Lost Love Found (44 page)

He sensed her rising emotions rather than felt any physical manifestation of them. Slowly, he slid his hands up the silken length of her back and over her shoulders until they were tangled in the dark night of her hair. His strong fingers kneaded her scalp, tipping her head back so that she was forced to look up into his ruggedly handsome face. The rising passion he saw in her jewellike eyes matched his own.

She could hear her heart thudding rhythmically within her ears. The turbulence churning within her belly was wholly at odds with the tightness in her chest. She didn’t think she was breathing. His lips began to kiss her, and she eagerly opened her mouth to him. The kiss turned into kisses, one after the other, each deeper in intensity than the one before. They seemed to be devouring each other with their kisses. Boldly, she sought his tongue with her own and was rewarded to find a willing playmate. Their tongues twined and intertwined warmly and wetly as the power of their kisses grew in potency until, gasping, Valentina pulled her head away, frightened by the feelings his love was generating within her.

He bent, quickly scooped her up, and laid her gently upon her bed of pillows. Joining her, his big body covered her and he once again began to kiss her. Tenderly he pinioned her beneath him, imprisoning her not only by the weight of his body but with his hands, which held her hands captive on either side of her head. His desire for total possession of her grew with each moment.

The touch of his body on hers was explosive. She felt every nuance of him: the dark down upon his legs and chest; the beat of his heart against hers; the softness of his skin; the very masculine, particularly Padraic scent of him; the wiry curls that pushed against her mont; the hardness of his manhood pressing into her thigh. His very being sent her senses reeling, soaring with delight.

“Val! Oh, Val!” he whispered hotly in her ear, kissing it, teasing it with the tip of his tongue. He released her hands and, slipping down her body, sought her breasts.

Suddenly the fright and the memories rolled over her like a wave of terror. For one horrifying moment she was once again hanging between the two wooden posts outside Temur Khan’s yurt while, Boal and Guyuk performed their violation on her breasts. Bile, bitter and hot, rose in her throat. She whimpered in fear.

Padraic’s head snapped up. Looking into her face, he saw her anguish and realized its cause. “Nay, hinny love, do not be afraid. ’Tis your Padraic, and I only want to love you!”

Valentina shivered. “I do not know if I can bear to have you touch my breasts,” she admitted. “I keep remembering, Padraic. I keep remembering!”

“The memories will not fade until they are replaced by new ones, Val,” he replied. Gently he let his fingers brush across a soft nipple, encircling the flesh again and again until he felt her begin to relax beneath his touch. “You have the loveliest breasts, Val. I cannot resist them!” His head dipped swiftly, and he nuzzled her with his face. Then his tongue began to tease her, encouraging the nipple to stand bravely at attention beneath his loving. Soon his lips were closing about the nipple, his tongue playing with it, his mouth unable to resist suckling.

At the first tug upon her nipple, Valentina felt the bile rise again in her throat. She fought it down, willing the fear away. This was Padraic.
Her
Padraic! Padraic, who loved her and wished to be her husband. With each pull upon her flesh, her memory of the Tatar violators eased and she allowed herself to concentrate on the pleasure her lover was giving her. Yesterday there had been no pleasure. Now there was. Her hands moved to caress his dark head, her fingers tangling in his hair. Her breasts had become hard and swollen, and a sweet ache permeated her whole being. A low moan escaped from Valentina.

He raised his head from her breasts and kissed her deeply. “You are so sweet, my hinny love,” he murmured, and slid down her torso, leaving a trail of warm kisses behind. He tongued her navel, and she moaned again as he rubbed his face against her satiny skin. He moved lower, and suddenly she stiffened.

“No!” A fierce shudder wracked her. “Not there! Not after yesterday, Padraic, I beg you!”

He met her eyes with his. “Yes, Val, I will love you there, too. You cannot deny me, sweetheart! How can I take the sting of your pain away if you do not let me replace that pain with pleasure?” His fingers gently teased her and a small sob escaped her. “Oh, my love, let me! Let me wipe your shame away.” Bending, he found her tiny jewel and loved it with his mouth.

