“Always you tease.” She dotted his face with kisses.
The stallion snorted and danced.
“Dismount,” Rand murmured against Elizabeth’s mouth. “This was not one of my better ideas.” He placed her bare feet upon the ground. “Your room—”
“Is cold. The fire’s out and there’s no wood. Horace Exe, the new innkeeper, is frightfully frugal.”
“Together we shall light a new fire.” Rand swung down from the saddle, shed his coat, tethered his stallion to a tree, then hoisted her through the window. Graceful as a cat, he followed her inside.
It was the first time he had ever entered her room and the sight of Rand dwarfing her furniture brought home the reality, as did the slant of his lips on hers. His kiss was feather-soft, but gradually he intensified the contact until her mouth opened and his tongue began to plunder. Dimly, she realized that she hovered between awareness and oblivion, ecstasy and torment.
Shuddering violently, she stumbled backwards and began to weep. Rand pulled her into his arms and pressed her face against his chest. His fingers rubbed the small of her back.
“You were d-dead,” she sobbed, “and I wanted to d-die too, just like Janey.”
“I know,” he soothed. “I know, my love. I couldn’t get word to you right away. I wanted to—”
“But Walter would have sensed my joy,” she finished, lifting her face, the tears still coursing down her cheeks. “I’m not that good an actress.” With a tremulous sigh, she reached for the tinder box.
Rand stilled her hand. “The moon shall be our lantern,” he said. “Ah, Bess, I’ve been hungry for the sight of you.”
“Just the sight?” she asked with mock indignation.
“No. I missed the sound of your laughter. I missed the taste of your breath. Most of all, I missed your body next to mine. I’ve always loved you, but I never realized how much until we were separated. ’Twas the lack of your closeness that made me a prisoner, not the bars on my cell.” Removing her wrapper, he palmed her breasts.
She felt her body melt like the tallow on a candle. “Rand, I can’t stand up.”
His answer was to draw her against the unyielding wall of his chest. Easing her chin up, he began an assault on her lips. Elizabeth’s frantic grasp captured his shoulders. The muscles rippling beneath her fingers felt warm and firm. And alive.
He encircled her waist, his fingers digging into her bottom. Then he brought her up hard, grinding their hips together. Once again, his mouth met hers in a kiss that left her breathless.
His kiss deepened as he scooped her up into his arms. Placing her on the bed, he followed her descent, until she was pinned beneath him. Her mother’s quilt felt soft against her back. Her pillow cradled her head, its pliant down nuzzling her cheeks. The contrast of Rand’s roughened palms and the feathery pillow, both pressing against her flushed face, brought forth a blissful moan.
He halted to divest himself of his boots and clothing. His body lifted and wriggled, as if he purposely timed his movements for the optimum impact.
Elizabeth savored each tantalizing inch of him. “You’re cast from steel,” she sighed, her legs spreading beneath the urgent press of his knee.
“Steel can be tempered by fire, my love.”
“True,” she murmured, aware that she was on fire. A torrid blaze traveled throughout her body, inciting an almost volcanic tremor between her legs. Her skin smoldered at Rand’s every caress, and he never stopped, never rested.
Fondling, petting, stroking, he ignited flame after flame; a conflagration that was so intense, she wondered if she could possibly survive.
She felt his hand creep up her thighs, then cup her mons, and a sharp cry of pleasure broke from her lips. He swallowed that cry, then another, his mouth possessing hers so thoroughly, she couldn’t tell where his breath left off and hers began.
Rand’s lips moved lower, his tongue darting out every so often to lick the strained arch of her neck. He found the pulse that beat wildly at the base of her throat, and his lips pressed hard against the erratic throb.
Eyes shut, Elizabeth writhed beneath him, but he pinioned her wrists, holding her upper body motionless. His lips moved again, and this time he found her breasts. She felt his tongue sear first one nipple, then the other. Her head thrashed from side to side while whimpers of delight forced their way up her throat.
In the midst of her passion, a vise of fear clamped her heart. From somewhere deep inside, rage cut across her desire. She jerked one wrist free from his grip and lashed out with an angry sweep of her arm, pushing him away.
