The Secret Rose (32 page)

Aisleen said nothing. She could not think of a thing to say with the impression of his hand still tingling warmly on her skin. Why did she feel so giddy, so near laughter?

I
am growing quite dizzy with the heat
,
she told herself, but that was not the truth. The shaded canyon was much cooler than the sunlit road. It was Thomas and his carefree manner that made her want to smile.

“Do ye like adventures?” he questioned as they picked a path through the strange forest.

“I do,” she admitted. “Are we to have an adventure?”

The disarming question made Thomas reach down and place a hand over her laced fingers splayed across his stomach. “As much as ye’d like.”

A burst of clear, sweet music from the forest redirected Aisleen’s attention from his hand. “What was that?”

“A magpie most likely,” he answered, idly brushing his thumb back and forth across the back of her hand. “Keep watch in the lower branches, and ye may be surprised.”

“What sort of surprise?” she asked, remembering the dark eyes along the Parramatta River.

“Are ye afraid of the forest? Or is it only creatures with bright eyes in the dark that ye’re afeared of?” he suggested with laughter.

“I made a fool of myself, falling in the river.”

“Did ye think so, lass? I’d never have thought that, what with ye so angry with me method of saving ye.”

“I was ungrateful. I apologize.”

He turned in the saddle to look at her. “Did I hear ye right?”

Caught unprepared for the brilliance of his smile, she heard an unusual huskiness in her voice. “I apologize for shouting at you. Thank you for saving my life.”

“
Musha!
I never expected anything so surprising as that!”

In the face of his teasing, she grew more ashamed than ever. She had been thoroughly churlish about the incident. “I am sorry,” she murmured.

“No more, lass! Ye’ll have me believing that I’ve tamed yer temper with no more than a ride through the woods.” He winked at her and turned around.

Contented to allow him the last word, she turned her attention to the forest once again. The day was far from silent. The chirping of unseen insects, the strange dialects of unknown birds, and the soft squelch of the horse’s hooves all reverberated under the high roofing of the forest. After a few minutes, a bright shaft of sunlight appeared between the rows of tree trunks, and Thomas urged their horse in that direction. All at once, they were thrust back into the sunlight and into a scene of wild, exotic beauty that was set between the steep walls of a red stone canyon.

Ropy vines high in the pale branches of the eucalyptus bound together the boughs which overhung the clearing. Huge ferns grew like trees on thick trunks while their lazy cousins matted the canyon floor and framed the branches of brilliant orchids wedged in the half-shadows of sprawling tree roots. Other trees thrust spikes of pink blossoms above the crowns of their branches. Tumbled canyon outcroppings formed a colorful backdrop for the great sprays of yellow blossoms rising from the slender, pendant leaves of trees the drovers called wattles. Even the deepest underbrush was faint green and flower-tinted.

Thomas dismounted by lifting his leg over the horse’s head. Smiling, he reached for her.

For an instant, he held her suspended, and the grin on his face told her that he was well pleased with his display of strength and her acceptance of his help. And then her feet touched the ground and his hands left her waist. He had done nothing more than was courteous and acceptable, yet she understood his purpose. He enjoyed touching her and wanted to continue to do so. She turned away, her breath hemmed in by disquiet that was not displeasure.

“Mind yer step,” he cautioned. “Ground’s uneven.”

Aisleen slipped her hand into the one he extended and followed his lead as he lifted back a branch to allow them to pass. It was more quiet in the sun than in the forest, and gradually a merry tinkling made itself heard.

“There’s water here!” Aisleen said as she looked up from concentrating on the path.

“Aye.” He pointed ahead.

For a moment it was hidden by sunlight, so bright all else receded into optical shadows. Then she realized the source of the silver-bright flash. Forty feet above, a single silver-tinseled stream of water broke from a crevice in the canyon lip. Turning, twisting, tripping like precious molten metal, it fell into a pool between the rocks, which swallowed it in a gurgling hiss.

