Wild Jasmine (66 page)

“
Rowan! Rowan! Love me but a final time! Ohh, how shall I live without you, my love? Please, love me!
”

Rory Maguire felt his heart contract painfully within his chest. How could he let her die? Reaching out, he gently touched one of the crystal tears as it ran down her cheek. Wearily, he drew off his boots, his breeches, his shirt. He had never felt less like making love to a woman in his entire life. Then, to his shock, her eyes opened, and as he stood frozen with fear, she held out her arms to him.

“
Rowan! You came back to me!
”

Looking down at her, Rory Maguire realized that her wonderful turquoise eyes, though open, were totally unfocused. Jasmine could only see what she wanted to see, and he had become Rowan Lindley for her. He wasn’t certain if he felt anger or shame at the revelation. Drawing back the coverlet, he
stared at her exquisite nudity. The candles and the fire cast a golden glow over her body. Her breasts were probably the most beautiful he had ever seen on a woman.

The sightless eyes looked up at him, and she smiled seductively.

Unable to help himself, he reached out and fondled one of the cone-shaped orbs. She murmured with pleasure at his touch, her eyes closing once again. Kneeling by the bedside, he leaned over her and, finding her mouth, kissed her softly at first, then more passionately. Her lips parted beneath his, her tongue sought his out, teasing at him with little flickering jabs that sent fire into his loins, to his great mortification. It was wrong to want her under these circumstances. He wanted her to be aware that he loved her, that he desired her, that he wanted her to desire him. Not Rowan Lindley.
Him. Rory Maguire!

“
Come into bed, Rowan. I want to feel you against me,
” Jasmine whispered against his ear, her tongue poking teasingly into it.

He was overcome momentarily with a deep feeling of self-loathing, for his male member was suddenly as hard as iron and tingling with lust to possess her. Climbing into the bed, he gathered her into his arms, kissing her eyes, her mouth, her cheeks; his desire rising with every passing moment, for her response to his passion was incredible. He had never known a woman to react with such unfettered sensuality. He could feel her breasts beneath his chest swelling with her arousal, the nipples taut. Unable to restrain himself, he lowered his head and suckled hard upon one of the sentient little tips.

“
Oh, Rowan!
” she half sobbed, her fingers threading themselves through his unruly hair, arching herself against him as he transferred his attentions to the other nipple.

He was half sprawled across her, and gasped, startled as she reached down with her hands to capture his manhood and caress it fervently. She cupped and fondled his pouch, tickling it gently with the fingers of one hand while the other stroked his rod to the bursting point.

“
I can wait no longer,
” she moaned. “
Put yourself inside me, my love!
”

He needed little encouragement, and mounted her. She squirmed seductively beneath him as he pinioned her between his thighs, reaching out to guide him into paradise. A groan escaped his lips as he sank into her passage. She was as hot as
fire and as sweet as honey. Matching her rhythm to his, she met each thrust with enthusiasm. She surrounded him, enclosing and squeezing him with a magic he had never believed possible. He couldn’t stop. He was never going to stop. He would ride her forever. He had never felt so strong or so sure of anything.

“
Ohhh, Rowan!
” she cried, piercing his heart with the reminder that he but played a part. “
Ohhhh, my love! Yesss!
”

He didn’t want it to end! It couldn’t end!
Not yet! Dear God, not yet!
But he could feel her spasms, strong and hard, demanding the final tribute of him, and unable to stop himself, he poured his love juices in fierce bursts of passion into her, pressing a burning kiss upon her lips as he did so. For what seemed a long few minutes he lay atop her, and then with reluctance he withdrew from her, slipping from the bed to look down at her. To his surprise, she was asleep, but there was faint color in her cheeks that had not been there before. Her despair and restlessness seemed to have left her. Rory Maguire drew the coverlet back over Jasmine.

