Forbidden (34 page)

Huh. More than likely, he feared his father
would attack his lovely Lady Muriele whilst he was gone! Her breath
came in angry spurts. Her nostrils flared so wide she noted them
when she looked down at her soapy cloth.

Ranald wriggled his toes against her hand
inviting her to massage them again. She nodded and lifted the
cloth.

Splat!

Her aim was accurate.

“Jesu!”

Ranald grabbed the cloth and slung it across
the room. Blinded by the soapy water, he swiped at his eyes and
spat so hard bubbles floated from his lips. She had no time to
admire it, for she likened his rising out of the tub to
descriptions of how Nessie surfaced in Loch Ness. The violent shake
of his head sprayed water so far it sizzled on the hot peat.

“Are ye daft?” His voice crashed against her
ears.

“Daft? ‘Tis you who have lost your mind.”

Catalin glared at him, her hands on her hips.
No doubt, he had planned to have Lady Muriele with him all along.
She had heard women saying that once they were with child, their
spouse shunned their marital duties. They were even pleased when
the men spent their lust on willing servants and the many widows at
the castle.

Huh! She was not pleased. She had near
thumped a pitcher of ale against more than one sighing, curvaceous
tart’s head after hearing them giggling about lustful bouts with
the twins before Ranald left Raptor. Humph! They planned to lure
him to their beds. What man could find a woman appealing when her
belly looked like a round loaf of bread rising on the baker’s
table?

Water surged over the rim as he slowly
stepped to the end of the tub and lifted one foot to the floor.

“Ever ye were quick to pick a fight. Do ye
not recall the last time ye riled my anger on purpose? In case yer
memory is faulty, it was the day before yer betrothal.”

Oh, blessed saints! The picture of the goose
girl and Ranald behind the stable that sunny day flashed to her
mind. The girl was on her hands and knees. Ranald, grasping her
skirts hiked up around her waist, knelt behind her. As he had
pumped away, his bare arse flashed in and out of the building’s
shadows. His pale flesh gleamed when the sun hit it but faded when
in the shadows. Catalin had scooped up a handful of horse
droppings. Paying no mind to the stench or disgusting feel of it,
she threw it as hard as she could. Her aim was good. His arse no
longer gleamed in the sun.

She had admired her handiwork for only a
breath then ran for her life. Hearing his thudding footfalls behind
her, she could still feel her heart racing. Suddenly, an arm
snapped around her waist and jerked her off her feet. He’d carried
her like a bag of wheat at his hip. For truth, the water in the
horse trough was frosty cold. He dunked her beneath it then tugged
her upright. Aye, she remembered his stony face, before he spun on
his heels and stalked away.

Water splashing her skirts as his left foot
joined the other on the floor, brought her mind back to her present
peril. In the darkened room, he looked like a dark predator taking
measured steps toward her. She backed away. He followed. He slowly
closed the distance. His raspy breathing charged the air between
them. She spun and made a mad dash for the door. Just as she
grasped the handle, his powerful hands slammed the wood on either
side of her shoulders.

“Going somewhere?”

His husky voice caressed her nape like warm
wool. She gulped. And lied.

“I thought a cup of hot milk would warm you
after your bath.”

She banged her forehead on the door. Ugh. How
stupid. He was no youngling craving milk.

He swept her up in his arms, cradling her
like a child. She grabbed his shoulders as his purposeful tread
took them back across the big room. Toward the bed? Nay. To the
tub! Her hands slid off his still soapy shoulders when he bent
close over the water and ever so gently dropped her.

“Eeep!” Splash!

Unlike before, he did not submerge her head.
He stood back, arms folded across his chests, and scowled down at
her.

“Dinna think to question my plans to protect
ye. Now, get out of that water.” He stood back, waiting for her to
rise.

She muttered curses and tried to gather her
legs beneath her. She needed to get to her knees and use her hands
on the tub’s sides to stand.

“Blessed St. Michael. Why are ye so
gawky?”

