Lovestorm (21 page)

“I do love you,” she whispered. “I must be as mad as a bedlamite, but I love you more than life itself.” She relaxed her grip on the sheet, and her eyes sought his.

“This one think it grows warm in here,” Cain murmured huskily in his own tongue.

“Then take off your clothes,” she replied in the same language.

“Do you invite me?” he asked in English.

She moistened her lips with her tongue and raised the corner of the sheet. “It's not cold under here.” His clothes followed the cosmetic box, and he climbed in beside her, wrapping her in his strong arms.

Their lips met, and Elizabeth trembled. “And in summer,” she murmured. “What will we do in summer?”

“In summer,” he whispered, “I will hold you like this . . . and kiss you here . . . and here.”

She moaned and pressed against him, thrilling to the rising heat of his swollen manhood. “In summer,” she prompted.

Cain cupped her breast in his hand. “In summer, we leave our winter camp and go to the sea. There we fish, and swim, and lie in each other's arms in the moonlight.” His tongue teased her nipple to an erect peak.

“And in autumn?”

He covered her with his body. “In autumn, we return to the winter camp, laden with dried fish and clams. We harvest our fields and call our loved ones to join us in thanksgiving. We dance, and sing, and pull dark-eyed maidens into the forest to share promises of joy.”

Elizabeth arched provocatively against him. “And what of green-eyed maidens?” she teased. “Is there no hope for them?”

“Ask me in the morning,” he murmured, and fire leaped between them as his eager mouth sought hers.

 

T
he riders galloped past the tiny hamlet of timber-framed houses, over a hand-hewn wooden bridge, and across a lush green meadow where fluffy white sheep grazed under the watchful eyes of two young shepherds. Tails streaming behind them, the finely bred horses stretched their long necks and raced through a carefully manicured section of oak woodland and onto a wide, brilliantly verdant field interspersed with yew hedges.

Elizabeth, two lengths ahead of the nearest rider, urged her mount over the low hedge that blocked her path. The mare took the jump smoothly and responded to the light pressure on the reins as Elizabeth guided her into a tight circle and brought her to a halt. She leaned forward and patted the mare's neck, praising her with soft words. Then Elizabeth looked back across the hedge and laughed. Cain's sorrel stood just beyond the jump with pricked ears and rolling eyes. Cain was picking himself up off the wet grass.

“You're supposed to stay on the horse when he goes over a jump,” she teased. Cain's reply was a badly pronounced English oath that brought tears of laughter from Elizabeth.

In the two weeks since they had come to Sotterley, Cain had been learning to ride. It was Edward's wish that his Indian servant be trained as a groom and huntsman so that he could accompany Edward on hunting parties. Tom had been ordered to teach Savage, and so far, progress was proceeding by abrupt starts and stops.

Tom reined in his gray hunter and brought the crop-maned animal back to stand near Elizabeth's. “I'm afraid Savage's ridin' ain't much, m'lady,” the groom observed with a wide grin, “but I do fink we're teachin' 'im a bit o' proper talk.”

On the third attempt, Cain remained technically in the saddle as the gelding cleared the hedge, and the three riders continued across the flat parkland. Ahead, just inside a grove of towering oaks, Bridget and Robert waited with the noon meal. When they reached the spot where Bridget was spreading delicacies on a clean linen cloth, Elizabeth allowed Tom to assist her in dismounting, then instructed him to return to the manor.

“Yes, m'lady.” Tom tugged at his forelock and nodded toward the Indian. “I'll take 'im back wi' me.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “That won't be necessary. Robert and Bridget are here with me, and the savage may as well stay too. I intend to ride on to Druid's Well this afternoon. It's not far. He can accompany us. God knows the man needs the practice.”

Getting rid of Bridget and Robert after the meal was simple; Elizabeth had only to lay her head on a blanket and pretend she was napping. She heard the two whispering, and then their careful footsteps fading away into the forest. Bridget and Robert had been unable to hide their growing attachment to each other, and Elizabeth was certain she knew the purpose for their abandonment.

Lying on the blanket under the trees was so relaxing that she nearly did drift off to sleep. The April day was warm, and the air smelled of wildflowers and ancient peat. Overhead, birds sang and squirrels chattered, and a soft wind played music through the treetops.

Her dreamlike trance was shattered by a Lenape war cry as Cain swooped down on her, seized her wrists in an iron grip, and pinned her to the ground.

“Oh!” she gasped.

