It was just those places he was thinking of now.
She turned in her chair to face him and raised her hands to rest on his shoulders. Their mouths met and Duncan thrust his tongue between her lips, anxious to taste the honey she'd consumed.
He was not disappointed. She tasted of rich fireweed honey and desire for him.
"Let me escort you to a place where you might be more comfortable," Duncan whispered in her ear. Then he took his lady-wife by her hand and led her to their ship's rack.
Standing beside the hanging bunk that swung gently with the roll of the ship, Duncan lifted Jillian's cloak from her shoulders and laid it over the wool blanket. At night, they added their cloaks to the covers for extra warmth.
Jillian turned to him, smiling, her face already flushed in anticipation of their lovemaking.
How she could look at him with such devotion, Duncan couldn't comprehend. She claimed she loved him. Perhaps it was true. But if she knew the truth, if she knew the horrors he'd witnessed, hell, he'd committed, she would despise him.
But even knowing that, Duncan couldn't keep himself from her. He was finding it more difficult each day, not just to resist her physically, but emotionally. She constantly hammered at his soul with her innocent questions, her laughter. He knew what she was doing. She was trying to discover what was inside his black heart. She was trying to make him fall in love with her. And he feared, deep inside his soul, that she was succeeding.
"Duncan," Jillian whispered as she lifted her chin to meet his mouth.
Her hands, which grew more experienced in pleasing him each day, grazed over his cloak, making their way to his shirt.
Her warm fingers found the bare patch of skin between the neckline and his Adam's apple. She unlaced the ties and slipped her warm hand inside.
Duncan sucked in his breath as she brushed against the already-hardening nubs of his nipples.
He nipped at her earlobe as his fingers found the hooks that ran the length of her sturdy wool gown. He had to give his wife credit where credit was due. She'd certainly packed appropriately for the cold journey across the Atlantic. She had nothing but heavy wool gowns and underthings. It seemed to Duncan that it took hours to unclothe her. But then, that had become part of the delicious ritual, hadn't it?
Again their mouths met greedily. Duncan fumbled to push her gown off her shoulders. She yanked his shirt over his head, tossing it carelessly to the floor. Next came her stays and an armful of woolen petticoats.
Finally, he was reaching her warm skin.
Duncan kicked off his boots, then gently pushed her back onto the bunk so that she sat on the edge. She was wearing nothing now but a sheer shift, her thick wool stockings, and a pair of riding boots.
"Hurry, Duncan," she murmured in his ear as he tugged on her boot. She ran her hands over arms covered with goose-
"Hurry because you're anxious to have me?" He brushed his lips against hers. "Or hurry because you're cold?" The second boot removed, he tackled her ribbon garters and stockings.
She giggled, her voice husky with passion. "Both."
He removed one pair of stockings and started on the next. "Hell's bells, Jilly. How many pairs are you wearing? We'll reach Port Royal before I get you undressed."
"I'm just trying to keep warm. Of course, we could do it as we did yesterday, me fully clothed and you with your breeches around your ankles."
When he looked up at her, she was laughing, and it occurred to Duncan that if only he had her strength of spirit, perhaps he could laugh as she did, again. "I'll keep you warm," he assured her.
"All right," she whispered, taking her stockings from his hand and adding them to the growing pile of discarded clothing on the floor. "Stand up."
So, he stood, exhaling as her hands moved from his hips to the tie of his black woolen breeches.
He leaned forward to kiss her soft, tumbling hair. He loved it down as she wore it now, pouring over her shoulders like some magical red waterfall of the tropics. She didn't know it, but at night when she slept, he stroked the red locks, reveling in the silkiness between his fingers. The Mohawk had claimed redheads to be touched by the spirits, and honored them as such. Perhaps, somewhere deep in his mind, Duncan still believed such superstitious nonsense, for surely he was enchanted.
Jillian tugged his breeches down over his hips and he felt his member spring forth, released from the confines of the fabric.
