Lovestorm (19 page)

Elizabeth would have sworn that she never slept, yet suddenly he was standing beside her bed. She put out her hand to touch him, fearful that Cain would dissolve as all her dreams of him had done before.

“N'tschutti,”
he whispered huskily. “Dear, beloved one.” He caught her hand in his, and she felt his warm reality.

“Is it you?” She blinked back tears of joy, afraid to hope that it was so. “Are you here, or are you a dream?”

“You be the vision, Eliz-a-beth.” Flickering firelight played across his chiseled features as he pulled aside the covers and stared down at her unclothed body with smoldering eyes. “My vision, that I am come so far to possess.”

She trembled, not knowing if it was from the damp night air or the intensity of his penetrating gaze. “I'm cold,” she murmured, holding up her arms to him. “Warm me.”

Her pulse quickened as Cain stripped away his servant's jacket and breeches. He jerked at the ribbon behind his neck, and his dark hair fell free to cascade around his shoulders. “I will warm you,
nihounshan,”
he promised, leaning over her to press a lingering kiss against her willing lips.

Icy rain pattered against the diamond-shaped windowpanes as he removed his leather shoes and knit stockings. Elizabeth moistened her lips and drew in a long, shuddering breath while a warm, heavy-limbed aching seeped through her.

“You smell like mint,” she murmured.

He chuckled deep in his throat. “And wet wool and tree bark. This one must climb tree to reach your window. Is not easy to climb tree in English shoes.”

Outside, an oak branch scraped against the window, and Elizabeth's eyes widened in fear. “What's that?”

“Shhh,” he soothed, sliding in beside her and taking her in his arms. “Be not afraid of the storm, Eliz-a-beth. The storm is our friend.”

She moaned with pleasure as he pulled her against him and wrapped his arms and legs around her. “Cain . . . oh, Cain. I wish I'd never come back to England. I've wanted you . . . needed you so.”

“Shhh, I am here.” His mouth felt hers, and he took her lower lip between his and sucked gently.

“Ohhh.” She sighed as a fluttering sensation began in the pit of her stomach and curled upward. Her nipples hardened to erect peaks as they brushed against the satin-smooth surface of his chest, and the warm sweetness between her thighs intensified.

Cain's tongue touched hers, and she opened like a spring blossom to his kiss. His mouth was as soft as velvet and sweeter than honey.

“K'daholel,”
he whispered, trailing hot, wet kisses down her throat. “I love you.” His hand cupped a love-swollen breast. “Sweet wife.”

The burning in her loins became a throbbing, incandescent heat, and she groaned in ecstasy, thrusting her hips closer to his, pulling his seeking mouth down to kiss and lick her aching nipples. “Cain . . . Cain.” Her voice was low and throaty. “I've wanted you to kiss me like this . . . to touch me.”

“This one has wanted you, my Eliz-a-beth, longer than you can know.”

His cheek was smooth against her naked breast, his breath warm and moist as he stroked her belly and let his strong, lean hands explore her rounded hips and the nest of curls between her thighs.

“Tell me that we do no wrong,” she pleaded with him as the insistent hunger grew within her. “You are my true husband, aren't you, Cain?”

He answered with a searing kiss, pushing her urgently back among the heaped feather pillows and covering her with his hard, muscular body. All conscious thoughts slipped from her mind as Cain lowered his weight onto her trembling form, and she felt the force of his pulsating shaft against her bare thigh.

“Touch me, Eliz-a-beth,” he urged. His hair brushed across her cheek, and he claimed her eager mouth with fiery, consuming kisses until her head whirled.

Unable to refuse him, she closed her shaking hand around the source of his arousal. His loins tightened, and he groaned as her fingers caressed the tumescent length of his impassioned manhood.

“I want you,” she cried. “Love me.”

“Eliz-a-beth.” His eyes reflected the flames dancing on the hearth, and she was drawn into those flames.

“Please.” She writhed beneath him. Her skin burned where it pressed against his; her breath came in heaving sobs. “Cain,” she moaned. The aching in her blood had become a fierce wanting, a desire that must be fulfilled or she would die.

He entered her slowly, tenderly, with agonizingly provocative thrusts, letting the swollen tip of his engorged rod caress and tease her willing flesh as she strained against him, intent on release. The brief flash of pain was gone before she could do more than gasp, and then the ancient rhythm seized them and hurled them together toward a mutual, soul-shattering rapture.

