The Blood of Roses (44 page)

“You did indeed manage to change my opinion of married life, madam,” he whispered pensively. “You have managed to work your way into my bloodstream so I cannot draw a breath without thinking of you. Not content to simply have my peace of mind, it seems you must now have my heart, my life, my soul.”

“It is only fair, my lord, since you have mine.”

He kissed her tremulous smile and gathered her even closer. “I suppose you are also going to tell me you are not the least afraid of bringing a child into the midst of all this?”

“I’m not afraid,” she said, pulling back enough to look deeply into his eyes. “I’m not, Alex. There has to be peace soon. The fighting cannot go on much longer, and when it ends, we will be able to return to Achnacarry and live there happily and peaceably ever after.”

“Just like in a fairy tale?” he chided softly.

“Just like in a
family”
she corrected. “Our family, Alex. You, me, and the beautiful son we have made together.”

He said nothing—could say nothing through the incredible, constricting pressure that seemed to grip his every muscle and nerve.

“Alex … we will be able to return to Achnacarry, won’t we? I mean, we will be safe there … won’t we?”

The fear in her voice helped ease some of his own. “Of course we will be safe at Achnacarry; why wouldn’t we be? Lochaber has been isolated and inviolate for centuries; nothing has happened to change that.”

Catherine remembered vividly the miles of winding, endless forest tracts that camouflaged the approach to Achnacarry Castle; the remoteness, the strength of the structure itself, with its hundred-foot-high battlements and mist-drenched parapets. Not even Cromwell had dared venture into the wilds of Lochaber. Cumberland was half the soldier and had only a quarter of the armed strength behind him that Cromwell had had.

“Alex?”

She felt his lips move against her temple by way of a response.

“I don’t suppose … I mean, I’ve known all along I would not be able to remain with the camp once my … our secret was out … would I?” When a quick glance up into his face confirmed there would be no argument on earth ever able to persuade him otherwise, she quickly redirected the assault. “In which case, I was hoping I might be able to go on ahead to Achnacarry and wait for you there. I have already discussed it with Deirdre and Aluinn, and they both agree—”

“Aluinn? He knows?”

“He guessed. And he has been breathing down my neck ever since, threatening to tell you himself if I did not do it soon. But now I have told you and I am asking you— pleading with you—to let me go to Achnacarry.”

For another tense moment there was no sound other than the steady beating of his heart within the muscled chamber of his chest. Catherine braced herself for the inevitable arguments: England would be safer, France would be safer, Italy would be safer, a penal colony in Australia would be safer …

“Aye, Achnacarry is probably the safest place for you to be in the circumstances.”

“Maura will be there to take care of me,” she insisted, blurting out her first line of defense without having heard his answer. “Jeannie and Rose will be there, too, and Deirdre has said she will—” She paused and two quick breaths brought her head up off the crook of his shoulder again. “What did you just say?”

“I said yes. With Cumberland behind us, it would take more men than the prince or Lochiel could spare to escort you back to England. Barely one ship in twenty breaks in or out of the blockade, so it would be out of the question to even try to smuggle you out to Europe. Offhand, I cannot think of any safer place for you to be than Achnacarry.”

“Do you mean it?” She gasped, lacing her fingers excitedly around his neck. “Do you really mean it?”

“Yes.” He smiled tenderly. “I really mean it. As it happens, the prince has finally seen the wisdom of removing the government troops who still hold Fort Augustus and Fort William. He has ordered Lochiel and Keppoch to undertake the task with all due haste, and to be perfectly honest”—his smile became rueful—“I was trying to think of some way to suggest you remain at the castle when we passed through Lochaber.”

“And then to conveniently forget to retrieve me again when you returned to Inverness?”

“The thought had occurred to me.”

“It had, had it?” She scowled, sitting attentively upright and swiveling around on his lap so that she faced him squarely. “What about the promise you made that we should never be apart again?”

Alex skimmed his hands up the naked length of her thighs, running them up beneath the lacy hem of her chemise. “You would prefer to nurture our son in the open fields, in tents, and dank stone cottages?”

