Elaine Coffman - [Mackinnons 06] (23 page)

His hands left her breasts, replaced by his mouth, and began
touching her, making her arch upward against him, and she suddenly realized
that they had somehow changed positions and she was beneath him now and they
both were naked.

It both surprised and amazed her. He must have done this a
lot, she thought, for only lots of practice could have allowed him to remove
his clothes without her being aware of it.
What else have you practiced,
Fletcher? No, don’t tell me. Show me…

Her hands began to explore him, learning the musculature of
his back, his loins, discovering how he was naked, how lovely, how beautiful,
how beloved. A wave of love blossomed within her, so strong she wondered if she
would ever recover from it. And then he touched her in the most intimate place
of all, and she knew he had much experience with this as well. For how else
would he know just where to touch her and for how long, to drive her to the
brink and no further?

Consumed with passion, she moved beneath him, murmuring
incoherent words, trying to convey what she was feeling. Only her body seemed
capable of communicating with him, and of its own volition it seemed to take
charge, knowing instinctively just what to do to bring her pleasure and him
too.

“I love you, Cathleen. Come with me, love. Come.”

Slowly, he brought his hard flesh against her, and she
whimpered, feeling his organ against her, surprised that there was no shock,
only this wanting, this needing.

“Oh love,” he whispered, and drove himself deep inside her.

She gasped, and his mouth covered hers. The pain lasted only
a moment, and then she began to move with him, his hips above her, moving
faster and faster until she thought she would shatter from the beauty of it.

He brought her knees up, and as she looked down between
them, she thought she had never seen anything as beautiful, as arousing as the
sight of him moving inside her.

She felt his body tense, and she heard him curse softly.
Quickly he withdrew, and she felt the length of him, hard and thick, pressing
against her belly. A moment later she heard him groan again, heard too his
softly whispered apology, as his seed spilled and covered her, hot and wet.

He had kept his word.

The thought shattered her. He had kept his word. This
beautiful, wonderful man cared more for her needs than he did for his own. He
had kept his word…and never had she loved him more than she did at that moment.
Nor had she detested her fear of childbirth as much as she did now.

“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

“Aye,” she said, never knowing that so much feeling could be
expressed in one short word.

“Are you sorry about what happened?”

“No.”

“Then what is it?”

“I love you,” she whispered, holding him tightly against
her. “It’s as simple as that. I love you so much, but I don’t know what I’m
going to do about it.”

“We will think of something,” he said, and then he rolled to
the side, taking her with him.

As she lay there beside him, her head cradled against his
chest, he whispered, “Well, so much for strong men.”

Fletcher stayed for dinner, then left. After he was gone,
Cathleen fed the owls, cleaned the kitchen, and dressed for bed.

She had almost drifted off to sleep when she heard the horse
and the pony in the paddock whinny. Since Robert and Fionn had come earlier to
feed the animals, she knew it wasn’t one of them. She was telling herself that
it was probably just one of their equine disagreements and things would settle
down soon, when the disturbance got louder.

Soon they were kicking up a ruckus, their whinnies turning
to frightened screams. Even from the house she heard them running around the
paddock, rearing and kicking, their hooves striking the side of the barn, the
slats of the fence.

Throwing the covers back, she sprang to her feet, grabbed
her wrapper from where it lay at the foot of the bed, and put it on as she
crossed the room.

She was just about to light the lamp when she realized that
she didn’t need the light, for the room was filled with an eerie red glow that
came through the window and threw grotesque shadows across the opposite wall.
She rushed to the window and pulled back the curtains. Flames leaped high into
the sky, like long bloody fingers that clawed at the blackness of the night.

The crofter’s hut.

She ran from her cottage. Her heart pounded wildly in her
chest, sending her blood racing faster than her feet. By the time she reached
the crofter’s hut, her heart felt as if it were about to burst. She saw
immediately that there was no way in save the hut, for the straw roof was
completely engulfed. Nothing but the chimney and the thick stone walls of the
hut remained.

She brought her hand up to shield her face as she stepped
back. The heat was too intense for her to go any closer. Thick clouds of dark
gray smoke poured from the hut and swirled about her, making her choke. For a
moment she was consumed with a fit of coughing as the smoke caused her eyes to
water and her throat to burn.

When the coughing subsided, she stood there in her
night-clothes and watched the flames devour the hut. She told herself that she
could at least be thankful that it was not her cottage that had burned.

At about the time she remembered that fires often spread, a
breeze stirred the smoldering rubble to new life, sending a tower of flame high
into the sky. A shower of embers and burning debris swirled about her, and one
flaming ember struck her cheek and stuck there. She smelled her scorched flesh
and felt the searing pain. Quickly, she brushed the ember away and felt a
burning sting on her hand.