Waves of joy washed over Elizabeth as she lay in the safety of his arms and wept bittersweet tears. “Darling . . . darling,” she murmured. “My darling husband.”

He kissed her hair, winding the love-dampened tendrils around his fingers and tasting them with the tip of his tongue. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her cheeks, her eyelids, her nose, and her chin.

“Did I please you?” she asked shyly, when the tears ceased to flow. “I never—”

He chuckled softly. “You learn quickly for an English
equiwa.”

She smiled up at him and tugged sharply at a lock of his hair. “And how many Englishwomen have you instructed in the arts of love?”

“Aiiee.” He groaned in mock pain. “Only one.”

“Good. For I am a jealous
nahanuun.”

Cain laughed. “Your Lenape is very bad.”

“I am not your
nahanuun?”

“You be my
nihounshan,
my wife.
Nahanuun
is the masked animal who washes his food before he eats—the raccoon.”

She giggled, content in the circle of his arms. “If my Lenape is bad, it is your fault. All I know I learned from you, husband.”

He lowered his head and kissed her full on the lips. “That is
tuun,”
he said solemnly. “Mouth.” He touched the tip of her chin. “And this be
uiitshe.”

She caught his hand in hers and guided it to her breast. “And what is this called?”

“Nunukuun.”
He brushed his lips against her nipple and Elizabeth squirmed with delight.

“Show me more,” she urged.

His hand slipped lower to rest on her stomach.
“Uoote,”
he said.

“And this?” She brushed his swelling manhood with her fingertips.

“Liar,” she accused.
“Oslahiila
is lightning.”

He chuckled. “You know more than you pretend, woman. Perhaps it is not. Perhaps it be
assuun hittuuk.”

“Stone tree?” She giggled. “I think not.”

“This one thinks you have enough of word lesson and not enough lesson to make husband's blood run hot.”

He buried his face in the hollow between her breasts, and she ran her fingers through his long, dark hair. She moved against him, feeling the warm, sweet sensations begin again. “If you could just show me once more,” she teased, “then perhaps I might—”

“A man must be made of stone to satisfy you,” he whispered. “But let it not be said a warrior of the
munsee
clan did not give his best.”

Desire kindled once more as they whispered words of love to each other and touched and kissed. This time, Elizabeth felt no pain when they came together. Instead, there was a lingering rapture that filled her heart with happiness.

“I love you,” she told him when they lay exhausted from their repeated lovemaking. “I love you more than I have ever loved anyone.”

“Did this one not tell you,” he replied lazily. “On the shores of the great salt sea, I promised you would come to me by your own will.”

She sealed his lips with a gentle kiss. “An English gentleman would never remind a lady of her error.”

He nibbled at her fingers. “A savage shows no mercy.”

She laughed and curled against him. “If only we could stay like this forever,” she murmured sleepily. Suddenly she sat up and thumped his shoulder. “How did you get into my chamber?”

“I tell you. I come by window.”

“But there are bars on the window. Some relative of Edward's was crazy, and they locked her away in these rooms. Are you a ghost that you can come through iron bars?”

“Did the bars protect this woman who was sick in the head?”

“No. Bridget said she jumped from another window to her death.”

“Hmmph. Iron can not hold back flesh. Flesh is stronger.” He pushed back the blankets and rose from the bed to stand before the fire. He held his broad hands out to the heat and turned to smile at her. “For many nights I come to your window,” he explained. “With my knife, I cut at the wood beneath the iron. Now these bars come and go as easily as an arrow comes from my quiver.”

“You were there—at my window? Many nights? But I never heard—”

He nodded. “Good. This one was afraid the English make him clumsy. I go now, but I will come again.”

In an instant she was beside him, clinging to him with all her strength. “Don't go,” she begged him. “Don't leave me. God only knows when we can be together again.”

He kissed her once more, then pushed her firmly away and began to dress. “There is danger to you if this one stay too long. Let not your heart be sad. I will find a way, Eliz-a-beth. I will take you home to my own land, and we will not be apart again.”

“If only we could,” she whispered. “But it's not possible. You, perhaps . . . you alone. There might be a way to send you back to the Colonies.”

“I do not go alone,” he said. “A Lenni-Lenape does not desert his wife.”

