Return to Clan Sinclair (5 page)

She took a step to the left, then another, making here way to the entrance of the gazebo. Only then did she turn and look at him directly.

“You will be careful, won't you?”

“I'm normally careful,” he said. “Normally.”

She was being silly, imagining words that hadn't been said. But as she left the gazebo, careful not to look back, she could have sworn he said, “Except when it comes to you.”

 

C
H
APTER
S
EVEN

S
he placed herself in exile for the next two days, taking her meals on a tray in the lovely sitting room that was part of her suite.

When Virginia came to see her after breakfast the first morning, she had no other choice but to assure her sister-­in-­law she was fine, just a little tired from the journey.

“It's nothing else, Ceana? Is it the children? Have they been a bother?”

“They could never be a bother. They're all wonderful and you know it.”

“Macrath? Has he said something to upset you?”

She smiled. “No. He's been Macrath and that's never upsetting.” She smiled at her sister-­in-­law. “Truly, it's nothing. I thought being lazy for a day or two might be for the best.”

Virginia was finally assured of her health and her mood. She didn't need to know about her confusion or the fact she was perilously close to tears most of the time.

She missed her girls and she missed Peter, but above all she missed herself.

Her brothers-­in-­law would have her remain in black, becoming the matriarch of the family. She would be spoken about in whispers.
Dear Aunt Ceana, widowed all these years. She never quite survived the death of her beloved husband. Shush, don't speak so loud. You are in the company of our straight-­laced Aunt Ceana. She is the bulwark of the family, the morality expert. She dictates and passes judgments on others.

Oh, but she didn't want to be like Brianag.

She wanted to live. Dear God, she wanted to feel delight and joy and happiness once again. She wanted to rear her daughters to be strong women. She wanted to show them life was a series of events, some good, some bad, but they could weather them all.

How did she do that if she retreated into darkness? If she became the black cloud over Iverclaire?

She wanted passion, and if that single wish and desire tainted her soul, then so be it. She could not forget she was alive. After Bruce's kiss, how could she? That spike of desire she'd felt had shocked her.

Perhaps she locked herself in her suite as punishment. Or to hide from temptation.

Oh, he was a temptation wasn't he? With his grin and his surprising eyes and his deep and masculine voice. He'd incited her compassion and her tears, yet now all she could think about was how he kissed.

Would he be a good lover?

No one had ever told her, prior to her marriage, she might enjoy the physical aspects of love so much. When Peter was taken from her, that was gone as well. Was she so terrible for wanting to feel desire again? Was she a harlot?

She needed to see a man of God. Peter's family was Presbyterian, like she'd been reared, but sometimes she wished they were Catholic. How nice it must be to go see a priest and confess all her sins and be given penance for them. As it was, she was the only one to dole out her punishment: being a hermit in her rooms.

Bruce Preston was still too much on her mind, however.

On the morning of the third day, she left her suite, slipped down the back stairs, and escaped Drumvagen almost miraculously. Brianag didn't stop her in the corridor. None of the children saw her. Her only witness was a young maid who smiled brightly as she carried a bucket of cleaning supplies up the stairs.

She knew, from conversations among the children, there were at least three ways to the village of Kinloch. She took the easiest way, the road leading from the back of the house, hugging the cliffs.

It was bright, no clouds overhead to mar the promise of a beautiful day. Seabirds called to her as she walked. The incoming tide whispering over the sand sounded like her name: Ceana.

How many ­people worked at Drumvagen? In addition to the barn and the stables some distance from the house, there were the buildings housing Macrath's refrigeration machines. She counted five of those, each one closer to the village than the next. Did he own all the land between Drumvagen and Kinloch?

A surge of pride made her smile. Macrath had achieved everything he'd wanted as a boy in Edinburgh. Nor had he been stingy with his good fortune. Look how intent he'd been to ensure she had a chance at a bright future, too. If he hadn't paid for and accompanied her during her London season, she would never have met Peter. Macrath, in turn, would never have met Virginia.

Fate had a large hand in their romantic destinies.

“You shouldn't be on the road alone.”

She jerked, startled and turned to face Bruce.

“I'm only going to Kinloch,” she said. “No farther.”

“Nevertheless, you shouldn't be alone.”

“This Henderson person doesn't want me. I doubt if he even knows I exist.”

“I'm not willing to take that chance,” he said. “I don't want any harm to come to you.” He reached out his hand, the backs of his fingers brushing her cheek.

She took a step back. “I have to go to the village.”

“Then fine, I'll accompany you.”

“That wouldn't be acceptable. I'm going to see the minister. I've been told that Kinloch has a lovely church.”

“Are you feeling the need of spiritual guidance?”

She only shook her head.

“You're going to go ask him if it's all right if you continue living.”