Letting go her other wrist, Rand pressed his palms against the mattress and raised himself up. “What’s wrong?”
“This. You think to reward me for my days of anguish.”
“I think to reward us both. Why does that pain you?”
“Afterwards you’ll leave me,” she cried, as she wondered who was speaking. Bess or Janey?
“I cannot promise to stay by your side like a faithful dog,” Rand said, “nor would you want me thus. Perhaps you consider our lovemaking an atonement, Bess, but I consider it a rare gift.”
At his words, desire once again clouded her mind. Drawing him down to her, Elizabeth licked his nipples, alternately circling and suckling the taut nubs.
Beginning anew, Rand caressed. Dorothea’s wrong, thought Elizabeth, her head whirling. Love isn’t a conscious choice. ’Tis a rare gift.
“Please! Now!” she cried.
At her urgent command, Rand penetrated. When she would have drawn her legs together, he kept them apart, rising slightly, pressing the heels of his hands gently but firmly against her inner thighs.
“Now,” she pleaded.
Releasing her legs, Rand began to thrust.
Elizabeth recalled her earlier task, brushing her hair.
One, two, three.
Four, five, six.
Seven, eight, nine.
They would never reach twelve, she thought, as the rhythm of Rand’s thrusts increased. She would die from ecstasy before they reached twelve.
She was right. They reached eleven.
***
Elizabeth ran her fingertips across Rand’s face. “When I saw you on the gallows, I wished it could have been me.”
“You saw the hanging? I told you to stay away.”
“Directly after my prison visit, Walter captured me. Did Billy not tell you? Or is he still locked up?”
“No. He’s free. But he didn’t say one word about—”
“Perhaps he felt ashamed. He tried to come to my rescue, but was knocked unconscious for his efforts, poor lad.”
“That must be it, then. My cousin yearns to play the hero.”
“He doesn’t have to play at being a hero. God knows what I would have done without his support during your trial. Billy has more strength of character than all my book heroes put together. I truly believe he would slay dragons for a damsel in distress… even if he didn’t possess a sword.”
“Billy loves you, Bess, at least a little.”
“I cannot love a little, Rand. I must love wholeheartedly. ’Tis the way I am.” His chest hair tantalized her breasts as she rubbed against him. “Walter was here this evening, determined to give me the forty pound reward for your capture. Life looked so utterly bleak. I imagined banshees and sky-riders and—”
“Stafford was here, at the inn? Did he hand over the forty pounds?”
“No. I would never accept his blood money, not even if—”
“When did he leave?”
Rolling sideways, sitting up, she shrugged. “I don’t know. I retired to my room. My guess is that Walter waited to see if I would sup. The food here is dreadful, but I rode all day, and Walter would assume I’d be ravenous. Don’t fret, my love, he’s long gone.”
“No, Bess. If Stafford tarried till seven, ’
twas less than two hours ago. Was he alone?”
“Of course. He’s killed every highwayman in England. Why should he fear the roads?”
“Stafford’s out there by himself with my reward. God, what a stroke of luck!”
“Rand! Don’t even think what you’re thinking. You were just hanged for robbery, remember?”
“I was hanged for murder.” Rising from the bed, he lit the candle. “I still have a score to settle with your bloody beak. He killed Zak, he nearly succeeded in killing me, and he kept you a prisoner.” The candle’s glow distorted Rand’s eyes, causing them to shine more black than blue. “The world would be well rid of Walter Stafford and I, conscientious Englishman that I am, must not shirk my duty.”
“Let it be!” Elizabeth watched him rapidly clothe himself. “We’ve been given more than our share of chances. Don’t tempt fate again.”
“But wouldn’t it be a fine jest for us to spend the crown’s reward? What say we return to London and invite King George over for forty pounds’ worth of tea and crumpets? How can we pass up such an opportunity?”
“Very easily.” Elizabeth balled her hands beneath the quilt. “Something will go wrong, I just know it.”
