Twilight of a Queen

by Susan Carroll

  But Jane kept her reflections to herself. No need to rob her ferocious corsair of all of his illusions regarding his stealth. Except that he was not her corsair. Jane was surprised that she even needed to remind herself of that fact.

  She replied, “I have no sixth sense although I did know you were there. But I thought that after the council was over, you would steal quietly away before you were discovered.”

  “Are you pleased that I didn’t?”

  Jane refused to answer that. She feared that she was far too glad he had remained. It didn’t help noting how apt he looked in these stark surroundings.

  Jane felt dwarfed, rendered insignificant in the shadows of the dolmens. Xavier appeared as though he belonged here, a bold adventurer from some far-off world, conjured up by the spirits of these mysterious stones. Even his arm bound up in the sling did nothing to dispel the image. Rather it enhanced it, the battered, wounded warrior.

  The glow of the dying fire played over his tall figure, the weathered boots, the leather breeches, the swirl of black cloak. He had regained much of his color these past few days, his face no longer pale but shadowed beneath a day’s growth of beard and the dark fall of his hair.

  As he prowled closer, Jane was reminded again of Meg’s strange warning about sleek, dangerous jungle cats. A warning that only seemed to bring a flush to Jane’s cheeks, a quickening of her heart that had nothing to do with fear.

  She turned back to the fire, but the red-gold embers were a blur, the only thing clear, the tall silhouette at the periphery of her vision as he stepped forward to stand beside her.

  Attempting to keep her voice light, she said, “I trust you found observing the council worth the risk you took creeping up here through the dark. You might well have fallen and broken your neck this time.”

  “The risk is what makes it fun, Jane. I need to teach you all about that sometime. But I confess I was a trifle disappointed. I knew there would not be any sacrifices or burnt offerings. But I had hoped there might be some sort of ceremony involving a goat and naked dancing.”

  Jane cast him a reproving glance. A mistake. Despite his teasing drawl, there was a dangerously compelling gleam in his eyes. Or was it only a trick of the firelight? She was quick to avert her gaze back to the fire.

  “It did, however, get exciting toward the end,” he continued with a chuckle. “There was a moment when I thought my niece was going to start hurling daughters of the earth over the side of the cliff.”

  “Seraphine is nothing if not exciting,” Jane remarked dryly

  “And gracious as well, I thought. She did not appear to mind losing the title to young Meg. So now I suppose we must all cry, ‘Hail Mademoiselle Wolfe, the future Lady of Faire Isle.’”

  Jane frowned. At least Xavier did not tease her by referring to Meg as Megaera as he often did. But Jane caught the edge in his voice and turned to confront him.

  “Why do you dislike the poor child so? I would have thought you might have some empathy with her since—since—” Jane faltered.

  “Since we both are the offspring of half-crazed mothers?”

  “I am sorry. I—I didn’t mean—”

  “No, it’s perfectly true.” He shrugged. “Meg and I do have much in common. That is the problem. I comprehend all too well how she wrestles with the darker side of her nature and just how often she is going to lose.”

  Xavier skated his knuckles down her cheek. “And that m’dear, I am afraid is something you can never understand. You are far too much of an angel.”

  “Oh, yes indeed. Saint Jane,” she snapped, rearing back. The depth of her irritation surprised her as much as it did Xavier. His brow arched upward in astonishment, but she didn’t care. She had spent so much of her life being told how good, how virtuous she was. She was suddenly sick of it.

  “Jane, I only meant that at Meg’s age, I am sure you spent your time dutifully learning to play the virginal or perfecting your embroidering rather than studying sorcery.”

  “Yes, that is exactly what I did. My guardian, the Countess of Shrewsbury, was an accomplished needlewoman, so I spent hours at my stitching while my brother was whisked off to learn to ride, to hunt, to wield a sword. And it occurred to me that even though he was so much younger, Ned would enjoy a freedom that I as a woman would never know. The freedom to travel, to explore the world, to—to do whatever he wished while the most change I could hope for was marriage. A different home, a different parlor in which to stitch.”

