Page 60 of Love with a Scottish Outlaw
Hesitantly, she said, “I would like to do the same.”
And without warning, she put her hand on his plaid and boldly touched him through it. He quickly pulled her hand away and held it to his chest.
“Can I not give ye the pleasure ye gave me?” she asked.
“I beg ye don’t ask again, or I might not be able to resist. Ye’re not my wife, Catherine, and ’tisn’t right for me to pretend otherwise.”
“We’re not hurting anyone.”
“Ye’re a sly wench.” Her words weren’t true. He was hurting her, though she didn’t know it. The more intimate he allowed their connection to be, the more she’d hate him someday.
If she got her memory back. It was beneath him to wish she wouldn’t, to imagine some kind of normal life they might share. He could never have that. But he found himself asking, “If ye knew who ye were—”
“I’d stay here with ye,” she said with quiet certainty.
Any response was knocked clear from his mouth by a feeling of unworthiness.
“Go back to the cave,” he said harshly.
She turned away, then looked back at him. “Are ye afraid of me, Duncan Carlyle?”
He said nothing.
“I know your secrets now, and I intend to be a part of it all.”
He turned his back on her, resting a hand against the tree, head bent as he tried to control himself. His secrets—she didn’t know the worst of them. And yet he kept tying her closer to him, with his mission, his good people, his selfish need. There was a foolish part of him that wanted to believe that things between them would somehow sort themselves out, and they could be together.
Though she was exhausted, Catherine had a difficult time sleeping that night. She’d been thrilled to be away from the cave, to see if being on the road made her remember something. It hadn’t, but after little time to be disappointed about it, she’d faced Duncan and his wrath.
But oh, the way his wrath had changed . . .
He’d been afraid for her. Following Finn had been a reckless thing to do, but the little boy had been so determined, so endearing—and correct in his worries about the kidnapped children. Those children had been in terror when they’d been rescued, and it hadn’t helped when Ivor was forced to kill one of the villains, and had seemed quite frightening himself. The presence of a woman and another child had done much to calm the children, to convince them they were now safe. Catherine had been excited by the adventure, relieved it had gone well, yet hesitant to confront Duncan. And she’d been right.
But beneath his bluster and scowls and remoteness was a man who’d been injured by life, who was only protecting himself from being hurt again. Yet he still cared about stolen children, even with a price on his head.
And he cared about her—cared about giving her pleasure anyway, she tried to remind herself.
With a sigh, she clasped her hands to her hot face in the darkness of the cave and at last gave the memories free rein to envelop her. She hadn’t imagined being touched intimately could feel so incredible. She let her hands cup her breasts, touch between her thighs, but it didn’t feel the same as when his big rough hands had done it. He’d known just what to do, had known her body better than she had.
He must have done such things before, she reminded herself—but since she’d been the recipient of his knowledge, she didn’t care. Her skin still seemed sensitive, her body full of a peace she hadn’t imagined. It seemed forever until she could sleep, and even then her dreams were of the future they might have together. But to be with him, she would risk anything . . . Was she falling in love with him? And how could she trust her emotions, when she had no past experience to base them on? After all, Duncan had saved her life—maybe she was mistaking gratitude and lust for something more. All she could do was be patient with herself, take things slowly.
In the morning, it was laundry day. Maeve and the other women were still inside, gathering the clan’s garments. Outside near the giant cauldrons that were slowly coming to a boil, Catherine brought the saddlebags that Duncan had taken on his trip. She felt almost like a wife, going through them for any soiled laundry. She’d never even asked where he’d gone—they’d been too busy, she thought with a blush.
At the bottom, something pricked her finger, and she drew in a sharp breath. Pulling out her hand, she saw blood welling on her fingertip. Frowning, she wiped it on her apron, then used her other hand to pull out the soiled shirt. She looked inside the bag and at the bottom, something gleamed. More carefully this time, she reached in and removed a brooch. It was in the intricate design of a clan crest, she thought, but it wasn’t the Carlyles’, which she’d seen on a brooch holding Duncan’s plaid across his shoulder.
This brooch suddenly seemed familiar, as if part of her brain had been illuminated. Her awareness sharpened into focus that blocked out the trees and the cauldrons, and the autumn wind that teased her.
The brooch—it was hers, her family crest. Relief made her stagger as a rush of memories washed over her. She’d chosen Catherine as a name, not even realizing how similar it was to her own.
Though everyone called her Cat, she was Lady Catriona Duff.
Chapter 14
Desperate to remain alone before the women emerged and asked questions, Cat staggered away from the cauldrons, clutching the brooch and the bag. Her mind became a torrent of pictures and memories, first from when she was a child and then swiftly moving forward. She saw her brother Owen’s beloved face. Tears of relief came to her eyes. They’d shared the misery of parents who kept them from their homeland as much as possible, who tried to turn them into English aristocracy, and who’d almost succeeded.
Her father had offered her in marriage at birth to bring peace between the Duffs and the McCallums. Cat hadn’t known about it until her father had changed his mind and deceived the groom into kidnapping the wrong bride, her dear cousin Riona. Riona and Hugh McCallum had fallen in love, to Cat’s relief, but their marriage hadn’t satisfied the contract between the two families. Owen had offered to marry Hugh’s sister Maggie instead. She’d thought her brother so brave and honorable—although it had taken a while to convince Maggie that they could really have a good marriage.
But it had strangely left Cat feeling on the outside. Much as she’d been relieved not to marry a stranger, all around her people were falling in love, marrying, and now both couples were expecting babies. She was happy for them all, thrilled to be an aunt, but . . . there’d been no one in her life. She’d felt it was time to begin finding her own happy ending, and the only way to do that was to meet new people. So she’d decided to travel to Glasgow to visit friends, with the vague future plans of going to Edinburgh and maybe London itself.