She leaned to help him pull his feet from the breeches, and he felt her cheek brush his throbbing, tumescent shaft. Christ, if he didn't get a hold on his thoughts, he'd ejaculate before he ever took her. Duncan didn't know how she did it, but the moment he got Jillian naked in his arms, he felt like a fourteen-year-old boy again, lying with his first woman. At times he felt he was bumbling, yet he couldn't get enough of her.
Duncan stepped out of his breeches, and the cold air of the cabin hit his backside. "Brrr, it is cold. Move over," he told her, his mouth against hers.
She ducked her head to press a kiss to the warm place between his thigh and groin. "But I was just getting comfortable here." Her laughter came easily as she wrapped her warm fingers around his manhood.
Duncan groaned, giving her a gentle push. "Get in before we both freeze." That was something else about Jillian. She actually seemed to take pleasure in giving him pleasure. He'd never experienced that with another woman. Oh, certainly they were willing to do what he told them, but it was for the coin or favors expected, never out of love. . . . Love . . . Christ, there was that word again! Duncan knew he'd been locked up too long when he was becoming as notional as his wife.
Jillian slipped under the covers and Duncan followed. She wiggled out of her shift and pulled it from beneath the blankets. She laughed as she threw it over his head and it floated to the cabin floor.
"Now, what is it you have in mind?" she purred. Her hand brushed his stomach and drifted lower.
"What have I in mind? Hmmm . . ." He ducked his head beneath the wool blankets to bury his face in the valley between her breasts.
As he took her nipple between his lips, he heard her make soft sounds of pleasure. When they made love, her voice excited him almost as much as the sight of her.
Jillian ran her fingers through his hair. She stroked his back, cradling him between her breasts. He sucked greedily.
Duncan could feel Jillian's body tense with anticipation as he stroked her hip with his hand, moving lower to her shapely thigh.
"Touch me," she whispered.
"Here?" He brushed her kneecap.
She giggled huskily. "Not there. You know . . ."
"Ah . . . so sorry I misunderstood. I'm here but to be of service, my lady." His fingers brushed the bed of red curls at the apex of her thighs. More magic . . .
Jillian lifted her hips, parting her thighs. She was breathing faster already.
He stroked her woman's mound until he felt her grow moist. She was moaning softly now, moving her hips to the rhythm of his hand.
She lifted the blanket, allowing the light to enter his warm, musky cave. He could see her face now, her eyes closed, her cheeks flushed with pleasure. "Duncan . . ."
It wasn't a request, just a sigh of delight. Duncan loved to give her pleasure. It was one way he knew he could make her happy.
"Jilly . . . Jilly," he whispered. "Yorahhote, Jillian. Teyottsikhetare, Jilly." Then he scooted up on the narrow bed so that he could kiss her. As their lips met in sudden urgency, he delved deeper with his fingers.
She moaned, her tongue meeting his in a dance that was theirs alone. She still tasted of honey.
She lifted her hips to the rhythm of his touch, twisting against him. She was warm and wet on his fingers.
Duncan could feel his own desire mounting. . . . Everywhere she touched him, his flesh was aflame.
They were both damp with perspiration beneath the heavy wool blankets. Her face was flushed, her breathing short and shallow. Jillian kept her eyes shut much of the time, but Duncan refused to clo
se his. He wouldn't miss a moment of the pleasure so plain on her face.
She threaded her fingers through his hair, kissing him hard on the mouth. "Now, Duncan. I need you, now."
Slipping his hand from that warm, sweet place between her thighs, he rolled over, holding himself up with his elbows above her. He touched a fingertip to his tongue.
That taste. That musky scent. Thirty years from now, when he was old and gray and most likely alone, he would remember the taste and smell of her nectar. It was forever emblazoned in his mind.
She smiled up at him, her eyes open and searching his.
"Now?" he teased.
She lifted hips so that they met his in perfect alignment. "Now," she whispered urgently.
As if it had a mind of its own, he felt his organ press against her soft cleft, throbbing.
She moved erotically against him, her dark eyes dancing with mischief. "Well, perhaps not yet, my lord." She started to slide out from under him, but he pinned her against the cotton tick beneath them.
"Oh no you don't." He brushed a thick lock of her magical hair off her forehead. "You said the word," he whispered. "It's now, sweet, or not until much later." He guided his thick staff with his hand. He could feel her part her thighs in anticipation of the union. "I've only so much restraint, you know."
