Wild Hearts (9 page)

"Paris," she said, making his name sound like a caress, "you never come to see us these days. Even now, it's business that brings you, and not pleasure."

"Is it?" he asked, giving her no information whatsoever.

"We don't see nearly enough of you," she said suggestively, her eyes resting on his body.

"You could visit us," he replied lightly.

She quickly veiled her expression of distaste. "That tribe hates me."

"I like you, Margaret, isn't that enough?" he teased.

"You would be more than enough for me," she hinted, brushing his hand as she gave him the wine cup.

He laughed to lighten her mood. "If I didn't know better, I'd say Magnus has been neglecting you."

She looked him full in the face, her dark eyes holding his for long seconds. "He is over fifty," she said pointedly.

Magnus's voice boomed across the chamber. "That's enough pampering, Margaret. Come, Paris, my favorite mare foaled yesterday. You will be green with envy when you see him."

"Which sire? Your black stallion, Diablo?" asked Paris.

Margaret sighed. Men and horses. What chance did she have in such a competition? "Paris," she called after him; "will you carry a letter to my mother?"

He bowed. "Of course, Margaret; you know f am always at your service."

At mention of Margaret's mother, Mrs. Sinclair, who was Anne's nurse, Magnus inquired, "How is it with Anne?"

The muscle in Paris's jaw turned to iron, and his eyes turned cold. "She is beautiful and ugly, mad and sane, still-crippled, in mind if not in body. She is Anne— what can I say?"

Magnus just shook his head, and they resumed their conversation of horses. As Paris admired the colt, he asked, "Didn't we get the stallion in that raid across the border a couple of years back?"

"The very same," said Magnus. "Give the devil his due, the English know how to breed horses. By the way, I haven't thanked you for that case of French brandy you sent.
Magnifique!"

"The French also do some things well." Paris smiled.

Magnus got a faraway look in his eyes. "The only time I was ever in love, she was French," he said wistfully. He shook his head to dispel the ghosts. Mention of the French girl sent Paris's thoughts winging to Tabby, so he probed deeper. "You old devil, I bet you don't even recall her last name!"

The ploy did not work; Magnus smiled secretly. "I'll remember her till the day I die."

Paris was aware of the dilemma he would be thrown into if Magnus's former love was Tabby's mother. His heart wanted her to be his half cousin, not his half sister, but his brain clearly told him that if Tabby was Magnus's daughter, it could be the making of an horrendous battle between the two men, if Magnus discovered all his actions. Paris decided it was safer to let things lie.

Magnus said briskly, "My advice regarding Abrahams... get in touch with Callum McCabe, attorney-at-law. As a neutral third party he can negotiate for you. I've used him, and he did work for the King."

"But this is outside the law. I could be hanged for what I'm doing," protested Paris.

Magnus shook his head. "If you want a bigger scoundrel than yourself, look to the law. It's expensive, but they know schemes you haven't even dreamt of yet. They know all the twists and turns, and more importantly, all the loopholes."

Paris grinned. "I'll ride to Edinburgh straight from here in the morning: I've good clothes at the town house. You're right, a letter from a solicitor would carry more weight than a crude ransom note."

When Tabby found out Paris had gone to Tantallon to visit his uncle and likely would not be back until the next day, she realized that tonight she would have an opportunity to speak with someone outside this family. Someone who could possibly deliver her. When Robert Kerr, the Laird of Cessford, arrived, he brought with him his brother Andrew and his friend Lord Logan, who had been wanting to meet the Cockburn sisters for a long time.

Robert had been pursuing Damascus since they were both fifteen. It was taken for granted by the family that they would wed as soon as they were old enough. He came over regularly on Monday night, and the evenings were always festive; not actually a party but the next thing to it. Robert's castle at Cessford was only two miles from Logan's, so they had been friends for years, bound by lands that ran together.

