The Border Hostage (37 page)

“It doesn't matter, Raven.”

By refusing to name him, she knew immediately that it was the cowardly act of Christopher Dacre. His words came winging back to her from the night she tried to help him escape from Eskdale.
I swear I will avenge myself against him, and against every Kennedy breathing. I will destroy them with fire and sword.
Suddenly, in a revelation, Raven realized that the Dacres were behind the fire in which her hands had been burned and also were behind the raid in which Donal Kennedy had been taken prisoner. She cursed herself for being so willfully blind. She touched his cheek tenderly. “I think I must stitch it,” she said, half to herself.

“No, Raven, it will heal without stitches.”

She pushed him down onto the bed so that her eyes were on a level with his face. Then she removed his bloodied shirt to examine the lash on his corded neck. “It won't heal without a scar,” she protested.

“Of course it will … you have healing hands.” Heath drew them to his lips and kissed her fingers.

“My God, don't start kissing me yet. I have things I must do.”

“Such as?” His glance roamed with hunger from her lips to her eyes, then back to her mouth.

“I'm going to bathe you.”

“Forgive me, love, I forgot how unpalatable I must be.”

Raven groaned. “You're not unpalatable; you're absolutely edible.” She heard servants in the hall and went out to them. “I want you to carry the big bath from the bathing room into my bedchamber.” They did as she directed, then poured their buckets of hot water into it and went downstairs to get more.

Raven could feel Heath's eyes on her as she poured a goblet of wine and mixed in some of the powdered yarrow, then she came to the bed and moved between his thighs. She dipped her fingers into the wine and cleansed the long, open cut with the astringent liquid. “This will have to do; actually, your face had far too much beauty for a rough Borderer.” She dipped her fingers in the wine and anointed him again. “Death and damnation, the scar will make you even more attractive.”

She felt the bulge between his legs enlarge and harden against her soft belly, and smiled into his eyes. “I have all night to play nursemaid.”

He slid his hands around her to cup her bottom cheeks and rub her against his erection. “We have all night to play, but it won't be nursemaid, my beauty.”

Her gaze turned imperious. “I rescued you, and claim my rights to play whatever games I wish with you. Only when I have exhausted my imagination will I allow you to choose the games.” She cushioned her breasts upon his chest as she put her lips to his ear. “Let us hope that one of them is Gypsy Prince.”

Heath groaned. “You can read my mind.”

Raven heard the servants behind her empty four more buckets of hot water into the tub, and mischievously stayed where she was between Heath's thighs. She noted with satisfaction that he did not lose his erection. When the men left, however, she got up and closed her bedchamber
door, then she returned and knelt down to remove his boots. It was a struggle because his feet were swollen, but finally they came off. Then Heath stripped off his breeches. His cock sprang forth from the confining material, and Raven rolled her eyes playfully. “Gypsy Prince indeed!”

She watched Heath climb into the tub wearing only his phallic god stone, and she experienced his pain as he submerged his legs in the hot water and sat with his eyes closed until the excruciating cramps eased from his muscles. Then she lifted off the red dress and torn petticoat and came to the side of the tub wearing only her busk. When Heath opened his eyes he could not tear his glance away from the fetching little garment that nipped in her waist and thrust her tempting breasts upward and outward.

When Raven threw in a luffa and soap, the luffa floated, but the soap sank. As she groped about for it between his legs, she murmured, “I promise to be a most sensual nursemaid.”

Heath lay back in the water, viewing her through narrowed eyes. “What you once told me is true, Raven. Danger does excite you!”

She trailed her fingers up the inside of his leg. “What excites you, ma braw Scot?” She cupped his cock and balls. “Och, it feels like ye have a set o' bagpipes between yer legs. If ye taught me to blow a tune on it, I warrant that would excite ye!”

The skin at the corners of his eyes crinkled with laughter, and in a fair imitation of Ram's accent, he said, “I warrant ye are enjoyin' havin' yer wanton, wicked way with me!”

“Do ye reckon?” She rested her breasts on the edge of the tub and teased, “How about a pair o' round haggis on a platter, or does only Mr. Burque's haggis excite ye?”