She was still looking up at him when, with one thrust, he slipped inside her.
A moan escaped from Jillian's love-bruised lips.
Duncan showered her face with kisses, hesitant to begin the motion that would hurl them both into final bliss. Then it would be over, and he didn't want it to be over. Not so soon. These days he craved the intimacy as much as the act. More foolishness . . .
Duncan lifted his hips and lowered them, meeting Jillian halfway. Faster and faster they moved, he whispering to her with words of encouragement, she filling his head with her moans of pleasure.
All too soon the act was done, both were spent, and, reluctantly, Duncan disengaged himself from her and pulled her into his arms so that she could cuddle as he knew she liked. They must have drifted off to sleep, because the next thing Duncan knew, there was a sound at the cabin door.
"Yes?" he called out gruffly, embarrassed to be caught asleep in mid-afternoon.
To Duncan's surprise, the door swung open. The cabin boy's towhead poked through the door.
Duncan heard Jillian give a squeak as she pulled the blankets over her head.
"I didn't mean, yes, come in, you oaf! I meant, yes, what do you want!" Duncan scooped up one of Jillian's boots and hurled it at the door, striking the wall beside the boy.
The cabin boy ducked and jumped back through the door, slamming it shut.
Duncan dropped his head onto the pillow, snaking his arm around Jillian's warm shoulders. She still had her head beneath the blankets, but now she was giggling.
"That's better," Duncan bellowed to the boy on the other side of the door. "Now, what the hell do you want?"
"Um—uh sir, the captain he uh . . . he wanted you to know we've spotted a whale."
"Oh, goody," he snapped sarcastically.
Jillian punched him in the ribs. She was laughing harder now.
"So?" Duncan called. "Was that it? Was that why you disturbed me?"
"The captain . . . he thought you might want to bring the ladies above deck. Thought they might like to see the beast . . . relieve your boredom, he said."
Duncan brushed his hand against one of Jillian's full breasts. "Can't say that I'm bored; what of you, wife?" he said only loud enough for Jillian to hear.
She snickered under the blanket.
"Thank you," Duncan hollered to the cabin boy. "That will be all." Then as an afterthought, he yelled. "Hey, boy . . . "
"Chuck . . . his name is Chuck," Jillian chided.
"Chuck?"
"Sir?"
"Next time you set foot in my cabin, you make certain you have permission, else you'll be shark bait."
"Yes, my lord."
Duncan heard the sound of the boy's footsteps as he ran, not walked, down the passageway.
The minute the boy was gone, Jillian threw back the covers. "You're terrible! You shouldn't have hollered at the poor boy like that! He was only following his captain's orders."
"He came into my cabin!" Duncan rolled onto his side to face her on the narrow bunk. "He nearly saw my wife naked."
"He caught you unaware. You didn't even have your tomahawk ready. You were asleep."
"I was not! And that's not a tomahawk in my trunk, woman. It's a war club."
She shook her head, smiling. He just couldn't intimidate her these days. Now, Duncan was beginning to wonder if he ever had been able to.
"What?" she questioned. "My great Lord Roderick, the Earl of Cleaves, is such a virile man that he need not even sleep?" She spoke in a pseudo-masculine voice. "The Earl of Cleaves, he does not sleep, he does not eat, he does not spit. He is not human like the rest of us. He is invincible . . ."
Duncan tickled her belly.
She burst into laughter. "He is beyond reproach . . ."
He tickled her harder.
He . . . he . . . he is—" She broke into peals of laughter. "Stop! Stop!" She gave him a shove, pushing him onto his back, and then climbed on top.
Duncan caught her waist with his hands. Already he could feel his desire quickening again. Just the feel of her velvety skin against his made him hard. "This is nice," he whispered in her ear.
She was still laughing as she ground her hips against his. "And this, too?"
He let his eyes drift shut for a moment. "That, too . . ."
"Then how about . . ." She suddenly ducked beneath the covers and slid down. As she moved, she dragged her warm, wet tongue along his belly, burning a path lower.