He crouched over her and stared into her eyes. Cain's cheekbones bore stripes of blue and red paint, and his features gave no hint of a smile.

Excitement tinged with fear bubbled up in Elizabeth's throat, and she attempted a giggle. “Where did you find the paint?”

“Silence woman,” he ordered. “You are my prisoner. I tell you when you can speak.”

Elizabeth swallowed and moistened her lips. He's teasing me, she thought, to get back at me for laughing at him. But an inner voice cautioned,
Are you certain?
She wiggled in his grasp, and he tightened the pressure on her wrists.

“Lie still.”

“I would have thought you were too sore to move so fast,” she ventured. His nearness was both frightening and intoxicating. Her mouth felt dry, and her heart was hammering as though she'd been running. She could feel the heat of his body through her clothing. “Let me up before you wrinkle my riding habit.”

“If Wishemenetoo had wanted his children to ride on the backs of beasts, he would have made horses that did not come away from the rider,” Cain answered huskily. His eyes narrowed. “And I am certain he did not mean for
keequa
to make joke at husband's pain.”

“Cain,” she persisted, fighting her own rising desire, “let me go. Someone may see us.”

“Robert and your woman go into the forest. This one does not think they will return soon.”

A shiver passed through her. Wasn't this what I had in mind when they wandered off? Didn't I intend for us to . . . “It's not safe,” she said. “Edward might—”

“He will do nothing. He will lie in his room and drink the fire liquid until his body dies. Can a man who cannot walk alone ride a horse?”

“He has spies to watch me. He could—”

Cain silenced her with his lips. “I like the taste of you, English
equiwa,”
he murmured. “I think I keep you.” He kissed her again, and she was unable to resist the singing in her blood. She returned his kiss ardently. He released her wrists, and her arms went around his neck. She hugged him tightly to her, arching against the hard length of his muscular body.

“Cain . . . no.” She sighed with pleasure as he lifted her hair to kiss the soft places of her neck. “We can't . . . it's too dangerous.”

“I hear you, woman.” His hand slipped beneath her skirt and moved slowly, caressingly up her leg and inner thigh. “This one hear your words, but he hears your heart speak louder.”

Her breath came in ragged gulps as their kisses intensified, and his hands continued to touch and fondle her. Somehow her skirts were bunched around her waist, and Cain was on top of her, whispering Lenape love words into her ear.

“Are you mad?” she protested weakly. “Not here in the open where anyone could see us. We can't . . .”

“Cannot,” he whispered in his soft, lilting way. “Cannot what? This? Or this?” His mouth claimed her again, kissed her in places that he had never done before.

“Oh. Oh.” Her body trembled beneath his. Against her will her hands found their way into his clothing to touch and tease him. And before she could gain control of her wayward body, they were locked in the throes of passionate lovemaking.

Later, they lay in each others' arms and gazed up into the spreading canopy of green leaves above. “I want to stay with you like this forever,” she murmured.

“This is good land, but too many English. I see why they come to take Lenape land.”

“You're right, you know. Many people here are starving.”

“How starve? We see many sheep in meadow, and I read here the tracks of deer and game birds.”

“The common people may not hunt the deer,” she explained gently. “The King claims all deer, or rather the old kings did. Now many lords pay for the right to hunt them.”

“How can a man claim deer? Does he feed these deer and bring them into his home at night like dogs? It is another sign that the English are soft in the head. No Lenape brave would let his wife and children have hunger when fat deer walked the forest.”

“Such a man here would be called a poacher. He would be hanged or have his hands cut off as a warning to others.”

“Let me take you into the forest, Eliz-a-beth. We could live there. No man would catch Shaakhan Kihittuun and cut off his hands. A man who tried would leave weeping women.”

Elizabeth laughed. “We could build a bower of oak leaves and live like Robin Hood and Maid Marian. In summer it would be a lark—but what would we do when snow fell?”

“Then this one would dress you in fur robes of rabbit and keep you warm in my arms.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “There be fish in those rivers and ducks in the sky. We could live as the true people do.”

She sighed. “It's a wonderful fantasy, but not very practical.” She lifted his hand and brushed his rough fingertips with her lips. “I love you, Cain, but how can I make you understand? We can't run off to live like outlaws in the forest. They would hunt us down like beasts and murder us. I was wrong when I didn't stay with you in America. Even then, I wanted to, but I was afraid to follow my own instincts. I believed we were too different to ever know happiness together.”