The touch of his tongue on that most intimate spot did not, to her great surprise, bring back the horrors of yesterday. Indeed, his tongue only aroused her passions. They were passions that she had hitherto kept locked carefully away from him lest he have any advantage over her. Now those passions exploded, and she arched her body to meet his mouth. The time for restraint was past. Her honeyed love nectar flowed most copiously as he drank greedily of her.

She soared like a swallow beneath his fiery tutelage, scaling one height after another until she believed there were no more mountains left to climb, but he surprised her. “Padraic! Padraic!” she whispered his name again and again like some sacred litany.

He could wait no more. That her fears were now gone was obvious. Pulling himself up from between her silken thighs, he thrust deeply between those thighs, his hard, hot manhood driving true. For a long moment he lay gasping above her, throbbing within her passage, which was so wonderfully tight and clasped him so fiercely. With a groan, he drew himself forth and then, buttocks clenching and unclenching, he began the love rhythm.

Her soft arms enclosed him, drawing him down to crush him against her breasts. If she had flown with the birds previously, now she rose to sit among the gods themselves. She had found paradise! Her head rolled back and forth amid the pillows. She stuffed her fingers into her mouth to prevent her cries from being heard, but even so, a low moan escaped her.

“Open your eyes, Val,” he growled softly. “I want to see your soul!” His muscled thighs were clasping her firmly.

She heard his command, but her eyelids felt so heavy. Still she tried and, to her great surprise, her eyes opened.

Valentina stared into his face and saw there naked passion for the very first time in her life. It frightened her. Had it not been Padraic above her, she would have been genuinely terrified. “Kiss me, my love,” she whispered to him, hiding her thoughts from him, and he complied with her request. Shortly, their kisses were once again out of control, for they could not, it seemed, have enough of each other. At no time did Padriac cease the sensual rhythm of love, and together, at last, they found their pleasure. Padraic sighed so deeply with his fulfillment that Valentina was roused from her stupor and laughed softly.

“I need not,” she said, “ask if you were pleasured, my lord, need I?” She reached up and brushed an errant lock of hair back from his high forehead.

He caught her hand and kissed the palm passionately as he rolled away from her. “You are perfection, Val,” he said admiringly. “Did I merely dream it in my ecstasy or did you indeed promise to be my wife, madam?”

“I intend to redecorate Clearfields completely,” she said by way of an answer.

“When will you marry me?” he demanded, delighted.

“Not until we return home, my love,” she said. “We cannot, after all, deprive our mothers of a wedding, can we?” She turned onto her side and shifted her elbow so that she might look down into his face. “Oh, Padraic, you do understand, don’t you? I love our family. It would not seem a real marriage unless they were all present!”

He smiled. “I think the thing I have loved about you since your childhood is your deep and abiding loyalty to the family, Val. Like me, you seek no glory other than that which reflects favorably upon the family.”

“Together, my lord”—she smiled down into his eyes—“I hope we shall, through our children, add to that familial glory.”

His gaze grew troubled. “Val,” he said. “What if you should … should become
enceinte
before we wed?”

“You need not worry, my lord,” she replied.

“Val,” he answered seriously, “my seed is most potent.” Then he blushed and said, “I had best tell you before the gossips get to you, but in the village belonging to Clearfields, there are several children I have fathered.”

“How
many
children?” she demanded, her eyes dancing with amusement.

“Six, eight, I am not certain. It is considered permissible for an otherwise
good
girl to bear my child,” he said, chagrined by her reasonable attitude, his blush deepening.

“You certainly have your share of bastards, my lord,” Valentina noted, “and your villagers are most tolerant, But now, of course, there will be no more bastards.” She rubbed her breasts provocatively against his chest. “You will no longer need other women, my lord, will you?”

“Nay, hinny love,” he agreed, his eyes beginning to smolder with renewed interest, “but that still does not solve our problem.”

Valentina laughed. “Your mother solved our problem months ago, Padraic. There will be no bairns until we want them, and certainly not before our wedding.”

“That damned potion!” he exploded. “Madam, I will not have it!”

She laughed again, this time down into his face. “Nay, my lord, you
need
not have it, but I will!” She kissed him fiercely. Time lost all meaning for them, and Lord Burke forgot entirely whatever it was that had angered him.