Ranald leaned down and grasped under
Catalin’s arms to haul her out onto the soaked floor. Feeling her
shivers, he turned his gaze on the brace of candles behind her and
stared, thinking all the while of flame leaping from the wick. His
body heated. The water dripping from him dried in a heartbeat. A
spark flickered on the wick. He stared all the harder. A candle
flamed to life. The others rapidly followed.

Catalin craned her head to look behind her
when the room lightened. “When did you light the candles?”

“While ye were paddling in the water.”

Catalin’s form drew his gaze. The
loose-fitting kirtle clung to her like another skin. He stared,
entranced by her body’s changes. Where before her breasts were soft
mounds and her stomach gently rounded, now there could be no hiding
the growing bairn. These past weeks, he’d been occupied avoiding
her and didn’t note the rapid changes.

He grabbed the large drying towel set out for
his use and wrapped it around her shoulders. Long, purposeful
strides took him to the fireplace, where he added a block of peat
to the embers. His back to her, it was not difficult to encourage
it to flame with thoughts of heat and fire.

Catalin’s eyes rounded and she bit her lip
when he turned and advanced on her. Clutching the cloth to her
neck, she watched him like she thought he meant to dunk her
again.

“Come. Do ye want to take a chill? Get out of
yer wet clothes.”

“Huh! Do you not remember how I got this
way?”

He brushed her hands away, drew the drying
cloth from her and slung it over his shoulder while he whisked her
wet clothing over her head. She muttered so low he couldn’t hear
the words, but he kenned they were of him being a lout of a
husband, a churl of the worst sort who would dunk his increasing
wife. He rubbed briskly over her back, her arms and legs before
gently patting droplets from her breasts. He felt the blush heating
her skin while he brushed the cloth over her belly.

He studied her stomach. If the babe stirred,
would he see its movements? Never had she been more beautiful. Not
even that day when she and Moridac stood before the priest and
spoke their betrothal vows.

He had ached then, knowing that had he been
first to leave their mother’s body, it would be he and not Moridac
beside her.

He ached now, knowing that had he been first,
it would be his bairn, not Moridac’s, nested there.

And had it been his, he would not think on
sending it to Kelso—away from himself...from Catalin...from his
father. He would have no need, for the laird would not waste even
one breath to claim a bairn from Ranald’s loins.

‘Twas only Moridac his father had loved.
Still loved. He had felt naught but hate for Ranald since his first
breath.

Moridac’s child was the sole thing on this
earth that Broccin wanted. And Ranald had the power to make him
suffer for all the pain and loss he had felt from the first time he
reached up his arms and asked, “Da?” begging to be picked up and
cuddled. Instead, Broccin’s booted foot had knocked him to the cold
floor, before he stomped away with Moridac in his arms.

Ranald shook. When had he dropped the towel?
Gently, he cupped Catalin’s breasts and enjoyed their warm weight
in his palms. He nuzzled his face against their creamy softness,
and it was feeling that silken swell caress his scarred cheek that
reminded him his face was bare. His heart near stopped beating. He
swept her into his arms and tucked her face beneath his chin as he
strode over to lay her on his side of the bed. Turning to the right
so all she’d note was his unmarked left profile, he pinched out the
candles before pulling the fire screen in front of the fireplace.
Satisfied the room was again in shadows, he turned to her.

“I am not moving from this spot, husband. It
has just now turned warm.”

Naught but Catalin’s eyes showed above the
blanket she clutched beneath her nose. He padded over to the far
side of the bed and crawled between the sheets, stretching his
length alongside her. Snaking his right arm beneath her, he pulled
her close so his heated flesh would warm her.

He brushed his lips over her cheek before he
nibbled gently at her full, lower lip. Stopping to place little
kisses at the corners of her mouth, his tongue explored the outline
of her lips. His mouth captured hers in hungry, lingering kisses.
She sighed, her lips parting to entice him. His tongue slipped
between, exploring the silky haven of her mouth. Hesitant at first,
her tongue touched his then skittered away, before it returned to
stroke and dance with it.

