The Hawk and the Dove

by Virginia Henley

  He stood quietly in the shadow of a beech, afraid that Sabre had tired of waiting for him. Then he saw a movement along the garden path and his heart lifted in triumph.

  “Darling,” he whispered, and gathered her close in a protective embrace. He was impatient to bring her home, so he tucked her beneath one arm. “Come, we’ll take the river.”

  She smiled. He was too impatient to dally with kisses here in the labyrinths of the garden, for Windsor was much farther from Thames View than Greenwich. His shrill whistle pierced the night air and carried onto the water to a wherryman, who brought his barge over to the water steps. “Kew,” he said curtly, tossing him a small gold coin, then he drew Sabre to the cushions in the shadows at the back of the boat and took her into his strong arms. His mouth found hers and he whispered against her lips, “Tomorrow I’ll order you a barge of your own. ’Twill give us privacy from prying eyes, and I want you to come to me whenever you can, my love.”

  He tried to be gentle as his mouth covered hers, but his seeking hands went beneath her cloak and came in contact with bare flesh.

  “God’s blood, you’re almost naked,” he whispered hoarsely as he let his hands play and slide up her silken thighs. He did not connect her with the female in the short silk toga who had scandalized the court but imagined her to be clad in only an undergarment to tantalize him. “Ah, my beloved Sabre, you are incomparable; one of a kind.” He laid her back upon the cushions and pressed her to the hard length of him. “You’ve led me such a dance; think of all the time we’ve wasted,” he said against her throat.

  She teased, “’Tis only a game we play, m’lord. You told me so yourself. You have enjoyed the chase and I have enjoyed the wooing. I think so far it is a draw between us.”

  “No game this, I am in deadly earnest, my darling.” He groaned. “I’ve wanted you from the moment I set eyes upon you.”

  “When I was lost and you took advantage of me!” she accused.

  “Ah, no, my beautiful Sabre, you stole my heart from me long before that.”

  Wildly curious, she pretended indifference. He would tell her in bed, she promised herself. In bed was where he was going to tell her everything she wished to know.

  He fondled her shamelessly until she was hot with desire for him. He pushed aside the scant silk undergarment and stroked her unmercifully with his long, hard fingers, never taking his mouth from hers. When he wanted to bring her to a little climax he plundered her mouth with his thrusting tongue and thrilled as she arched into his hand.

  The wherryman called out “Kew water steps” in a loud voice, as he knew the couple in the shadows were on the verge of coupling. Sabre felt the tension and desire rise in him. “I cannot let you from my arms,” he said. When the barge stopped, he wrapped her cloak tight around her and carried her up the water steps, across the lawns, and into the big house. He swept her up the grand staircase without pause and set her gently on her feet while he locked the door of the master bedchamber and lit the candles.

  She stood quietly beside the massive curtained bed until he turned to her from lighting the candles. Very deliberately she unfastened her cloak and let it slip in a dark pool to the carpet, revealing herself to him as the goddess Diana.

  His eyes widened in surprise. “It was you!” he said in amazement. She saw his dark blue eyes smolder with anger as he closed the space between them swiftly and, taking hold of her shoulders, jerked her to him. “Why? Why must you play the wanton?” he demanded, shaking her angrily.

  She tilted her head back provocatively to take in his great height. “Because I’m jealous of the queen and I intend to steal you from her totally and absolutely.”

  “Little witch! I’m the one who’s mad with jealousy, and well you know it!”

  She placed her hands over his on her shoulders to draw the strap of the toga from her covered breast. It slipped down her arm and slithered to the floor. His eyes fastened on her gilded nipples thrusting up impudently, and he was lost. His passion engulfed her and she cried out at a particularly brutal caress, but her cry was smothered as his mouth crushed down upon hers. He forced her head back, arching her until her ripe breasts were pressed full against his hard, muscular chest. He kissed her eyelids and her ears, murmuring passionate, unintelligible words. He licked the little beauty spot high on her cheekbone as he pressed himself boldly against her until every inch of their bodies touched.

