No pain. Oh, as she shifted against him, she knew her body had been entered and filled, but the place there felt empty now. No pain.
He reached down and tugged loose the bedcovers beneath them. Pulling them up, he covered them and then rested his chin on her head and encircled her with his arms.
Sleep captured her then and she sank into a rest unlike any before. She was replete. She was emptied.
She was safe.
* * *
In the morning she could not remember how many times they’d joined. A touch of a hand. A kiss. Shifting bodies. Any small caress seemed to ignite the heat between them.
Cat remembered the second time, for Aidan drew it out in anguishing, slow strokes that made her cry out in need. Even when he entered her, he made her feel each moment of his flesh in hers.
The next time he took her, he stoked her arousal fast and hard until she screamed out her release.
Then....
She did not remember the rest for they faded into a sensual fog of excitement and release, torment and easing, touching and taking and possessing. He’d taunted her, teased her, caressed her, tasted her through the whole of the night. Even now, her body wanted to respond to even the memories of it all, but exhaustion prevented it.
So, how did one greet a man in the light of morning after a night of such abandonment and pleasure? When sleep finally gave up on her, Cat knew she must face the dawn and find out.
Opening her eyes, she found herself alone in the bed. Sitting up, she stretched, trying to ease some of the overused muscles and realising that Aidan’s youth and strength would wear out her older body very quickly. Laughing, she reached for her shift and found a clean gown to wear.
When she opened the door of the bedchamber, she found an empty room. Aidan was not there.
The silence surrounding her told her he was gone. Gone without a word to her. But a fire burned in the hearth, so he had at least thought of that.
She poured some water into a pot and put it on to heat. Her one luxury, the one thing she spent her pennies on that was not a necessity, was a special tea from the healer. The healer’s herb garden was the best in Lairig Dubh and she provided Cat with betony leaves that steeped into a wonderful concoction.
Taking out a leaf and crushing it into a battered metal mug, she poured the steaming water over it and set it aside to brew. With a drop of honey to sweeten the taste, she went looking for something to eat and found the oatcakes left from the day before wrapped in cloth. A simple way to break her fast, but she wanted nothing more this morn. Making her way not to the table but to the cushioned chair, she sat down and sipped the tea.
Her body, though not well rested, felt alive for the first time. There was not a place on her he had not touched last night. He’d pleasured her so many times and so much that she lost herself in it. She should be tired. She should be exhausted, but she was not. Truth be told, she wanted to run laughing along the lanes and share the joy she’d had with anyone who would listen. She wanted to tell Muireall that she understood now what she’d meant.
But she would do none of those things for to do so would make them all question whether or not this affair had begun before Gowan’s death. They would look askance once more, in spite of Aidan’s protection, and she could not bear that.
And now? Now what would she do?
Even the betony tea did not soothe the slight of his wordless leaving. Looking around the empty house, the truth struck her—this is how a man treated his leman.
No explanations, no excuses, no leavetaking. None of that was necessary when a man paid a woman for her time. He did not answer to her, but she did to him.
That stung even more.
Oh, Cat had accepted that he was not hers and would never be, but the truth of her circumstances was harder to ignore in the cold light of day. A night of passion spent did not grant anything more than that. Many questions turned over and over in her thoughts and the betony tea provided no clarity. She allowed herself only until she finished, before deciding that she would seek out Muireall and offer her help this day.
The sharp rapping on the door surprised her, for no one had come to call on her since she’d moved in just days ago. Walking to open it, she found a wee lad who stood there, holding out a flower torn from some bed.
‘The laird’s son bid me bring this to you and say...’ He paused, shuffling his feet in the dirt there and shaking his head as he whispered to himself.
‘What is your name?’ she asked, crouching down so she could look him in the face. His mop of red hair stood on end and a thick sprinkling of freckles on his face reminded her of the miller’s oldest.
‘Alasdair,’ he said, before returning to his whispered words.
‘Aidan MacLerie sent you here?’ Her heart lightened in that moment. Mayhap it was better than she thought? ‘He sent this flower?’ She brought the blossom, one that grew along the paths in the forest, to her nose to smell its scent. Aidan must have passed them on his way out this morn.
‘Aye, he did. And he said...’ His face filled with misery then and tears threatened to spill. ‘I have forgotten the rest, mistress.’
Catriona reached out and lifted his chin so he would look at her and not the ground. ‘You do remember the words, Alasdair. If you take a deep breath and let it out, the words will come back to you now.’