“A waterfall!” She approached the shallow, crystalline pool showing mossy pebbles at its heart. Seeking ever lower ground, the pool spilled over at one end and dashed over tumbled rocks and disappeared.

Kneeling on a rock, she dipped a hand in and brought a palmful of water to her lips. The bracingly cold drink tingled her teeth. When she was done she pressed her cool hand to her brow and then to each cheek.

“Too bad ye cannae enjoy yerself properly,” Thomas said as he stood beside her

She looked up at him. “Why not?”

“Well, first ye would be needing to set aside yer bonnet.”

She reached up, untied the bow under her chin, and removed her bonnet.

“And slippers—though being a proper lady, ye may nae wish to pad about in the mountains without yer brogans.”

She thought only a moment before sitting back on the flat surface of the rock and lifting her skirts to reach the lacing of her boots.

“Allow me,” he offered and bent on one knee. His fingers skillfully plucked the laces, and then he lifted one foot to slip the boot free. “
Musha!
Ye’ve a wee foot and, what’s more, ye’ve deceived me!” He held up the narrow, high-heeled boot and measured the two-inch heel with his fingers. There was a fierce scowl on his face as he looked up at her. “Ye’re nae so tall as I believed!”

Aisleen pinkened. “It is the style at home.”

“Aye, well,” he grumbled as if resisting her attempt to mollify him. He slipped the second boot off and laid it beside the first. “A pity ye’re so proper. There’s nothing to compare on a warm day with paddling about in a stream.”

Aisleen studied the tips of her black cotton stockings for, as she expected, there was a glittering in his eyes when she met his blue gaze again. As she bent to reach under her skirts his hand was there first, resting lightly on her knee. “I can do it myself,” she said quickly.

“Aye, but ye’d nae get half the pleasure from it that I will,” he answered in a voice that made her wish she had remained on the wagon seat beside the cook.

His touch was feather light as it rose above her cotton-clad knee, making all the more startling the moment when his fingers found the defenseless line of her garter and the warm, sensitive skin of her thigh. Her eyes widened before the blue stare that she could not look away from.

Slowly he slid a finger along the rolled cotton until he
found the knot. It came free with surprising ease. The lightly abrasive palm of his hand followed the natural descent of the stocking, molding the smooth curve of her knee as she held her breath against the sensation. She jumped as his hand slipped around behind to the warm moistness at the back of her knee but sat mesmerized by his touch as his hand rode the elegant swell of her calf to the trim curve of her ankle.

“One,” he said, grinning wickedly as he held up his trophy.

“One is quite enough,” she answered, but his hand was already gliding back under her skirts, reaching for the top of the second stocking; and then it, too, was peeled away at his leisure.

She heard in acute embarrassment a soft sound escape her as he paused to stroke the inside of her knee.

“Soft, so soft and tender,” Thomas murmured. It was meant to be a test of her trust, not his command of himself. Yet his loins had tightened in anticipation as he explored her satin-smooth thigh. If only she would allow him to
see
a little of what he had touched a few nights before.

He rose quickly to his feet and turned away. “Now ye can enjoy the best that this place has to offer,” he said over his shoulder and bent to begin pulling off his boots. He had not expected to react so quickly to the simple touch.

Aisleen sat a moment in agitated silence. She should not have permitted him to touch her. Somehow the moment had gotten past her and regretting it now seemed the height of futility. Her knees trembled beneath her gown, resonating from the strum of his fingers, and she wondered how long the sensation would persist.

Thomas drew his socks off and then reached up to unbutton his shirt.
Don’t think about her soft-as-butter skin
,
he told himself.
Just be glad that she did nae smother ye in a great pile of disapproving words.

He did not approach her when he had drawn his shirt off. He knew how that would end. He hung his shirt on a branch and then found a large rock on which to sit a few yards away from the pool. Stretching his legs out before him, he folded his arms behind his head and reclined in the bright sun.

