Kissing the Countess (31 page)

"Then why sell Kildonan?" she demanded. "Why leave here—and leave me? Why give these lands to those who would not understand our life here, and cause more heartache such as we had under your father's influence?"

"Leave you?" he asked softly, as if she had said only that.

She nodded, fighting tears. "If you sell Kildonan and Glen Shee... I will not go with you. I will not leave my glen."

He pulled in a breath, glanced away. "Your father and aunt were about to send you down to Glasgow."

"I would have gone to live with friends in the high hills. Even if we would be evicted later," she added bitterly.

"I would never send you away. Never, Catriona."

"Wetherstone might. Grant might," she blurted. "He wants to buy some of these lands, too. Do not sell to him."

"Grant? Why not? His lands border Kildonan. He is at least a Highland laird. He will not care if he cannot get his oranges and newspapers on time," he snapped. "Perhaps I should sell him as much land as he wants, now that Wetherstone has lost interest."

"Why not stay here—stay with me,"—she was near to crying now, but would not let the tears fall—"and be a Highland laird yourself?"

He frowned, silent. She thought perhaps the drink was spinning in his head, befuddling him, but for the snap and spark in his eyes. "Stay here? The Highlanders of Glen Shee are not fond of the new earl."

"They could be," she said. "Prove yourself to them."

"How?" He huffed a laugh.

"You wanted to fix the bridge," she suggested. Her heart began to pound with new hope. "You could give them back their homes."

He crinkled his brow as if puzzled. "Impossible."

"They could be found, restored to their homes."

He shook his head. "I have to sell Kildonan. And I have to fix that blasted bridge," he growled.

"Do you think no one will buy land with a broken bridge on it? Don't be ridiculous."

"I cannot tolerate having it on my land," he said. "You do not understand."

"Then tell me," she said. "All of it. A wife—should know these things of her husband. If I am to stay—a wife."

He took a long step toward her, took her by the waist, drew her toward him so that her body met his, clothing layered between them. Yet she could feel him hard and strong against her. "Are you going to stay my wife? Which way does that wind blow, Catriona Bhan?"

He remembered, she realized. He remembered that he had called her fair, when others had labeled her only big or tall. That thought, and the warm press of his hands at her waist, made her feel as if she were beginning to melt from within.

"Catriona," he murmured when she did not answer. He lowered his head, nuzzled her nose with his, soothed his lips over her cheek. "Catriona..."

Indeed, she was melting, would turn to a willing puddle of desire in his arms if he did not stop touching her, sliding his lips on her cheek so softly—

Or kissing her mouth. When he did, she sighed out, near a gasp, and opened to his kiss, could not help herself. He pulled her to him, where he was so hard and insistent for her, and his mouth took hers almost roughly, the taste of whisky clean and pungent on his breath, on his lips and tongue. She circled her arms around his neck and kissed him in turn, for she could not stop, feeling her heart slam in tune with his.

Then she pulled back, shoved to get free, for she could feel how intensely he wanted her then, and she wanted him, too, with an almost desperate need. Yet she fought it, pushed away, and he let her go. And that stepping away broke her heart a little.

"And so the Highland winds change again, do they?" He lifted his hands as he stepped back, and she felt the almost physical tug in the empty space between them.

"How can I be the Highland wife of a Highland man," she said, "if he is not in the Highlands? Why must you sell?"

"Are you my wife? That is a knotty question, isn't it?"

She lifted her head. "We have had little time to decide that."

"I do not need much time," he growled. "I know what I want—you, my lass. I do not need proof. I just know. God save me, I cannot say why I feel this way," he muttered. "Particularly at this moment."

She folded her arms, felt her chin wobble. His revelations gave her such hope. But she would keep to the safer path, while he was willing to swing out into the riskier areas. "I am not asking for proof," she said. "I only want to know why you want to sell my home out from under me. Not this castle. That is yours. Glen Shee is my home."

He nodded. "Here it is, then, what you should know. My father left considerable debt. He put a good deal of money into Kildonan and thousands of sheep, but he did not clear all the debts before he died. I had some immediate funds and made up most of the deficit. But I have... other debt, and sales from the estate must go toward satisfying that."

"What debt is that?" she asked.

He blew out a breath, looked away. "What does it matter? It will be paid, no matter what I must do. I have given my word."

She realized his stubbornness was legion, and that he would not tell her if she pressed, and that she was not a harridan to push for it. Some secret troubled him deeply, and she must wait and have faith that whatever it was, he would handle it with the same integrity that she saw in him in all matters.

Standing there in silence in the small, quiet space that wedged between his room and hers, she knew how much she wanted to be his wife. But she could not leave Glen Shee. It would tear her apart. She would never be the same.

"So you still intend to sell to pay your father's debts and make up your own debt, whatever it is?" she asked softly.

"Aye," he said, half turned away from her.

"Then... even if we start again as we agreed, we will have to end it," she said. "I will not leave Glen Shee."

"Stubborn lass," he murmured, and glanced at her over his shoulder, still half turned away. "What makes you think we can only make a marriage here in Glen Shee? What has that to do with it?"

"It has all to do with it," she said. She stood quietly, strongly, shoulders squared. "It is part of me. I cannot undo that. If it is not part of you, I understand—but I cannot leave here."

"And if you had been evicted with the rest, those years ago? Would you not have coped, madam?"

"I would have withered," she said softly. "The mountains—the earth—I am part of that, somehow. I would have faded. Just as happened to many of the people who left."

"How do you know?" His glance was sharp.

