FLAME OF DESIRE (13 page)

“No doubt Mary is gaining ground. Father has come too far to change sides now,” Heather answered listlessly.

“Yes, I suppose he has. If only he had not involved himself in these political matters. It can be dangerous.”

Blythe Bowen knew her daughter very well. She could see a change in Heather, could see how she seemed to hurry through her chores as if she had an appointment to keep. How many times had she seen her rush out of the house on some pretext of other? More than worry about Thomas plagued her. Beckoning to Tabitha to take a seat at the table, she resolved to watch her daughter more closely in the coming days.

Tabitha munched on a hard piece of bread, talking with her mouth full, much to Blythe Bowen’s annoyance. Casting the servant a reproving glance, she left the solar to go to her husband’s side.

Unlike Blythe Bowen, Tabitha knew very well what was troubling Heather. Reaching out, she covered Heather’s hand with her own in a gesture of friendship.

“He loves you. I know that he does. No man could look at a woman the way he does you and not feel some deep emotion for her,” she whispered.

“It is only gratitude.”

“No! He is grateful to Perri too, but he doesn’t look at him with smoldering eyes.”

Heather sighed. How she wished Tabitha was right. It was true that she had seen Richard’s eyes upon her, that steady gaze which made her overly conscious of her appearance. She had begun fussing about her dressing each morning, had concentrated upon walking with a more graceful air.

“Well, it doesn’t matter,” she lied, gathering together some sliced meat, cheese, bread, and vegetables for his dinner. If only she had the courage to ask him to take her with him. Would he? she wondered.

Taking the stairs two at a time, she pondered the matter, knowing that the answer would most likely be no. He would go straightaway to Mary’s side to fight. There would be no place for a woman by his side. But later, when this was all over and Mary secure on her throne, what then?

Stepping outside, she breathed deeply of the fresh air, of the smell of flowers, hay, and earth. All her senses assailed her. She felt the tingling of the cool night air on her skin, listened to the sounds of the owls and crickets, looked up at the sky. It was a brilliant dark blue summer sky filled with thousands of bright pulsating stars and a golden moon, a lovers’ moon, which looked like a coin balancing in the sky.

A soft meow blended with the other night sounds and Heather looked down to see Saffron winding around her legs, begging to be stroked. “I have neglected you something awful, haven’t I?” she said by way of apology, reaching down to run her fingers through the soft fur of the cat. “Had it not been for you, Saffron, I might never have met him. Don’t be jealous, my pet.” Saffron opened his jaws as if to answer, but just yawned and stretched himself languorously in the moonlight. Laughing, Heather continued to the stables and stepped inside the small room.

Richard Morgan was not asleep. He stood looking out one of the small slits in the wall at those same stars which Heather had gazed at only moments before. Hearing her footsteps, he turned to look at her. Lord, she was lovely in the moonlight. Like some pagan goddess, her red hair billowed around her shoulders. Looking at her caused a gnawing ache in his groin, that same ache which had kept him from sleeping. He felt a fire consuming him, desire pounding in his blood.

“I brought you your supper,” Heather whispered, taking a step toward him.

Richard Morgan licked his lips, wondering again at the strange taste of the brew the old man Perriwincle had offered to him. What
was
it the old man had given him to drink? “I’m not hungry,” he answered, knowing that it was not true. He was a starving man, driven on by his hunger, only she was the connoisseur’s delight, a feast of beauty which tempted him beyond endurance.

“I’ll put the food on the floor,” Heather said softly, ignorant of his torment. He seemed so remote, so faraway tonight. What was he thinking?

He didn’t say a word, merely looked at her, at the way her gown clung to the tantalizing curves and planes of her body. His blood surged wildly through his veins. Desire rose up to choke him and he felt as if her were drowning in the gray pools of her eyes. As if in a trance, he closed the distance between them, standing only inches away from her, breathing in the fragrance of her hair.

“You smell of roses,” he breathed, reaching out to stroke her shoulders lightly. She answered with a deep throaty purr, like Saffron’s when he was content, she thought. Just being with him made her happy. How soothing his nearness always was.

