HerOutlandishStranger (14 page)

He kissed her again, now lips and tongue on hers, kissing as
if their lives depended upon it. Then he threw his head back as if he were
trying to stop himself. Fine. She ran the tip of her tongue across the base of
his throat where his pulse beat fast. She tasted sweat, dust and sweet skin.
Delicious. She lifted her head to look down into his face.

“Are you truly better?” she asked timidly, breathlessly, as
she paused at the curve where his neck and shoulder met. She traced the line of
his collarbone with a finger.

He caught her hand and slowly kissed each finger. Eliza
thought her chest would burst when she felt the warm touch of his mouth with
each tiny kiss. He looked down at her. “I’m fine. I was thinking of my dream.
It was about you.”

“A good dream?”

He watched her with glowing eyes. “I’ve never had better.”

He pulled her close. She grew confident and instinctively
put her leg over his hip to press as much of herself to him as she could. The
hunger in his kiss, the sensation of his body aroused and solid against hers
overwhelmed her.

Her breasts, already heavier and more sensitive to touch,
prickled with the almost painful stimulation, the slight chafing though layers
of cloth, as they rubbed his hard chest.

She traced her hands over the muscles of his back and
squirmed closer. He flinched and groaned. And she realized his arm under her
rib cage, supporting her and holding her against him, was the wounded one. She
immediately shifted away and whispered, “Your arm, Jas. When you would not
allow me to cup you. I worry that the wound will fester and—”

“Ahh. Damn. I forgot. I almost forgot.” His muffled cry
sounded of frustration rather than pain, so Eliza was startled when he suddenly
pulled back. Their bodies no longer touched and she knew he was going to leave
her. She felt deprived and slightly ridiculous, left writhing and gasping like
a blind pup whose mother got up and strolled away mid-meal.

“What did you forget?”

But he covered his face with his hands, pressed his palms
into his eyes, and did not answer.

She could have hit herself for distracting him from their
exquisite, important pleasure. She could have hit him, and harder, when he
pulled himself into a sitting position to jabber meaninglessly at her. “Eliza,
no, my arm. It’s not really hurt now. That’s what reminded… This can’t be
right. I apologize,” he said, still slightly out of breath. “You. You cannot—”

Eliza sat up too. “You should indeed beg my pardon for
stopping when we were so…comfortable.”

He smiled, a lopsided grin. “It was comfortable, yes. Better
than that. But, Eliza—”

“You won’t marry me, I know. I know. But I want comfort,
Jas. I thought you were dying.” She scooted close to him. “Can you just hold
me?”

“Do you think that’s all we’d do? I don’t. I want you so
much I can barely think of anything else.”

How could mere words send her into such a dizzying rush? “I
also think of-of you almost constantly. Don’t you see? We need to get past
this, ah, tension.”

He raised her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to her
palm. “I doubt we shall get past it. Once you have a taste of something, it
becomes addictive.”

“Let me find out. After all.” She put her arms around him
and burrowed against his warm neck. “I am enceinte so the worst has already
happened to me.”

“No, she will be the best, part of the best,” he whispered,
his breath tickling her ear. She lifted her head to say something, but Jas put
two fingers under her chin. He tilted her face up so he could kiss her. She
melted into the kiss and, grateful for his acceptance of the baby, didn’t
bother to ask why he was so sure the baby would be a girl.

He brushed the pad of his thumb over her mouth. “Will you
forgive us for this? For whatever we do?”

She turned her head and bit at his thumb. “I will not
forgive you if you don’t kiss me again.”

He moaned and pulled her close, clutching her as if she were
trying to get away or he was drowning. And yet a moment after he desperately
yanked her into his arms, Jas’ touch changed. His every motion grew careful,
too tentative. Eliza wanted more. She was reminded of how she longed to gobble
her food when she felt hunger and understood he held back for her. Sometimes it
does not do to be a lady, she thought. “I want you,” she breathed greedily.

He sank down to the pile of cloth then, pulling her with
him.

She ignored the stones on the ground, too intent on moving
against him, touching and kissing him, as demanding as he’d been a few moments
earlier. Within seconds she was almost overwhelmed in the blaze she’d sparked
in them both.

The way he pushed up her skirts and touched her seemed
practiced and sure. For a fleeting moment she wondered how many women he’d made
love to for he certainly knew how to find the slits in her drawers and what
parts of her body to touch. A flick of a few of her buttons and oh, God, his
fingers were rubbing her bare skin, and more. His hand cupped her for a moment
as if claiming her mound of Venus as his. Then his finger found her opening.
She pushed against his hand, and used her own hands to pull his head to her for
kisses.