  Jane compressed her lips together. She had believed the bitter frustrations of her girlhood long forgotten or at least deeply suppressed. But it was like breaking the seal of an old boarded-up well. The flow could not be stopped.

  “I hated it. So much so that sometimes, I would fling my stitching to the floor and rush from the house to—to—”

  “Take a stroll in the gardens?” Xavier asked, an odd smile playing about his lips.

  “No!” Jane glared at him. “I would tear off running, away, up into the hills.”

  Her gaze lit upon the flat stone Ariane had sat upon. Suiting action to her words, Jane hiked up her skirts and rushed toward it, leaping atop the stone.

  “And then when I reached the highest summit, I would tear off my cap and shake my hair free.” Jane reached up and wrenched off her net caul, allowing her hair to tumble about her shoulders. “And then I would roar my defiance at the world.”

  Following her, Xavier gazed up at her. “And what did you roar?”

  “Ridiculous things like It isn’t fair and I’ll be damned if I submit to such a tame existence.”

  “Swearing? You, Jane? How very bold of you.” But Xavier’s voice held none of his usual mockery. His smile was strangely tender.

  “Not so very bold,” she said ruefully. “I only did it where there was no one to hear.”

  “I doubt most young ladies even dare to entertain such rebellious thoughts. So whatever happened to that wild defiant girl shouting from her hilltop?”

  What indeed? Jane thought sadly, remembering the small unmarked grave she had left behind in Sussex.

  “I suppose the girl discovered how easy it is to fall from such reckless heights.”

  Suddenly feeling foolish perched above Xavier on the rock, she hiked up her skirts a trifle, preparing to leap down. But he moved to intercept her. He caught her about the waist, even with one arm, lifting her down as easily as though she weighed no more than one of those twigs she had tossed upon the fire.

  He set her upon her feet, but made no move to release her. “What if someone was there to catch you if you fell?”

  She looked up at him and realized that away from the fire, his eyes were just as dangerous, perhaps even more so when soft with the reflection of night.

  He bent closer and she realized he meant to kiss her. She retained just enough sense to lean a little farther away.

  “I—I don’t think it would be good to depend upon being caught,” she said. “I might fall so hard this time I would not be able to recover.”

  He stopped, his mouth a breath from hers.

  “Wise woman,” he murmured. He released her and turned to walk away, leaving Jane to wrap her arms about herself, feeling bereft.

  For the second time that night, she felt something inside her snap. She was as heartily sick of being wise as she was wearied of being virtuous.

  Xavier had not taken that many steps when she charged after him, tugging on his coat to pull him about. He had time to utter one astonished oath before she flung her arms about his neck.

  She dragged his mouth down to hers in a kiss that was bruising and clumsy. He stiffened for only a moment before he recovered from his surprise and banded her closer with his arm.

  His mouth moved over hers with more assurance than her awkward efforts, teaching, wooing, and coaxing her lips apart. After the initial shock of his tongue invading her mouth, Jane learned quickly, meeting him thrust for thrust.

  She buried her fingers in his hair, greedily drinkin
g in the heat, the passion that was Xavier, as though it were some intoxicating brew she had been denied far too long.

  It was Xavier who broke off the kiss, gasping for air.

  “Hell’s fire, woman. I—I—”

  “Yes?” Jane quavered, bracing herself for the humiliation of being thrust away from him.

  But his lips curled in a piratical grin. “I have wanted you to kiss me that way ever since you made your first attempt that day on the beach.”

  “I didn’t attempt anything. I told you—” Jane began indignantly only to be silenced by his mouth assaulting hers again.

  She was not the only one kissing as though she could not get enough. The fierceness of Xavier’s hunger thrilled her, increasing her own desire tenfold. No matter how she angled her body, she could not seem to get close enough to him. When his cloak tangled in the way, she tugged at the clasp. Neither of them noticed as it pooled to the ground.

