Highland Hellion (Highland Weddings #3)(57)

That moment seemed to last forever. She couldn’t draw breath, couldn’t do anything but feel the pleasure blossoming inside her body. His seed was pumping into her, adding to the moment, until it flung them both back into reality as though those brief moments were all the paradise mortals deserved.

It was enough.

And yet she found herself realizing that it might have to be exactly that—enough. The uncertain future ahead of them tormented her, but she was too spent to stay awake and think of ways to fend it off. Sleep dragged her into its embrace, as Rolfe’s breathing near her ear eased her concerns.

*

He meant to leave her before dawn.

Katherine watched Rolfe pleating his kilt while the sun was just breaking night’s hold. She stayed still, wanting to soak up those moments, dreading the coming parting.

He smoothed the wool with sure motions, confident ones. There was no valet to dress him, such as she recalled her father needing.

Of course not. He was a Scot, and a Highlander at that. In her father’s house, they would have labeled him a savage.

She loved everything about him.

“The sooner I go, the sooner I shall return.”

Rolfe proved he was aware of her, even when she thought she’d managed to remain still. He looked up at her, sending her that arrogant grin before he lay down on the pleats and pulled his belt around his trim waist to buckle it.

She sat up, bundling the bedding around herself as he stood and the wool fell down to cover his legs. The pleats in the back were longer, so he might raise them up to cover his head if it rained because the belt was across the center of the fabric. He reached for a second belt and secured it over the folded wool and then looked toward her.

Satisfaction lit his eyes and curved his lips. “Do nae move, Kat. I want to remember ye exactly as ye are, warm and tousled, and in me bed.”

She reached up to smooth her hair back, earning a chuckle from him. He came close, leaning over into the bed to kiss her. Determination flickered in his eyes when he withdrew. She knew the expression, and there was no arguing with it.

“I will return to ye.”

He believed it, or at least he would not allow himself to show her doubt.

It didn’t matter if he maintained his confidence. Her belly was still knotting with dread because she knew firsthand the sort of monster he was riding out to meet.

Rolfe paused at the door, looking back at her a final time before he slipped into the passageway like the night shadows dissipating in the light of day.

He might have been no more than a figment of her imagination.

Except for the tears that stung her eyes and the ache that twisted her heart.

She loved him.

In that moment, there was only that feeling and the knowledge that she was fortunate beyond words to have encountered a man who filled her with such emotion.

But it also filled her with determination to ensure he did not suffer a dire fate due to having met her.

She crawled from the bedding and moved with solid purpose toward the vanity, where she plucked a comb from its surface.

A hellion she might be, but today, that would serve her very well indeed.

*

Marcus let out a foul curse. Duncan looked up from the bed in Katherine’s chamber. “Well, ye’re the one who raised her.”

“I know it.” Marcus rubbed a hand down his face. When he was finished, he looked at the maid who had been sleeping in the chamber. “Ye should have refused her.”

The maid was not young. She looked back at him with the steady confidence of a woman. “I did it willingly and do nae regret it.”

“I can remedy that, mistress,” Duncan informed her with thick promise in his tone.

The maid merely lowered herself before her laird and rose again to face them. “If she had stayed and let him shelter her at the expense of his own suffering, there would never have been any acceptance for her in the Highlands. When she told me that, I agreed, because everyone must earn their place. English or not, I respect her for it.”

Duncan drew in a stiff breath. “Go on with ye.” His tone was soft when he spoke because he realized that he could not argue with her.

“I’m riding up to fetch Symon Grant.”

Duncan looked at Marcus. “And then what? Morton likely has a good memory of the way ye and Symon’s sister duped him.”

“True,” Marcus replied. “But the man also wants the Highland lairds to support him. Since we can nae be obedient to him, I suggest we gather enough of us together to make him think our opinion is worth something.”

“He might just hang ye all and have yer sons raised at court.”

“In that case,” Marcus reached out and slapped Duncan on the shoulder, “be thankful ye do nae have a son.”

“Aye,” Duncan grumbled as they left the chamber and made their way down to the hall. Marcus wasted no time in gathering the MacPhersons and heading into the yard. They were racing against time now, and every man among them knew it.

Duncan might have refused to go, but part of him was impressed with the way Katherine had managed to earn the respect and love of the MacPhersons. It was evident in the way they followed Marcus. Men might be ordered to ride, but a wise leader learned to read their body language. These retainers didn’t hesitate or drag their feet. They were off to help one of their own.

So he’d be going along, too.