‘What have I ever done that you would think me so cruel as that?’ he asked. ‘What has Father said of the matter?’ Anger at being characterised as someone low enough to do what she accused him of made his voice rise.
‘Your father said you are old enough to see to your own matters now.’ His mother walked to the table and put the cup down.
So, his father had warned her off, yet she still meddled. That was a weakness of hers and one she would never change.
‘And yet you trust me not to see to them?’ He placed his cup next to hers. ‘Be advised that the house I arranged is hers regardless of what happens between us. A settlement on behalf of her husband’s service to Father will make certain she is never in poverty again. Does that satisfy your concerns, Mother?’
‘Sometimes we defend the actions we take because we know they were for the wrong reasons. Or we sense our own mistakes, but are not ready to acknowledge them,’ she said quietly.
She approached him then, placing her hand on his arm.
‘Just have a care in this. You have a few choices to make in the coming months and I would not see her harmed because you mistook your father’s assistance as permission.’
’Twas natural, he supposed, for his mother to worry over the women who lived in the keep or the village. As lady and countess, they were under her control and supervision. Well, usually ’twas only the women of the keep, but the Beast’s mate had extended her control and he’d allowed it. Nothing about the MacLeries was done according to the usual custom of things.
He nodded. As he turned to leave, he caught sight of a book on her shelf there. An old one that he thought he remembered from his childhood. Filled with letters and stories and prayers, it had beautiful colours and images throughout its vellum pages.
‘May I borrow this?’ he said, lifting the book from its place.
‘This is not what I would have expected you to borrow. Mayhap the book of battle strategies? Something about Carthage?’
‘’Tis not for me,’ he said. ‘Catriona is learning her letters and numbers and I would share it with her.’
‘Take it then,’ she said. He glanced again at his mother’s face, for her voice had shaken then. ‘She can borrow another one if she would like.’
Aidan found a piece of oilcloth and wrapped the precious book in it to keep it safe. He had no doubt that Cat would enjoy seeing it. He kissed his mother’s cheek as he left, deciding to see if Cat had gone to his cousin’s after all.
If he realised that he’d almost never visited any of his previous bedmates during the day, he did not remember. And he did not see the shocked expression on his mother’s face as he pulled the door closed.
* * *
Aidan arrived at Cat’s house and tethered his horse outside her door. He heard no one moving about inside, so he went in and found it empty. She must be still at Ciara’s or, more likely, at Muireall’s, so he gently placed the book on the table and turned to leave. He smiled when he noticed the flower he’d pulled from beside the road now sitting in a cup of water there on the shelf above the hearth.
The softest snore echoed through the air, catching him unaware. Walking softly to the doorway, he found her curled up on the bed, sleeping. On her side, with one hand tucked under her face, she looked relaxed, though dark circles smudged the skin beneath her eyes. Had she slept the morning through then and not gone to Ciara’s?
Nay, the gown she wore spoke of her dressing. The worn and dusty leather shoes by the bed told him she’d left the house. Some aromatic brew sat steeping near the fire, so he knew she’d had something to drink this morn. Walking to the pot and lifting the lid, he inhaled and recognised the smell of betony—his mother’s favourite tea when she was aching or overwrought. He dropped the lid harder than he’d planned and he heard her stir behind him on the bed.
‘Aidan?’ she said, her voice still thick with sleep. She pushed up on her elbow and ran her hand through her hair, dragging it out of her face.
And he wanted her. Now. Again and again.
In the dark of night. In the light of day. It mattered not.
He wanted her.
‘I did not mean to disturb your rest, Cat,’ he said softly, trying to make himself believe the words as he uttered them. ‘Are you well?’
It had been cruel of him to keep her up through the night with little sleep, but, try as he might, he could not feel guilty about it. Part of him, the randy lad below his belt, urged him to take her now. He resisted, knowing she needed to rest if she was still abed. If not grief, then becoming accustomed to this new place, would keep her from resting well for some days.
The first step he took proved difficult, his cock hard and aching. Why could he not control this overpowering need for her? He’d lusted after many women, but this was something too strong, too different.
She pushed up to sit and let her legs slide over the edge of the bed. He swallowed hard as the skirt of her gown caught beneath her and exposed her shapely legs to him.
‘I pray you, pardon my laziness,’ she said, standing next to the bed and pulling her shoes on. ‘I would have been ready to greet you, but I did not expect you until later.’
His pride swelled as she blushed then. She thought he’d arrive at night to bed her.
‘I doubt you have had a lazy day in your whole life,’ he said, with a laugh. The dark, enigmatic expression that filled her gaze for only a moment surprised him. ‘I meant no insult by it, Cat. You answer to only yourself now, so if you are tired and sleep, so be it.’
