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This afternoon in the loch had been delectable, although she had no business allowing it. She held no regrets about the…interlude itself. But he would be the man her sister must marry and she, well, would do the same with another man, now with a full education on what might transpire in the chamber. Or wherever the mood took it, for that matter.
Darn it! She had gone far, too far. Had he granted her wish, she would be completely initiated in the arts of the, say, alcove. And still she would have no regrets about the occurrence itself, unless it brought consequences, then she would be out of her depth.
Having gone to this length, she got a clear idea she owed him
an explanation. She did not know him that well yet, but there remained no doubt that, should he sniff out knowledge of her parentage, he would waste no time in talking to her father. Fingal would take her to the McTavish manor in chains if she refused to go. The entire Highland would get word of it, her reputation torn and thrashed. She would break her mother’s heart and make her father bitter.
You should have thought of this before you travelled, you ninny! The admonishment served for nothing. Who would have thought she would get these ragged feelings for the very man her father had designated for her sister? All she had wanted was to see her beloved Highlands after being away for so long.
On the other hand, if she continued incognito, the whole thing would remain a secret that would probably lose importance in time. No one would get hurt and everything would go to plan. Naturally, she would have to count on her ability to keep it quiet.
She tightened the wrap she had thrown over her nightgown. Despite the day’s warm temperature, the night became cool. Inhaling the fresh air, her dark gaze lifted up to the limpid night and its waning crescent moon.
Perhaps, at this point, less damage would befall everyone involved if she did not come clean at all. Her sister would take time to get married. The blasted laird had taken no interest in his intended, had not written, visited, or started any form of communication. This lack of communication was readily mimicked by Anne, who did not relish the idea of leaving London. It might be a few years before this came to fruition. Until then, he would become a yellowed memory for Catriona. And he would surely not even remember her name. She got a fair notion of how men went about collecting trysts. They said Lachlan was the clan’s Casanova, but every man kept skeletons in his closet. Or former paramours, in this case.
Why should she not? Have one skeleton in her closet, that is. At the very least, she would not dread her wedding night. Though she would dearly lament the groom. The washed-down, pale-in-comparison groom.
Steps sounded behind her, then a tall figure sat at her back, one strong leg at each of her sides. The scent of green woods and man was already familiar. He wrapped powerful arms around her, and she leaned on his broad chest.
“Can’t sleep either?” he rasped in her ear as he traced the organ with feathery lips.
She sighed with the pleasure of his presence. “No.” Her head fell back on his shoulder, the long midnight tresses appearing from under the wrap.
The dark sky blinked with billions of stars she had not taken notice of until that moment.
“We may as well sit here and watch the planets journey the universe.”
For years and years, she contemplated.
“In London, it’s impossible to see this sky, with the fog and light,” she commented.
“Dreadful place, I’d say.” The deep voice was a caress to her ears.
Catriona merely nodded in agreement.
“Did you know we can see the Aurora Borealis here?” He asked, referring to the Northern Lights.
Of course she did; she had seen them countless times. “Can we?” she replied.
“They are the most beautiful in autumn, though.”
“Pity I won’t be here to see them.” This was true.
“Once, I sat here and suddenly the sky tinted with green, purple, yellow. A feast of colours.”
“Waxing poetic, Mr McKendrick?” she teased.
He rumbled a chuckle. “Call me this one more time and see what happens.”
“What?” she challenged. The idea evoked all kinds of wicked thoughts in her; she shivered, imagining the delight.
He must have thought she was cold because he rolled his tartan around them, cocooning both.
“Wait and see.” His arms tightened around her.
The heat of him, his scent, the strength emanating from his frame lulled her and infiltrated that traitorous wish for longer with him. It felt as if they had formed a bond of some sort, or she held a connection with him that had no chance to go any further. She forced her mind to dispel the notion.
“You like it here,” he murmured, lips just below her lobe.
