Virginia Henley (28 page)

Her palms splayed across his broad chest and her fingertips felt the rough texture of the dark furred pelt. He covered her hands with his, then lifted them above her head. “Mistress Impatience, I want to see your breasts,” he whispered hoarsely.

With difficulty, she kept her hands from him, as her breasts thrust up impudently and her nipples became ruched. In that moment she wanted to be the most beautiful female he had ever seen, or touched or lain with. She wanted to wipe away forever the memory of all other women.

Patrick gazed his fill, then dipped his head to trail hot kisses along the inner curves, then took a nipple into his mouth and sucked. Alternating between the delicious mounds, he licked and kissed and tasted, mesmerized by the silken smoothness of her delicate flesh. He reveled in the knowledge that she wanted him to do these things as she arched her breasts against his mouth.

Finally, he cupped her breasts with his large palms and moved his lips up to hers, kissing her fiercely.

Her mouth clung to his, kissing him back hungrily, and she parted her lips, welcoming his plundering tongue. It was rough-textured and demanding, and she imitated his thrusts with her own tongue. She threaded her fingers into his thick black hair, holding him captive while she explored the dark cave of his hot mouth. Then she lifted her lashes to look deeply into his eyes.

He could tell she had never been kissed in this way before and it was a revelation to her, one that she gloried in, as she relished the hot, gliding friction that made her crave more. He lifted his mouth and sat back on his haunches to gaze down at her. Very deliberately, an inch at a time, he pulled up her kilt to reveal her soft mons covered by a profusion of black silky curls. Then his fingers unfastened the pin that held the kilt together and he spread out the plaid on each side of her over the grass.
Hunting plaid is most apt. Predator and prey? I am certainly the predator, but she is the most aggressive prey I’ve ever hunted.
She was also a female who excited him. Cat was extremely petite, exquisitely made and tasting her own sexuality for the first time.

She reached out her hand to stroke him. “Patrick, I want—” She knew not what, only that she wanted it.

“I know what you want, what you need.” He moved from astride her hips and stretched his great length beside her. He feathered his fingers through the curls of her mons, teasing, touching, titillating, until she was moist, then he slid a finger into her tight, scalding sheath and watched the pupils of her golden eyes dilate with pleasure. When she began to writhe, he knew she was ready for more and thrust deeper in a rhythmic motion that aroused her low, sensual moans. She came to a hard climax, quickly, which surprised him. It also pleased him that she was capable of such a passionate response when she had so little carnal experience.

Catherine came up from the grass, sliding her arms about his neck, fusing her mouth to his in a savage kiss that greedily took more than it gave. He mastered her mouth, forcing her to submit and yield her softness to him. She was submissively sweet and compliant for the space of ten minutes while she reveled in his dominance, then she turned into a little wildcat, straddling one of his hard, muscled thighs and riding it while she fastened sharp, small teeth into his shoulder.

Each time she surged forward her soft thigh brushed against his marble-hard phallus, making it quiver with anticipation. Patrick’s powerful hands encircled her tiny waist and he lifted her off his thigh. He rolled onto his back so that he held her above him in midair, and then he slowly lowered her until his mouth was on a level with her woman’s center. He nuzzled her, inhaling the intoxicating female fragrance of flowers and spice and sex. Now it was his turn to become insatiable for the taste and the scent and the feel of her. He laid her back in the grass, wrapped her silken legs about his neck, then began to kiss and lick her pink bud until it unfurled its petals and bloomed like a passionflower. When he thrust his tongue into her sugared sheath, she screamed with excitement and arched into his demanding, beautiful mouth. She built steadily to an unimaginable peak, trying to sustain the exquisite pleasure his pulsing tongue gave, then surrendered in an explosive climax that made her breasts and belly feel as if fire snaked through her veins.

Patrick enfolded her tightly, feathering kisses into the wildly disheveled curls at her temples. He was in an agony of need but controlled himself with an iron will, not daring to unleash the fierce, carnal desire that had been riding him for weeks.