In a flash, Heath's powerful hands gripped her about her waist and he lifted her into the water on top of him.
When she screamed, he grinned down at her. “Quiet, or yer screams will excite Mrs. Hall. I dinna want tae have tae pleasure both of ye!”

He unfastened her busk and let it drop from his fingers beside the tub. As her breasts spilled onto his chest, he palmed her bare bum cheeks and slid his fingers into the deep cleft. “Heath! Heath!” she cried, wild with excitement. He covered her mouth with his and tasted his name on her lips.

They clung and kissed until the water grew tepid, then Raven recalled that she had promised to bathe him. She reached for the soap and lathered his body, then he pilfered it from her and returned the favor. When she reached beneath his arms and felt the silken hair, she whispered, “I've done this before, in a dream.” When he looked at her quizzically, she said, “Don't feign innocence; you know you have brought me to your bed many times.”

“We are the masters of our own dreams, Raven. If you had not desired me, you would not have come.”

“Conceited devil,” she murmured happily. “Come, the water grows cool, and I've not finished with you yet.”

“I've not started with you.” He helped her from the water, then stepped from the tub. He dried her first. “I've done this before, and not in a dream.”

She stood on tiptoe to kiss him. “I remember … I remember everything you have ever done or said to me, Heath Kennedy.” The towel dropped to the floor, forgotten, as she led him to her bed. She pushed him down and he reached for her. “No, no, I want you to lie back so that I can massage your legs.”

It was a novelty for Heath to be pampered, for he had been raised to do everything for himself his entire life. He reclined, folding his arms behind his head, and watched with fascination as Raven, naked, brought the flacon of oil, took out the stopper, and poured some into her palm. The
fragrance of almond and something spicy permeated the air. “I smell marjoram,” he said.

“Yes, there is marjoram in the oil, which prevents muscles from cramping; there also is betony to take away the bruising, and all-heal to ease the ache in joints.” She stroked her palms from his ankles to his knees, repeating the long, soothing motion over and over. Then she knelt on the bed and moved her hands up to his thighs. After she had smoothed on the oil, she began to massage and manipulate the hard, knotted muscles with her fingers.

After the pain he had endured in his legs, her ministrations felt heavenly to Heath. “You know as much about herbs as I do, but you have the hands of an angel.” He watched, fascinated, as she bent over him and her hair fell forward to touch and tease his flesh. In the candlelight it looked like ebony silk and fire. “Raven, you are so exquisitely beautiful to me.”

She lifted her eyes to exchange an intimate glance, but her hands never left him. The tantalizing rhythm of her fingers was so seductive, it aroused sensations in both of them that left them breathless with anticipation.

“Higher, the ache is higher.” Fire snaked through his groin, igniting his passionate need to be touched by her.

The corners of her mouth went up playfully, and graceful as a cat she straddled him and sat on his belly with her back to him. Then she carefully positioned herself so that his erect cock lay against her hot cleft. She poured more oil into her cupped palm and stroked down his legs from this new angle. As she moved forward, then back, the friction became a torment that had them both reeling with need.

Heath's hands held her bottom as she moved to and fro. The curve of her back was breathtakingly lovely, and her skin was like cream velvet. Raven was the answer to a lifetime of dreams that he had thought could never be. He loved her with every beat of his heart, and vowed he would cherish her forever. Heath came up from the bed behind
her and gathered her in his arms. He shuddered as he weighed her lush, full breasts in his hands, and he felt her shiver as he nuzzled her hair and whispered in her ear, “I love you, Raven.”

He knew that with one driving thrust he could be inside her, unleashing the dark erotic passion she aroused in him, but Heath wanted her facing him, wanted them to look into each other's eyes as he worshipped her with his body. He wanted to drink the sweetness from her mouth and watch her cry out her pleasure. He lay back down and, lifting her, turned her about. He teased her woman's center with his thumb. “Open for me, Raven.”

She knew what he wanted, for she wanted it too. She moved over him on her knees, then slowly, sensually, she took the head of his cock inside her and began to squeeze. The hot, wet pull of her sheath drew him all the way inside her, and she held her breath at the fullness and the pulsing power that made her want to yield not only her body, but her heart and soul to him too.

