Virginia Henley (30 page)

At last Patrick took possession of her mouth. His kisses deepened and roughened with his mounting desire until she was weak with longing. His strong fingers splayed through her hair and held her captive for his mouth’s ravishing. His lips traced a hot trail, seeking the pulse points on her temple, behind her ear, and at the base of her throat. Her scent filled his nostrils, making them flare with carnal desire, and his insistent hands pushed her down to the red carpet and slid a gold cushion behind her head and another beneath her bottom. Heat leaped between them, arousing a smoldering need that cried out to be quenched.

Cat writhed wantonly as she clawed at his shoulders. “Please.”

“Mmm, you please me very much. Will you promise to be brave?”

She nodded her head, unable to speak coherently, but sure she was ready for this cataclysmic mating that would make her a woman. When he came over her, his knees on either side of her hips, she was suddenly aware of the enormous contrast between them. His big, powerful body, all muscle and sinew, with its great strength and raw male virility, reminded her of the wild black stallion.

As he gazed down at her he was acutely aware of how small and fragile she looked. His great size emphasized her smallness. His hardness made her all the softer. Her smooth flesh was ivory pale, virginal, and her face ethereal, beautiful ... in his eyes she was absolute perfection. He reached between her legs and with thumb and forefinger separated the delicate folds; then he poised, knowing the flames from the fire would heat her soft flesh to hot silk. “Wrap your legs about my back, sweetheart.”

Slowly, firmly, he rubbed the swollen head of his phallus against her lips, using the drops of his own clear lubricant to make her sleek. Then he thrust down into her scalding sheath and felt her hymen tear at the same moment he heard her cry out. He held absolutely still. “Are you all right, Cat?”

She let out a slow whispery breath. “Yes.” Because he held himself motionless the pain quickly subsided. She took a deep breath, then another, and knew she would never experience anything more magnificent than the fullness she felt when Patrick Hepburn was inside her body. She relaxed her rigid muscles and he slid in deeper, moaning at the unbelievable pleasure she gave him.

“Hold on tight.” He rolled gently until she was in the dominant position. “When you are on top you can take as little or as much of me as you wish. When you are ready, move up and down; ride me. Only do what brings you pleasure, Catherine.”

She gazed into his eyes, black with passion, and, tentatively at first, began to move. Her sheath closed sleekly around him, and the hot, sliding friction began to build in a tantalizing rhythm, taking her higher until she was in a frenzy of need. She threw back her head, undulating her body, and cried out urgently at the exquisite sensations she felt as he cupped her breasts.

He felt her shiver and he thrust upward twice, then held still to enjoy her liquid tremors. Only his iron control stopped him from spending until he withdrew. She fell upon him in a wanton sprawl, biting his shoulder to stop her from screaming. His hands stroked down her smooth back and cupped her bottom cheeks possessively as she experienced every last pulsation. For him, magic danced in the air.
Before dawn I’ll make love to you again, but I shall be in the dominant position,
he vowed.

They lay entwined without moving or speaking for a long time. Catherine knew she had been changed forever. She had experienced the hymeneal right that transformed her from a maiden to a woman. But she also felt safe and secure locked in his arms. More, she felt invincible, for now she had his great strength to add to her own. In her innocence she thought she had enslaved him.

Holding her tightly, Patrick got to his feet and carried her to the bed. He took a corner of the sheet and gently wiped the smear of blood from her thigh, then he climbed in beside her, enfolded her in his arms and brushed his lips against her temple.

Cat raised her eyes to an aperture in the high stone wall. She smiled her secret smile when she saw that the moon had risen, then luxuriating in the warmth of his big body, she drifted into sleep.

When she awoke the candles were burned away and shafts of sunlight poured through the wall’s apertures. She was alone in the bed and her first thought was:
How dare he leave me?

“Hepburn! Hepburn! Where the devil are you?”

Wat appeared at the door. “I’m here, lass.”

She clutched the covers to her breast. “Where’s Patrick?”

