Chapter 25
Lying in the big bed, Catherine let her mind recall the day’s events. It seemed as if an eternity had passed since she had first awoken in this room. Her concerns about her physical well-being had quickly been dispelled. She was healing at a remarkable rate thanks to the diligent care she was receiving and her own body’s healthy constitution. Dr. MacGregor, whom she liked very much, had been honest enough to tell her that despite his best efforts, she would carry a permanent reminder of her ordeal. One of the lash marks across her back had been particularly deep, the wound unable to heal without the aid of stitches.
“I tried my best to close the edges as neatly as possible,” he apologized, “but my mother did nae think sewing was a skill required of any of her sons.”
Catherine assured him a scar on her back was no cause for distress, and she had no reason to be vain. Her comment made the physician wonder if she had been raised without a looking glass in her home. Apart from the occasional itch as the healing process continued, Catherine’s only complaint about the scar was not being able to sleep on her back. The puckered skin still chafed at the pressure. Still, she recalled the scar had not bothered her at all when Rian held her in his arms. But even if it had, she suspected she would not have noticed. Her thoughts had been fixed on a very different place.
She was already far too aware of Master Rian’s comings and goings. It had not taken her long to identify each set of footsteps that passed by her door. There was Tilly’s girlish skip, Mrs. Hatch’s no-nonsense tread, and then a certain long, easy stride that caused a strange fluttering sensation in her chest. At first she told herself it was her imagination that made her think the footsteps slowed as they approached her door, but when it happened three nights in a row she knew it was not a mistake. What did he do as he stood on the other side? Did he regret saving her? Did he wish her a good night’s sleep? A speedy recovery? Catherine had no idea, but each night she found herself waiting for the sound of his footsteps to pause before continuing down the hall.
What was it that drew her to him? Even now, as she lay on her pillows with only the pale flicker of candlelight to keep away the shadows, there was a dryness in the back of her throat, a quickening of her pulse when she brought the image of his face to her mind. A single look was enough to make an unexplainable ache manifest within her. A sensation that had exploded on seeing him standing in the doorway. Was this what desire felt like? She didn’t know, but she imagined it might be, especially as the hunger brought with it a heat that throbbed between her thighs.
Secretly Catherine had hoped Rian would confirm her preposterous idea of their being married, for she could not imagine feeling this way about a man she had no emotional tie to. But the crushing denial had been a declaration that he did not share the same feelings for her. Why then had he been so hurt when she snatched her hand away, and why allow her to see it in his eyes? It was more than a reaction to a lack of manners on her part. Rian might not be experiencing the same depth of feeling she did, but he felt something.
Mrs. Hatch’s decision to spend time with Catherine each day was reaping numerous benefits. Not only did it ease the tedium of her convalescence, but talking with the housekeeper also stemmed the fear she felt at losing her memory. In the beginning their conversation revolved around the household. The number of boys to be hired to clean the windows, a new recipe cook wanted to try for dinner, the need to dismiss the laundry girl for ruining two of Master Rian’s shirts. It was idle chitchat about the mundane in the hope a casual reference might open a door to the familiar. But as Catherine became more comfortable with the housekeeper, it was she who began to ask questions. Mainly about Mrs. Hatch and her children, and then about the Connor family. She did not, however, share her feelings about Rian.
Convinced that some unknown connection was behind her response to him, Catherine believed their pasts might be linked. But Mrs. Hatch had quickly refuted the possibility, telling her Master Rian had only recently returned from overseas. Was it possible Catherine’s family had dealings in the Americas? She frowned and chewed on her lower lip in frustration. Anything was possible, but the suggestion did not feel as if it had merit, and so she discarded it.
In the beginning she had been grateful for Rian’s continued absence. It made sifting through the chaos in her head easier to deal with, but then she found herself mired in a pit of conflicting sensations that both scared and aroused her. The only thing she was able to discern from the turmoil was the persistent sense of being connected to him. Yet she had no idea how…or why.
Until now.
She had believed the images in her head were a product of her own fevered imagination, or the good doctor’s sleeping draughts, but Catherine now struggled to come to terms with the truth. The man she had fought with in her delirium had been very real.
It was Rian who had prevented her from harming herself, who comforted her when she collapsed in exhaustion, who held her tightly to him, allowing her soft curves to meld against his hard frame, and who whispered promises to her in the dark as he wiped down her burning skin. She recalled the muscular feel of his arms as he cradled her against his chest, and the easy way he held her seemed the most natural thing in the world. The warmth of his body had awakened the hunger which had turned into a raging torrent and she had been helpless to stop it from roaring through her.
Catherine was barely able to admit to herself that she dreamed about him. Dreams in which he touched her with a familiarity that could never be described as exhausting. She would come awake with trembling limbs and his name on her lips as she yearned for him. Only now she had to conceal such feelings. Lock them away deep inside her in a place where, given enough time, they would wither and die.
He was promised to another.
She fell back among the pillows. Perhaps being sent away was for the best. Rian would surely be relieved to have her gone. Distancing herself from him would help conquer feelings that she now knew were hopeless. She needed to focus her energies on other things. Her body was healing. Now it was time to heal her mind.
No one could imagine the anguish that came with having no recollection of her past. Though Mrs. Hatch felt a great deal of empathy, her response was that of a mother seeing her child in pain. Dr. MacGregor would be quite surprised at how often Catherine did gaze at her reflection in a mirror, but it was not to admire the handsomeness of her features. She was searching for recognition. The face that stared back was that of a stranger. There was nothing familiar about the shape of her eyes, the curve of her cheek, or the width of her mouth. Did she favor her mother or her father? Which of them had given her the color of her hair? She ran the tips of her fingers lightly over the calluses on each palm, but had no idea what had caused them.
Her mind was clear enough when it came to commonplace details, and she could function perfectly well on a day-to-day basis. But she was unable to recall any personal particulars. Sometimes she thought she saw images in her mind. Blurred pictures she knew were important, but when she reached out to examine them, they vanished like a will-o’-the-wisp. The only thing that had surfaced from the grey fog shrouding her memories had been her first name, and she knew intuitively that Catherine was her true name. But why was she unable to recall her family name? And now, apparently she also knew someone called Edward. A brother or a cousin perhaps? Surely only a relative would teach her such vile phrases.
She sighed. Sensibly she reasoned she had no future until her memory was restored and she could remember her past, but why did she feel so despondent at the thought Rian might not be a part of either?