Tears filled her eyes. “Then our love is doomed.”

He moved to the window in three quick strides, then turned back to stare into her eyes. “This doom I do not know,” he admitted. “But I will take you home, Eliz-a-beth, or my life blood will run out on English soil.”

“You don't understand. There's no way for us to escape Edward. Even if he—”

“I will find a way.”

“Bold words!” she flared. “From a man who wears Dunmore's livery. You're no more than his slave. How can you let him shame you—treat you like a wild beast on display? Where is your Lenape pride in that?”

“No man can shame another,” Cain retorted angrily. “Shame comes from within a man's heart—not from outside. I wear Dunmore's clothes and eat his bread while I learn English ways to take us back across the sea. If you do not see that Dunmore shames himself by what he does, then it may be that there is no hope for us.”

“Wait,” she pleaded. “I don't-”

There was a gust of wind and driving rain as Cain flung open the window, and Elizabeth was left to weep alone.

 

P
assersby scattered as Elizabeth's coach rumbled over London Bridge. She hated the bridge; tall wooden buildings were crammed close together, hanging over the narrow, ill-maintained roadway. She never crossed without having the feeling that the whole top-heavy structure might collapse at any moment and tumble willy-nilly into the Thames.

Betty and Edward's spy, Jane, sat across from her; both maids had accompanied her to the afternoon performance at the Bear Garden, a popular playhouse on the south side of the river. Her husband had joined them at the comedy and then had remained with friends for the cockfights and presumably an evening of gambling and merriment.

Edward had barely spoken to her, but their appearance together would be enough to silence gossip that Lord Dunmore and his new bride were at odds. What others thought meant little to Elizabeth, but it meant a great deal to Edward. Spending an afternoon in public with him was small enough price to pay for her relative freedom.

After they'd left the Bear Garden, Elizabeth had ordered the coachman to stop at a small church. Leaving Jane in the coach, she'd taken Betty and gone into the chapel to pray. Although the interior of the church had been quiet and peaceful, Elizabeth had found no release from her growing unease.

I am not cut out to live a life of deceit and immorality, she thought as the coach bounced from side to side, rattling her teeth and sending up showers of dust and cinders. Regardless of the rampant promiscuity at King Charles's court, cuckolding Dunmore was not an easy thing to live with.

It didn't matter that half her friends' husbands kept mistresses openly, or that the King himself slept with most of her friends—including her sister Ann. The pomp and glitter that radiated around Charles and his restoration court seemed to Elizabeth to be more dross than gold. The endless balls, the fortunes won and lost at dice and dull, repetitive card games were all meaningless. The only hours that mattered were those she spent in Cain's strong arms.

We play a dangerous game, she thought.
Despite
Edward's deteriorating health, he is still capable of having Cain and me put to death if he learns what is happening between us under his very roof.

Her plans to send Cain back to the Colonies had come to nothing. When she had approached her father about making the travel arrangements, he had only scoffed.

“God's heart, Lizbet!” Sommersett had boomed. “Remember who you are! Think ye I'd risk theft and transportation of Dunmore's valuable slave for a chit's lust? I warned you about that creature before you married Dunmore. You'll be in mourning for your lord soon enough. Can you not see the flesh melting off him like wax off a candle? When he's decently beneath the sod, you can play as you like with his pets.” He'd frowned and stared hard at her middle. “Your mother was with child a month after we wed. What's wrong with you that you've not produced an heir? Even a wench would be better than nothing. Hie thee to your husband's bed and stay there until you swell with babe.”

“Think you I fancy going to a murderer's bed?” she'd flung back in anger.

“Edward paid to have the wheel of his brother's coach loosened. That hardly makes him chief executioner at the Tower, does it? I've no doubt he wanted Richard dead, but the old man's death was probably an accident.” Her father had laughed then and patted her head. “No need for you to worry. You don't stand between him and a title. If he hasn't done away with you by now, he won't.” He'd eyed her suspiciously. “Unless you're putting horns on him with that savage?”

“There's no need to insult me,” she'd retorted.

“Well, then,” he soothed. “Once you're with child, Dunmore will treat you like spun glass. Just be certain his heir has the proper color skin.”

“It will.”

“Then we've no problem, have we? When Dunmore dies, I will control all that is his.” Pacified, Sommersett had given her a rare embrace and sent her on her way. “Stop worrying about men's affairs and put your mind to breeding,” he'd advised. “I'd never have told you what I'd learned about Edward if I'd thought you'd be so emotional about the whole affair.”

