Alana

by Barrie, Monica

  Alana reached up to him, cupping his face within her palms to draw him to her. She knew he could taste her tears within her mouth, but it did not matter, for they were tears of joy and love.

  After a slow and loving kiss that overflowed with tenderness, Rafe pulled free and stood. Without taking his eyes from Alana, he slid her nightdress from her. His hands were gentle as they worked the material free.

  In the silence of the gazebo, hearing only the magnified night sounds, Alana bathed within the warmth of Rafe’s unguarded inspection and glowed from the wordless praise she read on his face.

  Even as he gloried in her nakedness, Alana herself drank in the tall masculine beauty that towered above her. Passion and need stirred powerfully inside her, and tendrils of burning bur-rowed deep within her. Her stomach was tight with want, her thighs tense, and her entire body alive with expectation.

  When his shirt was gone, she let her eyes roam across his chest, taking in the dark curled hair that spread in wild profusion. The two dark, perfect circles of his nipples were hard and peaked, yet beneath the denseness of his hair, she could see the finely etched lines of his muscles. Alana’s gaze trailed downward while Rafe’s hands worked at the waistband of his pants.

  There, where the mat of hair thinned, she saw the lines of muscles coalescing into the narrowness of his hips. Then her eyes trailed further downward as he kicked off his pants.

  Her gasp echoed in the night when she saw the ramrod straightness of his manhood standing proudly before him–an arrow of desire she knew would soon be hers. She tried, but could not tear her eyes away from its largeness; Alana felt both a chill of excitement and a flash of fear.

  Then she wrenched her eyes from the awesome sight and once again met his look as he came toward her. The gentle strength of his face pushed away her fear. Then he was with her, lying next to her on the divan. The heat from his body reached hers, stoking the flames higher and higher beneath her skin. She luxuriated in the hardness of his body; the subtle play of his tight muscles was but another caress that sent her mind soaring on the dizzying heights of welcome passion.

  Quickly, Alana’s world shrank until it contained only herself and Rafe. Surrounding them was a symphony of sound, a concerto played for their ears only. The owl called out in the night, and the insects accompanied him with a whispering chorus in the background. Just outside the gazebo, a nightingale sang its sweetly sad song, and the melody raced through Alana’s mind and heart.

  Yet too soon, those sounds disappeared as her ears shut out everything except the sound of their breathing and the beating of their hearts.

  His mouth scorched hers, his hands roamed and caressed–lightly at first, more passionately when their kisses deepened. Her body vibrated when his fingers strummed its length, and when he again caressed her breasts, a low moan built within her throat.

  Her hands too were moving, roving over the broadness of his back, tracing the lines of his muscles, racing butterfly-quick along his sides while exploring and learning about the man she loved.

  When his mouth left hers, she felt loss. When his lips pressed upon the throbbing vein in her neck, she discovered joy. Then his lips explored her chest, tracing a path to one breast, going across to nip gently at her nipple and then fleeing, only to reach the other breast and take its hard tip within the warm comfort of his mouth.

  This time when Rafe slowly withdrew from her breast, he looked into her eyes. “You are perfection, my love. You have the scent of love on your skin, a scent that arouses all within me.”

  Alana reeled with his words, her head light, and her heart singing his praise. “Love me, Rafe. Teach me so that I may never forget. I–I must have you, all of you,” she whispered.

  “You have, my sweet love, since the day I arrived.” He bent close to her and let his lips and tongue caress her flat stomach. His fingers slid along her length, caressing and teasing her silken thighs while his mouth journeyed through the triangular line of downy soft hair.

  His fingers lulled her even as they excited her. Sparks of lightning raced along her legs; her muscles trembled with every glancing touch. When his fingers grazed the portal of her womanhood, she gasped in astonishment. A probing finger caressed the moist entrance for only a moment before slipping deliciously within. Her hips arched and her thighs closed involuntarily on his hand. All movement ceased, but a heartbeat later, Alana willed her muscles to relax when gentle warmth emanated from where his fingers rested.