Cat, with her cheek pressed against his chest, could hear the thundering beat of his heart as she inhaled the smell of his man-scented skin. She had been madly curious to know what it was that men did to women, and now she knew some of the secret rituals of sex. What she had learned enthralled her, and now she was ready to experience the intimate act when a male and female joined their bodies in full and total consummation. Her hand slid down to his groin to stroke the phallic object of her desire. “Your mouth was magnificent, but I want you to make love to me with your body.”

Patrick groaned. “Catherine, I cannot.”

“Why?” she asked, completely baffled.

“Hellicate,” he said tenderly, “the disparity in our sizes is too great for a quick roll in the grass. You are a virgin, my sweet. There would be pain and blood; you would receive no pleasure at all. It could make you hate sex forever.”

“But there is bound to be pain and blood whenever I lose my virginity. Please, Patrick?”

“No, Catherine. There’s a time and a place and this isn’t it.”

“Damn you, what time and what place?” she demanded.

“I would need a chamber, a bed, and all the long hours of an entire night before I would dream of initiating you. The answer is no!”

She clenched her fists and smote them against his chest. “You shall, you shall make love to me, Patrick Hepburn!” she commanded.

“Why is it so important to you, Catherine?”

“I must get you out of my system, Hepburn! I am spellbound by you. Though I have an intense dislike of you, I have developed such a strong physical attraction, I fear I have become obsessed. I have to obliterate you from my thoughts so that I can go home and marry a tame English noble!”

The look he gave her was intense, but it masked the horror her words evoked in him.
You will never wed a fucking English noble!

He covered her hands with his and raised them one at a time to his lips. “Softly, Catherine, softly. You must have permission from the queen before you can marry.”

“Only until I come of age. I shall be twenty-one in March.”

He smiled, but the smile did not reach his eyes. “Since you desire it so passionately, how can I refuse to make you a woman?”

She sat back on her heels, ready for whatever was to come, yet suddenly apprehensive. “When?”

She looked small and delicate and vulnerable, like a sacrificial lamb. His smile became tender. “Before moonrise.” He watched as she let out a long breath and wondered if it was from satisfaction at getting her own way, or relief that it would not happen here and now.

Actually, it was a sigh of relief that he had not rejected her. Cat knew she had shattered his indifference when he made love to her with his mouth, but she was convinced it had returned when he was unwilling to share the ultimate intimacy. Her eyes lingered on his powerful body as he strode to Valiant and pulled dry garments from his saddlebags. Then he stalked to the river and submerged. Cat smiled her secret smile.
Cold water is excellent for curbing impulses! Perhaps his control isn’t as iron-clad as he pretends.

She rolled up her Winton hunting plaid and gathered up her wet stockings and undergarments, then suddenly realized that she had forgotten all about Chestnut since Patrick had plucked her from its back. A quick scan of the riverbank located her pony, cropping grass not far away from Valiant. She reached its side with relief. “Good girl to follow us.” She rubbed Chestnut’s nose, then pulled out dry clothes and dressed quickly in the doeskin skirt.
The mare followed the stallion; it is the way of nature.

When Patrick returned from the river he too was fully dressed. “We might as well eat before we depart.”

Catherine agreed, and as they sat on the grass where they had been so intimate, she felt a need to express her feelings. “Riding with the wild herd today filled my heart and soul with joy, and I want to thank you for allowing me to share the experience. I now understand why you like to be alone when you do this every year. It’s a solitary ritual where you can feel a oneness with other living creatures.”

“The reason I agreed to bring you is because you have a deep and abiding love for animals. You too experienced the oneness.”

She took a bite of oatcake. “Also, I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for agreeing to let the stallion remain wild and untamed for another year. That was a divine gift.”

“It was the first time you had experienced a moment of total freedom, something we all lust for. You became so enamored of it, you wanted his freedom to continue.”

“Though I will let the stallion remain in the hills, I still intend to take some of his breeding mares and perhaps a couple of yearlings. He’ll have to make do with a score of mates.”

Is that how many you have had?
Catherine wondered. Then she chided herself for the thought. It did not matter a whit to her how many women Hepburn had bedded. Did it?

