Caitrin begged. “Just a moment.”
The maid huffed her displeasure as she stomped out of the room, leaving them alone. Dash let Cait slide from his lap and wrap the counterpane tightly around herself. “Ye’ve got ta stop all this, my lord.”
He leaned forward in the seat, not wanting to display the tightness of his trousers. “Once you’re my wife, Caitie, it won’t matter.”
She shook her head. “I do wish ye’d stop sayin’ that. Ye’re no’ my future. I gave ye that sleepin’ draught because I thought it would help ye come ta yer senses about all this.”
All it had done was made his resolve stronger. She was his mate, by chance or design. Being separated from her was physically painful. All he could think of as he raced north was bedding her, making her his in every way. It seemed the only thing that would assuage the ache in his heart and loins.
“And I’m waiting for you to come to yours. I’m not like other men. I can hear your heart race when I touch you. I can smell your body and know it craves mine. I’m not going anywhere, Caitie.”
“Miss Cait!” Jeannie wailed from outside the room.
Dash growled. He could hardly wait to replace the bumbling servant with someone dependable.
“Ye need ta leave.” Caitrin frowned.
“For now.” Dash rose from his seat and pulled his shirt back over his head. “I’ll be awaiting you along with Mr. MacQuarrie.” He snatched up his waistcoat and jacket. “Don’t keep us waiting.”
***
Cait wasn’t sure if it was a blessing or a curse that Lamont and Boyd had managed to lug one of her trunks to The Black Swan. Not having anything dry to wear would have given her an excuse to avoid dinner with the two men who had both been adamant that she would marry them.
She’d wanted to accept Alec MacQuarrie each and every time he’d asked her. At least he’d asked her, unlike that boorish Sassenach. But she couldn’t marry Alec then, and she couldn’t marry Alec now. His future hadn’t changed, and she wasn’t a part of it.
And how was she supposed to sit down to dinner with the man? Especially with Dashiel Thorpe present. Who knew what he’d say. The blasted earl made everything complicated. Her emotions were a jumble, thanks to him.
“Miss Cait, ye canna ask me ta keep all this from Mr. Macleod. If he finds out from someone else what’s happened on this journey, he’ll sack me for sure.”
“Ye’re the only one who saw anythin’, Jeannie. And since Lord Brimsworth is headed ta Glasgow, no one else will say anythin’ ta Papa,” Cait said, trying again to reassure her maid.
Jeannie straightened Cait’s blue wool skirt. “It’s no’ the earl I’m worried about, Miss. Mr. MacQuarrie has seen the two of ye together. He’s bound ta say somethin’ ta yer father when he sees him.”
Cait’s shoulders sagged forward. Alec hadn’t been in Edinburgh for months. After suspecting she was a witch, he’d taken off for England without a word.
Would Dashiel Thorpe respond the same way? Cait frowned at the thought. It was no matter. He’d eventually tire of the chase, the way all the others did.
A knock sounded on her door. Cait nodded for Jeannie to answer it. Alec MacQuarrie stood in the doorway, his warm brown eyes focused on her. “You are a sight for sore eyes, Cait.”
She smiled and walked toward him. “Ye have no one ta blame for that except yerself, Alec MacQuarrie. One day ye were in Edinburgh, and the next ye vanished without a word.”
He offered his arm, which Cait eagerly took. He towed her toward the staircase and lowered his voice. “You’re one of them, aren’t you?”
Her mouth went dry. “One of them?” she echoed. “I doona ken what ye mean.”
“The Còig ,” he answered.
The Còig . The five mythical witches in her coven, with powers passed from mothers to daughters for generations. But the membership was a secret.
Cait grinned, as though he was a foolish child. “Do ye believe in faerie tales,
The maid huffed her displeasure as she stomped out of the room, leaving them alone. Dash let Cait slide from his lap and wrap the counterpane tightly around herself. “Ye’ve got ta stop all this, my lord.”
He leaned forward in the seat, not wanting to display the tightness of his trousers. “Once you’re my wife, Caitie, it won’t matter.”
She shook her head. “I do wish ye’d stop sayin’ that. Ye’re no’ my future. I gave ye that sleepin’ draught because I thought it would help ye come ta yer senses about all this.”
All it had done was made his resolve stronger. She was his mate, by chance or design. Being separated from her was physically painful. All he could think of as he raced north was bedding her, making her his in every way. It seemed the only thing that would assuage the ache in his heart and loins.
“And I’m waiting for you to come to yours. I’m not like other men. I can hear your heart race when I touch you. I can smell your body and know it craves mine. I’m not going anywhere, Caitie.”
“Miss Cait!” Jeannie wailed from outside the room.
Dash growled. He could hardly wait to replace the bumbling servant with someone dependable.
“Ye need ta leave.” Caitrin frowned.
“For now.” Dash rose from his seat and pulled his shirt back over his head. “I’ll be awaiting you along with Mr. MacQuarrie.” He snatched up his waistcoat and jacket. “Don’t keep us waiting.”
***
Cait wasn’t sure if it was a blessing or a curse that Lamont and Boyd had managed to lug one of her trunks to The Black Swan. Not having anything dry to wear would have given her an excuse to avoid dinner with the two men who had both been adamant that she would marry them.
She’d wanted to accept Alec MacQuarrie each and every time he’d asked her. At least he’d asked her, unlike that boorish Sassenach. But she couldn’t marry Alec then, and she couldn’t marry Alec now. His future hadn’t changed, and she wasn’t a part of it.
And how was she supposed to sit down to dinner with the man? Especially with Dashiel Thorpe present. Who knew what he’d say. The blasted earl made everything complicated. Her emotions were a jumble, thanks to him.
“Miss Cait, ye canna ask me ta keep all this from Mr. Macleod. If he finds out from someone else what’s happened on this journey, he’ll sack me for sure.”
“Ye’re the only one who saw anythin’, Jeannie. And since Lord Brimsworth is headed ta Glasgow, no one else will say anythin’ ta Papa,” Cait said, trying again to reassure her maid.
Jeannie straightened Cait’s blue wool skirt. “It’s no’ the earl I’m worried about, Miss. Mr. MacQuarrie has seen the two of ye together. He’s bound ta say somethin’ ta yer father when he sees him.”
Cait’s shoulders sagged forward. Alec hadn’t been in Edinburgh for months. After suspecting she was a witch, he’d taken off for England without a word.
Would Dashiel Thorpe respond the same way? Cait frowned at the thought. It was no matter. He’d eventually tire of the chase, the way all the others did.
A knock sounded on her door. Cait nodded for Jeannie to answer it. Alec MacQuarrie stood in the doorway, his warm brown eyes focused on her. “You are a sight for sore eyes, Cait.”
She smiled and walked toward him. “Ye have no one ta blame for that except yerself, Alec MacQuarrie. One day ye were in Edinburgh, and the next ye vanished without a word.”
He offered his arm, which Cait eagerly took. He towed her toward the staircase and lowered his voice. “You’re one of them, aren’t you?”
Her mouth went dry. “One of them?” she echoed. “I doona ken what ye mean.”
“The Còig ,” he answered.
The Còig . The five mythical witches in her coven, with powers passed from mothers to daughters for generations. But the membership was a secret.
Cait grinned, as though he was a foolish child. “Do ye believe in faerie tales,
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