He could no longer master his longing for her, the most powerful desire he had ever experienced. It was as if he were no longer in complete control of himself, as if another force urged him on.

“Dear God in Heaven, I can’t help myself!” he groaned, trembling as if possessed. Gathering her into his arms, he ignored the thoughts and vows not to touch her.

Heather’s pulse quickened at the passion which burned in his eyes. Closing her arms around his neck, she offered her lips to him, wanting him to kiss her. His mouth descended upon hers, kissing her like a man with a deep thirst to assuage, drinking in the honey of her lips. He babbled words of love, reaching for her, stroking her. It all seemed so unreal, as if he moved in a dream—a sleepwalker.

Picking her up in his arms, he carried her to the straw mattress and she offered no resistance as her dreams seemed destined to come true.

Wrapped in each other’s arms, they kissed, his mouth moving upon hers, pressing her lips apart, hers responding, exploring gently the sweet firmness of his. She gave herself up to the fierce emotions which raced through her, answering his kisses ardently, as if to memorize the feel of each one for those moments when they would not be together.

“Heather!” he groaned, his mouth roaming freely, stopping briefly at the hollow of her throat, lingering there, then moving slowly downward to the skin of her bare shoulder. A fire in the blood, that’s what he felt at this moment. A raging inferno.

Heather could feel the pulsating hardness of his manhood through the thin cotton of her gown and wanted desperately to be naked against him, to feel the warmth and power of him. She wore no farthingale this time to hinder him in his quest.

“I tried to stay away from you,” he murmured, fumbling with the fastenings of her gown, seeking to free the encumbrance of the rough cotton cloth. He ached with a pulsating desire, an all-encompassing need to be one with her.

Freeing the soft mounds of her breasts, reaching out to touch their softness, his fingers brought forth a tingling pleasure. “Richard,” she moaned, winding her arms around him.

He knew that he should pull away from her but he could not. Never had it been so impossible to control his desire. What was happening to him?

“I can’t stop myself,” he breathed. His lips caught hers, molding his mouth to hers as his fingers slid down the front of her gown, to her stomach, to explore the softness there.

Heather was lost in the flush of sensations which swept over her. Holding him tightly against her, she felt wanton, aware of her body as she had never been before.

His mouth flamed on hers, plundering the softness. Like a bolt of lightning, passion passed between them.

Her breasts ached for his touch again. Sensing her feelings, he reached up to touch the swollen peaks again and smiled as she sighed with satisfaction.

You are beautiful,” he whispered. “I love to touch you.”

“And I to feel you touch me.” She could feel his hot breath stir the veil of her hair, could feel the brush of his lips against her temple. He sought to remove her garments, aided by her own hands. She was beautiful as she lay there before him, her body illuminated by the soft moonlight. His pulse began to pound as his eyes took in her long legs, the slim waist, the firm, rose-tipped breasts. Her body was perfection, but then, he had known that it would be. Admiring her body, running his fingers over her soft skin with adoration, he whispered words of love to her. Tracing a path of fire, his lips moved across her stomach and she trembled at his expert caresses.

Flinging aside his double, his shirt, his hose, nearly tearing them in his frenzy, he flamed with desire as their bodies touched. Heather was hypnotized by the masculine beauty of him. The rippling muscles of his arms and chest beckoned her touch as she reached out to him, caressing him as he had done to her. Passion exploded between them with a wild oblivion. Richard molded her against him, the fire released in him finding its match in her own passions, her own desire. She melted with his every touch, tangling her fingers in his thick black hair as he slid his fingers down to explore the center of her being.

“Love me, Richard,” she cried, her body r responding with a will of its own, writhing as his fingers touched the opening petals of her womanhood. She had no fear, though she a  virgin and had heard that the first time brought forth pain. He would be gentle with her—this she sensed.

The probing length of his manhood slipped hotly between her thighs, and he came to her with a slow but strong thrust, entering her softness as their bodies met in that most intimate of embraces.

“Your body is a vessel of sweetness,” he breathed, only to hear her cry out softly at the pain as his throbbing, thrusting manhood broke the membrane of her maidenhead. “No more hurt. No more. Only pleasure from now on, I promise you.”