“Are you ready to ride, Cat? I’d like to find out where the herd is and keep downwind of them if possible. I’d rather he didn’t know I was stalking them just yet.”

“Yes, I’m ready.” She tucked her hairbrush into her saddlebag and waited for Patrick to assist her. She could have mounted herself but could not resist the temptation of his hands upon her.

They rode northeast, roughly following the winding river Tyne. The salty tang of the North Sea filled the air as they neared the coast. The sea breeze kept them safely downwind from the herd, and after a two-hour search, as they crested a hill, Patrick spotted the horses. “He’s found a lush, protected haven for his clan. They should stay put for a while.”

As Catherine gazed down from the summit, she knew she had never seen anything to compare with the wild beauty of the scene that stretched before her. The rough, craggy rock formations, the lush green valley where the herd grazed and the sparkling sea beyond painted a picture she would never forget.
This is a fateful day in my life, one I will remember forever.

She watched Patrick’s hands as he tightened them on his reins and led Valiant back the way they had come. She followed his path, not knowing where it would lead, but secure in the knowledge that he would fulfill the promise he had made to her. One hill and one dale looked much like another to Catherine, but as the afternoon light began to fade from the sky, she experienced a glimmer of familiarity about her surroundings. It stirred her blood and when she saw the hump of Traprain Law in the gloaming, her pulse began to race.
Hailes! He’s taking me to Hailes Castle.

Chapter Seventeen

V
aliant and the Border pony increased their pace descending the hill, as if they sensed their destination. As the pair of riders approached the ancient castle, it seemed to obliterate whatever light had been left in the day. The hoofbeats of their mounts made a hollow clatter as they crossed the drawbridge, and after a brief wait the portcullis was raised by someone in the barbican.

They walked their horses through the courtyard and stopped before a studded oaken door set in the nine-foot stone wall. Patrick dismounted and knocked. The portal was opened by a man holding a torch. He raised his arm until the light illuminated the face of the tall figure that sought entrance.

Craggy brows drew together momentarily, then cleared. “Yer lordship, is it ye?”

“Aye, Wat. Sorry to disturb your solitude, but I crave your hospitality.” Hepburn jerked his head toward his companion. “The lass slept outdoors last night and I promised her a bed tonight.”

“It’d be an honor. Go an’ stable yer mounts.”

Patrick returned to Catherine and led the two horses to Hailes’s stone stable. There was only one groom on duty because the only mounts in the stable belonged to the workforce of castle keepers. His eyes lit up when Hepburn tossed him a gold coin. “I’ll give ’em oats and a good rubdown, yer lordship.”

Patrick lifted Cat from Chestnut’s back, removed the saddlebags from both animals and hoisted one to each shoulder.

“Everyone knows you,” she murmured shyly.

“They should—they are Hepburns who served when my father owned Hailes. The Earl of Lennox kept them when he took ownership.” He strode through the courtyard and Catherine had to quicken her step to keep up. He kicked the door with his boot and Wat let them in.

Flickering torches set in wall sconces lit the ancient hall. Cat saw Patrick’s looming shadow, its shoulders made massive by the saddlebags. It towered menacingly over the slight shadow cast by her body and his words rushed back to her:
The disparity in our sizes is too great.
Apprehension threatened to engulf her. She pushed it away and kept it at bay by sheer bravado.

“No need to show me the way,” he told Wat. “We’ll use the Master Tower.”

“I’ll bring ye a jug of whisky, yer lordship.”

“It’s not necessary to wear your legs out on the tower steps, Wat. I’ll come back down for the whisky. I’ll take care of all the lass’s needs tonight,” he said with a wink.

They climbed to the second story of the castle, and then took another stone staircase that led up to the chambers of the tower. There were no windows, only narrow apertures from which arrows could be shot at invaders. Patrick lowered the saddlebags to the floor and went to the stair head for a torch. He lit two torches set in brackets and, as some of the darkness was dispelled, he looked about the chamber with a critical eye.