“What could go wrong? Stafford thinks I’m dead. He’ll believe I’m a ghost. I can’t wait to see the look on his face. Perhaps I won’t have to kill him. Perhaps he’ll die of fright before I lay one hand on him.”
Scooting from the bed, she buried her face against the lace of Rand’s shirt. “Let us ride away from the Dales. Please?”
“You’re so beautiful.” Holding her at arm’s length, he scrutinized her from head to toe. “I’ve seen you in brocade and silk and wool. I’ve seen you in breeches and stuffed like a scarecrow. But I think I prefer you with no clothes at all.”
“I prefer you alive!”
“I’ll return after it’s finished, Bess.”
“And if something should go amiss?”
“Look for me on the morrow. If things go amiss, I’ll return tomorrow, by moonlight. ’Tis your turn to play the watcher, and I swear I’ll not fail you.”
“I knew you’d leave me.” She gestured toward the bed. “I told you so.”
“And I said I wasn’t a faithful dog. If you want a dog—”
“I don’t want a dog. I want you.” Stepping away, she blinked back tears. “Do you know how much it hurt when I believed you dead? I felt as if my very heart had been ripped out. Don’t do this to me. Please!”
The entire scenario would be played all over again, she thought. Once again, she’d wait and pray for her highwayman’s safe return. She could understand how he felt about Stafford, truly she could, but Rand had taunted Death so long, thwarted him so many times. Wouldn’t Death grow tired of the game and want compensation? The same way Rand wanted to pay Walter back in his own coin? Rand, however, was mortal, while Death was omnipotent. Furthermore, Elizabeth had a feeling that Death was rapidly running out of patience.
Rand cradled her chin. “One last kiss. For luck.”
She clung to him until he removed her arms, then watched him climb through the window, still as graceful as a cat.
But a cat had nine lives. How many lives did Rand have left?
Thirty-three
Elizabeth bolted upright in her chair. From her position she could see out the casement window. She had kept vigil for endless hours, but Rand had not returned.
Had she been dreaming all along? No. She could not have dreamed the tender caress of his hands, nor the plunder of his tongue. She could not have dreamed the welt on his neck.
Even now Rand’s scent lingered on her bedclothes. Even now her lips felt bruised from his kisses. Even now she felt a pleasant ache between her legs. Thankfully, that was not, nor ever could be, a dream.
Tim stood in front of the stables, speaking to a man on horseback. Tim’s hair shone white-yellow in the early morning light, but it was impossible to identify the rider, although she knew it wasn’t Rand. Her ostler waved his arms excitedly as the rider bent toward him. Abruptly, the rider wheeled his mount, dug his spurs into its flanks, and galloped from the yard.
Uneasy, Elizabeth watched Tim walk toward the barn. Might the scene she had just witnessed have something to do with Rand?
All day she tried to shake off her sense of doom. Feeling like a thief in her own house, she tiptoed into the kitchen for bread, cheese, fruit, and tea. One of the maids retrieved her chamber pot, then brought it back empty, along with some clean towels. When Elizabeth tried to question the young girl about unexpected visitors, she blushed furiously, curtsied, and fled.
Perhaps the maid had a lover.
Elizabeth wondered if she still had a lover. By God, she had mourned Rand so many times, wept so many times, the idea merely numbed her.
She tried to write. Instead, she kept pondering the various reasons why Rand had not returned. Something must have gone amiss. But if Rand or Walter had been killed, surely one of the carriages would have brought the news. Perhaps Rand had never found Walter. Perhaps Rand planned to lie in wait tonight, then come for her afterwards.
If things go amiss, I’ll return by moonlight.
Desperate, Elizabeth wanted to ride across the moors until she was exhausted, beyond thought, beyond fear.
’Tis your turn to play the watcher, and I swear I’ll not fail you.
“I shall play the watcher,” she said grimly, remembering how she had sat with the watchers during her mother’s funeral, waiting for Barbara to come back to life.
But her mother had remained motionless, while Rand had truly come back from the dead. Pray God he hadn’t abused the privilege.