The exquisite excitement was almost terrifying. She ran
hands over his shoulders and arms, avoiding his injury, but curiosity and need
demanded she touch as much of him as she could. Trembling, she reached for the
swelling at the front of his trousers and brazenly opened the buttons. Though
she did not reach for his bare flesh, she traced the shape of him, the thick,
impossibly hard shaft. Rather too large, she thought with a sudden qualm.

At that instant, he rolled onto her so the heavy bulge
pressed between her legs. He rested most of his weight on his arms, even his
injured arm.

He lay in the cradle formed by her legs, his member against
her own swollen, aching feminine parts. She closed her eyes, waiting for the
pain she knew would come but needing it now.

This is what happened. A woman lost her virginity and then
afterward, apparently, she longed for the brutal pain. But no, when he reached
between them, fumbling with the cloth and then himself, she gasped at the first
touch of his member to her flesh, for there was no pain. Only the lovely
throbbing tension increasing. He didn’t plunge in. Instead he rubbed the thick
head of himself just as he’d used his fingers and then at last, there was more
pressure, easing. Almost too slow.

She was close to frantic now, needed so much for that empty
space to be filled with him. With Jas. She clutched at his back and wriggled
under him, impatient for more, ready at last. More of him. She wanted all of
him naked, she would not get that. They wore so many clothes. She wanted all of
him in her, touching her, now.

Now. She groaned. And then sucked in air when he surged
forward and gave her what she begged for.

There was the burning she remembered from Brian, though this
wasn’t as painful and was more of an ache that was replaced by a lovely
fullness that might have been too strong if he hadn’t created the need inside
her but, oh, he had and she was ready to burst around him. The pull of him
stroked deep inside her. He growled against her neck and he was moving. Pushing
into her, still caressing the part of her that tingled at his touch, kissing
her breasts, or kneading her bum, his hands and mouth worked even as he pumped
into her, a familiar action but an entirely new and earth-shattering rendition.
She wished the layers of clothing between them would vanish and anywhere their
skin touched, she felt his warmth directly.

The heady lust grew in her, she moved restlessly looking for
completion. Her world shrank. Only the man inside her mattered. Ah, what he did
to her body. The moment came as a shock. The huge waves of pleasure made her
cry out in surprise. Jas moaned and throbbed deep inside her. She wrapped her
arms around him.

Far more vivid than the man in the cave, thank God. The way
he stared down at her, and kissed her and watched her in the moment. It erased
the strange numb feeling brought on by memories of the stranger in that cave.
God, afterward the insides of her thighs ached in a familiar manner. But her
heart was filled with an almost vicious joy. Possessive too. She’d won the
battle and gotten him.

They had barely started before they were finished—but this
was nothing like the episode with Brian. Powerful, fast and violent, this was
the thunderstorm after too many days of parching heat.

No matter what he might claim in the future, she knew the
truth. At long last he had shown her lust—and much more—as they’d lain together.

Chapter Eleven

When they rose from the bed, his manner was quiet, almost
subdued. Alas, she’d been as much of a wanton as her aunt had always implied
and he knew the worst of her unladylike—

“Eliza,” he interrupted her self-reproach as he helped her
put away the clothes. “Your cheeks are red and you’re biting your lip. Are you
regretting what we did?”

She looked up then, met his eyes. “No.”

“Good. I’m the one who should feel guilt. But I won’t.” He
spoke in a new forceful, passionate manner she hadn’t heard in him before.

She wasn’t sure she believed him, but felt grateful for his
words. Perhaps his mood was odd because his arm ached, though he didn’t seem to
favor it.

With a sigh, she fell in step behind him. The subject was
closed. She had said she wanted him to take her because she wanted to be able
to think about something other than desire. Unfortunately that episode only
seemed to increase her longing for his touch. Now when she caught sight of his
strong back, or thought of his fingers inside her, the response of weakness and
longing threatened to overwhelm her.

The trickle of his spending slipped down her leg and she
longed to touch it.

“Are you, um, hurt, Liza?” He’d come back to her and put a
hand on her shoulder. “Was I too rough?”

She leaned against him. “No, I’m not used to the sensation.
But I am not chafed. Oh, it was good, wasn’t it?”

His smile was worried. “Yes. But we can’t—it won’t.”

“What?”

He shook his head, gently steadied her and picked up the
packs again.

