‘I have handled many matters, both personal and legal, for my cousin Aidan. But not once has he ever done anything like this for any other woman with whom he was involved. That makes me wonder why he is doing this for you?’
She could not speak, could not think, so she just watched as the young woman left. Muireall was about to close the door when Ciara rushed back and pushed against it.
‘I pray you not to be insulted, but if you wish to learn how to read and write, I would be willing to teach you. Stop by any morning if you are interested.’
Surprise seemed to follow surprise this day and that offer, an incredibly generous and kind one and not insulting at all, was the last one she could withstand. She moved across the room and sat down on one of the large, cushioned chairs there.
‘I must return home, Cat,’ Muireall explained. ‘Are you going to wait here?’ Cat nodded, not otherwise moving or speaking. So overwhelmed at this point that she could not, she could only nod when her friend kissed her cheek and took her leave.
And she waited to speak directly to the man who was at the centre of her downfall, but who might also be the one who could help her the most. Was he acting honourably as both Ciara and Muireall seemed to think? Was he making reparations for his actions? Could she trust her usually misguided sense of how men acted in something that could save or end her honour and possibly her life?
Chapter Nine
Standing before the house he’d arranged for her, Aidan felt as though he’d aged a score of years in these last weeks since first seeing Catriona at the well.
Then, bent on seduction, he had teased and followed her, expecting that she would, like all the others had, fall madly in love or lust with him and they would spend countless hours sharing pleasures of the flesh until his ardour for her cooled. And then there would be another. Even the thought of marriage had not changed his thinking on what his life would be like.
Her naked in his bed.
Then the repercussions he’d not considered had happened—she’d refused him, they’d been exposed, or his attempts had been—and she’d faced the censure of the villagers as a married woman cuckolding her very popular husband.
His harmless suggestion to send Gowan on a training assignment became a death warrant for the man. Not because of Aidan sending him off, but because the man died trying to return after hearing of the rumours. Rumours, not fact, had killed the man. Rumours that were his fault.
His father’s eyes had widened when he’d explained what he wanted for her. Though he’d parted ways with women on good terms with a bauble or sack of coins to ease his way out the door, he felt he needed to do this even though she’d never shared his bed. It was the right thing to do....
Though he could not deny that he still wanted her.
Even knowing he’d caused her husband’s death. Even knowing that it would seem like he was simply using her. Even though it would be better to turn the house over to her and walk away. At this moment, standing there, waiting to knock and go inside, his body readied to join with hers. His cock cared nothing for good intentions or bad ones. He knew it could be good between them and not just for him.
For he’d noticed that, as she went about her chores and errands, and other than the few times they’d exchanged words or spoke, she never smiled. Oh, a polite one here and there when greeting someone she knew, but the smile that curved those voluptuous lips of her mouth into a bow that begged to be kissed? Never one of those.
She had had a hard life, he’d discovered after seeking out more about her. Brought here about two years ago by her much older husband, she seemed to exist by serving someone else. Whether Gowan or his son or her friend Muireall, her needs never seemed to matter.
He laughed then, at himself mostly, for he stood here, in the dark, outside a house he’d given to a woman he’d never touched. He, the consummate womaniser, stood lusting over a woman who did not want him. But the worst thing? The worst thing was that he stood here with his stomach clenching and nervous sweat on his palms, waiting to knock on her door.
His feet moved without thought and, as he raised his hand to knock, Aidan realised how that would fail to do the one thing he’d hoped would happen—give her the protection that her living here in what everyone thought was his house would give her. No one would dare to treat her with disrespect. As his leman, the woman he claimed as his, none would mistreat her without worrying over the results. No other man would approach her. Now, in front of the door, he knew that a man did not knock on his own house or that of the woman he kept in his bed and under his protection.
He let his hand drop to the latch and he lifted it, easing the door open and stepping inside. In the almost pitch darkness, lit by one small lantern sitting above the hearth, he reached for the kindling and added some of the wood, chopped and piled by the stone hearth. Soon a fire began to chase away the chill of the cold room. It was only then that he spied her, sitting in a large chair in the darkened corner of this larger, open chamber.
Her head leaned back against the cushioning, tilting to the left. Her hair was loose and fell in waves, covering her shoulders and breasts. Her hands lay on the arms of the chair and she’d drawn her legs up under her. A sigh escaped her lips and she shifted—his body tightening in response to the sight of her there. Part of him wanted her to wake, but another part just wanted to savour gazing at her in such a state of repose. Aidan walked to the other chair and sat in it, trying not to disturb her.
Now he saw other things. The dark smudges that marred the skin under her eyes. The cheeks that seemed less full. The need to sleep now rather than after the evening meal. All signs of exhaustion and not eating enough. Grief and worrying did that.
And he did not like it.
He thought about carrying her in and placing her on the bed, but he feared waking her. So, he waited. The heat began to spread and warm the room. Watching her sleep, he wondered what her reaction would be? His cousin said she had refused to sign the paper that would give her clear ownership of the house and the settlement. Did she not want it or did she not want it from him?
A piece of wood in the hearth popped, sending sparks into the draught of air travelling up through the chimney while the sound echoed loudly enough that Catriona stirred. First her eyes fluttered open and then she pushed herself up to sit. He could tell the exact moment when she noticed him there. After a moment of confusion, her gaze cleared and she rose, curtsying before him.
‘My lord,’ she said, in a voice husky from sleep. ‘I did not mean to fall asleep.’
Would she be compliant and polite now, weighed down by scandal and grief for her husband? The man Aidan had, for all other intents and purposes, sent to his death?
‘Catriona. You do not need to stand before me like a servant,’ he said. ‘I pray you to sit again.’
He thought she might refuse when she paused for a few, very long seconds. Then she sat once more, her back rigid, the mahogany tresses of hair flowing around her with every breath she took.
‘I would have been here sooner to speak to you, but duties kept me away.’ Now he stood and walked to the hearth. ‘You must have questions?’