"Better," he whispered with a groan. "Even better . . ." Then he lifted the wool blanket and ducked underneath with her.
They never made it to the deck that day, nor did they even bother to redress. Instead, the cabin boy brought them their evening meal of stew and biscuits and Duncan and Jillian ate naked beneath the covers, secluded in their own private world.
Jillian stood on the stern of the deck, leaning over the rail, sucking in great breaths of the warm, tropical air. Ever since they had reached the Canary Islands, where they had gone to shore for fresh water, the weather had been warm, too warm to suit her. Weeks ago she had shed her woolen gown for a lighter cotton one and done away with most of her undergarments. They had sailed through the Horse Latitudes and were now bound for the Caribbean, Duncan had explained, showing her one of his maps a few mornings ago. They were making excellent time and, if their luck continued, they'd be in Maryland in another six weeks.
Jillian turned away from the sparkling sea to lean against the rail. High above the deck she spotted Duncan, fiddling with some lines. She smiled at the sight of him. A stranger wouldn't have been able to distinguish him from the other sailors with his wild red beard, unbound hair, and bare chest. He wasn't even the only man on board with tattooed skin. She had noticed that one of the sailors had red dragons that snaked around his chest to his back. Duncan said he'd gotten them in the Orient. He said that tattoos were not uncommon on the open sea.
"There you are!"
Jillian squinted in the bright sunlight and tipped the straw hat Mrs. Amstead had loaned her to see Will approaching. Unlike Duncan, he'd not taken to the casual dress of the sailors. He wore cotton breeches and an immaculate white-linen shirt with a broad-brimmed cocked hat on his head to protect his face from the sun. He truly looked the part of the Colonial planter in contrast to Jillian's Colonial Devil of a husband.
"I thought I'd find you here."
She smiled up at Will, annoyed that her husband still insisted upon holding his grudge against his friend. Duncan was definitely beginning to weaken, though. Last night, Jillian had invited Will to come to their cabin for supper and cards. Duncan had nearly been civil.
"I know I'm going to be as freckled as a goose girl,
but I just can't resist the sunshine!"
He came to lean against the wooden rail beside her. "How's Bea?"
Jillian rolled her eyes. "About the same. I really think she'd enjoy the sunshine, but she rarely comes above deck with me. She says she can only keep her stomach stable by lying flat on her back. Thank heaven, Mrs. Amstead wants to care for her. I fear I'd be an impatient nurse."
Will laughed. "So where's the earl? I know he can't be far. He barely lets you out of his sight."
She pointed to the foremast
Will squinted, his tone droll. "Rot his soul, what's he doing up there? Trying to hang himself?"
She shrugged. "Something about tangled lines and an inexperienced crew. I don't think they need him; he just likes playing sailor. After all these weeks of being cooped up with me, I think he's bored."
"Cooped up with you?" Will brushed his hand against her arm. "The man looks happier than I've ever seen him. Do you know that last night when I left, he said he wanted to talk to me about Algernon. Not then, of course, but later."
She crossed her arms over her chest sternly. "It's time he forgave you, and he knows it."
"The man just needs time. I think it would take something more than this to separate us permanently. I know what's in his heart, even if he doesn't. That's all that matters."
Jillian turned to look at him. "You're a good man, Will Galloway." She looked back up at her husband casually. "Perhaps you were right. Perhaps I should have married you instead of him."
He laughed easily. "No. You two were meant for each other. I just want to see Duncan happy. I want to see him at peace with himself. If I could have one wish in this world, that would be it. And I think you're the answer, Jilly."
Jillian took his hand and squeezed it. "I—" She stopped short. Duncan was coming fast down a rope toward the deck.
A bosun's mate had called an alarm. Instantly, the deck was alive with the movement of sailors as they raced to their stations.
Duncan was shouting something to her as he came down the line, but she couldn't make out what he was saying.
Jillian looked to Will in confusion. "What's wrong? What did he see?"
"Ah, hell, sweetheart." Will took her arm. "He's saying you've got to get below deck." He started for the nearest ladder. "It's pirates."
My Savage Lord (Hidden Identity) Page 20