  Jane shivered as Xavier caressed the curve of her breast, the touch as frustrating as it was tantalizing. The shawl she had worn tonight lay abandoned where she had been sitting near Meg. She had dressed for comfort, not bothering with a corset. But even her chemise and the light wool of her bodice were far too many layers between her and Xavier’s questing fingers.

  When he fumbled with the lacings of her gown, he emitted a frustrated growl, starting to remove his injured arm from the sling. Jane stopped him, shamelessly loosening her bodice herself, enough that Xavier was able to thrust his hand inside.

  Her sigh matched his as his fingers cupped her breast, warm, rough, teasing her nipple until it crested against his palm. His touch sent such fire through her, all the way to her core.

  Her legs trembled and the next she knew, she was lying flat on her back, Xavier’s cloak spread beneath her. Jane stared, a little dazed at the panoply of night sky above her. Never had the stars looked so bright or the moon seemed so full, laden with secrets and dark promises.

  Why that should be so, Jane could not analyze. She felt as though she had walled off the rational part of her mind, silenced any whispers of conscience, surrendering herself entirely to sensation.

  The cool breeze whispering over her exposed breast, the hot moisture of Xavier’s mouth as he knelt over her, laving kisses against her skin, the sweet heaviness pooling between her thighs.

  In between kisses, he cursed the awkwardness of his sling, threatening to remove his splints. Her eyes narrowed to slits of pleasure, Jane gave her head an admonishing shake.

  “You do just fine with one hand.”

  “That is because you don’t know what I can do with two,” he replied wickedly.

  Tugging at the hem of her gown, he slid his hand beneath her skirts. He trailed his fingers along her leg, pausing to tease the skin behind her knee, going no higher until Jane squirmed in frustration.

  She retaliated by going for the buttons of his breeches. Intoxicated by her own boldness, she delved beneath the flap, closing her hand over the hot, hard length of his shaft.

  Xavier clutched at her leg, his eyes widening as he emitted an astounded gasp. “Jesu, woman, you’ve run completely mad.”

  He made a halfhearted gesture as though to stop her, only to groan as she stroked him.

  “And—I am right beside you,” he grated.

  She helped him to ease his breeches down. But as he shoved her skirts up higher out of the way, it became clear his broken arm presented a problem.

  “This might go better if you were the one on top,” he murmured ruefully.

  “But I have never,” she started, only to realize the foolishness of her protest. She gave a shaky laugh. There were a lot of things she had never done before, including surrendering to her passion for a man, making love to him not within the civilized confines of a bed, but beneath the stars, the wind whistling through the stone titans, the sea pounding at the base of the cliffs.

  Xavier kissed her again, manfully denying his own desire, trying to slow the pace of their mating to something a trifle more tender, but Jane would have none of it.

  Afraid that if she paused to reflect for but a moment, she would flee, retreat to the corner she had been living in all these years. She clambered atop Xavier, easing down, his hard length stretching and filling her as her skirts fanned about them.

  He braced his hand upon her hip as he bucked beneath her, guiding her until she caught the rhythm for herself. Her head thrown back, she rode him hard, faster and faster. Every desire, every anger, every grief she had ever suppressed swelled inside of her, finding voice in her broken cry as she climaxed.

  Panting, dizzy, she collapsed beside Xavier and to her horror, promptly burst into tears. Xavier lay on his back, his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling as he sought to recover his own breath.

  Jane rolled onto her side, trying to stifle her sobs, but it was impossible that Xavier not notice. He raised himself up, peering over her shoulder, trying to see her face.

  “Jane?”

  She couldn’t answer for the tears clogging her throat.

  “Oh, hell!” He sighed. “I was afraid this would happen. I just didn’t imagine your regret would come so soon.”