He was drained. Not simply physically, but emotionally. If she survived, she could never know the part he had played in her recovery. As for his future, it was bleak. He was a simple Irish chieftain of virtually no importance, and no fit mate for a king’s daughter. He lived on her goodwill, disenfranchised within his own native land. What future could there be for them? He knew the answer.
There was none
. Yet he would not leave her as long as she needed him, and he would not leave this land that had been in his family’s trust for so many generations.

Rory Maguire drew his shirt, his breeches, and his boots back on. Through the windows, he could see the faint beginnings of the new day. Quietly he slipped from her chambers, and to his great surprise he found Finn awaiting him in the passageway outside her apartments. The big dog arose from the floor where he had been sleeping, and pushed a cold, wet nose into Rory’s hand, as if comforting him. Together master and dog left the castle, unseen, and returned to the gate house.

Adali watched him go from the windows of Jasmine’s bedchamber. Although the Irishman had been unaware of his presence, the eunuch had been in his mistress’s chambers the entire time. It had been necessary in order to be certain that Rory Maguire performed as he had been requested to perform. Adali realized even better than his co-conspirator, Father Cullen, the
deep sense of morality ingrained in Rory Maguire. While he admired and appreciated the young man’s ethics, his first concern was for Jasmine. She would survive if he could make her survive.

Turning away from the window, Adali walked to the bed and looked down at his mistress. She seemed to be sleeping quite peacefully and deeply now. Her cheeks were faintly pink. He drew back the coverlet and lifted her tenderly from the bed, propping her on the settle by the fireplace. Quickly he remade the bed with fresh lavender-scented sheets, for the Irishman’s love juices had been so profuse that her womb had overflowed with them. Adali then bathed Jasmine’s female parts with a basin of perfumed water, erasing all traces of the lovemaking. If she remembered, she would think it but a dream. Dressing her in a clean nightgown, he placed her back in her bed, drawing the coverlet over her. Finally he burned the used sheets in her fireplace. Now there was no evidence at all of what had transpired in the room over the past hour. Adali smiled, satisfied. Both Akbar and Rugaiya Begum would have approved his actions. Their daughter would live. He drew up a chair and settled himself by her bedside to watch over her. Aye!
She would live!

Chapter 17

S
kye O’Malley de Marisco had not set her eyes on her native land in almost forty years. When Elizabeth Tudor had taken away Padraic’s heriditary Burke lands, she had also forbidden Skye’s return, although she had rescinded that order once so that Lady de Marisco might gain her O’Malley brothers’ aid for England. Now, looking out over the beauty of Lough Erne, Skye sighed gustily.

“ ’Tis the most beautiful place on earth, Adam? Is it not?”

“When it is not raining,” her husband agreed. “I am too old for such damp, madame. It rains here more than in England, and I never thought I should say such a thing of any other place. How long must we stay?”

“The seas are already winter-wicked,” Skye told her husband. “Go, if you will, my darling, but I must stay with Jasmine, and she cannot travel until her baby is born. It is a blessing, and yet at the same time a tragedy that Rowan has left her with this parting gift. The child is due at the end of June, the beginning of July. If it is healthy, we will return to England in August. ’Twill not be a pleasant trip, I fear, for we will be returning poor Rowan’s body to Cadby on the same ship.” Her eyes filled with tears. “ ’Tis so unfair, Adam!”

He put a comforting arm about her. “There now, little girl, how many husbands did you bury before we found happiness? I do not, of course, wish the same fate for our granddaughter, but I know she will marry again, and find happiness even as we did.”

“I hope so,” Skye said, sighing. She had grown used to a peaceful life, but the last few months had been dreadful. First Fergus Duffy had arrived from Ireland with a written message from Adali and Cullen Butler. She and Adam had been astounded and heartbroken by the news he had brought. They had hurried to Ireland, even though the seas between the two lands were not particularly safe at this time of year. There they had found their granddaughter, weak and grieving for her husband. That she was alive, Cullen Butler told his aunt, was
nothing short of a miracle. When, several weeks after her grandmother’s arrival, Jasmine had discovered she was enceinte, her joy had known no bounds. This child would be Rowan’s final gift to her. It was a sign, she told them, that she must live on, not just for his memory, but for their children.