“And now?” He cupped her chin in his hand. “What do you believe now?”

She sighed again and covered his hand with her own. “I think our love is greater than the differences. But it's too late for us, Cain. If I hadn't been such a fool, you wouldn't be a prisoner today.”

He traced the outline of her lips with a forefinger. “Those days be past. My
cocumtha
say it gains nothing to shed tears over what be past. We must think of tomorrow, Eliz-a-beth. Our children cannot live like this.”

He touched a raw nerve within her. “I don't want to think about children,” she said abruptly.
I'm not with child. I can't be. There are a dozen reasons why a woman's courses might be late.
“I want your children someday, but not now. If I had your babe, Edward would not let it live.”

“He will die before an
apetotho
of ours.”

Elizabeth shivered at Cain's ominous words. She had missed her flow last month, and she was two days late again, but she hadn't been sick. She'd been as hungry as a stableboy for weeks. All the old wives' tales said a breeding woman was sick.

She raised her eyes to meet his. “You can't understand his power,” she argued. “Edward is an earl. He can call up many armed soldiers to—” She broke off, at a loss for words. “Imagine a great chief of your people—a man who could lead hundreds of warriors.”

“No Lenape warrior would follow a man who seeks to war on children.”

“Then the English are different from your people,” she said sadly. “You must find a way to escape . . . to go home. There is nothing ahead but heartbreak for us here.”

“This one say before, Eliz-a-beth. He does not go alone across the sea.”

 

When Robert and Bridget returned, Elizabeth was still dozing on the blanket and Cain was riding his horse in slow, easy circles in the meadow. Every trace of his Lenape facepaint had been lovingly washed away by Elizabeth.

Before Bridget could pack away the remains of the meal, Tom came galloping across the field. “M'lady!” he shouted. “M'lady! Ye mun come at oncet. They's evil news from London. Lord Dunmore bids ye 'urry.”

Minutes later, still dusty from her wild ride, Elizabeth ascended the wide marble stairs and joined her husband in the great hall. The ceiling was arched with dark oak beams, and the dusty heads of long-dead boars and stag antlers lined the walls. An open fireplace large enough to roast a whole steer dominated one end of the room, and the floor was covered with rush matting.

Elizabeth's nose wrinkled. The rushes were long overdue to be changed, and the half dozen hounds lying about the hall did nothing to improve the air. “Tom said there was ill news from London,” she began. “I—”

Edward set aside the book he was reading and reached for his wineglass. One bandaged foot was propped up on a stool, and his eyes looked too large for his face. “Steel yourself, Elizabeth,” he said. His words were compassionate, but the tone was as brittle as frost.

Her heart leaped in her throat. She had outridden the others, lashing the mare to get here. Now, suddenly, she didn't want to hear what Edward had to say. She had the most dreadful premonition that the bad news concerned her father. “What is it? What's wrong?” she forced herself to ask.

Edward sipped his wine slowly, smacking his lips. A trickle ran down from the corner of his mouth to drip from his chin. Elizabeth watched the drop in numb fascination. “God has laid His hand upon your house,” he said finally. “Your stepmother has died of the plague.”

“No.” Elizabeth shook her head. They had never been friends, but still . . . for plague to come so close to—

“And your brother James and his wife, Margaret.”

She stared at him in disbelief.
The bastard! He's enjoying this.
“James?”

“Dead and buried in the garden at Sommersett House.”

“And my father?” She clutched the back of an oak settle until a fingernail snapped. The finger began to bleed, but she didn't notice. “What of my father?”

Edward smiled grimly. “God has taken him to His bosom.”

Elizabeth felt as though the floor swayed under her feet. “Father's dead?”

Edward motioned for his valet-de-chambre to pour another goblet of wine. “A pity. I understand the title must pass to your brother Charles. He's on the grand tour with his tutor, isn't he? Hardly more than a child, and not robust, I hear.”

Black spots whirled in her brain, and she fought back tears. “I must return to London at once for Father's funeral.”

Edward leaned over to pat a hound's head. “There is no funeral. He was buried in the vegetable garden in the middle of the night by a gardener and a cook. Danger of spreading the contagion, you know. It's happening everywhere. Dreadful loss, isn't it?”

Fury drove the faintness back. Elizabeth rushed to the table, seized the wineglass from Edward's hand, and hurled it against the fireplace. The precious glass shattered and shards flew in all directions. Yipping, the dogs scattered.