How did he know that?

“Go back to Drumvagen, Bruce,” she said, beginning to walk again.

“Are you going to ask for expiation for that, too? For calling me Bruce as opposed to Mr. Preston? How improper you can be, Ceana.”

She stopped in the middle of the road, folded her arms and glared at him.

“Are you going to follow me all the way to Kinloch?”

“Yes. I have your safety to consider as well as the rest of the family. Besides, I can give you as much spiritual guidance as your minister.”

She ignored him and continued walking.

“You may call me Reverend Preston.”

“Don't be sacrilegious.”

His grin was too captivating. She simply couldn't look in his direction.

“I would say to you, Ceana Mead, there's nothing wrong with wanting to live, even after such a disastrous loss.”

He was speaking from personal experience, which made it difficult to discount his words.

“I'm living,” she said.

“You're breathing and you're moving, but are you really living?”

She stopped again.

“Who are you to judge me?”

“The man who kissed you.”

She stared at him wide eyed.

“Has no other man kissed you but Peter?”

Surely she wasn't supposed to answer that?

He moved closer to her. Even though they were standing in the middle of a paved road, it seemed too intimate. She wanted to put her hand on his chest and push him away. No, she mustn't touch him.

“It took years for me to realize that short of doing myself in, I was going to live. I would spare you some of that wasted time.”

“Did you never think of doing yourself in?” The idea had never occurred to her because of her daughters. But for him, the situation was different. He had lost his children in addition to his wife.

“No,” he said. “There was a time when I tried to kill myself with whiskey, but I began to loathe the taste of it, not to mention what it made me feel like in the morning.”

She turned and began to walk again, but slower now.

“If I take a case of someone who needs protection,” Bruce said, “I'll do everything in my power to ensure they're safe.”

“There's no need for kisses, though,” she said, not looking at him.

“Oh, no, that was just for me.”

He showed no signs of dropping back. Would he walk all the way to Kinloch with her, sit outside the church while she spoke to the minister? What on earth would she say?

There's this man who troubles me, Reverend. He's too handsome for my peace of mind. When he grins at me I lose my train of thought. When he kissed me, I almost fainted with desire.

That wouldn't do, would it?

She stole a glance at him. He was smiling at her.

Against such an implacable will, what choice did she have?

She shook her head, turned on her heel and began walking back to the house.

“Very well,” she said. “I'll go back to Drumvagen and be a hermit there. But I have to return to Ireland soon. You can't think of stopping me.”

“I only ask that you not leave until we find Henderson. I can't guarantee your safety otherwise.”

“Then do hurry up and find the idiotic man,” she said.

Did he realize that he was one of the reasons why she was thinking of leaving so soon?

They walked together. To her surprise, he didn't feel the need to fill the silence with words.

“Tell me about your home,” she said a few minutes later.

“I have a house near Boston,” he said. “It's close enough to the city that I don't feel isolated, but it sits on a bluff overlooking the ocean.”

“Have you always lived there?”

Did he realize what she was asking? From his smile, it seemed as if he did.

“Only for the last five years,” he said.

So there weren't memories in every room, around every corner, unlike her situation in Ireland.

Iverclaire was a grand castle, more than adequate for the four brothers and their wives, with room left over for a dozen more family members.

She'd found refuge from memories by moving into one of the abandoned gardener's cottages on the estate. It boasted three rooms, adequate space for her and the girls. The kitchen was ample, opening up into a large sitting room. The girls had one bedroom and she the other. More than anything else, it offered privacy and silence, blessed silence.

“Macrath and I grew up in Edinburgh, and I'm surprised he chose to live here.”

“While I greet the Atlantic each day. The ocean appears angry most of the time, unlike here.”

“My daughters would like the beach,” she said. “And the grotto.”

She felt her cheeks warm at the mention of the grotto and wished she hadn't said anything. He would think she was recalling the first time she saw him, and of course she was doing no such thing. That the image of him on the beach was seared into her mind was something she needed to remedy.

At the base of the back stairs she turned to face him.

He held out his hand and she placed hers in it.

“I want you safe, Ceana.”

By his words he meant for her to stay close to Drumvagen. Did he also mean to avoid him? She had a feeling she should do both.

She nodded, pulled her hand free and began to mount the steps, forcing herself not to look back at him.

 

C
HAPTER
E
IGHT

“I
'm really worried about her,” Virginia said, slipping into bed beside her husband.

Macrath gathered her up in his arms and addressed the ceiling. “We have a plethora of females in our household, so you could mean any one of them. Fiona? One of the maids? Brianag?”

She slapped his chest. “You know I mean Ceana. She isn't herself.”

“At least she's not hiding in her room.”

She raised up and stared at him in the darkness, wishing she hadn't extinguished the lamp.