“You were making your nefarious plots before you knew I was with child,” she reminded him, squirming closer, her small oval face level with his.

“Aye, and now that I do,” he said, frowning, “I am inclined to think it might be best if you remain here for the next week or so until we clear the garrison out of Fort Augustus. As soon as they’re driven out, the route to Achnacarry will be clear and I will be able to come back and escort you with all the pomp and ceremony befitting a princess.”

“A week?” she murmured. “When are you leaving?”

Alex hesitated. “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow! And when were you going to tell me?”

“I only just found out myself. They’re still arguing among themselves as it is—neither of the chiefs thinks it is a particularly good idea to leave the area before Lord George arrives, but …” His hands moved restlessly and his forehead creased with displeasure. “The prince has taken command and has assured everyone he is perfectly capable of protecting himself for a few hours.”

“Inverness is so close, and the city is full of government soldiers,” she began.

“None of whom know the prince is here,” he assured her. “Or that he is alone—which he isn’t. Not entirely. Ardshiel’s men will close ranks when we leave, and MacGillivray will keep the soldiers in Inverness busy elsewhere. There is absolutely nothing to worry about … if there was, would I be willing to leave you?”

“For a week,” she reminded him petulantly.

“Lady Anne will be pleased to have the company. And you cannot tell me you would prefer to leave all this”—he indicated the comfort of the bedchamber with a twist of his eyebrow—“for drafty tents and creaking cots?”

“I have not complained so far, have I?”

“Not in so many words, no. You have been very stoic … and made me feel very guilty in the process.”

“So you should,” she muttered disconsolately. Her hand trailed across the breadth of his shoulder and came to rest over the silver-and-topaz brooch he wore clasped to the folds of tartan.

“A
week,”
she said again, bending her head so that her forehead was touching his chin.

“Do you think you can manage without me for that long?” he asked, his voice gently mocking.

The clasp of the pin gave way under her fingers, releasing the wool so that it slithered down from his shoulder.

She looked up at him and smiled coyly. “I shall sleep as soundly as a child, I warrant. It might even be a welcome change to lie the whole night undisturbed.”

Alex made no move either to assist or resist her efforts to unbuckle the belt from around his waist and insinuate herself under the loosened folds of tartan.

“I disturb you, do I?” he mused, his thumbs idling over the smoothless of her skin.

“Mmmm. Sometimes several times a night” was the flippant reply, given while nimble fingers made short work of the buttons down his waistcoat and the laces binding his shirt. “But I am getting used to stealing a few winks of sleep here and there—as many as I am allotted before a hand strays where it shouldn’t.”

“Whose hand: yours or mine?”

Catherine’s eyes glinted in the firelight. She pulled herself forward, lifting her hips slightly before settling herself over the vaunted thrust of his flesh. Inch by inch she lowered herself onto him, angling her body in such a way as to allow the deepest, tightest sheathing. She was smugly pleased to see the shock flare in his eyes and to feel the tremor ripple through his body as he found her hot as molten silver, sleek as satin.

“Madam, your inventiveness never fails to astound me,” he said, his teeth flashing whitely through a grin of avaricious pleasure.

“My
inventiveness? I believe, sir, it was you who redefined the purpose of bathtubs, fine brandy, and balcony balustrades.”

Conceding the point with a smile, his hands slid upward to engulf the heaviness of her breasts. Without troubling himself to remove the skimpy garment she wore, he lowered his mouth to the crest of each upthrust nipple, toying with them through the wet circles of silk until they were peaked and straining for freedom.

Not to be outdone in deviousness, Catherine curved her lower body against his, drawing slowly back and curling forward again in deliberately measured undulations that soon had him cursing softly and holding her immobile against him. He was hard and pulsing vigorously inside her, thudding eagerly against the moist, clinging enclosure.

“Do you want this to end quickly or slowly?” he asked on a rough breath.

“I want to remember this all week,” she murmured brazenly, her lips slanting over his.

“Your wish is my command, madam,” he replied huskily, and slipped his hands down from her breasts to her waist, then along her thighs until they were hooked into the fold of her knees.