The coach slowed suddenly, and Elizabeth was thrown against the side. She shoved away a curtain and stared out. Ahead, blocking the street, was a funeral procession. From the size of the coffin, the deceased appeared to be a child. Behind the mourning family walked a gloved physician in the customary long, full-skirted leather coat with an obscene birdlike headcovering complete with glass eyepiece and perfume-stuffed beak.

Elizabeth let the curtain drop and sank back against the seat. “Another plague death,” she said.

“I saw a woman drop in the street at the market yesterday, m'lady,” Jane said. “ 'Tis said the deaths are heavy in the poorer sections o' the city.”

“That family was not poor,” Elizabeth replied. “I've seen that man carrying the coffin before. He's a spice merchant.”

Betty's pupils dilated until they seemed to fill her blotchy face. “Cover yer mouth, m'lady,” she cried. “The plague is carried on the air.”

Betty had shot up three inches since Christmas, and Elizabeth had ordered her two new dresses of good wool with matching aprons and white linen collars, and stout leather shoes. For today's special outing, Betty had worn her new hooded cape of blue Flanders wool. A pity, Elizabeth thought, that her new clothes do little to improve her appearance. I fear she will always look like a starving robin chick washed out of its nest in a rainstorm.

“Ye should never ha' let Bridget go t' her sister's weddin' at St. Giles,” Jane whined. “She'll bring the plague home and be the death o' us all.”

“Maureen is Bridget's only living sister,” Elizabeth said. “Maureen and her new husband, Sean, are moving to Bristol. If Bridget didn't see her today, God knows when they could visit with each other again.”

“Irish rabble,” Jane mumbled.

“No more,” Elizabeth snapped. “When I need your help to instruct my maids, I'll ask for it.”

“Yes, m'lady.” Jane twisted her thin mouth into a lazy smirk.

Elizabeth fumed. Both women knew that Elizabeth was powerless to dismiss her from her post, and Jane never failed to display some trace of impudence when chastised.

In truth, Elizabeth was concerned about Bridget's safety. She had asked for and been given two days off to attend Maureen's wedding. Elizabeth had sent her away wearing a new dress and carrying a gift of silver coin for the young couple. Robert, the footman, had gone along to carry a hamper of meat, cheese, and pastries to contribute to the wedding supper. Robert had come back on time, his breath smelling of ale, but so far, Elizabeth had seen nothing of Bridget. She'd promised to return last night, and it was not like the girl to be undependable.

Elizabeth made two more stops on the way home, first at an apothecary to refill her store of medicinals, and again at Micah's shop to leave a necklace for him to convert to coin. If and when it was possible to send Cain back to America, she would need access to a large sum of money. She could trust Micah to keep the money safe, and to do so without informing her husband or her father.

When they reached the house at dusk, they found total confusion. Servants were running back and forth carrying bundles and trunks, and the large traveling coach pulled by four horses was standing ready at the west entrance. Edward's barking hounds ran circles around the horses, and one of the cooks was swearing loudly at a pot boy.

“What's amiss?” Elizabeth demanded of the nearest serving woman.

“Lord Dunmore has been askin' fer ye, lady,” the red-faced wench replied, setting down her overflowing basket of linens. “He's give orders that we're t' leave fer the country at once.”

“There you are.” Edward swore a foul oath as he ran down the back steps, wig and feathered hat askew. “Have your maids pack your things. We're going to Sotterley.” Edward's face was red and puffy, and his usually immaculate attire was the worse for wear. His brown velvet coat was wrinkled, and an oyster-gray stocking sagged around his left ankle.

“But you agreed to attend the masque at Lord Wilton's tomorrow night. I thought—”

“Damn Wilton and his silly affair. Phillip Mal-sey's cook died of the plague this morning. They say Phillip's senile old mother is taken with hideous buboes of the neck. I played cards with Phillip just last night.”

“But surely—”

“We're away to Sotterley, I say.” Edward covered his mouth with a perfumed handkerchief. “Take only what is absolutely necessary. The servants can follow with anything else you need.”

“Is Bridget back?”

Edward shook his head. “I've not seen the slut. If she's run off, we're well rid of her. Jane can—”

“I'll not have Jane in my bedchamber.”

