She shuddered and closed her eyes and clamped tightly about him. And sensed his chest swell, sensed his tension tighten. Felt his grip about her hips lock like iron and felt the brush of his thumb over her birthmark. It would be clearly visible in the light, contrasting against the ivory of her buttock, so taut, so tight.
Compulsion forced her to look, to crack open her lids and look at him behind her, his hard body flexing as he loved her. Forced her to study his face, to see the concentration and passion and sheer devotion etched therein, delineating the hard angles gilded by the candles' glow. Forced her to notice her own body, lushly wanton, her skin flushed, her hair wild fire spread over her shoulders and arms, her breasts swollen and tipped with deep rose, her thighs clamped together, her hips rocking only slightly as he filled her. Forced her, at the last, to look at her face, at the expression of sensual abandon stamped on her features, her heavy-lidded eyes, her panting, parted lips.
With a soft moan, she closed her eyes tightly and felt him lift the tempo, felt him start the long crescendo that would carry her to the stars.
And when she reached them, he held her there for long, immeasurable minutes, caught on the cusp of delight-then he joined her, and her heaven was complete.
A week later, Catriona pulled on her heavy cloak, picked up a basket lined with scraps of flannel, and headed out to the large barn. It was three o'clock, the light would soon fade. As she trudged across the yard whipped by lightly flurrying snow, the sun, hidden behind banks of grey cloud, cast the scene in a smoky, pale gold haze.
Struggling against the flurries, she hauled open the single door set in the barn's main doors, then slipped inside. Setting her basket down, she latched the door, then turned, paused to let her eyes adjust to the dimness, then scooped up her basket and headed for the loft ladder.
To find the kitchen cat, who, entirely out of synchrony with the seasons, had given birth somewhere up in the hay.
Gaining the top of the ladder, Catriona swung her basket up, then surveyed the scene-the expanse of hay bales stacked almost to the roof all the way along the loft which stretched down one side of the long barn.
She knew the cat and kittens were in the hay somewhere. She didn't know how she knew-she just did. She also knew that the kittens would die by morning if she didn't find them and take them into the warm kitchen.
With a sigh, she clambered up onto the hay-strewn loft boards and started to search.
The loft extended over the entire barn, over the three separate sections the large building housed. Mentally tossing a coin, she elected to start searching the section nearest, the one over the carriages, carts and ploughs.
Methodically pushing through hay stacks, pressing apart bales, sliding her hand, oh-so-trustingly, into possible dens, she tried to keep her mind on her search and away from its principal preoccupation.
As usual, she failed.
Her husband exerted an almost hypnotic attraction over her thoughts. Over her senses, he wielded absolute control-that, she accepted. But the degree to which she found herself dwelling on him-on his plans-on what his intentions really were-was disconcerting. She'd never before been that linked to anyone, never before felt her happiness dependent on someone else.
She'd been her own mistress for years-being his was changing her in ways she hadn't expected.
In ways she didn't entirely like-in ways she couldn't control.
In moments of weakness, like the present, as she absentmindedly crooned for the cat, when her mind was caught, trapped, in senseless speculation, raising visions that were unnervingly depressing she'd fallen back on her old habit of lecturing herself. Telling herself, sternly, that what would be, would be.
It only made her feel more helpless, more in the grip of some force beyond her control, as if her life was now tuned to some unknown piper.
Reaching the end of the first section without any sign of the cat, she straightened, pressed out the kinks in her spine, then trailed back to the ladder to fetch her basket. And doggedly glided into the next section-the one over the quartered dairy herd.
She was halfway through that section when she heard voices. Rocking back on her heels, she listened-and heard them again, low, almost murmuring. Curious, she rose and quietly walked into the last section of the loft.
In the back of her mind ran the thought that she might stumble on some illicit assignation-such was her interpretation of the tone of those murmurs. Ready to retreat silently if that proved the case, she inched closer to the loft's edge.
And heard Richard say: "Gently. Easy, sweetheart. Now-let's take it very slowly."
An assenting murmur in a light female tone answered him.
Catriona froze. She turned cold, then burned as temper seared her. What she felt in that instant was beyond her description-but betrayal was there, certainly as was a furious force she'd never before felt-every bit as green as her eyes. It was that force that fanned the flames of anger into a righteous blaze. Fists clenched quivering with rage, she marched to the top of the ladder leading down into the last section of the barn.
They heard her footsteps-and looked up.
For one fractured instant, Catriona stared down at her husband and the maid within his arms.
The eight-year-old maid he held balanced on the back of a shaggy coated pony.
Catriona's eyes widened from their angry slits, even while she mentally scrambled to keep her features unrevealing, her lips formed a telltale "Oh." Relief swept her; she teetered and had to take a quick step back from the loft's edge.
Richard's gaze, locked on her face, intensified. He straightened, fluidly swinging the girl down. Only then did Catriona notice the others surrounding the improvised ring, all waiting, obediently silent, for their turn.
"I, ah…" Weakly, she gestured to the hay-filled loft behind her. "The cat's had kittens."