***
Near sunset, Elizabeth heard the tramp of marching feet. A troop of soldiers entered the yard, their coats a scarlet stain against the gray of the cobblestones.
Why would soldiers be here? She studied the score of faces as if their expressions might provide the answer. A troop of redcoats was an uncommon sight at any time, so why would they suddenly decide to pay the White Hart a visit?
“There’s only one way to find out,” she murmured. After plaiting her unruly hair with a red love knot, she raced down the hallway. Then she skidded to a stop.
The soldiers are here because of Rand, you bird-wit.
No other explanation sufficed. Rand had somehow muddled his attempt to rob Walter and the furious magistrate had summoned the redcoats.
The White Hart had a back exit. She would sneak out that way and wait for Rand at the peel tower. But what if he rode directly toward the inn?
I’ll wait for him on the road. Somehow, I’ll head him off.
Grace stood by the front entrance, watching the soldiers through the door’s misty pane. “Why are they here, Mistress?”
“I have no idea.”
“I’m affrighted, Mistress.” Grace twisted her apron. “Dear me. As soon as ye come home, strange things happen.”
“Then I must disappear again.” Just as Elizabeth turned toward the back rooms, the front door opened. Three soldiers entered. In their tricornered hats, bright coats, white breeches, and high black boots, they appeared inhumanly tall.
The leader of the three, a lieutenant, breathed through his mouth, since his nose looked as if it had been broken more than once. “Elizabeth Wyndham?” he asked, his voice raspy.
Fear rose tight in her throat, but Elizabeth simply shook her head. “I’m the new maid, sir.”
“Mistress, are ye mad?” Grace turned to the lieutenant. “’Tis her, sir, Miss Wyndham, standin’ right next t’ ye.”
“Damn you,” Elizabeth fumed, as the soldiers surrounded her. “Why can’t you keep your mouth shut?”
“But Mistress, that be your name, and I dare not lie t’ the king’s own soldiers.”
Elizabeth faced the lieutenant. “I lied because I was frightened. Wh
at’s this all about? What have I done?”
“I can’t say, Miss Wyndham.”
The lieutenant wore a military sash across his chest. A steel gorget hung from a chain around his neck. He looked like someone who would do as he was told.
“You’ll have to wait for Lord Stafford,” the lieutenant continued. “He will inform you of what you need to know.”
Elizabeth muttered a profanity under her breath. Somehow Walter had outfoxed her again.
***
Walter strode into the common room, his face as white as the bandages that wimpled the crown of his head. “I was so distracted by your hysteria, Elizabeth, I did not stay to make certain your highwayman was properly disposed of. I was a fool to trust Master Hodges. One can never trust the loyalty of a man who can be bribed.”
She raised her chin. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Rand was hanged at Tyburn. I saw him lower the handkerchief and you told me he was tarred and chained.”
Judging from Walter’s appearance, Rand had indeed caught up with him. But if Rand had been captured or killed, there would be no need for the troops, which meant Rand was still out there, Elizabeth thought, and Walter planned to use her as bait.
The muskets, with their dark wood, gleaming barrels and bayonets, seemed to fill the room. One of the soldiers looked little older than eighteen. The tip of his nose glistened with sweat.
“You’re a fine actress,” Walter said angrily. A rusty stain darkened the bandages at the spot where blood had seeped through. “Your grieving act looked so genuine, I almost felt sorry for you. But you knew all along that he was still alive.”
“You’re insane. My distress was genuine. This I swear on my mother’s grave.”
“Now you’ve added sacrilege to your other sins.” He made a disgusted sound. “Your bastard highwayman caught up with me right out of Horsehouse. I had just left the coaching inn there. He forced me to lie upon the ground and put a pistol to my head. Then he hesitated. I could have sworn he said ‘Bess has made me soft. I cannot do this.’ Sensing an advantage, I began to struggle. I don’t know what happened next. Perhaps he moved his hand, or the gun misfired, but the bullet merely grazed me. After I regained consciousness, I told Grosley to ride here. Even then I didn’t believe… your grief… how the hell could you fool me like that?”
The Landlord's Black-Eyed Daughter Page 36