  “N-no! Not re-regret. It is just that I have n-not felt for s-so long. Perhaps n-never. I d-didn’t think I could—”

  She doubted that he would understand. No man could. But to her surprise, he urged her to face him and gathered her close to him. He cradled her close to his chest, her tears soaked his shirt, but he did not seem to mind.

  He rocked her, murmuring, “I know. I know, dearest heart.” Strange as it was for this rugged corsair, she believed that he did understand.

  Being held so tenderly and comforted by anyone was a sensation as novel to Jane as the passion had been. She savored every one of his rough whispered endearments, the kisses he brushed against the top of her head.

  As she regained some control of herself, she was appalled to realize she had not even noticed whether Xavier had reached fulfillment. In her marriage bed with her late husband, William’s satisfaction had been of the greatest importance, hers of no account. A wife was merely meant to endure.

  She drew back a little, so she could peer at Xavier anxiously, scarce knowing how to frame such an awkward question.

  “Er … did you … were you able to—”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “G-good. I am so glad,” she said, provoking a laugh from him.

  “Me too.” He grinned at her and Jane flushed.

  What an idiot he must find her. She had no idea what sort of women he was accustomed to bed, but she doubted any other had treated him to such an awkward display. Pouncing at him like a cat in heat and then dissolving into a puddle of tears.

  “You must think me quite insane.” She sniffed.

  “We both are.” He brushed aside the moisture from her cheeks with the pad of his thumb. “I blame it on the moon.”

  “Or these stones.” Jane said, attempting to return his smile. “Miri told me that according to legend they are daughters of the earth, petrified long ago to save them from witch-hunters and to be perpetual guardians of the island. They are supposed to be infused with a special magic.”

  “Oh, I believe it. I have heard other legends regarding such monoliths. I doubt we are the first couple to succumb to passion beneath their shadows. It is rumored that they have the power to make men potent and women fertile.”

  Fertile?

  The word struck Jane with all the force of a bucket of cold water dashed in her face. She sat up, clutching at the region of her womb.

  “Oh, God, oh God. What I have done? How could I be so careless? Not again.”

  She scrambled to her feet as though by standing she could force Xavier’s seed to flow from her womb. She cast a nervous glance up at the omnipresent stones as though they might even now be weaving their fatal magic upon her. Distracted by fears of what might be the consequence of her reckless actions, she plucked at the bodice of her gown to tuck her breasts back inside.<
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  “We—we should be getting back. We will be missed,” she stammered.

  Xavier stood more slowly. He managed to hike up his breeches, but she was obliged to help him with the buttons, which only rendered the moment more awkward.

  He frowned, studying her with narrowed eyes. If the man had not thought she had taken leave of her senses before, now he must be convinced of it.

  “What is wrong, Jane? What did you mean, not again?”

  She was loath to answer him, but she supposed she owed him some sort of explanation. She ducked her head, shamefaced.

  “When—when I was fifteen, I was smitten with my guardian’s master of the horse. I gave way to my passions and ended up conceiving a child out of wedlock.

  “My little girl was stillborn, which was accounted a blessing at the time. But I never conceived again. God’s judgment against me, I fear, because of my sin.”

  Xavier snorted, shocking her by swearing. “God’s blood, woman. Even if I was sure I believed in the Al mighty, I would think He would have greater affairs to tend besides cursing some poor girl for a slip from grace that was none of her fault. His wrath should have fallen upon this horse master for seducing you. You were but fifteen.”

  “Old enough to know the difference between right and wrong,” Jane said.

  Xavier took her by the chin, obliging her to look up at him. “So what we did here tonight—that felt wrong to you?”

  “No,” she whispered. That was what made her so confused. “But—”

  “There is no but,” he interrupted her, drawing her close again. “Perhaps we were a trifle reckless. I confess I am accustomed to having congress with women of a more experienced stamp, who know how to protect themselves from any unwanted consequences.”

  “You mean prostitutes.”

  “I prefer to call them ladies of enterprise who know how to give a man good value for his coin.”