Twenty-Eight

Catherine sensed Jamie’s presence the moment he arrived. It was no surprise. She’d been worried and waiting from the moment she’d discovered him gone. She knew better than most that he was well able to care for himself, but Dublin would have been seething with rumors, rife with treason, and crawling with every species of revolutionary, fanatic, patriot, king’s man, and spy. She’d no doubt he would have enjoyed himself immensely, but somehow, in his absence, she’d become the creature she’d always despised, the forgotten wife stowed safely in her tower while her man lived his life and she waited and prayed for his safe return. Well, bollocks to that!

He was a deeply sensual man, and she’d come to understand the power she wielded. She’d wait for him to come to her. When he was hungry enough she’d insist on knowing what he was up to, where he placed her in his life, and what he expected from the future, and if he couldn’t tell her or he didn’t know, she’d know it was time to move on.

She poured a drink, preparing for battle. Leaning back in the chair, she tilted her head, eyes closed as she held the glass to her nose, savoring the scent captured in its depths: honey, barley, and the rich and musky Highland peat unique to her home. It transported her back to the innocent days of her youth, when her father was all-loving and all-powerful, the horizon stretched before her limitless and beckoning, and everything seemed possible. Fleeting days, gone as quickly and surely as any pretty dream. A painful yearning gripped her and a lone tear escaped her tightly closed eyes.

“Missed me that much, did you?”

She opened her eyes and regarded him in silence. He looked rough and dangerous. He was clad in leather jerkin, boots, and breeches, and his hair hung loose in unruly tangles. He hadn’t shaved or changed, but had come to her straight from the road. Her heart, thumping slow and steady, was so loud to her ears it was a wonder he couldn’t hear. He took another step into the room, and she imagined for a moment that he was as uncertain as she was.

“No? Do you cry for some other lover, then? I wouldn’t blame you. You told me not to tell you, mouse, but I ought to have said goodbye.”

He could see the hurt and anger in her eyes. Why had he left her that way? It had been thoughtless and cruel, things he seldom was with women. She sprawled in a plush leather chair, one magnificent leg hooked over the arm. A glass dangled from her fingers and she was naked beneath a silk chemise that was sliding off her body despite a desperate attempt to cling to every luscious curve. Everything within him stirred to life. Christ, she’s superb!

Riveted, he stalked her, hunger blazing in his eyes. In one quick move he knelt by her chair, gripping the legs and pulling it closer, making both her and the chair squeal in protest. Resting his head in her lap, he drank in her scent, musk and spice, heather and pine.

Unable to resist, she trailed her fingers through his hair, curling round the back of his neck.

“I missed you, Catherine. I missed you on the road, I missed you by my side, and I missed you in my bed. I thought of you every moment.” His voice was rich, deep, and slightly hoarse, and he used it as a caress. He brushed the inside of her thighs with cool fingers, lifting the thin chemise and opening her to his view. Embarrassed to be so exposed, she moved her hands to readjust it, but he muttered an incoherent protest and used both his hands to anchor her by the thighs. She was about to protest when he lowered his mouth to nuzzle her. She would have jumped from the chair if he hadn’t been holding her firmly in place. As it was, she let out a startled gasp. “Jamie, what are you doing?”

Ignoring the question, he continued to nuzzle her, rubbing his chin against the warm juncture between her thighs, feather-light, then harder, whispering tender words and apologies. “You’re so beautiful… so soft and lovely. I’m sorry if I upset you. I should have talked to you before I left. Don’t be angry with me, love. Let me make it up to you.”

A delicious lassitude possessed her, and she couldn’t have summoned her anger, or even the reason for it, if she’d tried. She was unwilling to stop him, and then unable, as his wicked tongue, hot and wet and agile, reached out to caress her with firm, even strokes, his lips nibbling and sucking, his teeth tugging, until she thought she’d go mad with the aching, delirious pleasure coiling and building inside.

She watched him as he knelt before her, fully clothed, his head and mouth and tongue bent over her as his hands gripped her thighs. She felt sinful. It felt heavenly. But he controls it. As he does all our interactions. She blushed when he suddenly raised his gaze to hers as his clever tongue swirled intricate patterns over the center of all her pleasure, now the center of her world. His eyes held hers like a predator, intense and knowing. He continued, nipping and sucking and licking as he raised his hands to her breasts, cupping them, kneading them, flicking and tugging at her nipples, and she left all coherent thought behind.

