A Rose in Winter (59 page)

Erienne relaxed back against him and allowed him to turn her in his arms until they lay together, soft, curving flesh against smooth, hard, rippling thews. His head dipped downward, and her breath caught as a flaming tongue swirled over her breasts. It wandered with tantalizing slowness over them, leaving a fiery trail after its passing. Her senses reeled in a wild, giddy flight that left her panting and breathless. Reality ceased to matter. He became all things to her, a handsome lover, a scarred husband, a form in a black cloak that snatched her from the drooling fangs of the hunting hounds.

She felt him rise above her, and she quivered as his hands stroked slowly downward over the swell of her breasts and continued on to the curve of her hips, then upward along the inside of her thighs. A need began to grow in her, a hollow feeling that ached to be filled. She reached up to urge him down into her arms, and her hand brushed the crisp mat of hair on his chest. The muscles beneath her palm were firm and bulging, and much in wonder, she moved trembling fingers across the wide expanse, admiring the form that was ever concealed from her gaze. She rose on her knees to face him and moved slightly forward between his thighs, resting her hands on the lean, fleshed ribs. She reached to press her lips against his throat, while her breasts lightly caressed his chest. Pulling her wildly tumbling hair over his shoulders, she slipped her arms behind his neck and came full against him. His breath halted, and the sweet, pure bliss of it spurred his heart to a trip-hammer beat.

"Kiss me," she begged in a whisper. She longed for him to erase the brand of Christopher's kiss on her lips, to place his own there so no thought of the other man could intrude upon their intimacy.

His lips dipped to her shoulder, then he eased her back to the bed, and his mouth moved upon her breast. A mild disappointment grew that he avoided touching his lips to hers, but she could not long deny the sweeping excitement of the hot, sultry kisses that caressed her body. He moved above her, and with no trepidation about his scars, she welcomed him. Her arms and body ached with a desire to hold him close and bring him home full measure. Her head came hard against his chest as she felt him comply, and the heat of his fullness deep within her roused a throbbing need that built and grew to such an intensity she thought she could not bear it. Fingertips found the familiar scar, and her nails lightly raked his back as she softly mewled and lifted her hips to meet him. She breathed a name, and for a moment the universe stopped its motion. He drew away, but she raised herself against him, with her head arched back, her hair forming a torrent of tousled silk that flowed to the bed beneath her. He kissed that sweet throat, and began again, lifting her ever higher to that blinding, pulsing moment of release until she gasped and caught her breath with the ecstasy of it.

Sanity returned in slow degrees, and Erienne settled back to earth. There was a movement beside her, and her hand brushed his back as he left the cozy lair. She summoned the last dregs of her energy to roll to the firelit side of the bed, there pulling aside the drapes just as the door was closing.

"Stuart?" Her voice could only manage a whisper, and she stared into the shifting, dancing flames, wondering what had possessed him to leave. It was his usual wont to stay, and she sorely yearned for the warmth of him beside her. The intimacy between them had been most pleasant, and tonight no face had haunted her, no vision of...

Something cold gripped Erienne's heart, and a sudden horror filled her mind as she recalled the name she had whispered, and it was not Stuart.

In total misery she twisted around and buried her face in the pillow, feeling a flaming blush upon her cheeks.

"Oh, Stuart," she moaned, "what have I done?"

Chapter Nineteen

MORNING came nigh, and Erienne bolstered her nerve with a careful grooming of her person. She would have preferred staying in her chamber until the morning was well spent but knew that would be the coward's way, and she had no wish to lend herself to such a judgment. She donned a pale blue frock that boasted a high neckband, and with ribbons twined in her hair, she presented a most charming vision to her husband as she came timidly across the great hall. He waited beside his chair near the hearth, and Erienne felt impending doom in his unswerving gaze. Slipping into the chair across from his, she gave him a small, unsteady smile and then stared into the warming fire, unable to meet his eyes.