They walked.

“We’re beyond the Portuguese border,” Jas said as they
slogged along a hilly road. “We’ve changed course even farther south.”

She rolled her eyes. Her Jas was a coward and wouldn’t talk
about their lovemaking again. “Why is that?”

“Badajoz will bring real bad news. Huh. Too far south and we
hit Cadiz which’ll be a problem.”

Eliza laughed. “Once again you have calmly stated
information you have no way of knowing. How do you know? You have heard or seen
no more than I have.”

“The CR isn’t entirely useless, thank goodness,” he answered
absently.

“And who or what is this Seer—or is it Seyare? Perhaps some
woman’s name?”

He looked up then and stared at her as he rubbed the back of
his neck. She was reminded of the first time she’d seen him, and other moments
she wondered if he was perhaps touched or a fool. Whatever else he was, she no
longer believed that theory.

The corner of this mouth twitched into what she thought of
as his reassuring smile. “The seer that, ah, can see things. It’s just a useful
bit of wood. From my country.” He tapped the piece of wood he carried. “No big
secret, just a seer.”

She stared at him for a long moment. And silently reached
out her hand.

After a moment, he put the cool and heavy oval shape of wood
into her palm. “Please don’t drop it,” he said in a casual voice that didn’t
deceive her for a second.

She looked at him rather than the plain, highly-polished
object in her hand. He folded his arms as if to keep himself from grabbing it
back.

She studied it then and touched it with a fingertip. Someone
must have spent hours sanding the object for it felt smoother than any wood
she’d felt before. It seemed so glossy it appeared to glow. “Is it of a-a
religious nature?”

He shrugged. “Sort of, I suppose. Aren’t all seers?”

“But your predictions have the uncomfortable habit of being
right,” she murmured.

He grinned at her and the tension in her eased. “I am lucky,
eh?”

She pressed and prodded the wood. A solid block of a tree.
Something like cherry wood, perhaps, though heavier. Nothing more.

A part of her continued to protest.
But what about when
the Latin poured from his mouth? What about the magical cure?
She pressed
her lips tight and decided she would ignore the pestilential voice.

She answered lightly, “Ah. We shall do as your seer suggests
now, shall we?”

“Of course. ‘Why ever not’, as you’d put it.” He took the
wood she handed back to him and dropped it casually into a pocket. Not the way
to treat a sacred object.

She felt obscure relief. Surely he was sharing some sort of
joke with her. His humor was often outlandish, after all.

They climbed a hill and watched a small convoy of Portuguese
soldiers and their followers, slowly wending its way through the valley below.
Jas watched the battered wagons at the rear of the group.

“They’re
Cacadores
returning to their country. Should
be safe,” he said at last. “Do you speak any Portuguese?”

She shook her head. “Not more than a few phrases.”

He swung their bags onto his back and started down the hill.
“They look so exhausted I doubt they’d care if we spoke French,” he said over
his shoulder. “We’ve got more than seventy miles left to go, but we’ll go much
faster now. And it should discourage my friend.”

The attacker. She’d almost forgotten his countryman who’d
tried to kill him.

The crowd in the back, mostly composed of women, plodded
after several farm carts that served as supply wagons. Liza doubted if such a
weary crew would let strangers get a chance at boarding any of the wagons, but
she didn’t count on Jas’ persistence. He produced some money and a dead hare
that he offered to the man driving one of the carts.

Eliza found herself surrounded by sacks of what might have
been flour and barrels that reeked of near-spoiled meat. Several other women
and a handful of children sat on a straw-covered, creaking wagon. The women
with matted hair mostly covered by once brightly colored kerchiefs, their
expressionless faces weathered and tanned, looked at her without curiosity. One
nodded, but no one spoke or returned her tentative smile.

She wedged herself between two sacks. When she tried to
engage one of the toddlers, her efforts at peek-a-boo were met with a blank
dark-eyed stare.

After a time, she looked away, over the dark heads. She
easily picked out Jas’ broad shoulders and gilded head and she wished she could
walk with him.

In the evening, Jas steered the two of them away from the
convoy. Despite Eliza’s expectation, that night she found that Jas lay planted
at the edge of the blanket, his back to her again. She put her face against his
shoulder. Could he possibly pretend they had not kissed and held each other?
She ran a finger along the shell of his ear. He made a muted strangled noise.
An unhappy one.