Waves of pleasure coursed through her. “Please, please, please,” she begged him, whimpering and squirming and wriggling, the leather rubbing her bottom as she desperately lifted her hips toward his hot, seeking mouth. He moved his hands then, one flicking and tickling and stroking, working with his tongue, as the other cupped her buttocks, pulling her closer, tighter against his mouth. His thumb pressed between her cheeks as he continued to sip and drink from her until she was in a frenzy. She cried his name as she exploded into rapturous waves that shook her body one after the other, and still he continued, groaning in satisfaction.

She grasped his shoulders and slid off the chair, landing astride his lap.

“Please, Jamie,” she moaned.

He hugged her close against him, flipping her onto her back, kissing her wildly as they both scrambled frantically to loosen his breeches, fingers brushing, entwining, and working together until he sprang free. Painfully engorged, rock hard, he sought her opening and plunged inside her slick tight heat. Stroking her with hands and tongue and pulsing organ, he slammed against her, pumping and writhing, harder and harder, until she exploded again, bursting from within in a starburst of incredible sensation, gripping him tight inside her as she felt the pulsing and tremors of his own release.

“Oh my God, Jamie, that was incredible!” she said when she could breathe again.

He grinned and gathered her in his arms. Picking her up easily, he deposited her into the bed, jumping in after her, and pulling her close. “This is where I always want to be, mouse. Next time I go somewhere, I’ll tell you first, or I’ll bring you with me. Am I forgiven?” he whispered into her hair.

He’d not even allowed her the time to be angry. With a look and a touch he’d melted her resentment, overcome all her defenses, and laid waste to all her plans. She snuggled closer and kissed his shoulder. “I shouldn’t let you off so easily. It will only encourage bad habits, but I fear I love you far too much to stay angry with you for long.”

She regretted it the instant she said it, and even more an instant later as he stiffened beside her and then sat up.

“Catherine… I thought we’d discussed this,” he said wearily. “It’s important we both understand this is a friendship, nothing more.”

“Nothing more? It’s a marriage, for God’s sake!”

“Quite so. And how many of our married acquaintances do you know who are as good friends as you and I? Do you want to jeopardize that? We’ll both be happier if you’ll just accept things as they are.”

“You mean if we follow your rules? Friends care about each other, Jamie!”

“So they do, and I don’t deny that you’ve wormed your way into my affections, but I have trouble enough making my way in the world, Catherine. Can’t you see I’m trying my best to keep everything under control? Things are complicated right now. I’m dealing with a difficult situation. I have to look out for Sullivan and his scold of a mother, all the people here, horses, cats, dogs, children, and now you. I have my hands full already without adding unnecessary complications.”

“I’ve wormed my way in, have I? With your servants and horses and all the other poor creatures you’ve rescued? And we’re terrible distractions, are we? So bad that you have to run away? We distract you from what, my lord? Your busy social calendar? Your successful enterprises? Oh, no! I do beg your pardon! From your plotting and drinking and gambling and whores! Well, let me tell you something, Sinclair. You might have rescued me once, but I have rescued you three times, and I do a damn good job of taking care of myself! Get off my chemise!” She tugged franticly, reclaiming her chemise and wrapping it furiously around her body. “Now get out!” She pointed at the door.

“Catherine… I didn’t mean to—”

“Out! Out! Get out!”

“It’s my room, love,” he said calmly.

“I’m not your love! Don’t ever call me that again. You haven’t the right! Now step aside please, so I may leave, and rest assured I’ll endeavor to be gone from here as quick as I can so your life can return to what it was before I came along and complicated it.”

“Catherine! Damn it! I’m trying to be honest with you.”

“And I should be grateful for it, I suppose, but I find myself wishing that sometimes you’d lie.” She’d managed to keep her dignity this far, but she was desperate to leave before she burst into tears, embarrassing them both.

“You see? This is exactly what I feared. You said you understood. I’m very fond of you, Catherine. More so than anyone in my life. You’re my best friend. Someone I can talk to and count on and be myself with. I don’t want to lie to you. I don’t want to have to. Once you start talking about love and such nonsense, everything gets ruined. There’s anger and jealousy and lies, and you spend all your time worrying about the other person’s feelings. I’m not good at that. Only look! I’ve made you shout and cry. I witnessed enough of this with my parents. I know where it leads. You’ll end up hating me and I’ll end up hurting you. I don’t need that. I don’t want it. I won’t have it.”