  She knew he was a passionate man, yet she was amazed and a little afraid at the raging ardor she had awakened in him. Her arms entwined about his neck and he hungrily lifted her against his heart. She let the small core of remaining resistance melt away as she clung to him hungrily, inviting his frankly sensual exploration of her mouth. He lifted her to the bed and stripped off his clothes with sure, deft fingers. His hands were caressing her bare limbs now as he unwrapped the thongs of her sandals and tore away the silk undergarment.

  The bed dipped as he knelt above her and his whipcord arms came slowly around her. She knew his great strength, yet she marveled at his ease in lifting her, turning her, and taking her down with him. His hardness was a hot, burning brand against her thighs. He began to explore the secrets of her body with the sureness of a knowledgeable lover. He moved his fingers and his mouth over her with deliberate slowness, savoring what he found, until she trembled beneath his slightest touch. She gasped, wanting more, and he gave it. He buried his face against her throat. “I have waited an eternity for this,” he murmured thickly.

  Then his mouth began to taste and tease her breasts until her nipples throbbed and she was tight and aching inside with her need for him. She moaned with pleasure and frustration as her nails dug deeply into the shoulder blade where the dragon rampaged. He gasped and thrust into her deeply. His shaft was long and thick, and she felt a quicksilver stab of pain, instantly replaced by a hot, burning, throbbing fullness that went deeper and deeper until she thought she must die of it. She clasped her legs about him and yielded completely to his flaming kisses.

  Dimly she heard him shout with exultation at his possession of her. She lay pinioned beneath his strong body; his now at last, totally his! He set up a rhythm in the silken depths of her tight sheath and matched it with his tongue. He was making her fly with the wind. She could feel him pulsing and quivering within her soft body, and she felt him growing bigger with his insatiable hunger for her. Instinctively she knew this was greater than what most lovers experienced. Feelings and sensations that ran deep into the soul would bind them together through eternity. He was in her blood no matter how she had tried to deny it, and she would not rest until he was plagued by her night and day; obsessed by her to the point where he would perish without her. She cared not what she had to do to enslave him. She would be witch and angel; she would be everything to this man, slave, concubine, mistress, whore. She would be his wife and she would be his enemy!

  Her thoughts spun away from her as she was rendered mindless. She could only feel and taste the pleasure of him now as her blood pulsed through her veins, spiraling her higher and higher, to a point where it was totally, physically impossible to endure more exquisite pleasure. Yet still his plunging thrusts went deeper and faster until every nerve trembled with the fury of his assault. He was savagely demanding in his lovemaking, his body’s strength urging her to meet and match his towering passion.

  A volcano erupted inside her. She felt her own explosion and then she felt his scalding burst of fire flood into her with the force of a thunderbolt. It tore a low scream from her throat and a great shuddering sob from his. They lay entwined, still as death, and she wondered if she would ever be able to breathe again. After a very long time she stirred against him, but his arms tightened, one leg moved across her to pin her to the bed, and she felt him still within her, unwilling to separate his body from hers now that he had finally claimed and taken possession of it.

  Finally, drugged with love, they slept for two hours. They clung together in sleep, as they had when awake, as if bound to each other
body and soul. Sabre awoke drowsily to find his warm body molded against her. He kissed her closed eyelids and she submitted to his questing hands, which aroused tingles of delight in every nerve.

  “Brute,” she whispered. “I cannot move a finger.”

  He laughed deep in his throat. “Your dragon of the night, m’lady, has need of you again.” His lips brushed her throat, and as his possessive hand slid down over her belly, she knew she would surrender herself to his masterful embrace. She cried out in protest as he left her.

  With pantherlike grace he stepped from the bed to relight the candles, then he pulled the cover from her and spread her hair across the pillows like flowing, molten copper. She had the face and body of a beautiful temptress, and for one suspended moment his Irish imagination took control of his mind and he wondered if she were a mortal or some magic fairy woman from the otherworld.

  Her pale green glance made him melt and grow hard in the same instant. She was becoming conscious of the sensual attraction his hard body had for her. His fierce onslaught of desire shook his body as once more he hungered to feel her supple, silken body beneath his and to taste the sweet mouth that haunted him. His eyes traveled the length of her, making her feel that he was devouring her. He felt a need that he had denied for weeks but could deny no longer. He needed her to love him. He reached out a finger to trace the swelling curve of her breast and up to its golden peak, all the while studying her eyes to watch them grow dark with desire, watching her soft mouth open with yearning. He leaned down to kiss her waiting lips, then murmured low against her mouth, “Love me, Sabre, love me.”

