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His arms trembled with the tension in his body, his breath coming in short puffs.
“Faster!” He directed with urgency. She did it, never taking her gaze from his contorted features. “Don’t stop, don’t…ah-ah.” His head fell back with a raw grunt. And then he soaked her hand with something hot and sticky. He kept on thrusting in her fisted palm a few more times until he fell on her.
Catriona retrieved her hand from under the wool to see it covered in that white liquid. She brought her hand to her nose to inhale a spicy scent. The tip of her tongue touched it.
“Hell, Emily!” he said, looking at her. “Do you want me to go hard again?” He seemed enthralled with her tasting of his se
ed.
A mischievous glint came over her face. “Practice makes perfect.”
“Impossible lass!” His tall frame rolled to lean on the trunk, sated and vanquished.
Catriona and Fingal returned to the manor in a calm canter. She had galloped with Debranua for a long time before choosing a spot for her luncheon. The stable hands had exercised the mare in the stockyard in the days she had not time to ride her, so she had missed the dear mare. The ride through woods and meadows dotted with lochs and brooks had been invigorating and soothed the longing for her land a little more.
After a lengthy while under that tree, Catriona had sprung into activity, putting herself to rights, gathering her things to mount and return, mirrored by Fingal.
She blushed anew at the memory of what had transpired on that hill. No sign of embarrassment or shame so far, and she wondered if they would ever make an appearance. They should, for her reputation and for the role Fingal would play in her future.
There were too many complications in said future. Eventually, they would meet as clans, and no one could predict his reaction when he discovered who she was. Knowing him as she did now, not very smooth. They would have a story by then, a secret.
Anna had not the remotest wish to marry a highlander. But their father had stipulated as much, and, despite her sister’s lack of enthusiasm, Catriona doubted she would go against their father’s edict. Too much was at stake in this. Added to that fact, Anna always gave utter importance to alliances, status, and position. This marriage agreement, though not to her satisfaction, meant she would have a place, and a high one, in the McKendrick clan.
Guilt came to her at the thought, at last. The passion that mushroomed every time the blasted laird touched her had been stronger than any resistance. Catriona wondered if she should have tried harder to stop it. She was discovering in herself a woman she had never imagined she would ever be. She knew her desires to be wrong; she regretted them, but found it extremely hard to keep them at bay. How deflating to realise she possessed a passionate nature and that it would not be easily confined.
Perhaps she would be lucky enough to marry Lord Tremaine before Anne’s betrothal and live in the Earl’s seat, avoiding meeting her brother-in-law to be.
Not coward much. She reproached her gauche thought.
What she really must do was to avoid any further…interaction with the McKendrick god, leave here as fast as she could. And resurface in London to attend to her obligations before things got to the point of no return. Of no forgiveness. Or of no forgetting.
Should she manage not to allow the whole…debacle to go too far, she would be able to put everything down to some sort of summer madness and get along with her life.
“What’s her name?” the god in question asked with his sinful rumble.
Catriona rounded on his magnificent figure startled. Great! Now what must she answer? Her name is Debranua, you know, a Gaelic name. What a coincidence!
Yes, right.
Well, why not? The less she lied, the clearer would be her conscience. “I named her Debranua. I read she was the Celtic goddess of speed.”
He directed an appraising look at her. “At least you are not one of those English misses who believes England is the centre of the universe.”
A self-deriding half-smile drew her full lips, swollen by his kisses. “I would never think that.” If he only knew.
“You surely seem to have no problem living away from London,” he commented. His countenance looked less rigid, less tense, his body with more relaxed muscles.
“London bores me. I prefer the country.” They rode through a copse of trees where fresh air and the scent of grass invaded her nostrils. She wished she could stay in the Highlands for life.
“You do surprise me.” His strong hands guided his horse around a big oak tree.
“I’ve always thrived in my family’s country seat.” It seemed right to tell the truth. “My mother prefers London though, so I’m forced to live in the city most of the year.”
He nodded in agreement. “You’re not happy with the arrangement.” She must give points to his perception.
“No, not really.” Her attention flew to the distant green hills.
“Consider yourself invited to visit whenever you want,” he said.
