35
The wretched beasts, she thought.
Staring past the draped opening of the heavy bed curtains, Catherine cursed in silence the woman’s bare back, her buttocks lifting and descending on the Highlander’s shining manhood. She watched his hands grasp her hips as their tempo increased, and she longed for them to hold her that way. Catherine couldn’t see the wench’s face, but the waves of black hair spread over the flawless back suddenly infuriated her.
She wanted to tear the woman from his embrace and throw her into the corridor, but she held her anger in check. She could not expose herself. Catherine withdrew into the black corner by the foot of the bed and waited—and watched. Letting her eyes travel up the Highlander’s muscular legs to his straining thighs, to the fully extended shaft at
