“God in heaven,” the woman murmured. “It cannot be.…”
A sudden chill hung in the air as a stark and bitter realization washed over Raonaid.
“You are Eleanor,” she said flatly. “My grandmother.”
The woman’s face sagged with a tomblike expression of contempt. Her jaw went slack, and she reached out a hand, moving forward.
“Do not come any closer,” Raonaid warned.
Eleanor shivered, as if she was holding back a violent urge to spit out a mouthful of poison, then stopped mere inches away. “I knew it was you,” she said. “For years, I heard tales of the Witch of the Western Isles, with the mark of the devil on her neck, and I knew it could be no other.”
“And you were correct,” Raonaid said with an unexpected surge of pride as she lifted her chin. “I am that notorious witch, but only because you made me so. I know what happened on the night of my birth. I know you tried to have me drowned in the river. But I survived, Grandmother, and here I am—home at last—about to claim half of your only son’s fortune. What say you to that?”
Eleanor’s mouth twisted with loathing. “I should never have trusted that midwife. I should have drowned you myself, or put you in the fire to burn.”
Raonaid felt strongly inclined to grab the woman by the throat and toss her out the window, but she fought to keep her anger in check. Perhaps it was something about this room. Or the fact that someone had addressed her as Lady Raonaid earlier in the day. She did not think throwing the dowager countess out the window would be the appropriate response.
“Get out,” Raonaid said simply. “Or I will dropyouinto the fire.” It was the best she could do.
Eleanor backed up a few steps. “No need. I only wanted to see your face. That is all. I wanted to see if you were truly diabolical, or if it was all just a lot of nonsense.”
Raonaid frowned. “You weren’tsure?” She strode forward aggressively, forcing her grandmother to quicken her pace as she backed into the doorjamb. “You sent a baby to be drowned when you weren’t even certain it was true?”
“It was not worth the risk,” Eleanor replied, “and I see now that I did the right thing. You are most certainly diabolical.”
Raonaid stopped and glared sternly at the vile woman. “No.Youare the diabolical one, and one day, you will discover I was right—when you are screaming through the gates of hell. Now get… out.”
Eleanor bristled with indignation. “No need to ask twice. In fact, I am being forced to leave this house because of you.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that. Now get out of my sight this instant, you wretched woman, or I will turn you into a garden snake.”
Eleanor’s eyes grew wide as saucers just before Raonaid shoved her out and slammed the door in her face.
Chapter Thirty-four
As Catherine slid her hands up over Lachlan’s broad shoulders and touched her lips tentatively to his, she realized he was the one and only person who made her feel like herself. Her life had been turned upside down and she had lost her identity in every sense of the word, but whenever she was with him, she knew what she wanted and understood her feelings. Everything made sense.
It made even more sense now that she was kissing him—for the instant their mouths touched, his passions exploded. He swept her into his arms and returned the kiss with wild abandon. His hands roved over her body, and he groaned with urgent need.
“I need you, Catherine,” he said, his lips parted, his breath hot against her neck. “I cannot bear to be away from you. I’ve been in hell since we made love, knowing I could not have you again, and regretting how I made such a mess of it. I did not love you properly. You deserve so much more. I could give you everything.…”
“Make it up to me now,” she pleaded, cupping his face in her hands. “There’s no curse. We can have each other tonight. We can do whatever we want.”
His mouth covered hers again, fiercely and hungrily, as he carried her across the room to the bed. He laid her down, then went to lock the door. There was a firmclickas the key turned, and then he was standing over her again—her beautiful Highlander—crawling onto the bed, and lowering his heavy body onto hers.
A breathless sigh escaped her. She was in heaven, holding him close, knowing that he still wanted her—and she wanted him with an unstoppable fury that overwhelmed her. She needed to open herself to him, to let him inside without fear, to hold nothing back. It was all she’d ever wanted, and now, at last, she would have it.
Wrapping her legs around his hips, she wiggled to lift her skirts while he fumbled with his kilt, pushing it out of the way. Everything was a heart-pounding, blinding blur of movement and desperation. She reached down and took hold of his manhood, guided him to her throbbing, greedy entrance. He looked her steadily in the eye and was inside her a second later, pushing very deep, as far as he could go, stretching her wide until everything went quiet and still.
“I can’t get deep enough,” he whispered, burying his face in her neck. “I don’t want to ever lose you.”
She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held him close. “I don’t want to lose you, either. Please, Lachlan, say that you care for me.”
His head drew back, and he slid out and pushed back in. “Of course I care for you, lass. Iloveyou, but I cannot lose you.”
Again he thrust deeply and without restraint. She experienced a rush of scorching hot delight. Had he really spoken the words? Did he say he loved her?
He drove into her again and again, and she welcomed his invasion with a series of sighs and moans. Their bodies moved in a smooth, even harmony. He rose up on both arms so that he could look down at her face in the soft evening light. Tirelessly and devotedly, they made love, later rolling over so that she was on top, controlling the tempo and intensity of the sensations.