As his lips glided over her cheek, down her
lovely neck and further to again nestle between her breasts, he
listened to her soft sighs, the uneven pounding of her heart. Her
nipples hardened against his cheek, inviting him. Open-mouthed, he
slid over her silky flesh and captured one. She gasped and strained
to pull his face tighter to her flesh until he gripped the hard nub
softly with his lips. While suckling one breast, he rubbed his
rough palm over the other, liking the feel of the straining nipple
tickling his hand. He lifted his lips to blow soft puffs of air on
her glistening flesh, fascinated by her shivers. Capturing the
other breast, he lavished it with the same sweet treatment.

Catalin gasped and squirmed. Her hands rubbed
feverishly over his arms and shoulders. When his lips started to
wander, her fingers gripped his head, holding it tight to her
breast. He was happy to oblige her. Rolling, he pulled her atop
him. She gulped and braced her arms beside his head, her lovely,
glistening breasts hovering over him. He moved freely from one
pebbled nipple to the other, suckling and drawing it to fill his
mouth.

His hands roved freely over her shoulders,
across her shoulder blades, then tickled their way down her
delightfully sloped back. When he reached her firm nether cheeks,
he traced the crease, tickling up and down its length until she
squirmed.

He reached down to grasp her thighs and
opened them to straddle him, then coaxed her to her knees. His
fingers explored the moist, tender flesh between her legs and
stroked until she arched her head. He teased her breasts, letting
one go then flicked it with his tongue when she offered it to him
again.

“Ranald.”

Ah, such pleading in that whispered word. He
had not the heart to tease her further. Reaching between them, he
guided his straining arousal to ease up into her. New to this
position, he needed to grip her waist to show her the rhythm.
Awkward at first, she soon set the pace, sometimes stopping
entirely. He watched her tense face, her eyes unseeing,
concentrating on feeling him buck inside her. His teeth clamped
together, subduing his rising passion, until he could no longer
stand it. He surged up into her and quickened his pace.

He abandoned himself to the heated pleasure.
Wanting her to reach her peak with him, he slipped his hand between
them and found where he entered her. He rubbed her flesh where it
hugged around him until she whimpered even louder, then slid his
thumb over and over her hard, slick nub until she throbbed around
him.

She stiffened and gripped him with her legs.
Eyes squeezed tight, her body strained as she uttered warbling
cries until she lowered her mouth to his shoulder. Opening wide,
she clamped her teeth on him and held on, never so hard as to
pierce his flesh.

He rode the frenzied wave with her and
groaned as he joined her climax. Spent, he wrapped her in his arms
and turned to the side, exhausted.

o0o

Catalin awoke and peered through strands of
red hair near covering her left eye. A thin line of light crept
through the window opening, warning her it wasn’t long before the
full-blown dawn. She shoved the curly hair aside and looked to find
Ranald had already left the room.

She rolled over the rumpled bed to where he’d
lain. He had been long gone, for the sheets held no warmth. Seeing
the imprint of his head on his pillow, she pulled it into her arms
and nuzzled her face on the white linen. Inhaling deeply, she
closed her eyes to savor his scent.

Memories of their heated discussion of last
eve flashed in her mind. Aggravated at herself for being such a
willing slave to his lightest touch, she thumped the pillow and
scrambled out of bed. Hopefully, Elyne would still be in the great
hall breaking her fast.

Catalin dressed with all speed, not waiting
for Hannah to appear and help her. Though impatient, she was not
such a fool as to go hurtling down the stairwell. Her reduced speed
‘fashed’ her, as Ranald had said once. She giggled.
Fashed
did sound more satisfying than
bothered
.

Once she reached the safety of the great
hall, she hastened to take a seat beside Elyne at the high
table.

“Elyne, why can I not talk to your brother
without becoming so angry I could spit?” Catalin smiled up at the
young servant who placed a steaming bowl of porridge before
her.

“Hm. Sounded to me like ye did a whole lot of
that
spitting
in yer room last eve.” Elyne grinned and
waved a wooden spoon at her.

Catalin, busily selecting cherries and
arranging them in colorful circles atop her porridge, jerked her
head up to look at Elyne and missed her bowl. As plump, red
cherries bounced and rolled toward the edge of the table, she
jumped up to cup her arms and surrounded them. Surely, her heated
face was as red as her hair.