If she had expected any explosive diatribes, they did not come. There was only the waiting silence, and knowing she must face what lay before her, she set herself firmly to her resolve. She took in a deep breath and lifted her gaze to await boldly and openly whatever question he might have.

"Good morning, my dear," the hoarse voice bade almost cheerily. "My apologies for leaving you so abruptly last night."

Erienne was taken aback by his good humor and could find no cause for it. Surely he had heard her whisper his cousin's name and must realize she was, albeit unconsciously, yearning for another man while he made love to her.

"1 thought you might enjoy an outing to Carlisle today. Would that be agreeable to you?"

"Of course, my lord."

"Good. Then after you've taken the morning meal, we'll be on our' way."

"Will I need to change clothes?" she asked hesitantly.

"Nay, madam. You are quite charming as you are. A rare jewel for me to feast my eyes upon, and although there is someone I wish you to meet there, we'll have a chance to talk on the way. Tis time, madam, that I put my house in order."

Erienne tensed, for his statement boded ill. It would seem that he was not through with her yet.

Lord Saxton half turned toward the table, where a service had been set for her. "Come, Erienne. You must be nearly famished."

A denial came readily to her lips, but she silenced the words. The thought of facing Stuart had made her queasy, but there was no need to hasten her comeuppance for lack of an appetite, and a few morsels might help to settle her stomach.

The cook was one of rare talent, and Erienne could not lay the blame of her discontentment to the delectable fare that was placed before her. Still, she could not bring herself to taste more than a bite or two, and when Paine came to announce that Bundy was wanting to speak with his master in the drawing room, she was relieved that she could finally push her plate aside without inviting an inquiry. She returned to the hearth and slowly sipped her tea as she waited for her husband.

The chimes had struck a quarter-hour note before Lord Saxton came back to the great hall. He paused beside her chair to make his apologies.

"I'm sorry, madam, but I must delay our visit to Carlisle. A most urgent matter has been brought to my attention, and as much as it distresses me to leave you, I must. I'm not quite sure when I'll be back."

Erienne did not question the good fortune that had saved her from the expected confrontation. She continued sipping her tea, feeling the tension ebb. The landau was brought around. She heard it rumble away again, and she sat in the stillness that followed as one who had been reprieved from hell.

A drowsiness came over her as she began to relax, and realizing that she had slept very little during the night, she climbed the stairs and returned to her chamber. Doffing her gown, she snuggled beneath the bedcovers and sank effortlessly into a much-needed slumber.

The first tinges of pink were beginning to streak the western sky when Erienne roused from her nap. She felt greatly refreshed and in an energetic mood that demanded some activity beyond the common duties of a mistress of the house. The mare Morgana came to mind, and though she had no intention of repeating the folly of chasing after Christopher, the thought of a ride appealed to her.

With no deliberation at all, she garbed herself in the proper riding attire of a lady. She had had enough of being a lad and much preferred to be treated with deference for her gender should she come upon that wily rogue again. Remembering her close encounter with Timmy Sears, however, she laid out a pair of flintlock pistols, just in case there were any more like him lurking about.

She tied a coin in the tail of the stableboy's shirt and took the garments with her when she went down to the stables, hiding them beneath the dark gray cloak she wore until she was sure she could return them without being seen. Keats was out fetching water at the well when she entered the barn, and she used the opportunity to hide the garments under a saddle, where they would not be overlooked. In the guise of complete innocence, she was admiring the mare when the lad returned, and she sweetly bade him to saddle the steed.

"Mum, the master gave the strictest orders that ye were not to go off unattended. Seein' as how I can't let ye go without answerin' to him, would ye be wantin' me to ride with ye?"

Erienne was about to agree when she caught sight of a man on horseback riding up the lane toward the manor. Stepping to the door, she watched until the form atop the steed became recognizable as kin. The sight of Farrell on horseback sent a happy thrill through her. He had bought the animal with coin he had earned himself, but the fact that he trusted himself to ride again gave her the greatest pleasure.