  She had no will of her own. Was it possible to love and hate at the same time? Nay, she’d never admit she loved the man, but she was honest enough to admit that she loved his body. The feel and smell and taste of his skin aroused her so much she had to bite her lips to keep from screaming with excitement. As the sensual male-female mysteries unfurled for her, her senses heightened, widened, and expanded. Nothing remained the same. Physically, mentally, and emotionally she was altered forever-more. It was truly an awakening that was almost spiritual.

  This time he made love to her slowly, leisurely, until it became exquisite torture for both of them. He paid homage to every inch of her body, savoring, worshiping with gentle hands and lips as if she were made of the most fragile porcelain. He took her tenderly, drawing out their hour of love until it peaked into a starburst totally different from the time before. It was as if they were making love for the first time, and the last.

  When they awoke again, the eastern horizon had begun to lighten. She lay nestled close, cradled in his arms, and the slow, powerful beat of his heart lulled her with a deep, safe sense of security. Wistfully she sighed. “Dawn comes so quickly.” She tried to arise, but his arms shot about her like bands of steel.

  “Nay, love, I’ll not let you leave me today.”

  “But … the queen,” she protested.

  He shook his head. “She has her hands full, I’ll warrant. Kate will manage without you, but I will not. It’s taken me too long to capture you to release you so quickly.” Half afraid she would flee, he loosed his hold upon her, but she sat back upon her heels and smiled down at him. Her hair cascaded wildly over her naked body. His hands lifted the silken tresses from her breasts so his gaze could roam unhindered. “Lord, are you angel or witch, for I am surely spellbound.” He lifted her to straddle one of his hard thighs, and she rode it in playful abandon.

  “Ah, I remember now,” he said, feeling the scratched furrows across his back, “you make love like a wildcat when receiving your pleasure.”

  Suddenly she dipped her head and darted her tongue into his navel. He gasped at the thrill that ran through his body like wildfire.

  “You are a bold wench, Sabre Wilde. Are you bold enough to tame the dragon?”

  “I’ll slay the dragon,” she whispered wickedly.

  He lifted her onto his great manroot so she could finish her ride. She thrust her hips forward and arched her back so that her hair cascaded down upon his thighs, and he thrust up deeply in rhythm with each of her downward plunges. He refused to release her until she had twice let down her love juices to anoint his manhood.

  She sat between his legs, her back against his broad chest, his knees slightly drawn up for her to rest her arms upon. It was to become a favorite position for them whenever they wanted to talk in bed. They shared the breakfast tray Mason had brought them, grinning guiltily because their vocal, tempestuous lovemaking had alerted the entire staff of Thames View to her presence in their master’s bedchamber.

  “Shane, who was that man with the queen last night?” she asked idly.

  She felt him stiffen at the question and was immediately alerted that he sensed danger. He told her some of the truth. “Though the queen has forbidden the name, it was the O’Neill, known in England as the earl of Tyrone.”

  She looked startled. “The uncrowned king of Ireland?” She shuddered involuntarily. “The man is trouble,” she murmured.

  He lifted her hair, and his lips brushed the nape of her neck. “A wolf among wolves. That’s what I meant when I said Bess had her hands full at the moment,” he said lightly.

  “He has the same kind of arrogance as you … except … except he is cold, pitiless, brimful of hatred.” She hesitated. “Keep away from him.”

  Shane laughed mirthlessly. He’d been trying to do that for years, but never succeeded. His father had him on an invisible thread; all he needed to do was tug on it.

  His arms tightened about Sabre as if she were his salvation. “When he and the queen have played their little game of domination and submission, he’ll return in triumph to Ireland.”

  She stretched and made a face at him. “You have made every muscle in my body ache. I’m going to have a long, hot bath, then I’m going to exercise Sabbath.”

  “I know what you need,” he said, smiling.