“She was fatigued.”

“She was malingering,” he said. “Ceana often retreats when she doesn't know how to handle a situation or she's avoiding it.”

“What situation is she avoiding?” she asked, dropping back onto the mattress.

“I'm not sure. Maybe the decision to move home. Maybe Bruce.”

“Bruce?”

He chuckled and tightened his arm around her. “Haven't you seen the looks they give each other? Part animosity, part interest. They're just like Mairi and Logan were. Bruce couldn't stop looking at Ceana and she studiously avoided looking anywhere in his direction.”

She had noticed, but thought Ceana didn't like the American. A pity, since she truly liked Bruce Preston. So did Macrath.

“I think we should invite Marie and Logan here. And Finella as well.”

“A reunion would be nice,” she said.

He shook his head. “No, not simply a reunion Perhaps all of us can convince her to remain in Scotland.”

“I don't think there's any problem with that,” Virginia said. “Ceana needs a place to stay. Granted, she can go and live in Edinburgh, but wouldn't it be lovely to have her here? I have missed her so.”

“You think she would move to Drumvagen?”

“I do, but the decision must be hers.”

She wouldn't pressure Ceana, unlike her Irish relatives.

Cuddling closer to her husband, she was thankful, in this relationship at least, there was no confusion as to emotions. She adored Macrath and knew he felt the same about her.

Wouldn't it be wonderful if Ceana would fall in love again? Once, she herself had felt the same way, never thinking love would come to her again. She'd needed a certain measure of fearlessness, a courage she'd never thought to possess, but she'd won Macrath in the end.

The question was: did Ceana want to fall in love? Or was her heart buried with Peter?

C
eana stood at the window of her sitting room, staring out over black moonless sky. From here you couldn't tell there was an ocean only a short distance away. The darkness, the blackness, was absolute.

Not unlike her life these past three years.

She wanted to be kissed again. She wanted to be loved. Without thinking, without passing judgment, without even allowing herself to wonder about what she was doing, she opened her door and stood there, listening to the sounds of night at Drumvagen.

The wind whistled around the house but there were no drafts in the corridor. Macrath had built a solid home for his clan. A dozen feet away was the door to another guest suite. A dozen feet, that's all.

She held the wrapper tight against her body, turned and closed her door, then measured the steps she took down the corridor. The faint light from the wall sconce at the end of the hall illuminated the carving on the door as well as the brass handle.

Softly, she rapped on the door, giving herself a test. If he didn't answer at the faint sound, she would turn, retreat to her room, and counsel herself against any further foolishness.

The door opened so suddenly she wondered if he'd been waiting for her.

He didn't say a word, merely extended his hand, palm up. She swallowed, placed her hand atop his and allowed him to draw her inside. He reached behind her to close the door, the latch a snick of sound in the silence.

He didn't say a word, either welcoming or condemning, only drew her farther into the sitting room. The lit lamp on the table beside the settee was the only illumination, but it seemed as bright as a summer sun.

In the middle of the room, he faced her.

He was still dressed in a white shirt and black trousers, but her mind held the picture of what he'd looked like naked. Unless he sent her away or her own conscience banished her from the room, she would see him naked again.

She'd be able to touch him.

Her hands were at her sides, her wrapper held fast by a single button at her neck. Her nightwear was black as well, her mourning attire complete. Even at night she was not supposed to forget she was a widow.

He bent his head, his attention focused on the single button. When it was undone, he slipped the garment off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

“I've never known any woman as beautiful in black as you, Ceana.”

She closed her eyes.

Don't let him question me. Don't let him ask me why I'm here. Don't let him make me say the words.

He bent his head, placed an almost chaste kiss at her temple. Her blood raced.

She couldn't breathe.

Her nightgown was nearly sheer, not nearly as proper as her cotton gowns. An instant later it didn't matter because it, too, was on the floor.

She kept her eyes closed, allowing him to look his fill. After all, it was only fair. She pressed her palms against her upper thighs, forcing herself to breathe deeply.

“You're beautiful.”

She opened her eyes. His face was bronzed with color, his eyes fixed on her breasts. His hands stroked from her shoulders down her arms to cup both her breasts. His thumbs smoothed over her nipples, making them erect.

She bit her lip, managed to restrain herself from pressing his hands against her breasts. They'd always been sensitive and he seemed to know it, taking his time stroking and teasing her.

Finally, he took her hand and led her into the bedroom.

She had never seen a man disrobe as quickly as Bruce. Seconds later he was naked, but this time she could look her fill. She didn't get the chance. He gripped her shoulders with heated palms, brought her forward slowly, his smile visible in the faint light from the sitting room.

Her knees were going to give out any second.

“I should . . .” Her voice faded off.

He slid his hands around her waist, placed them flat on her back and pulled her closer.

