“Let me in,” he demanded softly.
With a sigh, she stepped back, allowing him to push open the door and enter the room. He seemed to take up all the space in her chambers. Candlelight gilded his hair, highlighted the dark circles under his eyes and the grooves in his brow. His brows knitted as he studied her, as if he were in pain.
Catriona clamped her arms around herself and held on tightly. Even now, she wanted him. While her heart ached and her stomach cramped, she needed him. Her body betrayed her.
Her heart betrayed her.
She loved a man who didn’t even know who she truly was. Who could never really love her as she loved him. He was still wrapped up in his dead wife and child, any fool could see that, and who would blame him. That he cared so deeply for them only made her love him more.
“Are ye well?”
She blinked up at him. “Aye, I am well,” she replied stiffly.
He stared at his feet then lifted his gaze to her. “I didnae mean....”
“I know well ye didnae mean to take a tumble with me, Finn. Ye made that clear.”
“Nay, I meant… I didnae mean to hurt ye. Physically or.…”
He looked so lost, her heart almost burst for him. “Emotionally?”
“Aye.”
“Fear not, I shall recover I am sure.”
Finn scuffed a foot across the floorboard. “Also, I wanted to check… I mean I shouldnae have… if ye should carry my child, I should like to know.”
She closed her eyes briefly and put a hand against the post of the bed for support. Lord, she hadn’t even considered that. She could take some tea which would help prevent babes but with everything going on, she had forgotten. What if it was too late?
“I am sure naught will happen. ‘Twas only once after all,” she replied blithely.
“I should still like to know.” He took a step forward and she shrank back. “What shall ye do if ye conceive my child? Will ye pretend it is Gillean’s?”
This thought appeared to pain him and his brow furrowed further. She itched to smooth away his concern. It was for nothing, after all. If her father didn’t turn up on the morrow, she’d have to marry Gillean and pray her father rescued her before the laird found out the truth. After all, Gillean could not hold her to a contract that did not have her name on it.
She shuddered as she considered what she might have to suffer to keep up the pretence.
Finn touched her cheek. “Forgive me, I didnae mean to scare ye.”
“Ye didnae scare me.”
“Forgive my behaviour then.” He dipped his head and wrapped a curl of hair around one finger, staring at it as he stroked its length.
“There is naught to forgive.” Her legs trembled when she saw the darkening in his eyes. His gaze dropped to her lips, then to her breasts—her nipples likely stood out against the white of her chemise—and back up to meet her gaze.
“There is. I took advantage of ye. I behaved like a boar.”
“Ye didnae take advantage, Finn. I gave myself willingly.”
“And I shouldnae have taken it. I thought myself a better man than that but I was wrong.”
Catriona shook her head slowly. He meant to torture himself and she refused to allow that. He might have hurt her but she had no wish for him to hurt any more than necessary. The man already carried too much around on those great shoulders. “Ye are a good man, Finn. Dinnae say otherwise.”
“Not good enough for ye.” He smirked. “Forgive me, I shouldnae have spoken so.”
She searched his gaze. What did he mean? A spark of hope lit in her chest but she tamped it down. Even if he felt as she did, there could be no future for them. On the morrow—if she could not delay the wedding any longer—she would be wed to Gillean.
“Ye are too good for me,” she said gently, giving in and pressing away the dips etched into his forehead. “Ye have been kind and patient.” She cupped his cheek and he leaned into her hand with a tiny groan of surrender.
“What am I to do with ye, Katie? I am a weak man around ye.” He put his arms around her, placed his hands against her lower back and pulled her into him. “Ye are to be married…” he murmured as he urged her down against the bed.
She nodded, warm gratification flowing through her at the feel of his hard body against hers.
“On the morrow ye shall be another’s.” He laid his lips to her neck.
“Aye,” she whispered.
“I can offer ye naught.”
“Aye, I know.”
“I cannae resist ye.”
“I know,” she repeated. “And I.”
“Just one more night,” he breathed into her ear.
“Aye, one more night.”