Tabby watched in fascination how the sisters created a festive air. Everything had been given extra care and attention. The food was superb and its setting lavish. Heavy silver adorned the table from the platters to the salt cellars. Heavy linen napkins, embroidered with the Cockburn crest; nestled beside newly pilfered goblets bearing Elizabethan crests. Musicians played on an upper gallery, and the girls were so animated and entertaining, there were no lulls in either the conversation or the laughter. Troy kept a sharp eye on the girls, refusing all encouragement to go and play dice with his men. Tabby realized he was taking over Paris's role of host and chaperon.

If Logan paid attention to Venetia, Shannon would give him a sidelong glance and whisper something amusing, and he was entirely hers, until Damascus traced the gold pattern on his doublet with a playful finger and fanned her lashes at him. Robert Kerr was obviously mad about Damascus, but when Venetia took his hands, to pull him up to dance, he needed no urging. Tabby watched in amazement as the girls manipulated the men with a word, a look or a sigh. Even Alexandria had Andrew so amused with anecdotes that he had to keep wiping his eyes from laughing too hard. It was like watching a play unfold before her eyes. Each girl would say a deliberately rehearsed line, and her partner reacted like a. puppet on a string.

Robert had a kind, open face. There was nothing about him that was intimidating, Tabby decided. She felt Damascus would be a very lucky girl if she got Robert Kerr for a husband. He was a young girl's dream come true— young, handsome, sweet-tempered and obviously head-over-heels in love. Tabby waited patiently until all the others were dancing, then approached him and said softly, "Milord, I beg you to help me. I have been kidnapped; and I am being held a prisoner here." He slapped his thigh and guffawed. "Pull the other one, sweetheart."

"Oh, milord, I am not playing games with you. I am. desperate. You must take me with you when you leave tonight." She raised imploring eyes to his, but his eyes only danced with merriment, "You don't believe me!" she gasped.

He winked. "Blame Venetia for spoiling your little game. She warned me of the trick you were to play on me."

Tabby could have screamed with frustration. She looked toward the other men in the room. and realized how futile her asking them for help would be. Damn the Cockburns, they were always one step ahead of her. She looked over at Venetia, who. gave her a rueful little shrug. She turned her back on the merry company so they couldn't see the tears in her eyes. She was hurt by the girls' actions. She would have been willing to help any of them out of trouble because of the fondness she was beginning to feel for them. Why wouldn't they help her? She decided it was because they feared that damned rogue of a brother, and in truth, she understood that fear. It made her tremble to think of how he would deal with betrayal or disobedience. She knew she was feeling sorry for herself but couldn't help it. She went up to her chamber. As she passed through Paris's room, The Mangler trotted up behind her. "You ugly old beast, I suppose you are still going to guard my door, even though he isn't here to give you orders." The dog threw herself down across the threshold. "I can't let you lie on that cold stone floor. Come on; girl."

Tabby loved the fireplace. Even in summer the castle walls were too thick to let heat penetrate. Mrs. Hall always made sure her fire was made ready and her bed warmed. It was a delicious luxury Tabby savored. She had suffered agonies from the cold all her young life. She stretched out before the fire on a thick fur rug, The Mangler sprawled beside her. She yawned, then yawned again. I wonder why I felt so miserable a few minutes ago? If I admit the truth, I have never felt so safe and warm before, she thought as she fell asleep.

Paris was glad to seek his bed early after the excursion into England the night before. He loved this room at Tantallon Castle. He stood naked before the fire, warming his body before slipping between the cold sheets. He lay with his arms propped behind his head surveying the room. The walls were covered with dark red Spanish leather, the fire reflected in the high polish on the black oak furniture, the bed hangings were luxurious velvet. Before he drifted off to sleep, he tried to imagine what would be happening at home. He wondered what Tabby would think of an evening spent entirely in pleasure. He could see her lavender eyes sparkle with the joy of a newly discovered pleasure. He never tired of watching her. An ache started in his gut and spread down to his loins. He wanted her in this bed with him. He could never let her go back to Abrahams. His shaft hardened and began to throb, and with a curse he blew out the candles and slid under the covers, trying to, get comfortable. Suddenly, he sat up as he heard something, his hand reaching for his pistol.