Surprised by his continued silence, Aisleen looked back over her shoulder. He lay among the ferns, his chest all sleek muscle and contoured bone. Black hair skimmed the bridge of his sternum and fanned out in delicate whorls to encircle his nipples.

She yanked her gaze away, a rush of blood stinging her neck and ears. She should be furious with him for flaunting himself. And yet annoyance and anxiety were not enough to keep her treacherous gaze from shifting sideways once more.

Yes, indeed, the flat, pinky-brown circles were masculine nipples. Her lids shuttered down. She had never before thought about a man’s body. In fact, she was deplorably ignorant of human bodies, both male and female.

Her lashes fluttered as if under uncertain command and then parted. The faint gleam of sweat polished the narrow shallows between his ribs. Salty droplets snaked over the edge of his rib cage and into the hollow of his belly, gathering in a shallow, tremulous puddle that rode the ebb and flow of his breath.

The day was suddenly unaccountably warm. She curled a finger into the collar of her gown, seeking a cool breeze to brush her skin. Unconsciously she licked the perspiration from her upper lip. And then, when she had turned away from him, she loosened the first two buttons of her bodice.

Behind a forest of black lashes, Thomas surveyed his red-haired wife. She was every bit as fascinating to him as he was to her. The bun she wore had slipped sideways. Poorly anchored strands buffeted up by the breeze danced and flashed and flickered against the rich cream of her neck. Watching the tip of her tongue peek through again to trace the arch of her upper lip, he imagined the feel of that luscious pink tip upon his hot skin. Doing so changed the profile of his moleskin britches.

When she turned away, the clean curve of her cheek, the smooth line of her jaw, and the intricate whorl of an earlobe were exposed for his view. He remembered the feel of her in his arms. He had been able to think of little else. Dozens of intriguing questions buzzed in his thoughts. Was she pink and cream all over? Did thin blue veins lace the globes of her breasts? Were her nipples coral or pink or berry red like strawberries?

He watched the gentle arch of her spine as she bent to trail a finger in the water, and desire dragged at the back of his throat. What he needed to slake his thirst she would not offer him. Not yet. “Will ye wade about?”

Aisleen smiled. The thought had been strongly in her mind. “Do you think I should?”

“Aye,” he answered warmly. “Mind yer skirts, now.”

Aisleen stood and, as she had done so often as a child, bent over and caught the back hem of her skirt and pulled it forward between her legs. When she brought it up and tucked it into her waistband the action pulled her skirts up above her knees.

“Oh!” The water was incredibly cold, stinging her ankles. Smooth stones shifted beneath her weight. She flung out her arms to keep her balance and teetered dangerously as another yip of alarm squeaked out of her.

Thomas opened his lids a slit.

The stones settled as she took a few careful steps. It had been so long since she had experienced the simple pleasure that she was determined not to lose the moment. Gradually she learned to keep her balance in the clear rush of the stream. Once she became accustomed to the bracing chill, she waded toward the foaming hiss of the waterfall.

Enjoy yerself, wife
,
Thomas thought, and closed his eyes.

The gurgling water seemed inordinately cheerful, as if nature herself were pleased by the day, and Aisleen found herself smiling for no reason at all. Cold tingled her feet and legs while the heat of the sun warmed her head. The contrary sensations met in her senses as a glorious collision of pure enjoyment.

She lost all sense of time; but when she finally waded back to shore, she saw that Thomas had laid out the meal from his saddlebag on a rock. He said nothing, but because he was watching her, she pulled free the tucked edge and her skirts fell, petticoats clinging to her wet legs.

“Ye’ve never been more pleasant to look upon, and for the life of me I cannae think why ye should deny the world the simple joy of it,” he remarked with a grin.

“The joy of what?”

“Yer smile, lass. Ye’re stingier with them than O’Flaherty was with his hens.”