“Then you must make do with Betty and some wench at Sotterley. God knows there's enough lazy mawks in my employ. We'll not risk dying of the plague for a maggot-brained bawd.”

“As you will, m'lord,” she answered dutifully. “But I must have time to change. I cannot ride all night in these clothes.” Edward muttered something in reply, and Elizabeth hurried up to her chamber.

“Bett,” she cried when the girl followed her into the room, “lock the door and help me into a riding habit. I can't leave until I find Bridget.”

“What if the plague's got her?”

“Then I must know. You stay here and pack my things. Tell anyone who asks for me that I've gone downstairs or upstairs. Tell them anything, but stall them.”

In the courtyard, grooms were leading horses from the stable. The smaller coach Elizabeth had just used was pulled behind the big one, and a stableboy was slipping feed bags over the team's noses. Elizabeth glanced toward the coachhouse and saw Cain standing in the doorway.

“Robert,” she called to the footman. “Come with me.” He followed her into the shadowy coach house, empty now except for the mule litter. That conveyance had been covered with canvas for storage. Cain was standing motionless a few feet from the door. He stared at Elizabeth without speaking.

“Savage, Robert,” she said, addressing the two men, “Bridget hasn't returned. We must go and fetch her. We'll need horses, Robert. Have them saddled at once. You can show me where you took Bridget to meet her sister.”

“The Indian can't ride, m'lady,” Robert said. “The head groom has been trying to teach him, but I doubt he can manage a horse on the city streets.”

Elizabeth looked at Cain, and he shook his head. “He can ride behind you, then,” she said. “We'll take Star and one of the geldings. Bridget can ride behind me on the way back. You can ride, can't you, Robert?”

“Aye, lady. I was raised on a farm.” He shifted his feet nervously. “I'm more 'n willing to go for Bridget, but it's getting dark. The streets are no place for a lady without a proper escort. You'd best—”

“Fetch the animals. I'll answer to Lord Dunmore when Bridget's safely home.”

 

As darkness fell over the courtyard, it was easy for Elizabeth and her party to slip from the stables unnoticed. The only servant who questioned Robert's appropriation of the riding horses was Tom, the groom, and Robert quickly enlisted him to join the expedition.

Elizabeth took pains not to look at Cain as they rode through the narrow city streets to the tenements near St. Giles. So far, none of the servants except Betty and Bridget knew of their involvement. Both maids were loyal, but she knew it would be only a matter of time before someone else on the staff discovered her secret. Until then, she must pretend to ignore Cain, and he must do the same to her.

Without incident, they reached the house where Maureen and Sean had been living. Sean answered Robert's urgent knock, and to Elizabeth's relief, Bridget came out immediately.

“Oh, m'lady,” Bridget cried, “I'm sorry I didn't come when I promised. Maureen was taken ill, and I've been tendin' her. I didn't dare leave her side to tell ye, and I couldn't convince Sean to go either.”

“Maureen's ill?” Elizabeth replied. “She's not taken the plague, has she?”

“No, m'lady. To tell God's truth, we were makin' a bit merry, and she slipped a child. The bleedin's stopped and her fever's down. I can go wi' ye wi' a free heart. Sean can tend her well enough now. If ye'll just give me time to gather me things and wish her goodbye.”

“Robert.” Elizabeth motioned to him, and the footman came to take the bundle she had tied to her saddle. “I was afraid you might have taken ill,” she explained to Bridget. “There are clean cloths, herbs, and a bottle of chicken broth in here. Your sister may as well have them.”

“Thank ye, yer ladyship,” Sean said. He was a tall, dark-haired Irish farm boy with big hands and feet. “ 'Tis kind o' ye to think o' Maureen. We're grateful fer yer weddin' gift too.”

“Care for her well,” Elizabeth replied. “If she's anything like Bridget, she'll make you a good wife.”

In minutes, Bridget was mounted pillion behind Robert. “To spare the animal Savage's greater weight, m'lady,” Robert had suggested. Cain swung up behind the groom Tom, and Elizabeth guided her own mount back the way they had come.

They had gone only a short distance when they found their path blocked by a house fire. Confusion reigned as neighbors aided the stricken family by carrying leather buckets of water to dash on the flames. Part of the burning house had fallen into the street, so there was no chance of getting the horses past the fire.