Disclaimers: See Chapter One
Chapter Six
As Catherine led him into the brightly hued garden, she silently fumed at him and his arrogant manners. How dare he just waltz in and expect her to fall under his charms, as if nothing had happened? Her promise to Belle momentarily forgotten, she thought about this latest revelation of his deception. His manly pride would no doubt be unbearable now that he had the full support of her mother in his schemes to get her alone. She could only image his behavior from this point on.
He walked a few steps behind her, sensing that she needed that space before she would be able to face him. His eyes lovingly followed the curves of her body as her full skirt swished with each vigorous step she took, resting a little longer on the plump curve of her buttocks. She stopped abruptly and spun to glare at him as she noted his appraisal.
"Is this the next step in your grand seduction plot?" Catherine demanded icily, her hands clenched tightly into fists. "Coming into my home and charming my parents into giving you leave to come call upon me. Presenting yourself to my mother as a gentleman when we both know what a cad you are."
"No, lass," Iain replied, ignoring her sniff of disbelief at his denial. "I realize that our first encounter has manifested into many doubts about my character and that my behavior left much to be desired, but I was sincere in all my words to you."
"Sincere? Mayhap, you should be saying that you were insincere, my lord. You spoke to me as if I was a trollop that you found walking the streets of Edinburgh and one that had you requested to serve you for the evening." Catherine retorted harshly, watching him closely as he flinched at her words. She turned her back on him again and walked away from him, needing to escape his presence. He had the power to overwhelm her senses and lull her anger into acceptance by sheer power of his charisma and magnetism.
"I meant every word."
"Tsk, tsk. Fool me once, shame on you but fool me twice and shame on me," Catherine replied mockingly, looking out at the vast lawn filled with blooms.
"Catherine," he called out softly, his voice urging her to turn and face him, his heart quickened as she reluctantly turned to face him. "I know that I've given you no reason to trust me but I ask that you only hear what I have to say and I pray that you heed my warning."
She stood before him with her arms crossed and her brows arched in skeptism. Her posture clearly telling him what she thought he could do with his warning and if he wanted to have his say, he'd best say it quickly and to the point. She'd had enough of his games and was at the end of her patience.
"I know that you are engaged to marry Patrick but there are some things that you don't know about him. Things that he's kept hidden from society, for if people found out he would be ruined and imprisoned," Iain explained, his onyx eyes sweeping over her face, trying to see acceptance, scorn or perhaps disbelief at his words.
"Are you suggesting that you know my fiancé better than his future bride?" She demanded, ignoring the tiny voice at the back of her mind that mocked her words.
"Yes, I know something that would alter your perceptions of your dear fiancé. My only concern is how to tell you."
"You didn't seem to lack a tongue last night, my Lord. Perhaps you should attempt to use it more precisely instead of allowing it to wag about, not getting to the point that you wish to impart to me." Catherine replied sweetly, satisfaction flaring through her at his clenching jaw.
"Mayhap, I am concerned that you would think that this is nothing more than another step in my diabolical plot to steal you away from the McNeil. Is it true concern for your safety or do I simply want to claim you for myself? Which is it, lass?" He challenged with a small smile.
"I don't know what it could be. It could be all that or something more that I have no knowledge of," she replied primly.
"Or perhaps you're willing to hear what I have to say for personal reasons. Could it be that you are hesitating over your soon to be nuptials?"
Catherine glared at him. How dare he presume so much?
"Well, instead of skirting around the issue, you should just tell me and let me be the judge. After all, Laird MacLachan , 'tis my life not yours," Catherine responded, walking away from him to sit on one of the benches under the shade of a large weeping willow.
As she sat, she arranged the many layers of her skirt to flow neatly to the ground, once satisfied with the result she clasped her hands tightly upon her lap. Catherine looked up at him, not surprised that he had followed her across the terrace and was standing before her. His masculine beauty was outlined by the golden aura of the mid afternoon sun. His flesh appear rich copper and she wanted nothing more than to reach up and run her fingers along the sharp lines of his jaw, lightly brush her thumb along his lips and see if the were as soft as they looked from where she sat.