“You shouldn't do anything, Ceana, you don't want to do. If you want to leave, you've only to say the word.”

She bent her head to look at his growing erection. The sight of him on the beach had given her no clue to how large he was. Bruce was a magnificent specimen of man. She drew her hand over his chest and down his flat stomach. How beautiful he was.

He drew in a breath at her touch.

“Say the words now, Ceana,” he said. “A few minutes from now and I won't be able to let you go.”

She wasn't a frightened miss. She'd been married seven years to a man she loved. Desire had never been a stranger to her. She knew passion, felt joy in her husband's arms.

Until this moment she'd never thought to feel that again. Until this man kissed her she'd thought to live her life with only memories of those times.

The choice was hers whether to go or to stay. Just as the choice to come here had been hers. He hadn't come to her room. He hadn't cajoled or attempted to convince her. She'd made this decision alone, just as she made the next one to remain.

She looked up to find him smiling again, the expression at odds with the intensity of his gaze.

Her hands trailed up his back, wound around to the back of his neck, pulling his head gently down.

“Kiss me,” she said.

How quickly he obeyed.

Take me.

Would he do that as well?

He placed his hands on her waist, lifted her as if she weighed nothing and stretched her out before him on the mattress.

Bending, he placed a kiss on each shoulder. His mouth traced a path from between her breasts before kissing his way up the slope of one to place a tender kiss on one nipple, then the other. He kissed his way down her body to her navel, his tongue darting out to taste her. His hands stroked up her legs, his mouth and fingers meeting at the junction of her thighs.

Suddenly he was kneeling between her legs, his hands beneath her buttocks lifting her for his mouth. When she would have protested, he slowly slid a finger inside her, teasing her even further.

She wanted more. She wanted him to stop.
No, please, never stop.

She bit her bottom lip to silence her moans as he flicked his tongue against her.

“Please,” she said, without meaning to speak.

He didn't answer, only continued with his delight-­filled torment.

Tentacles of need spread through her body, each one carrying fire. Her hips arched as she planted her feet on the mattress, arching her hips toward him. Her heart was racing. Her breath was tight.

“Please,” she said again.

He only smiled and separated her with his thumbs, another finger gently entering her. She didn't want his fingers; she wanted him. She wanted him to fill her, ease the emptiness.

Her mind scattered as she exploded in a shattering climax of wonder and delight.

Long minutes later she blinked open her eyes.

His gentle smile summoned her own.

She reached up, gripped his arms with her hands and pulled him to her.

He entered her gently. She closed her eyes, startled at the sensation. She wanted him again. Needed him. In moments she was overwhelmed by passion, unable to separate all the various pleasure points in her body.

“Ceana,” he said, breathing her name on a sigh as he surged into her.

Her hands gripped his upper arms as the tension built.

Over and over he surged into her, pressing her up against the headboard. One arm reached under her and lifted her effortlessly to him. To her surprise and delight, she climaxed again.

Seconds later he erupted, his cry mingling with hers.

She held him close, feeling his heart beating wildly against her. Turning her head, she pressed her lips against his bristly cheek.

The rapid beat of his heart made her smile, feeling oddly victorious.

Her fingers and toes tingled. Bliss filled her, blessedly deadening the voice of her conscience.

S
he hadn't meant to fall asleep. Or to wake up cuddled against him, his arm over her waist, his hand flat against her breasts.

His erection cradled her bottom and she knew the exact moment he was awake.

“I have to leave,” she said. A hint he shouldn't expect anything further, especially since his erection was growing. She scooted out of the way, her smile broadening when he chuckled.

“It's dawn,” he said. “You should leave before Brianag discovers you're here.”

The thought of the housekeeper finding her was enough to stop her heart for a second.

She sat up, gathering the sheet in front of her. “You said that just to scare me,” she said.

His grin was unrepentant and utterly charming. She ran her fingers through her hair, knowing it was a mess of curls around her head. Her chin was no doubt pink from his night beard, just as there were places all over her body slightly sore from being fiercely loved twice.

Daring herself, she dropped the sheet and walked naked into the sitting room, where she gathered up her nightgown and wrapper. How odd to wear mourning on this beautiful dawn. For the first time in three years something had replaced the yawning loneliness of her life.

The strangest thing was, she wasn't embarrassed or ashamed. She felt well loved, satiated. Satisfied. Well pleased.

He stood at the door between the two rooms. She turned, stretched out her hand, then pulled it back. Words were behind her. Besides, what could she say? She only nodded to him, opened the door slowly and looked both ways. She sent him another glance before she left, closing the door quietly behind her and racing to her suite, hoping she was unseen but not caring all that much if she was.

Some things were worth the price you paid for them. She knew she would always feel that way about this night with Bruce.