  She cried out when he explored deeper. Sharp lances of pleasure grew from his touch until he drew back his hand and shifted his body. Alana looked at him, and then raised her hand to trace her fingers through the hair on his chest. When she touched his nipple and felt its stiff peak, she could not stop herself from lavishing it with moist kisses.

  His hands went into her hair, grasping it tightly as she kissed him, and when he loosened his hold, her intake of breath was long and shuddering.

  Then he was laying her down again, kissing her, and moving above her. Without Alana’s realizing what was happening, her body led where her thoughts feared to go. When Rafe settled above her, his eyes caressing and loving her, her legs opened and she instinctively raised her knees on each side of him.

  Their eyes locked together, the intensity of their emotions a solid force between them. Before Alana could fully prepare herself, the burning tip of his erection entered her.

  With its first branding touch, Alana’s back arched; her head tossed back and her eyes were wide open, and as she saw the crescent moon fill the opening of the roof, a sharp pain shattered the pleasures of her passion.

  Her fingers curled and her nails dug into the skin of his back, commanding him to stop but not to withdraw. Heat rose from their joining as the hot velvet rod that was within her throbbed but did not move.

  “Slowly, my love,” Rafe whispered. “First there is pain, and then there is joy.”

  Even as he spoke, the waves of pain were leaving, and a warm wetness came from deep within her to flood the inner recesses of her body and to cover the thrusting hardness that was Rafe.

  Suddenly her hips moved in an ageless pattern that she could not control. Upward and down they moved, slowly rotating in an effort to draw him deeper within her sweet confines. Yet she was aware that Rafe himself did not move. His muscles trembled against her, while he held himself up with his arms, waiting for her to acclimate herself to him.

  Then the movements of her hips became faster. Her back arched again when his length filled her completely. Her fingers pressed into his back as a rain of pleasure assaulted her. He lowered himself completely onto her, crushing her breasts to his chest as his hands went around her.

  She felt the strength of his hands when one raised her molded roundness, lifting her and pushing her harder against him while the other hand went to the small of her back, supporting her, making it easier to accept his largeness. Then she could no longer think as her passion released itself totally, and her body shuddered uncontrollably with pleasure.

  Her eyes snapped open, and she saw her passion reflected within his–a passion that she knew instinctively would never dim. All too soon another force gripped her with its fierceness, an energy so powerful it turned her breath into loud, groaning gasps.

  “Oh, Rafe!” she cried. “I–Help me, Rafe, help me!” Then she was swimming in a tornado that sent her spinning upward into the star-filled heavens while her legs locked around his narrow hips and her nails raked the flesh that covered his muscles. “I love you, Rafe. Dear God, how I love you!” she cried.

  As she spun within the mists created by love and passion, the anchor of reality that was Rafe pulled her back. While the spasms of her love rippled through her body, she felt him grow harder, hotter, and larger within her. Suddenly, when she could stand no more, she felt his explosion, felt his body rocked by the passions that he shot forth into her. As the burning liquid of his love poured within her, and his body eased and rested upon hers, the darkness of the night stole into
her mind.

  But that darkness could not withstand the truths she had found this night, and as Rafe’s hand gently stroked her cheek, Alana looked at him.

  “Sweet Alana, you are the treasure of my life,” he told her.

  She could still feel his length within her and felt gentle satisfaction, and though their passion had abated, they were still one.

  “I–” she tried to speak, but the heaviness of her breathing blocked the words.

  Rafe waited, his hand on her neck, softly caressing her skin. He shifted, and Alana unlocked her legs reluctantly. He drew slowly from within her, but when he moved from atop of her, he did not rise up; instead, he turned them both on their sides, her arms still around him, and his hand still on her cheek.

  “I have never thought myself capable of such feelings,” she admitted before burying her face in the joining of his neck and shoulder so he would not see her tears.