They both began to move at the same time; he thrust up as she sank down, and their bodies fell into the natural rhythm of the mating dance that had held lovers in thrall since the beginning of time. He whispered intimate endearments: fierce, loving words; soft, tender words; hot, dark, erotic words; promises and vows that melted her very bones. Raven could not speak, she could only feel. She wanted him buried deep inside her forever.

Raven knew that Heath was a man who would never hurt her, but would cherish her forever. She knew that she could place her life in his hands and he would keep her secure for all time. She yielded everything to him, willingly, generously, showing that she trusted him with her body, especially at this most vulnerable moment when he lay deep inside her. She abandoned herself to him, and was rewarded with a magnificent implosion like a sunburst. They clung to each other as if nothing on earth would ever separate them
again, then slowly a delicious languor spread through her and she lay sprawled full upon him savoring the feeling of fulfillment.

They enjoyed the quiet time together, not moving, not talking, yet absorbing each other's essence, as the thirsty earth drinks the rain. Finally he stirred, then rolled until she was beneath him. As a pledge of his love, he took the god stone from around his neck and placed it around hers, so that the phallic symbol lay between her breasts. Then the kissing began. Softly, sweetly, temptingly at first, but soon desire inflamed them as he made love to her mouth with his, just as he had made love to her body. His tongue thrust inside the hot, dark cave in imitation of what he intended to do, if they could ever leave off the clinging and kissing.

She cupped his cheek and sighed, all aquiver at the closeness of their bodies. “Oh, Heath, I forgot the honey. It will keep your wound from leaving a scar.” She reached over the side of the bed and dipped her finger in the honey, but as she brought it to his cheek, he took possession of her finger and slid it into his mouth, sucking off the sweetness.

“I can think of better things to do with honey.” He dipped his own finger into the pot, then anointed her lips and the tips of her breasts, and proceeded to lick off the heather-flavored delicacy with his rough tongue. Their love games went on into the night, as if they would never have enough of each other.

Even in sleep, Raven and Heath touched. They lay curled up spoon-fashion, with his long body curving about her and her dark head tucked beneath his chin. Tonight they had no need for dreams.

In the morning, Raven slipped on a bed robe and went down to the kitchen to prepare them breakfast, then she brought it upstairs and climbed back into the big bed. They fed each other between kisses, laughing like two
children who had no cares in the world. Raven brought him one of her father's linen shirts and watched avidly as he dressed. Simply looking at him gave her pleasure.

As Heath pulled on his boots, he said, “I will go and saddle Sully while you pack your bag.”

Raven went still. Then she found her voice, and chose her words carefully. “Heath, I can't go running off.”

“What do you mean?” He looked at her blankly, not comprehending.

“I can't run away with you. I've already done that once to my parents. I have to stay and explain my reasons for not marrying Christopher Dacre.”

“To lowest hell with Christopher Dacre and with explanations! I'm taking you to Eskdale so we can have the priest finish marrying us.”

“Heath, please try to understand. When I ran away from Carlisle, I left a bridegroom standing at the altar. I owe my parents an explanation.”

His eyes narrowed. “Leaving bridegrooms standing at the altar is becoming a bloody habit with you, Raven. I assumed you wanted to wed me.” He stiffened with pride.

“Heath, I didn't say I wouldn't marry you!”

“No, but you didn't say you would either, did you, Raven?” Heath was no stranger to rejection; his earliest memories were laced with it, and it mauled his pride that the woman he had chosen to be his wife might not think him good enough to become her husband. Unable to hide his anger, he laughed bitterly. “It's my own bloody fault for laying my heart at the feet of a fickle female. I deserve my fate!”

“Heath, stop it! I intend to tell my parents all about you. I want them to give us their blessing. I know I can persuade them to accept you, when I explain to them how I feel about you.”

“Persuade them to accept me, a Scots-born Gypsy, for their precious daughter? You are deluding yourself, Raven! I already had a confrontation with Sir Lancelot at the Border
Wardens' Court. Do you think I'd give him the chance to look down his English nose at me again?”

“My father isn't like that,” Raven flared. “He is the most understanding, gentle man in the whole world!”