"I know." She lifted her head. Secrets must be kept. He had them, and she had them, too.

He looked toward the window. Though it was dark outside, the moon, near full, hung over the mountains."The marriage is in place," he said. "We cannot go back to its start, and we cannot leap forward to its end. We have tasted each other, and we both want more. You cannot deny it."

She kept her head high. "I do not deny that."

"Then make your decision, Catriona. Is the marriage worth it to you? Are you willing to make the effort, even if you do not know where we will be or in quite what direction you are headed? It is something like climbing, madam," he said, indicating with a nod the mountains in the distance. "One sets out to climb because the peak is enticing, alluring. So beautiful that it must be conquered and made your own. It holds some sort of bright promise, far off there, so unknown, so far above what you have known, so much finer, better, greater. Do you know what I mean?"

"I know," she said. "It is hope and dreams."

"Aye. And you know it's there. You have gone up those heights a little, and you are compelled to go farther. You make the commitment, the promise. And then find that it is not so easy as you thought. There is effort involved as well as joy. You must work for the joy. Are you willing to put heart and soul into the venture no matter where it takes you?"

"I might be," she said.

"I am," he said. "Though I do not know where it will go. But I know the mountain is beautiful. Strong. And will make me stronger and better for knowing it. The mountain gets hold of you," he said, turning to look at her. "It gets into your blood, your dreams, becomes part of your soul. It is beyond beautiful, and you will never be the same if you make the commitment and stay with it. You will be a thousand times better for it. It will test you and then transform you—when all you thought to do was conquer it and call it your own."

Listening—for his voice was of that caliber that vibrated in her very soul, melted her resistance and her heart, could dissolve her anger and fear if she let it, that beautiful, deep, resonant velvet voice—she walked toward him, compelled, standing close, enthralled.

"Go on," she whispered. "The mountain."

"If you pledge to stay with the climb—" He turned, moving so that he stood very close to her, looming over her like a mountain, the only man she had ever known who was so much taller than she was, so much more willful, and so very beautiful in body and soul. "Be prepared, Catriona."

"For what?" she whispered.

He leaned toward her, reached out, swept his fingers along her cheek. "For the passion you will experience when you attain that height. You will never know anything like it in your life. When you commit to the risk and find the courage to follow this through," he said, leaning close, "your soul will open up. I swear it. I know it."

She stared at him, and he leaned close. His knuckles brushed along her jaw. Shivers poured through her as she watched him, searched his eyes.

"And you want me to take a risk," she said.

"I am saying there is reward in the risk." His fingers slipped deep into her hair, tugged at the knot wound in the net. "The mountain is the other, the beloved, the unattainable and the attainable, all at once." He whispered as he spoke, and she felt him slipping the pins loose, one by one. She closed her eyes for a moment.

If she wanted, she could stop him now, she could ask for more time, for more explanations. Or she could simply follow the quickening of her heart and see where it led, as she had done before with him.

"It's true," she murmured. "I do not generally take much risk. I had a demanding father, a strict household.... I was never allowed much freedom, though... I always wanted it, and took it where I could, on my own."

"In your songs," he said. "In your wanderings in the hills."

She nodded. "One time only," she said, "I found my courage and followed my heart. That was when I met you."

"And loved me as I loved you, that night." He still whispered, and his fingers felt divine, warm and sure as he pulled the pins out of her hair.

Catriona nodded wordlessly, watching him. The net binding her hair came loose, and the copper tresses spilled over her shoulders. Evan drew the net off and pushed it and the hairpins carelessly into his pocket. Then he gently combed his fingers through the mass of her hair.

He stood so close that she could feel the heat emanating from his body, could smell faint traces of cigar smoke and mountain air. His hands felt like magic, yet all he did was slowly stroke his fingers through her hair, from crown to shoulders.

She closed her eyes slowly, tilted back her head. Feeling as if she might dissolve, she knew she was being seduced by her own husband—and she did not want to stop him this time. Her body tingled subtly, now pulsed with growing need, growing hope that he would touch her here, and there, that he would kiss her and pull her into his arms and finally, finally love her.

He bent closer, his breath whiskied and gentle. "When we met," he said, "you faced a risk. And considering the trouble it brought you—it is understandable if you regret it." Still his fingers stroked, caressed the heavy silk of her hair, until she thought she would go mad with wanting more.

"I took a risk then, and I knew it. And I do not regret it. Any of it," she whispered, looking up at him. Head to foot, she stirred and burned for him, the awareness in her body overtaking her senses.

But she closed her eyes briefly and knew that she must confess what she had done that first night. "I wanted that to happen between us, Evan. It was my fault."

He paused his hand, cupping her head. "Your... fault?"

She nodded. "I wanted to know what it was like to be loved... like that, with you. Just once, for I thought the chance would never come again in my life. I felt it so strongly—I wanted to be with you desperately. You never owed me an apology for what happened—and you certainly did not owe me marriage." She looked at him. "You did not ruin me. I offered myself, and knew what I wanted."

"Ah. So I was used, is that what you are saying?"

"I did not mean it that way, I swear it." She looked down in misery, yet felt relieved to confess. She wondered if he would be so angry that this would be the end, rather than a new beginning.

"You just wanted to know what it was like," he murmured.

She nodded. "Only with you." When she heard his soft huff of laughter, she looked up in surprise. He took her by the shoulders, his hands gentle.

"We both needed the comfort of each other. What happened was natural. You did not act wantonly—you only responded to the strong urge of a healthy body. But it was not my first experience. I should have stopped, but somehow I could not, and you were willing. If you had not been—it never would have happened."