He walked toward the bothy, pushing aside his coat and reaching for his pistol. He moved slowly, stealthily. “Portia?” he said, daring to call her name.
A woman gasped her surprise, the sound coming from inside the bothy. Harry rushed forward, just as Portia started to run out of the cottage.
They collided in each other’s arms. He had cocked the hammer. He now pointed the pistol in the air as his other arm came around her.
“Harry,” Portia said, startled to find him right outside the cottage’s door. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask the same of you,” he said. He had a hold around her waist as strong as a vise. “Why are you going prowling around in the dark? Don’t you have more sense than to go out alone?”
The criticism stung. “I could ask the same of you.”
“I was watching over you,” he said.
“Watching?” She frowned. “Whatever for?”
“You were upset when you left that madwoman’s hut. I wanted to be certain you were safe.” He had not let go of her.
“I’m safe,” she said, not really wanting him to let go. An hour before, she’d been weeping over never feeling his arms around her and now she had him.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“Owl wanted me to come here,” she confessed. “And I don’t know why I did. I suppose it was all that talk of reincarnation and the incident withLizzy today ... I, well, the cat acted as if I should follow and she led me here.”
“Where is she now?” Harry asked. He released his hold around her waist to go into the cottage, his hand reaching for and finding her hand. He laced her fingers with his. He held his pistol up and ready.
The moon through the open window cast a ray of light upon the floor. “I don’t know,” Portia said as he looked around the room. “She came in here and I followed and then I lost track of her. It was as if she disappeared into the corners. But it doesn’t mean anything, Harry. She’s a cat. Cats have the ability to vanish when they wish.”
“As effectively as this cat seems to do so?” Harry asked, his skepticism clear.
“I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense.”
“No, it doesn’t,” he agreed, turning to her, and she was aware of how close they stood to each other.
She didn’t dare look up at his face. He was her weakness. She should step away now, but she didn’t.
“Why are you here?” she asked.
He uncocked the pistol. “I was worried about you. This afternoon you were upset.”
“I see.”
“I stood guard.”
“Over what?” she asked.
“Over you.”
She stood silent, suddenly aware of the racing beat of her own heart, feeling his pulse as well, even through his gloved hand. He didn’t speak, either. She knew she should leave. She didn’t want to.
“Portia,” he said, her name barely a whisper, and that was all it took. With a shuddering breath, she looked up at him, and she was lost.
There was so much concern in his expression, it was the excuse she needed to rise on her tiptoes and plant a kiss on his lips.
Foolish, foolish Portia, she thought, a sentiment that was wiped from her mind when he set his pistol on the window ledge, put his arms around her, and kissed her back.
They knew what each other liked. Their lips always fit together perfectly and this moment was no exception.
His hand smoothed the curve of her hip. He held her tight, possessively against him. He was ready to make love. He wanted her, and that she could evoke such strong passion in her lover filled Portia with joy.
