As she closed, scalding hot around him, Richard watching her face and seeing the expression of sheer relief that washed over her fine features, got the distinct impression that she was as thankful to have him inside her again as he was to be there.
Wrapping his arms about her, one beneath her hips, he took her lips in a sealing kiss then lifted her. Rocked her.
She caught the rhythm quickly. Rising on her knees, she tried to increase the tempo.
"No. Anchoring her hips he drew her fully down, held her there for a moment, then picked up the rhythm again. "Keep in time with the horses."
She blinked at him, but did; gradually, the steady, rolling rocking became so instinctive they no longer needed to think of it-but could think, instead, solely of the indescribable pleasure of their bodies merging intimately, again and again, in a journey of infinite delight.
Held firmly, closely, Catriona shuddered-with pure pleasure with sharp excitement. With an unfurling sense of the illicit-of the wild the unconventional-in her soul and his. Eyes closed, held close in his embrace, their fully dressed state contradicted, contrasted-focused her senses on-the area of then naked engagement. Along the bare inner face of her thighs, all she could feel was the fabric of his trousers the smooth leather of the seat Over her flanks and legs over the curves of her bottom, all she could feel was the shift and glide of her lawn chemise and petticoats.
Only at the core of her, in the soft, swollen, heated flesh between her widespread thighs-only there could she feel him, only there did they touch with no barriers between. Only there did they merge, sweetly slick, powerfully smooth.
With heightened senses, she reveled in the power inherent in their joining, in the deeply compulsive repetition, in the burgeoning energy rising within them.
Senses wide open, awareness complete, she was deeply conscious that outside the carriage, the world, ice cold and blanketed in white, went on, committed to its own steady rhythm, the unquenchable rhythm of life. Under the snow, life still glowed, seeds warm, fecundity waiting to flower. Just as, beneath their heavy clothes, they-their bodies and their lives-were melding, seeds sown in darkness to flower later-in summer, when the sun returned.
With their own rhythm, the rhythm of their breathing of their heartbeats, of the constant flexing of their bodies, locked to the rolling gait of the horses plodding through that wintry scene, they, too, became part of it. A natural part of the landscape, the act of their joining invested with the same, intrinsic force that breathed life into the world.
As the snow swirled and the light slowly faded and the horses plodded on, locked in each others arms, their bodies slowly tensing, straining toward shimmering release, they were a piece of the jigsaw of the world at that moment. An essential, necessary piece.
With that certainty investing her mind, her soul, Catriona dragged her lips from his. Laying her head on his shoulder, her forehead by his jaw, she breathed rapidly, raggedly. Her body moved incessantly without her direction, driven by a need she no longer needed to conceal. Didn't know how to conceal.
Caught in the moment, she clung to him, conscious to her toes of the steely strength of him, the hot hard length of him, sliding so effortlessly deep into her core, nudging her womb, soon to fill it, to provide the seed for her fruit.
Need built, then flooded her; she heard herself moan. He shifted and brushed a hot kiss to her temple, then tightened his arms about her and urged her on. Urged her deeper upon him.
She dragged in a desperate breath, and tightened about him and drew him in-into her body, into her soul.
Into her heart.
She could feel her protective distance dissolving-feel her shields slide away-leaving her defenseless. At her feet, the hole she'd jumped into that first night yawned and beckoned anew-tempting her to recommit to it, to jump in as she had when she'd first given herself to him, when she'd first welcomed him-the warrior-into her body. The second night she'd gone to him had dug the hole deeper, the third night had sealed her fate.
Now, compelled by that same fate, drawn on by a force more powerful than any she'd known, she stepped forward gladly and slid into the dark.
And she was falling.
Through darkness hot with passion, sparking with desire, heated by their yearning bodies. The rush of need rose up and caught her, swept her up and on, a wave lifting her to blessed oblivion. She rode it rode him, urgently-he met her reflected her energy and pushed her on. Ever on.
To culmination, to the peak of joy that swelled and welled then crashed about her, showering her body, her mind with wonder with release so fragilely beautiful it shimmered in her veins and glowed beneath her skin.
Eyes shut, fingers clenched in his shirt, she muffled her scream against his warm chest. She clung, blissfully buoyed to the peak for one long instant, then let go.
And floated at peace.
He gathered her to him, pressed a kiss to her cheek, and filled her even more deeply, even more forcefully. Fully open, she received him joyfully, softly smiling at his deep groan of completion, at the warmth that flooded her womb.
She'd made her decision and stepped into the unknown, and there was nowhere to land but in his arms.
They closed about her, holding her tight.
Shutting her eyes against a sharp rush of emotion, Catriona surrendered and sank into his embrace.
"I take it," Richard drawled, "that that's Merrick looming ahead?"
"Yes." Nose all but pressed to the window, Catriona spared no more than a swift glance for the majestic peak towering over the head of the vale. The carriage rocked and raced on, swiftly pulled by Richard's powerful horses, they were almost home, and she had so many things to think of. "That's the Melchetts' farm." She nodded to a huddle of low-roofed buildings hugging the protection of a rise "The woods beyond yield most of our firelogs."
She sensed Richard's nod; she kept her eyes glued to the scene beyond the window, as it cataloging all she saw. In reality, her mind was in an unaccustomed, but oddly pleasant whirl-due, of course, to him. They'd crossed into the vale ten minutes before, having left Ayr, on the coast, at first light, after only two nights on the road
The first, spent at The Angel in Stirling, had opened her eyes to the benefits of traveling with a gentleman-a rich, powerful, protective one. Through Worboys, Richard had made his wishes-their requirements-known; all had happened as he'd decreed. Even Algaria, traveling behind them in the vale's carriage, had muted her unspoken disapproval. Even she had had to appreciate the ease of a private parlor and the quality of an excellent dinner.
Algaria had fallen silent; as the days passed, she'd be come withdrawn. Inwardly sighing, Catriona accepted it and waited for her mentor to see the light.
For herself, revelation had already come.
As husband and wife, she and Richard had shared a room, shared a bed, for the past two nights. Time enough, opportunity enough, for her to see what the future might hold. Falling asleep in his arms had been heaven. Waking up there had proved a new delight.
Feeling heat in her cheeks, Catriona inwardly grinned. She avoided looking at the cause and kept her gaze on the white fields, her hot cheeks close to the cold window.
While her mind remembered all the details, and her wayward senses reveled in recollected sensation.
She'd woken that morning to find him wrapped around her, woken to the sensation of him sliding into her. She'd gasped and clutched the arm wrapped about her waist, only to have him tip her hips back so he could enter her more deeply.
He'd loved her as he always did-slowly, languorously, powerfully. Indefatigably. That seemed to be his style. It was one she found addictive. There was a depth to their intimacy, both physical and emotional, that she hadn't expected.
She'd closed her eyes and drunk it in, let it seep through her and nourish her soul.