Well, hang it then, she thought furiously. She was not about
to throw herself at him. Not again. So she pushed her own back against his, and
tucked her hands between her curled knees, just to make sure they didn’t
somehow betray her lust. She ignored the silent wail of frustration of her
body, her fast breath and the heartbeat that pounded in her ears, her skin too aware
of his warmth along her spine. The cacophony of her body kept her lying awake
longer than usual.

Jazz knew Eliza was hurt by his rejection. But he did not
know what else he could do. Somehow the fact that he loved her wove into his
reasoning. He couldn’t allow the bond to grow stronger. She had to find the
next man in her life.

His family often called Jazz stubborn, and he’d never felt
more miserably stubborn in his life.

He felt Eliza’s heat as well as her angry twitches and
shudders against his back as she settled for the night. He fought the urge to
roll over and get it over with.

“Over with” was the phrase too. He could imagine saying the
words. Something along the lines of, “Oh by the by, Eliza, I’m the father of
that baby. I’m the guy who took advantage of you when you couldn’t say no. In
case you don’t remember, and I bet you don’t since you were drugged at the
time—I took you twice. Still wanna make love again?”

He’d have to tie her to him to keep her from running away
after that.

He cursed himself and his nagging desire and ridiculous
scruples. And for good measure, he cursed the DHU.

* * * * *

The next day, Eliza decided she’d had enough of the cart.

They’d stopped to rest and she carefully skirted her way
through the seated groups to find him. When the cry came down the line to start
moving again she told him no.

“There are too many people suffering more than I am, Jas. If
you must bribe the man, do it for the sake of the poor woman over there
carrying the baby.” She pointed to a pale, listless woman with a restless child
on her hip.

Without a word, Jas walked over to the woman and with
gestures, offered to take the girl, who was about two years old. The frail
woman, who appeared exhausted even after the rest period, gave him a long
stare, then handed over the child. The little girl promptly started yelling and
squirming, trying to get back to her mother.

“Go on, then,” he said, nodding to Eliza, as he made sure
the energetic girl didn’t tip up and out of his arms. “Get up.”

“No.” She shook her head. “The old woman over there, then.
Or the soldier with the injured leg. Not me. I am far too hale.”

He rolled his eyes. “Right, fine. Your call.”

After a glance at the sallow, too-thin mother, he shifted
the protesting little girl and easily hefted her onto his shoulder. She
immediately stopped her wails and grabbed two fistfuls of Jas’ hair to steady
herself. She started shouting to her mother.

Eliza laughed. “I think she is crowing that she has a seat
as high as a mountain.”

They walked together, mile after mile, with Jas toting the
little girl, whose name was Vidonia, most of the way. Vidonia insisted on
clambering down once or twice, but in a few minutes decided she could not walk
fast enough. After a quick wave to her mother, Vidonia ran back to Jas and
tugged imperiously at his trouser leg.

Jas had said the whole aim of joining the convoy was to
allow Eliza to rest. She strongly suspected he arranged it so they would not be
alone together and tempted to make love. One hundred bedraggled soldiers and
their followers acting as chaperone.

Yet after they met Vidonia, even Eliza didn’t talk about
striking out on their own. Neither of them mentioned the little girl, though
after the next break, and then in the morning, Jas and Eliza went to gather up
Vidonia from her mother. Now when Vidonia saw them coming, she skipped over and
held her arms up to Jas. His teeth flashed in a smile as his strong hands
easily swung the tiny girl up. Eliza’s breath hitched as she watched. Another
portrait of Mr. White.

He walked with the girl perched on his shoulders or on his
side and every now and then, the two of them talked nonsense, laughing at each
other’s silly languages. Occasionally they all three sang together, though
rarely the same song.

“Hickory Dickory Dog,” Vidonia crowed.

Jas grinned over at Eliza. “She’s a smart thing, eh? And
funny. Never knew kids…” But the words died. He looked away and pressed his
mouth into a thin line.

She resisted the urge to point out that she knew him too
well and he hadn’t managed to hide his train of thought. He remembered another
child, still unborn, that he could care for and play with some day, if he
agreed to marry Eliza.

They continued to sleep near, though not in, the crowded
campsites of the convoy, but they sat with the girl and her mother for rests
and meals, and Jas even offered Vidonia’s pale mother one of his strange brown
squares. During a particularly fierce rainstorm, Jas wrapped his cloak over the
little girl and himself. He walked along, looking as if he had a strange growth
on his side.

When Jas and Eliza left the convoy, Vidonia cried as her
mother peeled her from Jas’ arms.

He said nothing, but sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

They stood and waved until the convoy was out of sight.