“His lordship departed at dawn, but he’ll be back, lassie. He gave instructions tae have a bath waitin’ fer ye when ye awoke.” He jerked a thumb in the direction of the other chamber, then left.

When Cat was sure he was gone, she slid her feet to the carpet, pulled the sheet about her and went to the next room. She saw steam rising from behind the ivory screen. Cat looked at herself in the mirror, lifting away the sheet to examine her naked reflection. Her body looked the same, yet not the same, and she realized she was looking at herself through different eyes. She abandoned the cover and slid down into the lovely warm water. A flood of memories washed over her.

The first time she had awakened in the bed, they shared a hundred blissful kisses. He aroused her desire slowly, until she was hot and sweet with passion, and then he mounted her in the primal act of domination and submission and mastered her as she yielded her body and her heart to him. She blushed, remembering.
How innocent and naïve I was to think I could get him out of my system. Last night he became a part of me forever.

She finished her bath and returned to the other chamber to dress. She put on a demure bodice and full-length riding skirt, blushing when she saw the Winton hunting plaid.
I was shamefully impulsive to wear such a thing!

Cat was brushing her hair when Patrick returned. “Where have you been?” she asked shyly.

“Getting what I came for ... my horses. I secured eight mares and a couple of yearlings. The stallion put up a hell of a fight for his females but, as I promised, I let him remain free.”

“Thank you, Patrick,” she said softly.

His black eyes raked her from head to foot. “Well, Hellcat, did you get me out of your system?”

It was such a callous thing to say, she wanted to fly at him and rake her nails down his dark, arrogant face. “Yes! And a bloody good thing I did. I wouldn’t want to put myself through that ordeal again, Hepburn!”

Chapter Eighteen

A
s Catherine rode beside Patrick on their journey back to Crichton, she decided that her impulsive words had been cruel. He had kept his word about making love to her because she had insisted she wanted to get him out of her system. Though his remark when he entered the bedchamber this morning had been a shock, she was recovering.
He isn’t a lapdog; he’s a rough Scots Border lord,
she reminded herself,
and he did call me sweetheart last night.

She glanced back at the string of mares and yearlings he was leading and told herself that the only reason he had let the stallion remain free was to please her. Cat decided to break the silence between them by using the feminine tactic of getting him to talk about himself. “How did you capture the horses?”

He flashed a quick grin. “It wasn’t easy, but I’ve done this before. Divide and conquer is the only method that works. With Valiant’s help I separated the herd into three. The stallion rounded them back up by
snaking,
where he puts his head down in a threatening posture and encircles them, galloping like a demon. The minute he had them back together in one band, I did it again. While he was busy rounding up two small herds, I secured the third one and got myself eight mares and two yearlings.” He glanced back at the wild horses with satisfaction. “The mad bugger did come after me, but Valiant deterred him. I’m hoping most of the mares are in foal. Wild horses make good dams ... mothers.”

“You never speak of
your
mother”—Cat’s words were deliberately personal—“though you often speak of your father.”

Hepburn remained silent, deep in thought. Then he said lightly, “About a month after my father went into exile, she followed him to Italy.”

“Weren’t you rather young at that time?”

“I was twelve. Old enough and certainly big enough to fend for myself,” he said with a dismissive shrug.

She abandoned you! Mine never actually left, but she abandoned me emotionally.
Cat said softly, “It must have been a difficult choice for her to make, between her husband and her son.”

“It didn’t seem to be. It did prove to be an unfortunate choice, however. She died in childbed in less than a year.”

I’m sorry.
Cat had more good sense than to say it aloud; Hepburn would never tolerate pity.

They stopped once at midday to water the horses and let them graze. He shared food with her that he’d brought from Hailes, but he wanted to press on. “Cat, if you are up to riding until dusk, we can make it back to Crichton tonight.”

She assured him she was comfortable in the saddle, relieved that they would not have to sleep together on the ground. At Crichton, she would be Lady Catherine, and all the proprieties would have to be observed.

