine arched her back, moaning
softly into his ear, writhing under his weight.

Athol raised his head. “I’d say
this is the most important part of my day. To pleasure my wife.” He ran a hand
down over a quivering belly and slipped a finger into her wet folds. She
gasped, moving against his hand as he stroked the source of pleasure.

“You mustn’t forget that as a peer
to the realm, I am expected to make every effort to supply my people...and my
king...with the fifth earl of Athol. Making an heir is a difficult task, but a
noble one that, as a loyal subject, I must attempt. ‘Tis a duty we mustn’t
shirk, lass. In fact, ‘tis a duty that we must spend more time working at.”

A moment passed before his teasing
words sunk in, and then she suddenly became very still. Lifting his head, he
looked down at her misty eyes, her flushed face.

 “What’s wrong, Catherine?”
Concerned that he might have hurt her somehow, he quickly rolled a little and
took her face in one hand. “Are you well?”

She paused and gnawed for a moment
at her lip.

“There was something I meant to
tell you last night.”

“Is that all,” he said, relieved.
“Well, ‘tis not too late, my sweet. You can tell me now.”

Catherine drew a deep breath and
gazed into his eyes.

“Your king would be proud, m’lord,
for I already carry your bairn!”

*****

Torture is not an occupation for the squeamish, but neither the king’s Deputy Lieutenant nor those he employed for
that purpose could ever be accused of having weak stomachs. 

In fact, the sounds coming from a
nearby chamber brought a satisfied smirk to Arthur Courtenay’s face. That
sounds like progress, he thought. Progress, indeed. 

As he paused to allow the Abbot of
Jervaulx to pass before him into the small cell, a monk who was being
questioned in the room next door suddenly appeared. Bloody, naked, and crawling
on his hands and knees, the cleric dragged himself out of the cell and
collapsed on the stone floor of the narrow corridor as a sweating brute stepped
out, a whip shiny with blood in his hand.

“Yer not thinkin’ o’ leaving us
already--” the torturer spat before seeing the small group behind him. Upon
seeing them, he bowed apologetically. “Beggin’ yer pardon, m’lord.” The abbot
took a step toward the injured man, but the Deputy Lieutenant blocked his way.
The priest stared at him uncomprehendingly, for a moment, then lowered his
head, murmuring in Latin as he made the sign of the cross in the direction of
his fallen charge.

“I would save your blessings,
Abbot, for you may need them for yourself before this day is finished.”