  “Oh, no you don’t, Hawkhurst. You are insatiable!”

  He chuckled. “No, really, I’ll give you a massage.” He flexed his hands and slanted a brow at her. “Secrets learned in the Far East,” he promised, as he took a flacon of perfumed oil from a cabinet and stretched her out upon her stomach. So, rumor was true, she thought jealously, he did have an Oriental mistress before me.

  He straddled her hips, holding her captive between his muscular thighs, then, pouring the scented oil into his cupped palm, he rubbed her shoulders and back with long, firm, sensual strokes.

  “Tell me of these secrets of the East,” she cajoled, stretching luxuriously beneath his ministrations.

  “I was only teasing,” he said lightly as his hands slipped beneath her to fondle her soft, round breasts.

  “Shane, tell me, I’m wildly curious.”

  “Your curiosity is most titillating and exciting, my little wildcat, but, you see, Oriental culture is always geared toward the man’s pleasure. An Oriental woman takes a totally passive role in sex, with all focus on pleasure for the male. She is eternally submissive, a role which doesn’t suit you at all, thank God,” he said, dropping little kisses on her satin-smooth skin. He moved farther down, to straddle her legs, and let his strong hands massage her delicious buttocks.

  “Tell me more,” she begged, writhing beneath his fingers.

  “In the Orient nothing is more tempting than the forbidden. They do things that break through Western taboos.” He hesitated, then decided to describe a practice that was sure to shock her. “Would you like to know of the Seven Knots to Heaven?

  “Yes,” she said, giggling.

  “The female puts seven knots into a silken cord, then very gently inserts them into her partner … here.” He placed his finger on the intimate spot between her buttocks, and she was shocked speechless.

  “Then, when the man reaches his climax, she pulls the silken cord out slowly and with each knot he experiences another orgasm … seven in one!”

  She gasped in disbelief, and he laughed and said, “Your innocence
is truly a delight to me.”

  Though they quickly became aroused, she would not permit him to make love to her again and she firmly locked the door of the bathing room. She would save these things for another time lest he become sated with her.

  They spent the day together intimately, excluding the world. Both knew their time alone together would be sporadic at best, so they made the most of their day. They rode together, dined, talked, laughed, dreamed, and all the while they were handclasped like a young boy and girl. Shane looked at her as if she were the first female he’d ever laid eyes on, and acted as if he’d just discovered his manhood.

  After supper the baron delivered a note to him and fear struck her heart.

  “Darling, ’tis nothing. I must go out for a short time, but I promise I’ll be back in time to carry you to bed.”

  “And if I ask where you’re going, you will fob me off with a lie. And if I asked you why you were at that brothel last week, you would tell me none of my damned business. But mark my words, Shane Hawkhurst, I’ll have the tale from you.”

  “I can’t be cajoled,” he replied lightly.

  “Ha! Can’t be cajoled,” she said, laughing, as her eyes played about his loins until she saw him rise up.

  “What colors for your barge, sweetheart?”

  See, she said to herself, he was doing it now, fobbing her off with an expensive present.

  “Let’s see … white and purple … royal purple!” she ordered.

  Chapter 13

  Shane went into the city alone to answer the summons from O’Neill. He climbed to the top floor of the brothel on Threadneedle Street, removed his black cloak, and shook off the raindrops that had just started to fall.

  O’Neill’s eyes, those dark orbs that saw everything and said nothing, sought those of his son. Shane knew he’d never grow used to them. The two men extended their right arms until with a dull thud their hands fell on each other’s shoulders. Such a blow would have almost felled a horse, but neither man flinched. Finally O’Neill’s voice broke the silence. “I played her like an Irish harp. The moment she became pliant, I seduced her with my golden tongue. I told her plantationing Ireland was wrong, yet her men in Dublin went blindly ahead with it. I told her graft was rampant in Dublin’s government. English lords are voracious for Irish land, and for coins placed in the right palm they are handed five thousand acres apiece. But to a man they are absentee landlords with overseers who make slaves of the Irish! I told her the English of Dublin rob her government in England as viciously as they do Ireland. I demanded an honest governor and in exchange I would keep all the clans neutral.”