Catherine dragged her mouth away from his, startled to feel the room lurch beneath her. Another start, brought on by a second lurch and an incredible surge of pressure within her, made her grasp more tightly to him as she realized they were seated on a chair that rocked back and forth on curved runners.

“You are no gentleman, sir.” She gasped. “You do not play fair.”

“We established a long time ago I was no gentleman,” he reminded her with a grin. “And since when does a man have to play fair when the woman obviously has no such compunction?”

Catherine shivered and melted against him, riding on currents of rippling sensation with each back-and-forth motion of the chair. She ran her hands beneath the parted edges of his shirt and pressed herself against the crisp black mat of hair, moaning softly as she introduced this new source of erotic abrasion to her already aching nipples. Alex was enthralled by the subtle changes in her expression as she arched her head back. The heavy silk of her hair swayed to and fro like liquid sunlight in the reflection of the fire; the thin, transparent layer of her chemise absorbed the fragrance of her skin, teasing his senses like a rare perfume. A parting of soft moist lips over a sigh, followed by a quick, disbelieving intake of air warned of an imminent cataclysm elsewhere and he braced himself, trying to keep his mind detached from his body, trying not to focus on the wicked little muscles as they squeezed around him and grew hotter, slicker, and far less stable on each completed roll.

Twice, in order to withstand the flurry of quickening spasms, he had to close his eyes and clench his teeth hard. And twice, when he thought it safe to catch his breath again, her eyes were waiting for him, challenging him, and it was expelled again on a groan that threatened almost as much as it promised. His hands moved desperately from her knees to her waist, to her bottom, back to her waist trying to hold her, trying to bring her closer, trying to delay the inevitable, but each time she crested, his body screamed for release. Each time she gathered herself and came to a shuddering peak against him he heard his name shivered against his skin and he was able to cling to his senses only by the slenderest of threads.

Catherine’s world narrowed to shadows, firelight, and pleasure. She could look nowhere else but into his eyes, she could feel nothing else beyond the deep moving friction of his flesh. She knew they were still rocking because the pleasure came in long, slow sweeps. And she knew she would not be able to bear it much longer because her body was already one bright, continuous orgasm and she did not think there could be anything hotter, sharper, or sweeter to be borne. But she was wrong. Dimly she was aware of him crying out her name and filling her with one last upward surge of his flesh … and she knew she was wrong. His arms turned iron hard around her, his body stiffened through a series of violent and prolonged contractions, and as she felt his pleasure burst within her, felt the rush of it hot and fierce and deep within her, she knew she had been so very wrong. Crying out a soundless plea, she flung her head back, flung her arms wide, and rode the swift, spiraling sensations to the very brink of madness.

Much later, when they were by sheer necessity motionless and collapsed in a limp tangle of damp arms and legs, it was the sound of Alex’s shaky laughter that brought Catherine’s senses back into focus.

“Thank God I am not a gentleman, madam, or my hair would be gray right now from shock.”

She pressed a shy smile into his shoulder and wriggled her fingers and toes, enjoying the delicious, tingling aftereffects of their loving. “I suppose that means your son will be born with pale hair, for he is probably in shock right now.”

“Good God—” Alex eased her out to arm’s length and glanced anxiously down to where they were still joined. “I haven’t hurt you, have I? Christ, Catherine, I didn’t even think—”

She smothered his concerns under a kiss and a sigh. “You most definitely have not hurt me, my lord. And you were not supposed to think, just act … which you did, most magnificently.”

After a moment he relaxed and circled his arms around her again. “Shameless. That is what you are. And if it happens we have a daughter, I can only hope she will learn to show a tad more restraint than her mother.”

“Why? You would prefer a lock-kneed spinster who would cost you a small fortune to settle into married life?”

“No, but at the same time, I would prefer not to have to spend my dotage chasing after lusty young bucks with fowling pieces.”

She smiled and traced a bead of sweat down his throat with the tip of her finger. “I would want her to know what this is like,” she said softly. “I would not want her to be afraid of love or of loving a man. Not that I shall have to worry, of course, for I intend to have only sons. Tall and black-haired, as devilishly handsome as their father. As principled, as proud, as gentle, as loving …”