Burying his length deeply within her, he let her adjust to this sudden invasion of her softness. She found he spoke the truth: there was no more hurt, only ecstasy, like the currents of the deep sea as his body drew hers. She was consumed by his warmth, his hardness. Tightening her thighs around his waist, she arched up to him, wanting him to move within her. He did so, slowly at first, then with a sensual urgency. His lovemaking was like nothing she could ever have imagined, filling her, flooding her, nearly drowning her in sensual stirrings that shattered her world. She was sailing upon a sea of desire, plunging down, down, down into an abyss, aching with the pleasure of their love. Clinging to him, she called out his name.

Richard gazed down upon her face, gently brushing back the tangled red hair from her eyes. From this moment on she was his. He would never share her with anyone. She would be his wife in fact if not in name.

“Sleep now,” he whispered, still holding her close. With a sigh she snuggled up against him, burying her face in the warmth of his chest, breathing in the manly scent of him. She didn’t want to sleep, not now; she wanted to savor this moment of joy, but as he caressed her back, tracing his fingers along her spin, she drifted off.

Chapter Sixteen

Richard awoke to the sound of the first cock’s crow to find Heather cradled in his arms. Her thick lashes fanned out over her pale cheeks and her mane of dark red hair was spread out like a cloak over his chest and shoulders. As he looked at her he felt an aching tenderness. She looked much younger, snuggling up against him in her sleep. The passion they had shared passed before his eyes and he felt a tightening inside, an inward anger at himself that he could have so easily forgotten his vow not to claim her, and yet, were he to live forever, chastised and imprisoned away from her, he would remember last night.

“I love you, Heather. May God forgive me.”

As if hearing his words in her sleep, she shivered and he gathered her into his arms, the heat of his body warming hers. He stroked her hair and closed his eyes, remembering. Never had he realized that love could be like this, such shattering ecstasy as to be almost pain. Were anything to happen to her, were anyone to harm her…. It was a thought he dared not even imagine.

If only he could protect her from the world, this world which could often be cruel. What would happen to her now, now that he had sparked this all-consuming flame, this sea of desire? How could he leave now?

He felt her stir and looked down into her eyes. Last night in her passion they had appeared green; this morning they were blue. Ah, such marvelous eyes.

“Richard,” she breathed, reaching up to touch his cheek as if to confirm that he was real and not some fabrication of her dreams.

“Forgive me,” he whispered.

“There is nothing to forgive.”

He cupped her face with his hand, bending his lips to kiss her soft open lips. Like a flower opening to sunshine, she moved her mouth upon his, feeling again the wondrous enchantment of the night before.

Richard’s hand reached out to caress her, sliding his fingers over the soft mounds of her breasts. How could he fight these feelings he had for her? Her body, pressed against his, drove him beyond all thought, all reasoning. Even the commotion in the courtyard could not shatter this rapture. He shuddered, burying his face in the silk cloud of her hair as their bodies touched and blended into each other.

They did not hear the sound of footsteps as Blythe Bowen, broom in hand, chased the straggly hound which had dared to chase after her Heather’s cat. Saffron, judging the stable to be a safe place, sought refuge there, with Heather’s mother following close behind, curious at the voices she had heard coming from that direction. Nor did they see the tormented face of the woman watching them. Only a whispered “Dear Lord!” brought them back to reality.

“Mother!” Heather was horrified as she saw the figure of Blythe in the open doorway, a broom held upward in her hands. Pulling away from Richard, reaching for her chemise, she sought to cover her nakedness. What had seemed so right, so wondrous, now seemed somehow shameful.

Blythe Bowen could not answer her daughter’s cry; instead she stood staring, openmouthed, her eyes filled with tears.

Richard Morgan fumbled with his clothing, standing before Heather to shield her. “It is not what you think, madam,” he said, looking Blythe Bowen squarely in the eyes. “She is not to blame in this. I am the guilty party. I took advantage of her innocence. Do not seek to punish her. Punish me instead.”

“No1” Heather would not allow him to take the blame. “I wanted him to make love to me.”