Catherine shook her head ruefully at the dual emotions that rushed through her mind. On one hand she was furious at him and his lies but on the other, she wanted nothing more than to be held within his embrace as she had been last evening. She suppressed a grin as Iain stood stiffly before her in the uncomfortable silence.
"How well do you know him, Catherine?" He asked again, needing to hear her answer, "Truthfully."
"You're point being?" She stubbornly refused to answer his query.
"I have proof that he is a murderer. Did you know that about him?" Iain demanded, determined to break through her stubbornness. He knelt before her, wisely keeping one leg up incase she chose to maim him again. "I believe that he is responsible for the death of my family."
Catherine inhaled sharply at his accusation. She had always felt ill at ease around Patrick; as if something deep inside was warning her to not lower her defenses while she was with him. She had always felt dirty after being in his presence. His eyes would sweep over her body as if she already belonged to him and his gaze upon her had made her want to cringe and run off to scrub her body clean to rid herself of his distasteful stare. She had tried to rid herself of those feelings, telling herself that it was her unfamiliarity with him that made her feel that way.
However, could she trust Iain?
'He had deceived her at their first meeting. Not exactly a mark in his favor.' She mused silently and thought about how she felt around him. It was so hard to distinguish the racing emotions that he evoked within her.
Anger, desire, exasperation, peace, fury… love.
Deep in her heart, regardless of how quickly and impossible it was, she was compelled to trust him. This instant connection was throwing her off stride. She had never been one to follow her heart but instead she'd trusted her logic to steer her in the right direction. Catherine had always searched for answers and proof, something tangible not just hearsay. Iain could be telling the truth but she would base her decisions on facts not flights of fancy.
"Do you have proof that he committed the crime?"
"A piece of the McNeil Clan tartan was found mere yards away from my slain kin."
"That could have been planted there by his enemies," Catherine replied calmly. "You have nothing more substantial that links Patrick to having been there?"
"Catherine, we patrol my land twice a day. The chances of an intruder entering an area and escaping undetected are extremely slim," Iain retorted.
"But not impossible," she argued, not willing to condemn someone on so little evidence. "You've already found Patrick guilty without looking any further, haven't you?"
"Have you ever felt something deep inside you, telling you when something is right? An instinct so overpowering that regardless of what you do to move away from that thought or belief, it pulls at you to come back to it? A feeling that as you move away from your original thought grows and becomes unsettled until you can only feel at peace by returning to your first belief?" Iain asked, running an agitated hand through is dark locks.
"Without proof, no one will believe your wild accusations. They'll simply regard you as a man, driven mad with grief over the loss of his family," she placed her hands to rest lightly upon his rock hard shoulders and began to knead away the tension, trying to ease away the strain and calm the angry warrior before her.
"Why must you be so logical and analytical? Can't you accept what your soul is saying is the truth?" Iain asked, leaning into her soothing touch.
"You're thinking with your heart and your anger, Iain," she murmured quietly. "You need to think this through clearly without your emotions, however justified, clouding your judgment and overpowering your thoughts."
"I can't just shut down my feelings and pretend that everything is fine, Catherine. I am not an automaton. You may be able to do so but the fire of my anger has consumed me and I am lost within its flame. Each night I awaken to the nightmare of my sister's last words echoing in my ear and the feel her last exhale upon my cheek." Iain said, his voice harsh and cracking with each word uttered. "I hear her pleading with me with me to live for me and each night I turn away from her last wishes and vow to punish those responsible. I wake in the darkness and fall back into an uneasy sleep. The dreams repeat throughout the night, until I am mad from seeing her die in my arms."
During his tale, Catherine had reached for his hand and entwined her fingers with his, offering him her strength as she felt him falter mid way through his recital. He clung to her grasp, as if she were a lifeline in the rough seas of his inner turmoil.
"Iain, I don't mean for you to ignore what you are feeling, but before taking any action, you must step back and think of the consequences. Your spirit cries out for justice but if you simply lash out without proof, you are no better than those whom you seek." Catherine murmured, her freed hand slid down his shoulders and she laid it to rest over his heart.