  “Until tonight you were but the mistress of Riverbend. Now you are a woman first and mistress of your lands second. And Alana,” Rafe said, using his hand to force her to face him, drinking in the pure essence of the radiant beauty that had been unleashed this very night, “I have never known a woman such as you, nor will I ever again.”

  She tried to pull away but could not summon the willpower to leave the comfort of his arms. “What have we done?” she whispered.

  “What we were destined to do. I could not live without having known you, no matter what the cost.”

  Alana’s fingers traced along Rafe’s back. His words reverberated within her mind until she too realized that they were but an echo of her own heart’s desire.

  “I will carry both shame and love into my marriage,” she said sadly, “but I shall also carry the knowledge that I have loved as few have ever done.”

  Hesitantly, sweetly, she kissed him, and when they parted and Rafe opened his mouth to speak, Alana’s fingers closed his lips. She spoke then, her words accented by a bittersweet tone. “No more, Rafael. Just love me again.”

  The eastern horizon was slowly coming alive with purple and pink bands heralding the dawn. Above Riverbend, the crescent moon had long since said good night. A few random stars winked in the sky. The sounds of the night had ended, not yet replaced by the birds that would sing the song of day. Awakened by the silence, Alana lay still, her eyes closed as she wondered if the night had been a dream. When she opened her eyes, Rafe was lying next to her. She bathed in the warmth of his body and the security of his arms, which had allowed her to sleep so peacefully.

  Her body too told her that she was no longer the same person who had walked the garden last night. There had been a change within her, a feeling of fulfillment that far surpassed the low ache of the soreness, which reminded her of their passions.

  Sighing, Alana moistened her lips with her tongue and gently kissed Rafe’s forehead while slipping from between his arms. In the light of early dawn, she could see his eyes were open and looking at her.

  “Wait,” Rafe commanded, his voice low but strong. “Let me look upon you again.”

  Alana stood proudly before him, naked and unashamed. Rafe feasted upon this vision and took his fill. When she saw a curtain of sorrow descend across his eyes, Alana knew that their one night together was at its end.

  “You are a beautiful woman, Alana, strong and proud. The pain of my leaving you will never equal the joy I have known with you this night.”

  Conflicting forces rose within Alana and threatened to tear her apart. She started to reach toward him, but even as she did, she felt herself drawing away. Her hands fell helplessly to her sides. Before she could weaken further, she turned from him and bent to retrieve her nightdress.

  A moment later, she was dressed. Unable to look back at him for fear she would die the instant their eyes met, Alana left the gazebo and the man she loved and walked toward the house and to the future that awaited her there.

  Rafe did not move for several minutes. But, when Alana’s ghostly white silhouette was gone, he sat up.