"My brother is here," she announced to Keats. "I'll ask him to ride with me for a while."

"Aye, mum. I'll saddle the mare right away."

When Farrell drew near the tower entry, Erienne called to him and waved an arm to catch his eye as he glanced about. Responding in kind, he prodded the animal on down the lane toward her.

"Good evening," she greeted cheerily. "I am in need of an escort, and since Lord Saxton is not at home, I was wondering if I might impose upon your good graces to ride with me for a spell."

"Lord Saxton is gone?" he inquired, his tone heavily tinged with disappointment. He had been in hopes that they could do some more shooting and had brought along his own small collection of firearms to practice with.

Erienne laughed as she took note of the long musket and the three pistols the saddle bore. "I know I'm only your sister, and for that reason a poor substitute for the one you have obviously come to see."

Farrell jerked his head toward the lane and chuckled in good humor. "Come on. 'Tis the least I can do for a sister."

She accepted a helping hand onto the back of the mare and adjusted her skirts and cloak before giving a nod to her brother. He led the way for a short time, choosing the direction, and then reined up, grinning back at her.

"You're becoming quite sure of yourself, aren't you?" she asked with a laugh. She realized her own pride in his accomplishments and knew she had Stuart to thank for bringing her brother out of his shell.

"Care to race?" he challenged with some of his old zest for life.

Erienne glanced around. She knew they were on the road that led south, but the night had snuffed the radiance of the sunset, and after the previous night's experience, she was somewhat leery of traveling so far from the manor without more protection. The highwaymen were known for their merciless attacks on the defenseless, and she had not the desire to become prey to violence of any form.

"We'd better go back," she replied. "I didn't realize it was getting so late."

"Let's race to the hilltop," her brother coaxed. "Then we'll go back."

Erienne thumped the mare's side with her heels, and laughter spilled over her shoulder as the horse took flight. Farrell let out a whoop as he charged after her, and the sound of their gaiety joined with that of the thundering hooves and the wind that whistled past their ears. She set herself wholeheartedly to the race, urging Morgana on with light slaps of the quirt. Farrell drew alongside, and he was half a length ahead as he came atop the hill.

Suddenly a shot cracked through the air, followed by several more discharges of gunpowder. Farrell jerked hard on the reins, pulling his steed to a jolting halt. Erienne was but a heartbeat slower in skidding to a stop. They sat stock still, straining to hear while their eyes searched through the gloom of late twilight for any hint of trouble. A scream of horror pierced the quiet, ending in a half-sobbed, pleading, "No!" and another shot rang out. This one echoed across the hill, and a thin, keening cry, weaker than the first, rose up to join it. It ended abruptly, as if a blow had silenced it.

Erienne's hair crawled on her scalp, and after a quick glance at Farrell they carefully urged their horses in the shadow of a line of oaks that bordered the road and moved forward to the brow of the hill. A dark-garbed man sat atop a horse on the next rise and from there watched the roadway. Farrell motioned with his hand, and Erienne paused with baited breath, but the lookout did not sound a warning. A moment passed and a distant voice called to the man, and after a brief exchange, he spurred his mount back toward his companion, leaving his post.

Their sighs of relief mingled in the stillness. Keeping to the shelter of darkness the trees provided, they crept forward until they reached the crest of the far hill and could gaze down into the vale. There, below them on the road, was a halted coach and several black-garbed men working by lanternlight around the conveyance. A horse lay dead near the tongue, and the rest of the team was being led away. The doors of the coach gaped wide, and Erienne gasped as the lamps cast their yellowish glow over the body of a wealthily garbed man hanging head downward from the interior of the coach. The driver and footman were sprawled in the road. The only survivor was a young woman who had been lashed, her arms spread wide, to the whippletree so that she straddled the grounded tongue. For the amusement of her captors she was being rudely pawed and relieved of her jewelry. Her sobbing pleas went unheard beneath the uproarious laughter of the men.