They stood quietly for the next few minutes. Iain, lost in thought as his thumb tenderly mapped the flesh of her hand, while she counted the beats of his heart. With her hand pressed against his chest she felt his pulse quicken under her touch.
"I know that this is against your nature but all I ask is that you wait before going forward," she pleaded.
Iain gazed down at her and his breath caught as he stared upon her classic beauty. However, it was her eyes that held him captive. They glittered brighter than the bluest sapphire and shone with a hidden fire, within their depths he saw more than she had meant for him to see. His lips curved into a pleased smile and he brought their joined hands to his lips, pressing affectionate kisses upon the back of her palm.
"Does this mean I'm forgiven for my uncouth behaviour?" Iain inquired, laughing at the frown she sent his way.
"Not completely. You could have approached me with Thomas at your side and avoided getting hurt in the backlash of my temper. You men to seem to like to make things more complicated than they need to be," Catherine replied, pulling her hand free and leaning away from him.
"Forgive me, lass. I promise next time to consult with you," he offered.
She rolled her eyes at his obvious ruse, cursing the times they lived in and the warrior creed that all Highlanders followed. Yes, he would inform her but only after he had wrapped everything up and taken care of the situation.
"Iain, do you really want to start this new phase between us like this?" Catherine demanded in exasperation, daring him to deny the accusation she had thrown his way. "I am not your typical lass who would fall for your carefully crafted words."
"You're an intelligent, caring, spirited and beautiful goddess," Iain murmured, placing his arms on either side of her on the bench and caging her in place.
"Flattery will get you naught," she chided in a breathy tone, as the heat of his body began to sear her through her dress. Shyly, she glanced up at him and was mesmerized by the emotions that he allowed her to see from those deep, dark pools. Hesitantly, she leaned forward and slowly brushed her lips over his, the softest of kisses.
"What is it about you that draws me to your side?" She whispered, ending the butterfly kiss but letting her lips brush against his with each word she spoke aloud. "My mind is cautioning me that this is happening too soon, that this is nothing more than a whirlwind of emotions that can only end in grief for both of us but I'm helpless to pull myself away from you. You've enchanted me and I'm hopelessly entangled within your spell."
"'Tis the other way around, Catherine, you are a siren who has captivated this mere mortal warrior and made him yearn to be at your side forever. I know that we have just met but you've created a thirst within me that only you can quench." Iain answered passionately before wrapping his arms around her willow like waist and reclaiming her lips in a sweet, tender kiss. His tongue teased her lips, begging entrance.
"Iain," she murmured, reluctantly pulling away, "Wait. We can't. Not until I've spoken with Patrick and put a stop to the engagement."
"You are not to speak to him, Catherine. You can not comprehend what he is and what he is capable of doing," Iain snapped harshly as he scowled down at her determined features.
"I am not a child to be told what I can and can not do. Even if we were betrothed, you would still not have that right over me." Catherine replied in a cool voice.
"Damn it, Catherine. Why must you be so stubborn over this matter?" Iain exploded.
"Damn it, Iain. Why must you be so contrary over this matter?" She mimicked, poking his hard chest with a sharp finger.
"Can't you just accept my words of caution and allow your father and me to deal with Patrick," he growled, continuing as if she had not mocked him over his protective behaviour.
"No, I gave you the benefit of the doubt and I must do the same with Patrick. I can't paint him with a black brush without proof of his infamy. Surely, you can understand why I must do this. I do believe you, Iain but I need to see the proof for myself," Catherine retorted stubbornly. She huffed under her breath at the mulish look he cast her. "I will contact you as soon as I speak with him, if that eases your mind, but I will speak with him."
"Promise me that you will not met with him outside of your home," Iain begged, his mind racing at how Patrick would react to her announcement.
"I would not meet with him alone! What type of lady do you think I am? That you immediately picture me strolling into some gentlemen's abode without a chaperon about." Catherine demanded, aggrieved at his defamation of her.
"You're out with me and I don't see a chaperon anywhere near us," Iain grumbled.
"Iain, look about you," Catherine suggested.