She hurried to the barn and got the shovel, then began to
throw dirt over the embers around the perimeter of the hut. She hoped this
would keep the fire from reaching her cottage.

It was only when she paused to wipe the sweat from her face
that she heard someone shouting. Looking up, she saw Robert and Fionn Skene
riding toward her.

Robert dismounted and came to her straightaway. “I ken Fionn
and I can finish this,” he said, taking the shovel from her. “You dinna need to
be here, lass. You look exhausted. Go home and get some rest. There isna much
to be done now. The fire will burn itself out.”

“I couldn’t sleep now,” she said. “I might as well stay
here.”

Cathleen stayed until the fire had died down. A few more
neighbors arrived, mostly to survey the damage and offer their opinions as to
the cause.

Realizing that there was nothing more to be done, and that
she was after all standing in front of a goodly portion of the population of
Glengarry in her dressing gown, she thanked Robert and Fionn for their help and
returned to her cottage.

By the time she arrived back home, she was too exhausted to
do more than collapse across her bed. She fell asleep instantly.

When she awakened, bright shafts of morning light streamed
through the open window, where the yellow dimity curtains fluttered, stirred by
a gentle breeze that carried the scent of charred wood.

She glanced down and realized then that she was sleeping on
top of the bed. It must have been a fretful sleep, for her gown and wrapper
were twisted about her legs like iron bands. She made several weak attempts at
extracting herself, then fell back on the bed, panting as a wave of nausea
swept over her, which she attributed to having so much smoke.

As she lay there waiting for the nausea to pass, she suddenly
remembered that she was now living alone, so if something happened to her, if
she were to take sick, there would be no one to notice, no one to care.

She rested for a moment longer, then gathered what energy
she could and came to a sitting position. She felt her head swim, but sitting
up seemed to ease the nausea. Dragging herself out of bed, she noticed the
black, charred holes in her gown.

She steadied herself on her feet, made her way to the
mirror, and saw a clear blister that had formed on her cheek. Next, she held
out her hand, and saw no blister there. Apparently it had been rubbed away by
the shovel, for there was nothing there now save a bloody, raw spot.

She took a bath, having the devil’s own time of heating the
water with only one hand, but she managed. She soaked for some time before she
washed the smell of smoke from her hair. Then, she dressed, twisted her hair in
a wet knot upon her head, and mixed a poultice for her cheek. She applied some
to her hand, which she wrapped as best she could.

Tomorrow, if it was not better, she would pay a visit to Dr.
Scott.

Robert and Fionn came later that morning to feed the
livestock and do the chores. She reminded herself that she was ever so thankful
that Fletcher had made arrangements for them to help her, when it occurred to
her that Fletcher probably didn’t know that the hut had burned.

He will come as soon as he hears.

The rest of the day passed. Night came, and then morning,
when Robert and Fionn came early to break the sad news to her.

Bathsheba, the fawn, was nowhere to be found.

“You don’t think the fire…”

“No, I dinna ken she is dead,” Fionn said. “I ken she was
frightened by the fire and ran away.”

“She is so small.”

“Someone will care for her, I ken. She’s a friendly lass. I
wouldna worrit over much.” Fionn grinned at her. “You still have all the
others.”

“Aye,” she said. “I still have them.”

“How is your hand faring?”

Cathleen looked down at the bandaged hand. “It festers.”

“You better see Dr. Scott.”

“Aye, I am going to pay him a visit.”

“I’ll hitch the pony to the cart for you.”

Without giving her a chance to say thank you, Fionn was off,
loping down to the barn with his long-legged stride that reminded her so much
of Fletcher.

A short while later, Cathleen was with Dr. Scott, who
cleaned the burn with something that burned worse than the lire, then bandaged
it. He told her not to use that hand for a few days and to keep it dry. She
nodded.

“I’ll take that in the form of a promise,” said Dr. Scott.

“I promise,” she replied.

On her trip home, she encountered danger once again.

As she guided the pony cart down a narrow trail alongside a
rocky ledge that edged a burn, she heard the rumble of rocks overhead. She
looked up and saw a large boulder rolling down the side of the cliff, heading
straight toward her in a shower of smaller rocks. There was no time to think.
Instinctively, she threw her arms up over her face.

A split second later, she was pelted with rocks, just as she
heard a splintering crash and felt herself bounced into the air. She landed on
the seat with a thump.

About that time her pony began to scream.

Opening her eyes, she saw the strangest thing. The boulder
had hit the very back of the cart, splintering the end rail but leaving the
floor intact. The weight of the boulder had pressed the back of the cart down
to the ground, while the wheels, acting as a balance in the middle, forced the
front of the cart up in the air, seesaw fashion.

Poor Flora was still hitched to the traces and bars, her
weight not enough to break the bars or counter the weight of the boulder, which
left her suspended in midair, her short little legs thrashing as she tried to
whinny and nicker her way out of this predicament.