It was full dark when they arrived. Hepburns appeared immediately from the castle and the stables to take care of the wild horses. “I’ll give our mounts a good rubdown. You go and relax. My housekeeper will feed you or prepare you a bath—you won’t even need to ask. I’ll escort you home tomorrow.”

Crichton’s housekeeper met her at the door. “Lady Catherine, I know you must be hungry. You may eat now, or have your bath first and mayhap dine with his lordship later?”

“A bath would be paradise. I’ve been in the saddle all day.”

The housekeeper rolled her eyes in despair. “He has no idea! He treats a lady like a wench and wenches like ladies, I warrant.”

Cat couldn’t wait to rid herself of the disheveled riding clothes. After she bathed, she put on the most elegant gown she had brought from Seton and decided to take the time to fashion her hair into an elaborate upswept style, threaded with pearls.

Patrick encountered Jock in the stables. “Since I captured the horses this morning near Hailes, I’ve had an uneasy feeling I couldn’t shake. I didn’t waste any time returning.”

“The watch reported riders on Crichton land last night. I rode out with half a dozen moss-troopers but found no one. Nothing was raided, but I’ve ordered a double watch for tonight.”

Hepburn nodded. “Good man.” He gave Valiant and the Border pony a feed of oats and went straight to his chamber, where he rid himself of his heavy boots and rough riding attire and then bathed. Dressed in a fine linen shirt and soft Italian leather shoes he went to seek out his housekeeper about food.

“Your dinner is ready, my lord. Lady Catherine chose to wait and dine with you.”

Patrick frowned. He had expected Cat to seek her bed after so many hours in the saddle. He went into the small chamber off the library that he used when he ate alone. He was about to sit down at the table, which had been set for two, when she arrived. She was wearing something so ethereal she looked like a gossamer goddess, and his mouth went dry at the sight of her. He held a chair for her, and with an enchanting smile she took her seat. His hands moved to caress her shoulders just as his housekeeper carried in a large, silver covered dish and a jug of ale, so with difficulty he refrained and took the chair opposite Catherine.

When he lifted the cover, the succulent smell of the beef-steak and vegetables piqued their appetites. Without asking, Patrick served Cat a generous portion and set it before her.

She picked up the jug and filled his tankard. “You enjoy ale from your own brew house.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Yes, it quenches my thirst.”
I thirst for you, Catherine.

He began to eat, but his eyes never left her lovely face. She ate daintily, licking her lips with the tip of her pink tongue, and desire rose up in him like a smoldering torment.

Catherine’s glance lingered on his powerful hands, moved to his mouth, lifted to meet his dark eyes, then with a hint of a blush she smiled and lowered her lashes. Any seeing their eyes meet would take them for bound lovers, longing to claim each other.

The hot, heavy ache in his groin made Patrick’s arousal rampant. He tried in vain to tamp down his desire, telling himself that he could not seduce her under his own roof, but the need remained, crouching like a raptor waiting for an opportunity to strike.

Cat basked in the warmth of his ardent glances. When they were alone together like this, his compelling presence almost overwhelmed her. The sweet, lingering ache in her belly and breasts was like a silken torment stirring the memory of his scent, his taste, his touch.

But even their formal attire was a barrier against intimacy, reminding them they were a lord and a lady, rather than a rough Borderer and his wench.

The candles burned low, and the shadows deepened in the corners of the room; the sweetmeats sat forgotten as his hand covered hers where it lay on the table. She curled her fingers into his palm and heat leaped between them.

The housekeeper appeared in the shadowed doorway. “Excuse me, yer lordship; there’s a messenger just arrived.”

“Thank you. The meal was just what we needed.”

Cat stood up and came around the table.

Patrick took her fingers to his lips. “Please excuse me, Catherine.” He could hardly bear to relinquish her. “I’ll see you in the morning.” He cursed silently as he watched her leave.

Hepburn made his way to the Great Hall, located in the oldest part of Crichton, where he knew the messenger would be taken. He was not surprised to see that the man sitting by the fire and quaffing ale wore the king’s livery. He took the letter, slit the royal seal with his thumbnail and read the missive.