“But you will come home to England, won’t you?” her grandmother had queried her. “You will return to Queen’s Malvern with your grandfather and with me, come late summer of next year, Jasmine?”

“I must go to Cadby, Grandmama,” Jasmine said. “ ’Twas Rowan’s home. He wanted Henry and India raised there. We had spoken on it just before … before he died. We were going to return after the first of the mares foaled. We both knew that we could leave Maguire’s Ford safe in Rory Maguire’s hands. He will look after the plantation diligently and carefully because he loves it and it was once his family’s lands.”

Rory Maguire
. Now there was a puzzle, thought Skye.

As soon as Jasmine had regained consciousness, Cullen had told her, they had sent to Sir George Harding, the sheriff for Fermanagh, telling him of the Marquess of Westleigh’s murder and the subsequent execution of his murderer. Sir George had taken it upon himself to come to Maguire’s Ford to hold an inquiry.

“I cannot believe,” he had declared pompously, “that an agent of the crown acted so despicably.” He had pierced Cullen Butler with a sharp look that said he distrusted a priest of the old faith.

“My lord,” Cullen Butler said quietly, “I realize that you are as shocked as we were upon hearing of Lord Lindley’s demise, but I assure you, the agent Feeny did commit the crime. Lady Lindley had dismissed him upon her arrival at Maguire’s Ford. Before he was hung, he admitted that it was actually her ladyship that he was attempting to assassinate, not his lordship. As both the marquess and the marchioness are very beloved of their tenants, I regret we were unable to hold Master Feeny over for judgment. Having admitted his guilt, he was immediately hung, may God have mercy on his soul,” Cullen Butler said solemnly, crossing himself.

“Hmmmm,” replied Sir George, and then, “I should like to see her ladyship, sir. I am still not content with this matter.”

“Of course, my lord, but you cannot stay for too long. Her ladyship has been devastated by her grief, and has almost died of it, poor lady.”

Sir George Harding was admitted into Jasmine’s bedchamber. She sat, propped by several pillows, in her bed. She was garbed modestly but richly in a dark, fur-trimmed velvet gown, a lace-edged lawn cap upon her head. Her eyes seemed very big in her small heart-shaped face, and her dark hair made her skin seem even paler than it was. Her eyelids were purple, and there were matching smudges of purple beneath her eyes.

His brief talk with her convinced Sir George that however the Marquess of Westleigh had died, his wife was innocent in the matter. Her grief was simply too overwhelming. “I shall send an estate agent to you,” he said magnanimously, but she had shaken her head.

“No, my lord. Maguire’s Ford belongs to me, and did not belong to my husband. The patent is certainly filed in Enniskillen to prove the truth of my words. Master Maguire is our estate agent.”

“
The former owner of these lands?
” Sir George was horrified.

“A relative of the former owner,” Jasmine said weakly. “My husband appointed him. He has been doing an excellent job, my lord.”

“I cannot allow it!” Sir George huffed.

“It is not your decision, sir!” Jasmine had said angrily, two spots of bright color appearing upon her cheeks. “The king himself gifted me with Maguire’s Ford. It is mine to do with as I please! Now, get out! I am sick, and weary with my grief! I can abide no more!”

Which, Skye thought, brought her back to Rory Maguire.
Polite. Deferential. Concerned
. And whose bright blue eyes always strayed to Jasmine when he thought himself unobserved; but Skye had noticed.

“He is in love with her,” she said to Adali one day when they were alone in the Great Hall. Jasmine and Maguire had just passed through, discussing the mares in foal.

“Yes, madame,” Adali replied. “He is, but he knows better than to climb so high. Besides, she will never love him. The timing is not correct for them. So it is written in the stars.”