Had Cathleen not still been fighting off the effects of
being frightened out of her wits, she might have laughed, for it was a sight to
see, poor Flora kicking and thrashing, her feet some two feet off the ground.

About the time she was trying to figure the best way to get
herself out of the cart and safely on ground she heard the clipping gait of an
approaching horse.

Looking up, she saw Fletcher riding toward her, a grin as
big as a Highland loch on his face.

Seeing his beloved if somewhat amused face, she simply said,
“Fletcher! Am I glad to see you.”

Having heard about the fire, Fletcher had ridden directly
from Glengarry to Cathleen’s, only to find she was not there. Having learned
from Fionn that she had gone to see Dr. Scott, he was headed there when he
rounded a bend in the trail and came upon the oddest thing he had ever seen.

There was the object of his search, calm as June weather,
sitting in her little cart, its back weighted down by a boulder, its front end
a couple of feet off the ground, while her pony made it known to all and sundry
that she was most unhappy.

The moment he pulled his horse to a stop, saw Cathleen’s
bright smile and realized that she was all right, he could not contain himself.

It was simply too damn funny.

“I’ve heard of women sticking their noses in the air, but
this is going to the extreme a bit, don’t you think?”

“I will thank you to offer us some assistance instead of
laughing at our unfortunate circumstances. I might have been killed, you know.”

As far as sobering him and driving away the urge to laugh,
that did it.

In a flash he was off his horse and had her safely out of
the cart and into his arms. Then he noticed the burn on her cheek and her
bandaged hand.

“You’re hurt,” he said, tracing the blistered welt on her
face. “Your poor, lovely face. Does it pain you overmuch?”

“No. Dr. Scott said I did the right thing by applying a
poultice.”

“Will it leave a scar?”

She lowered her face. “If it does, what does it matter. I
was never the village beauty anyway.”

“It matters to me,” he said softly. “I should be
horsewhipped for having left you out there by yourself.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Fletcher. Accidents happen. It could
have been worse.”

The pony whinnied again and resumed thrashing.

“Will you do something to help Flora? The poor thing has
exhausted herself.”

Fletcher helped Flora, but not before he made Cathleen comfortable
in the shade. Then he set himself to the task of freeing the pony from her
lofty perch.

Once the pony had all fours on solid ground, he turned her
loose. Seeing the look on Cathleen’s face, he smiled. “Don’t fret, little
mother. She will go home.”

“I know. I was just wondering how
I
was going to get
home.”

“I’ll take you.”

With Cathleen secured behind him, he turned his horse around
and headed toward her cottage. The ride back was short, warm, and silent.
Cathleen seemed content to sit behind him, her arms around his middle, her
cheek resting against his back.

Fletcher knew he was the reason things were so quiet between
them, for it was difficult for him to make conversation. His mind was on the
series of accidents coming Cathleen’s way.

And he knew why.

It was now obvious to him that no matter how much he cared
for Cathleen, he would have to do more than to stay completely away from her.
He would have to do something to make Adair think he had no interest in
Cathleen whatsoever. As long as Adair suspected that there might be something
between them, he would use Cathleen as a way to control him. The best way he
could think of to make Adair believe there was nothing between them was to take
Annora up on her offer.

With his heart wrenching from the thought of what he must do
to her, Fletcher felt the moment drawing near as they rode into the yard of her
cottage. Pulling his horse to a stop, he dismounted. After helping her down, he
followed her into the house.

She turned to him. “You are as grim as the reaper. What’s
bothering you?”

“It’s nothing that concerns you,” he said. “Come here. I
want to see the burn on your face.”

She turned her face away. “The doctor has seen it. There is
nothing more you can do. It does not pain me overmuch.”

“In that case, I’ll be on my way.”

She turned to look at him, her eyes searching his face. He
knew the exact moment when she realized what was happening, for he saw it in
her eyes. She knew, now, that he would not be coming back.

The thought of doing this to her left a big hole inside of
him, but the hardest part was not being able to tell her why. How could he tell
her that he was turning to Annora in order to make Adair think he had no
interest in Cathleen? How could he make her understand that he had made the
decision to hurt her in order to protect her life? If she had any idea that he
was doing this to protect her, she would not hear of it.

In order to protect her, he had to hurt her.

Her voice was soft, subdued, laced with pain. “Before you
go, I have something to give you,” she said. She turned away and crossed the
room.

She went to her grandfather’s desk, opened the drawer, and
took out an envelope. She returned to his side and handed it to him. “Go on.
Take it. It’s for you.”

He looked down and saw his name on the envelope. He
recognized the handwriting immediately. It was David’s.

He took the envelope, then he looked at her, waiting for
some explanation.