“Damn it, Jamie! People argue. It doesn’t mean… It’s normal! And don’t you dare walk out on me while I’m talking to you! Your father was a bully and a tyrant, and your mother was shallow and disloyal. We are not them! You’d never hurt me. I broke your nose. I hit and kicked you. I bit you and all you did was laugh. You don’t want to lie to me? Well, I don’t want to lie to you either. I want to love you. I do love you, but I love myself, too. If you don’t want what I have to offer, if you can’t give it back in return, then you’re right, and this is wrong, and I should go.”

Her hair was disheveled, her lovely face stained with tears and he felt a gut-wrenching ache that spread to his chest and squeezed his throat. “There are things that hurt worse than blows. Trust me on this. You have my friendship and I need yours. You said it would be enough.” He took a step toward her and stopped. “Please don’t go, Catherine. I don’t want you to leave. Promise me you won’t do anything foolish.”

“Like what? Jump in the river because you don’t love me?” she snapped. “Go away, you conceited man!”

He wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her, but short of telling her what she wanted to hear, he had no idea what to do or say. He took the escape she offered and retreated from the room.

* * *

His attempt at making things right between them had ended in dismal failure, and he was expected back in Dublin within a week. He walked along the river’s edge, deep in thought. He’d met with agents of William while in Dublin, and those of Henry Sydney, who represented a cabal of seven influential English lords. They intended to issue a formal invitation to William and his wife, James’s eldest daughter Mary, to land with a small force and defend Mary’s rights as heir to the throne. They claimed the new prince was a changeling, and the king’s true son had died being born. Preposterous, yes, but a convenient excuse. They offered to rise in support, promising that William would be greeted as a liberator. It wasn’t farfetched. Until the birth of James’s son, Mary had been second in line to the throne, and William, third. Both were Stuarts, Protestant, and grandchildren of Charles I.

Jamie had met William while performing duties for King Charles. He was a good soldier, but though he’d acquired the reputation of being a champion of the Protestant cause, he’d never seemed particularly interested in England. Still, this new Catholic heir, coming on the heels of a naval agreement between England and France, had doubtless caused him concern. A Catholic Britain would be a natural ally of France against the Netherlands, something he’d want to avoid, and Jean, who was in a position to know, had made it clear he was not averse to accepting a formal invitation from his English friends.

Jamie had been asked to deliver one to The Hague, using his talents to see that it wasn’t intercepted. He would go as a common seaman. It was a delicate business, with the future of England, Scotland, and Ireland balanced on the edge of bloody revolution, and Europe on the brink of yet another war. It was an opportunity to help his country avert another rebellion. He would earn the gratitude of his countrymen and his new monarch, and would be amply rewarded in return.

There was no doubt in his mind that James II was bad for England. He was incapable of nuance, blind to circumstance, and committed to a course that would destroy him and all those who gave him their support, but although Jamie changed masters as it suited him, he’d always done so in a forthright way, completing his commission, collecting his pay, and keeping his own counsel. He’d never stooped to betrayal. Now he had to decide between his own honor and the good of his country.

His lips quirked in a smile as recalled one of Buckingham’s quips from Charles’s day. “Charles could see things if he would, and the duke would see things if he could.” He missed that man, rogue and scoundrel though he was. He could use someone to talk with. Catherine had cured him of the habit of solitude, and then cruelly banished him back to it again. He’d come home in part to seek her opinion, whether she wanted to hear about it or not. She was his wife, damn it! He could bloody well use some advice!

“Don’t tell me things I don’t want to know.” What kind of help was that? “I find myself wishing you’d lie to me sometimes.” She was as perverse and contradictory as any woman, probably worse. Right now, they should be together, snug in his bed. He’d fumbled things with her like a green lad. His palm itched as he imagined the feel of a rounded breast and pert nipple, and he swelled and twitched as he imagined the feel of her lush bottom pressed firmly against him.

Why not tell her what she wanted to hear? He wasn’t even sure it would be a lie. God knew he’d only made a mess of things the way he’d managed her up until now. He wasn’t welcome in her bed and she wouldn’t even talk with him. He sighed and folded his arms. He was running out of time and there seemed little point in trying to sort things out right now. He’d leave her a letter; attend to his business, and when he returned, he’d settle the discord between them for good or ill. Relieved to have a plan in which he didn’t have to face her, he scribbled a hasty note, and slid it under her door.