Chapter 15
Afew hours later,in kelpie form, Torr carried Catriona on his back, her fingers clutching at his long mane. His hooves thudding upon the moonlit moor, he drew the cool night air into his sensitive nose. Her appealing, feminine fragrance surrounded him, and 'twas a challenge to smell anything else.
He got a whiff of the nearby loch, the damp humus-scented peat, and the decaying vegetation. When the distinct and pleasant aroma of wood smoke reached him, he followed it. Most common people burned peat, which emitted a bitter smoke, but a well-heeled lady like Wilona might afford wood for a fire.
He kept to the easiest route through the glen to make the ride smoother for Cat. The moon's glow illuminated the rocks scattered about.
He paused at the edge of a copse of trees, overlooking a sizable stone manor house. The scent of the burning wood was near overwhelming as it hung in the humid air. But just beyond it, he detected the strange bittersweet tang of the witch.
He snorted, trying to rid himself of the stench.
"Is that where the witch is?" Cat whispered.
Torr nodded and pricked his ears to listen. A muffled male rumble reached him, a high-pitched laugh and other more questionable sounds. 'Twas apparent Alpin and Wilona were indulging in a lovers' romp in the wee hours of the morn. He'd had no inkling they were having a fling, but it made sense, despite the fact Wilona was old enough to be his mother. Somehow, she'd maintained an air of youth. Most likely with a magical formula.
Now, Torr and Cat had to wait until dawn when he would return to his human form. He would see if he could convince her to hide in the wood while he slipped in to steal the keek-stane. 'Twould not be safe for her inside.
***
AT DAYLIGHT, TORR SHIFTEDbehind a cluster of bushes. When the pain of his transformation ebbed away, he arose and pulled the long linen shirt over his head. He glanced up to find Cat watching him. Her eyes darkened with need, near driving him mad. He was glad she liked the sight of him, but he would hold that thought for later. Trying to hurry, he belted his plaid and pulled on his boots.
"You must stay here and hide in the wood," he whispered, opening his sporran to ensure the Rowan cross was inside.
"Nay," she said firmly and a bit too loud. "I'm going to help. If you leave me here, I'll follow."
He ground his teeth. "Your stubbornness astounds me," he said dryly.
"Humph. It shouldn't. You've known me a long time."
"Very well, but you must stay close to me and do what I say."
"I will."
He took her cool, delicate hand, and they slipped closer to the two-story stone manor house.
Cat's wondrous, sensuous scent only compounded his yearning for her.
The previous day, he'd stupidly gone against his good judgment and succumbed to his lust for her. He was irritated with himself—nay, infuriated beyond measure. By taking her innocence, he'd ruined her life and likely struck his own deathblow. When this was over, and the dust cleared, at least two people would hunt him down with swords, including one of his best friends.
An apology would be of no benefit. What was done was done.
Of course, he wanted to offer for her, but he had naught of material value. While he was a gentleman of the clan and a knight, he was shunned because of the curse, unable to perform his clan duties. Only his brother protected him. To anyone who questioned the situation, he was "ill" and not to be disturbed.
He tried to put the whole vexing situation from his mind and focus on the task at hand—stealing the damnable keek-stane.
He gazed toward the wooden gate and high rock wall. All was quiet inside the house now.
"How do we get beyond the gate and inside?" Cat whispered.
"You are skilled at asking questions," Torr said. He was tired of one useless errand after another. As of yet, naught had led one step closer to breaking the curse, for him nor for Brodie. Plus, he didn't like putting the lass in this much danger. He had to protect her while they stole the keek-stane.
"And you are skilled at not answering them," Cat said. "Why are you cross with me?"
"I'm nay cross," he snapped, then glanced at her displeased expression. Her blue eyes shimmered with hurt. Maybe he was unusually surly today. He would try to be more courteous. In truth, he'd rarely been in an agreeable mood since being turned into a kelpie. "Very well. My temper is nay the best," he muttered.
"You simply enjoy being a horse's arse?" she asked.
"Interesting choice of words."