Iain looked around him, his eyes squinting from the glare of the bright sun. He saw in the distance two soldiers standing off to the side, both with their hands resting on the hilt of their swords, as they watched his every move. To their left, a gardener trimmed the perfectly maintained hedges and scrapped at the perfectly groomed lawn. He spun to face the terrace and saw three maids, one sweeping the path to the garden, another dusting the tables and chairs and the last beating a rug as if to cleanse it of dust, if not for the lack of debris floating about her. Even in the distance between them, he could feel all those eyes trained upon him. He turned back to face her, his cheeks dusky with embarrassment and saw her struggling to keep from laughing aloud.
"Did you honestly think that my mother would send me out here in your company completely unchaperoned, especially in light of what happened last night?" She asked incredulously, laughter erupting from her at his sheepish expression. "She's a never-ending matchmaker but not a simpleton in the manners of men."
"How far could I go before they feel that I am crossing the line, Catherine?" He murmured his rich voice dropping into a teasing purr.
"Are you planning on seducing me on the lawns before their eyes?" She quipped, winking at him.
He shook his head at her antics and decided to press forward with their game. Softly, he whispered to her,
"If I profane with my unworthiest hand
This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this:
My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand
To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss."(1)
"Could I hold your petal soft hand within mine, caressing it gently until I felt it trembling for more? Could I press a kiss into your palm, my lips following each line carved there by the god's, as if within your closed palm, you held all of my love?" Iain asked, as he followed his words by deed.
Catherine gasped as his lips grazed over her suddenly sensitive flesh. It felt as if all her nerves were concentrated on the area where his lips were exploring. She fought to control her shallow breathing as a rush of desire flooded her senses, leaving her trembling and aching in its powerful wake. Her free hand cupped his face allowing her fingertips to slide over his jaw and she shuddered as she felt the raspy stubble beneath her stroking hand.
"Iain," she pleaded, unsure if she was begging him for something more or if she begging him to stop his tantalizing caress.
"Would they rush to stop me, if I pulled you close and gazed into your vivid blue eyes, full of longing and desire before I…" Iain continued, stunning her with a dimpled smile as he ignored her half-hearted protest.
She leaned into his muscular frame, needing his strength as each word he uttered wore down her resistance, leaving her clinging weakly to him, a vision of for all to see, the glow of love reflecting from her.
"Before you…?" She moaned, closing her eyes and letting her imagination soar at his unfinished sentence.
"Before I return you back to your mother's side," Iain replied with a devilish grin and a not so convincing innocent look.
"Return me to my mother's side? The day I believe those words, is the day that the world has come to an end," she replied, she glanced up and caught the mischievous look upon his face and was determined to find out what he had truly meant to say. "Please, tell me."
He burst out laughing at her cajoling tone and her pouting lips.
"One day, Catherine but I think I've pressed my luck enough for one day," he said, brushing back a strand of hair that had escaped. "Besides, I see your mother gesturing at us to return. Perhaps, the next time we meet, I'll finish saying what I had started, but for now I'll leave it to your ample imagination."
"Fine, but be warned that one day the shoe will be on the other foot," Catherine replied in a haughty voice and a slow wink.
"I'm counting the hours," he answered in the softest of purrs. "Thank you for a pleasant afternoon and a chance to redeem myself in your eyes, Catherine."
"Who said that you were forgiven? I do not recall saying that," she teased, pushing him lightly away from her and standing tall over his kneeling figure.
"Considering that in this encounter I faired better than our last, I'm presuming that all has been forgotten and forgiven," he retorted, flashing boyish grin at her.
"You do you know what they say when you assume anything, Iain, and besides, there's still time, if you care for a repeat of that experience," Catherine offered, her eyes glittering with unconcealed mirth..
"Nay, I think once was enough," Iain muttered, "Shall we join your mother before you plot my demise any further."
He stood and offered her his arm, which she readily took. Murmuring quietly, they walked ago the path, lost in their own world and forgetting, if only briefly, that they both need to deal with Patrick's presence in their lives.
FYI - (1) These words are from Romeo and Juliet, during their first meeting together.
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