"Paris," a voice whispered.

"My God, Margaret, you can't come to my quarters like this," he said firmly.

"I had to come. I can't help it. I cannot sleep with you here, under the same roof."

He fumbled with the candle and finally got it lit. When she sat on the bed beside him, her robe fell open to reveal her long legs and her naked breasts.

"Where's Magnus?" he demanded harshly.

"He's asleep. He'll never know. Please, Paris." She ran her fingers through the mat of curls on his chest.

He put his arm around her. "Maggie, honey, I do understand. He's getting older now, and you are still young. The fire in your blood sometimes burns for satisfaction until you think you will go mad." She reached up and ran her lips along his neck. "Sweetheart, I'll give you release but, Margaret, give me credit for some intelligence," he added dryly.

"What do you mean?"

"If I spilled my seed and got you with child, think of the dilemma I would be in. You could pass it off as Magnus's child; you know he would marry you in a minute if you conceived. I am his heir, but if he had a son, he would damn soon change that. I'd be doing myself out of the Earldom!"

"Paris, what a terrible thing to say. If I were having your child, I wouldn't pass it off as Magnus's. I'd shout it to the world! I'd marry none but you," she vowed passionately.

He rubbed her shoulder gently. "I would love a son more than anything in the world, Margaret, but you are forgetting I have a wife."

"We are too much alike, Paris. Neither of us would let her stand in our way."

He drew down the covers; and her eyes widened with pleasure when she saw that already he had achieved a full state of arousal. She slipped off her robe and slid into the bed. He began to stroke her breasts with one hand and her thighs with the other. He whispered, "Let me give you release, then you must go back. I insist, Margaret."

She could feel his hard member against her hip and longed to feel it plunge within her. When he made no move to enter her, she-moved her thighs to cover him, but he blocked her with his hand, his fingers slipping up to the warm, moist center that throbbed and pulsated with her anticipation. Firmly, he increased both the pressure and speed of his movements as she gasped her mounting need to him. Finally, she peaked, and he gently massaged her as she shuddered and relaxed. He kissed her then; softly at first until she began to respond again, then he lifted her legs to his shoulders and bent his head to her.

He arose before sunrise, making sure he did not breakfast with Magnus. He was off at first light. Halfway, he stopped at an inn to dine and rest his horse, then pressed on to the Edinburgh town house. By eleven, a very different figure presented himself at the law offices. Paris was richly dressed, though not flamboyant for once. He decided to boldly cast the dice and divulge the whole story, except, of course, for the girl's whereabouts. He managed to convey the impression that she was being held out of the country. The shrewd manipulator across the desk didn't raise an eyebrow at the scheme presented to him but nodded slowly as each part was revealed. At last he spoke. "I will deliver my first communication to Abrahams today. We can work out the details later."

"No," said Paris with emphasis. "I cannot be seen coming here. The plan depends upon my complete anonymity. We will work out the details now."

"Very well. It will be as you wish, providing my fee is paid today."

Paris gave him a sardonic look. "I anticipated you," he said.

McCabe grimaced; it was the closest he could come to a smile. "Did you anticipate how much I would charge?"

"You usually ask ten percent, but in my case it will be double. Four thousand, right?"

"You amaze me," he muttered with heavy sarcasm.

Paris wrote out a promissory note on his bank. He was satisfied. He had been prepared to pay five.

"From now on you will only be known as the party of the first part."

Paris took a paper from his doublet. "I have here a signed affidavit from the woman's maid that she has been chaperoned at all times, and the merchandise is still intact. I personally will not sign any document, but you will sign affidavits on my behalf that she will be returned in exactly the same condition that she was taken."