  Refusing to give in to the feelings that bombarded him, Rafe dressed and stepped outside. Rather than return to the house, he took the garden path leading to the Ashley and, once there, sat on the dock and gazed vacantly into the depths of the river.

  ~~~~~

  Although Alana had wanted the day to stop with the dawn, it had not. From the moment she had returned to her room to reluctantly cleanse herself of her night of love, the sun had begun to shine through her windows and the real day had started.

  With time running out, the minutes sped by like shooting stars, and before she had a chance to stop and breathe the air of the warm fall day, she was half through it.

  As the noon sun warmed the earth, Alana watched the field hands scythe the grass of the north lawn so that it would resemble a luxurious carpet.

  At the far side of the lawn, Ben, supervising the other workers, walked along the line of tables and benches being re-finished or built anew.

  Watching the work, Alana realized that in two days from now, at this time of day she would have been wed almost two hours. Think of something else! A picture of Rafe grew within her mind. Crystal clear she saw him above her; the moon crowning his jet hair, the force of his manly power within her.

  What am I going to do? she asked herself. Nothing! Nothing can chang. Her one night with Rafe would be a memory saved, brought out and cherished in the times ahead, when she needed that comfort.

  But not now! The thought was forceful enough to shake away his image and return her senses to her. Behind her, smoke rose skyward from the brick chimney of the large kitchen, which was the outbuilding closest to the main house.

  Turning, Alana walked to where the women scurried back and forth between the kitchen and the food storage building. The aroma of baking pastry teased her senses, an odor she had not smelled in many years.

  The scents made her think of the past, when social events had happened all the time, and when parties were the rule rather than the exception. Perhaps that was why so many people were attending her wedding–it was a link to the prewar days. And of course everyone wanted to see the woman they had all talked about for years become a wife.

  This morning, when she’d eaten breakfast with Jason–Rafe had been thankfully absent, and she was sure it was because he understood that she could not sit with both of them so soon after last night–-she had seemed to look at him with eyes that were suddenly open.

  She had sensed that Jason would never be a true master of the land again, his will to live taken from him along with his legs. Yet his injury would not stop her from trying to make him rise above his misfortune. Alana would never give up on Jason, just as he had never given up on her before the war.

  Again, the aroma of sweet pastry filled her nostrils, reminding her of where she was. Pushing aside her thoughts, Alana watched the kitchen workers prepare for the banquet. She watched Madera, the cook, working on three separate pots, while two other women tended the pastries in the brick oven.

  When she stood framed in the doorway, the cook turned and saw her. Madera smiled, and her deep black face wreathed with the lines that her wide smile produced.

  “You gots to have one o’ dese, Missy Alana,” she said, picking up a small puffed pastry and handing it to her.

  Alana took it and popped it into her mouth the way she used to do when she was five. She let the feel of it grace her tongue, and as she tasted the sugar and cinnamon, a smile formed on her mouth. “Oh, Madera, you are wonderful!”

  “No, ma’am,” Madera stated with an emphatic shake of her head. “Dat weren’t notin’ compared to whats I’s a’fixen for de day afta tomora!” With that, the cook retreated proudly into her kitchen and began shouting orders to the other women.

  Alana stepped back just as Lorelei came out of the storeroom. She was gently scolding one of the younger house servants as they walked toward the guest wing. Alana’s heart lifted, not for the coming wedding, but because until today she had never expected Rive
rbend to be so alive again.

  “Miz Alana! Miz Alana!”

  Alana looked toward the small boy running toward her. It was Jeremy, Ben and Kitty’s son. His face was bright, and he was waving his arms wildly. When he reached her side, he had to pause to catch his breath.

  “What on earth’s so important?” Alana asked him, bestowing him with one of her dazzling smiles.

  “De supply boat be here,” Jeremy stated. “Captain Bowers, he want to talk wit’ you afore dey unload.”

  “Of course,” Alana said in a whisper. When she had sent in her order for the wedding supplies, she had known they would not extend any more credit to her, and she’d written that the supplies would be paid for when they arrived. At the time, she hadn’t known how, but Jason’s strongbox had solved that problem.

  “Tell them I’ll be at the dock immediately,” she ordered Jeremy as she walked to the house. Inside, she went to the study and the safe that her grandfather had installed within the book-lined wall.

  Opening it, she took out seven gold coins, more than enough to pay for the supplies and cover her past bills. But when she started to close the safe, she caught a reflection of gold and paused.

  She reached toward the object that had caught her attention and picked up the wedding band that had been her mother’s. She looked at it wistfully and, not knowing why, clasped it in her hand while she locked the safe.

  Stopping at the desk, Alana opened a small drawer on the left side and put the ring into it. With that done, she took a deep breath and started out of the house and toward the receiving dock, where she could see the riverboat and its captain waiting for her.

  “Thank you, Miss Belfores,” said the captain as she stepped toward his craft. “I just want you to know that it wasn’t my doing–about collecting for the supplies. Especially since it’s for your wedding. But Mr. Cochran insisted.” The old riverman’s leathery face was solemn. “And I do want to wish you the best on your forthcoming vows,” he added in the same earnest tones.