They spent the night together enraptured by their passion, wrapped in each other’s arms. By morning, Valentina could not recall why she had been so stubborn about agreeing to marry Padraic Burke. As for Lord Burke, he could not ever remember having been so totally and completely happy.

When the morning came, Valentina, though still bruised, felt well enough to travel. Borte Khatun and Javid Khan, however, prevailed on her to wait one more day. “Love is a magnificent physician,” said Javid Kahn, smiling, “but you are still not healed enough to undertake such a rigorous journey.” They were seated together outside the yurt in the spring sunshine. The Geray Tatars had rejoiced at the miraculous return of Javid Khan, for he had always been a favorite among his clan. His survival was considered an incredible testament to his mother’s love and as great an adventure as any his family had undertaken in the past. The prince reveled in being able, once again, to enjoy his siblings, their children, and their children’s children.

“My mother will be so happy to know of your survival and your victory over Temur Khan,” Valentina told him happily.

“No, Valentina, my dear, your mother must never know that I survived the massacre at the Jewel Serai. For her, Javid Khan died long ago on that fresh spring morning. Let it remain that way. If she knew otherwise, it would only open old wounds, bringing forth old memories that are best left undisturbed. When you return home, tell her only that you visited Borte Khatun and learned that you did not bear the quarter-moon birthmark necessary to prove you were the child of Javid Khan. It was decided that you are not his daughter, for all of Borte Khatun’s female descendants have that mark.”

“Am I Sultan Murad’s daughter, then, I wonder?” Valentina mused unhappily.

“Of course you must see the Valide Safiye,” he told her, “but I knew Murad and I see nothing of him in you. I believe that you are your father’s daughter, but go to Istanbul, for I know you will not be satisfied until you do.” He smiled at her. “Your mother was never one to be satisfied until she had had her own way, either.”

“How strange, my lord Javid, for I have never seen her that way. She has always deferred to her husband and family,” Valentina told him.

“But,” he said, “I suspect that what her husband and family wanted was what Marjallah wanted, eh?”

Valentina thought for a moment, then laughed. “I think you are right, my lord Javid,” she admitted.

“Your mother was always a very clever woman,” he said, remembering. “I thank Allah that she was able to escape from the clutches of the sultan those many years ago. Your father’s love is a strong love that it brought him success in saving your mother in the face of all odds.”

“You are certain,” Valentina said, “that you do not want her to know of your own happy ending?”

He shook his head. “Such knowledge would serve no purpose, and it might bring her pain. I love your mother too much to inflict even the slightest hurt upon her.”

“I love your mother,” he had said. Not loved, but love. He still loved Aidan, Valentina thought, amazed, suddenly seeing her mother as other than just Conn’s wife. Seeing Aidan as a desirable woman, a woman capable of rousing the deepest passions in an attractive man, a man other than Lord Bliss. It was a startling revelation.

The prince saw her thoughts on her face as clearly as if she had spoken them and again he thought of the woman he had called Marjallah. She, too, had revealed her thoughts easily. He said nothing.

“I think,” Valentina finally told him, “that my mother has been very fortunate in the men who loved her.”

“We have been fortunate as well,” he replied. “Your father and I, Valentina.” Then he patted her slender hand. “Go to Istanbul, my dear, and set your mind at rest once and for all. Then go back to England and marry your Lord Burke. From the sounds we could hear last night, he is a most vigorous and satisfying lover. Surely children will soon come of such passion.”

Valentina blushed bright pink, much to Javid Khan’s amusement. “My lord!” she protested. “I thought we were being discreet.”

He chuckled. “Do not be embarrassed, Valentina. We Tatars fully approve of passion.”

Valentina giggled. Standing, she kissed Javid Khan on the forehead. “My lord, I should have been proud to be your daughter, and in the short time we have known each other, I have come to love you as a second father. I will always think of you as such.” Then she turned away and went into the yurt.

He sat frozen, his heart filled to overflowing with deep and turbulent emotions. Her words had pricked him to the quick, and he felt tears coming. Impatiently, he blinked them away. If she thought of him as another father, then he thought of her as the daughter he would never have. He remembered his own children and sighed. Dead, all dead. Dead by his brother’s hand. Only this lovely young woman who was not even his remained to remind him of what might have been.