Five
 

Gregor was too tired to pay his brother’s vague comments any mind. He fell asleep as soon as his head landed on the pillow.

But instead of relaxed and sated (as he surely would have been had Màiri shown up in the barn), his sleep was restless and definitely un-sated. He dreamed of dancing golden-brown eyes, delicate dark brows, a turned-up nose, and a naughty mouth. A naughty mouth with soft, dark red lips that were wrapped around him, sucking—

A scream tore through the night, piercing like icy nails driven through his ears. He shot awake, the lustful dreams that had gripped his body instantly cooled by shock.

His first thought was that Cate was having another nightmare. The first couple of years at Dunlyon she’d been plagued by them, but they’d grown less frequent as the years went on. But Cate’s screams were of terror—they weren’t the shrill, high-pitched wail of the banshee that went on and on until his skull felt like it was going to explode.

Not Cate, he realized. Then what the hell was it?

By the time the second scream came hard on the heels of the first, this one longer and—if possible—shriller, he was already out of bed, pulling on his breeches. He threw open the door and was about to bang on his brother’s door, when it suddenly opened. A ghostly figure in white came flying out of the darkness toward him.

Instinctively—so as not to be barreled over—he caught the apparition to him. His body shocked at the contact. A rush of awareness poured through him like molten lava, hot and heavy through his veins. His nerve endings flared, his senses sharpened, and the heat … the heat engulfed him.

It wasn’t a ghost. The very real body pressed against his—nay, molded into his—was achingly female. Unusually firm and surprisingly solid for a lass, perhaps, but still un-mistakingly soft and sweet.

Cate.

Her gasp of surprise tangled with his groan of something far more primal. Lust. Raw, physical, primitive lust that took hold of him and wouldn’t let go.

She looked up, and their eyes met in the semi-darkness. He saw her confusion, her innocence, and her desire. Her very womanly desire.

For a moment that was all he saw. The connection was so strong, so visceral, it seemed everything else faded away. The horrible screeching. The time. The place. The voice of reason. His thoughts became a dark tunnel of need that led only to the woman in his arms.

He wanted to drown in her. To push her up against the wall, cover her mouth with his, and give in to the desire roaring through his body. He didn’t know what the hell was happening to him. The control he always felt had deserted him. He was wild.

The arm wrapped around her waist instinctively tightened, drawing her even closer. Her eyes widened, as she no doubt felt what he did. Bodies plastered together, her breasts crushed against his chest, her stomach nestled against the substantial bulge of his manhood, their legs entwined. Like a lock that had slipped into place, each part had been fitted together precisely.

Perfectly.

Christ, it felt incredible. She felt incredible. The heat started move to lower, to swell in his groin, to fill his cock and tighten his bollocks.

Every muscle in his body went rigid to battle the urges racing through him. The lust came on him so quickly and powerfully, it seemed impossible to hold back—especially for a man who’d never had to hold it back before. It had always been so easy for him—maybe too easy. When he wanted a woman, he never had to ask.

But this was different. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d ever wanted a woman this intensely. It must be some damned perverse bone in his body making him want her precisely because he couldn’t have her.

You can’t have her. The voice penetrated the haze that had engulfed him.

But he didn’t want to let her go. How could something that felt so damned right be so damned wrong?

Cate had wanted him to be struck by the lightning bolt, but instead she was the one who felt as if her entire world had shifted.

Her knowledge of love and romance was the bards’ tales of a young girl. Sweet and tender, the gentle flutter of heartstrings at the thought of his lips touching hers for the first time in a chaste, reverent kiss. The kind of kiss a knight might give his lady after championing her on the tournament lists. That was what she’d pictured it would be like between them. That was all she knew.

But when Gregor caught her in his arms and held her against him, the picture changed forever. What she felt wasn’t sweet or romantic or chaste at all. The cravings of her body weren’t gentle flutters but a torrential thunderstorm of need, hot and powerful and a little—maybe a lot—wicked.

The images flashing through her head weren’t of gallant knights bowing over their fair maidens’ hands proclaiming their undying love, but of dark, sultry chambers and naked limbs entwined in bedsheets.

Sweet heaven, he was naked! Or rather, half of him was naked. And with her wearing only a thin linen shift, the feel of his powerful chest against hers was unlike anything she’d ever imagined. It made her hot and flushed and weak all over.

Instinctively her hands had slid around his shoulders when he caught her to him, and that was where they stayed, molded to the smooth, bare skin and hard, bulging muscle. He was so warm. She wanted to sink into him and never let go.

She’d known he was strong and powerfully built, but seeing him in the flesh was an entirely different kind of knowledge. The kind of knowledge that once awakened would never be put to rest again.

He’d been forged like a weapon of war, all lean, rigid muscle and tight sinew, without an ounce of spare flesh of which to speak. His shoulders were square and broad, his arms thick with rounded slabs of muscle, his waist narrow, and his stomach lined with layer after layer of tight rope-like bands. He was as hard as granite, yet impossibly warm—almost hot—to the touch. Especially where their bodies met.

She was hot, too, her skin flushed and strangely sensitive. She’d never felt like this before. The sensations—her thoughts and desires—shocked her. Confused her. Making her feel like she was seeing him for the first time.

She’d never imagined what the sight and feel of a man’s naked chest could do to her. She’d never imagined the hot flush that would claim her body. The heaviness in her breasts and loins. The unmistakable flicker of awareness between her legs, and then the strange dampness. She’d never imagined wanting to run her hands all over someone’s body, wanting to feel the hard ridges and muscular bulges tightening under her fingertips.

But his naked chest did all of that.

