***
The hours that followed brought Catherine no peace of mind, for she had not seen or spoken to Lachlan since he left her bedchamber that morning. He had dressed in a hurry and stormed out the door, saying only, “Get dressed. We need to get to Edinburgh.”
Now, as the coach jostled and bumped over the frozen rutted roads of the Lowlands, through open lonely glens, into bleak forests with bare, skeleton trees, it was difficult not to feel completely catastrophic over the condition of her life.
She longed to tell Lachlan that she was sorry—that she had never meant to tempt him into doing what he did not wish to do. But she also wanted to tell him that she had loved every glorious minute of it and longed to do it again. That it was the most profound and beautiful experience of her life. At least what she remembered of it. She had not caught a single glimpse of him, however, not since they left the village.
It occurred to her that he might have ridden ahead to Edinburgh to face Raonaid alone. The thought made her feel sick to her stomach.
***
Later, Catherine ate the biscuits and cheese from the basket, finished the small amount of wine she had been given, and lifted her feet off the bricks. She wiggled uncomfortably on the seat, for she needed to use a convenience. Pray God, they would reach another village soon.
Putting away her lunch and peering out the window—immune now to the endless monotony of the passing forest—she tried to see what was ahead of them. There was still no sign of Lachlan, or Alex for that matter.
Growing impatient, she stood up in the swaying vehicle and pounded hard on the ceiling.“Stop!”
She was immediately tossed forward onto the opposite seat as the coach pulled to a sudden halt.
“Thank God,” she groaned, flicking the door latch and spilling out of the coach onto the road, in a clumsy heap of skirts and petticoats. She looked up at the driver, who quickly hopped down from his elevated position out front. “May I be of some assistance, my lady?”
“No. I only require a bit of privacy.” She turned toward the trees to examine her options.
In that moment, rapid hoofbeats disrupted the silence of the forest. Lachlan appeared from around a bend in the road, galloping at a brisk pace toward them.
He reined in his horse and spoke impatiently. “Why are we stopped?”
“The lady has to…” The driver gestured toward the woods with a discreet toss of his head.
Lachlan looked down at her from high up on Goliath’s back. A wintry breeze lifted his dark hair while his enormous mount stomped restlessly in front of the team. “Do you need help?”
“No, I most certainly do not,” she assured him. “I’ll just be a moment.”
She picked up her skirts and waded into the leafy green ferns along the side of the road and went behind a bush.
Greatly relieved to have that particular necessity taken care of, she dropped her skirts and returned to the coach. Lachlan dismounted and led his horse around to the page board at the back of the vehicle.
“What are you doing?” Catherine asked.
“I’m going to join you for a bit.” He looked straight into her eyes while he tied his horse to the rear handrail.
Not knowing what to expect, Catherine returned to the side door and allowed the driver to hand her up.
Seconds later, Lachlan’s broad, tartan-clad form filled the open doorway, blocking out the light. He took hold of the handle and swung inside, his long hair flying about as he shut the door behind him. His clean outdoorsy scent, mixed with leather and horse, permeated the interior. He settled himself on the opposite seat.
They faced each other in silence while the coach bounced under the driver’s weight outside. Soon they were rolling again, less hurried now.
“I’m surprised you’re sitting here with me,” Catherine said. “I didn’t think you’d ever want to look at me again after what happened, much less be alone with me.”
He adjusted his sword belt and scabbard and took his time replying. When at last he spoke, his forehead was creased with concern.
“You were right,” he said. “I did not want to see you. I’ve been avoiding it, because I cannot bear to think of what I did to you this morning. I will never forgive myself.”
“It wasn’t just you,” she insisted. “It was my fault as well. I moved a certain way, and suddenly you were right there.… You slid in so easily, and I wanted you. I just couldn’t bring myself to stop.”
He wouldn’t look at her. “I should have stopped it myself. Much sooner. I don’t know why I couldn’t.”
“I couldn’t, either, if it helps you to know that. I knew it was wrong, but I couldn’t resist. I couldn’t let you go.”