It was just as perfect as the rest of him, glowing warm and golden in the light from the single torch that lit the hall. How was it possible for one man to be so blessed? It was as if God had set out to create a man who would make women fall to their knees.

She’d wanted Gregor MacGregor from the moment she’d seen him staring down at her in that well. But this was a different kind of want. It was much more powerful. It was the want of a woman for a man that came not just from the heart but from somewhere bone-deep and elemental. It was the want that could make a woman lose her virtue.

Until this moment, Cate had never really understood what could have made her mother—such a perfect lady in every other respect—do what she did. Now she had an inkling of just how easy it would be to lose herself in a man’s arms.

Did Gregor feel it, too?

When their eyes met, Cate saw a myriad of emotions crossing his face, none of which she could decipher.

The screaming stopped as abruptly as it had started. Yet for a long heartbeat, neither of them moved. “Gregor, I …”

She didn’t know what to say. Her emotions were too big to put into words.

He dropped her so suddenly, her legs almost didn’t have enough time to find their bones.

“What was that noise?”

Cate blinked. The question was so matter-of-fact, his expression so neutral, had she not been there, she would have never guessed that a moment ago he had been holding her as if he would never let her go.

She felt like she’d been knocked over by a battering ram. Her body was still flushed with arousal—her skin prickling, her nipples throbbing, her belly fluttering—and he was as cool and unruffled as always. Even without clothes on to ruffle!

Had he felt nothing? Was the fierce attraction not between them at all, but one-sided? Her sided? Did nothing touch him?

She stared at him, peering closer in the darkness. This time she detected the faint tightness around his mouth, the clenching of his fists, and the stiff set of his shoulders. His muscles, too, every God-blessed one of them, seemed to be slightly flexed and rigid. Like those of a man fighting for control. Holding himself back.

Her eyes narrowed. Perhaps he wasn’t quite as unaffected as he wanted her to think.

As if he could read her mind, his expression hardened. “Go back to your room, Caitrina. I will track down the source of the screaming.”

She bit her lip and gave an apologetic smile. “There is no need. It was Maddy. She has an earache and wakes up sometimes.”

He cocked a brow. “Sometimes?”

Her apologetic smile turning wincing. “Sometimes every night.”

He groaned, raking his fingers back through his hair. There was some kind of marking on the top of his arm, but that wasn’t what made her suck in every gasp of air in her lungs. Good God in heaven! The flex of muscle in his arm …

Her stomach did a little flip and dove straight for her toes.

“Can nothing be done?” he asked.

She forced her eyes from the ripped ball of arm muscle, trying to grasp a thread of coherent thought in her head. “Uh, the healer gave us a poultice, and warm blankets seem to help. But from the sound of it, Lizzie has it under control now. She sleeps in the room with her.”

His gaze pinned hers. Obviously, he didn’t like something she’d said. “And who do you sleep with, Caitrina? Why do I find you coming out of John’s room?”

It took Cate a moment to realize what he meant. When she did, all she could do was stare at him with her mouth open. He thought she and John …?

She straightened. How dare he! Unlike certain people in this corridor, she did not share her bed with whoever happened to be conveniently around. She had not been the one spoon-feeding Màiri bites of food all night. Food that Cate had gone to all that trouble to have prepared, including the special sugar-and-cinnamon biscuits she’d made herself. All his favorites. Everything perfect. Not that he’d noticed, blast it. How could he, when his face had been in Màiri’s bosom all night?

He wasn’t usually so obvious with his liaisons, but this time was different. It was almost as if he wanted her to notice.

Now Cate was the one clenching her fists. She wanted nothing more than to tell him exactly what she thought of his accusation, but her mother’s (and Lady Marion’s) words came back to her as they had all night long. “Ladies don’t have tempers, Caty. Men don’t want a shrew for a wife.”

Apparently men wanted a giggling ninny with big breasts! But Cate kept her unkind thoughts about the widow to herself.

Cate’s smile was so forced and brittle she thought her face might crack. “I moved down here to make room for the children. John slept in your chamber until Maddy became sick, when he decided he preferred the barracks.”

“So you are sleeping in the …”

“In the room next to yours, yes,” she finished. Why did he look so gray? “Is there something wrong with that?”

The muscle below his jaw started to tic from being squeezed so tightly, but he shook his head. “Nay.”

She frowned. “Are you all right? It sounds like you have something in your throat. Oh goodness, I hope you are not coming down with a—”

“I’m fine,” he growled, grabbing the wrist of the hand that was reaching for his forehead.

He shoved her hand back to her side and let go, but she could still feel the imprint of his hand around her wrist like a manacle.

“You don’t sound fine, you sound angry. If it’s about the sleeping arrangements or you holding me in your arms earlier—”

“I wasn’t holding you in my arms, damn it!”

Cate tried not to smile, but his reaction made her so happy, she couldn’t help it. If he hadn’t felt anything, he wouldn’t be so angry.

He had noticed her. He might not like it, but he had.

“You weren’t?” she said innocently. “I could have sworn your arm was around my waist and my chest was against yours for a good three minutes—”

His face darkened. “Cate …”

Heeding the warning, she grinned and slipped back into her room. She’d made her point. “Good night, Gregor. Sweet dreams,” she couldn’t resist adding, closing the door in his face.

It was a thick, solid door, but she could still hear him curse as he moved away.

Cate flopped back on her bed and gazed up at the wooden beams and trestles of the ceiling in the moonlit darkness with a huge smile on her face.

She wasn’t going to wait for lightning to strike after all. Nay, she was going to make a little storm of her own. She could afford to be patient, but the children could not. They needed him. He would see it … soon.