Wild Hearts

by Virginia Henley

As panic struck her, she cried, "Paris, please, you are hurting me!" She was frightened and tried to pull away from him, but he didn't even notice. He arose, still holding her, and carried her through the alcove to his bed. As she tried to speak, he covered her mouth with his, lost to everything but the overwhelming desire that threatened to engulf him. He placed her upon the bed and discarded his robe. She was up on her knees instantly, facing him, denying him. The impact of his muscular torso displayed so boldly shocked her senses so that every detail was seared into her brain. The massive shoulders blocked out the rest of the room; the thistle tattoo stood out in such relief, she felt it would prick her flesh. The pelt of dark red curls covered his chest, thinned out across his belly, then thickened again in a luxuriant growth that covered his groin. His shaft, thick and rigid, thrust upward and outward toward her, while a ridge of white scar tissue slashed him, thigh to knee.

  She recoiled in horror. A trick of the light cast his shadow up the wall It was gigantic and menacing. Fear struck her heart. It was like a nightmare from the past where the monster came to devour her.

  "No!" she cried.

  "Yes," he asserted, and, reaching out, pulled her beneath him. Her beauty inflamed his senses to madness. She began to scream, and once again he fused his mouth to hers to quiet her and coax her into a giving mood. His mouth slid down against her throat, and he demanded thickly, "Let me love you, darling. Relax and give me all your sweetness."

  "No, no, Paris! You are too big for me, you will hurt me, no, please stop," she begged.

  "Don't fight me, sweetheart. I know it's your first time," he soothed and, at the same time pried open her thighs with his knee, spreading them for his entrance.

  She went rigid with fear the moment he tried to penetrate her. He withdrew immediately. She opened her eyes to see blood smeared across her thigh and upon the sheet. She turned accusing eyes upon him. "I told you you were too big for me. My God, how could you use me so?"

  "You are suffering from your own fear, you silly child," he said, trying to keep exasperation from his voice.

  She raised wide, hurt eyes to his and saw a determination there that terrified her. He reached out for her once more, murmuring, "This time I'll try not to hurt you." His mouth slid along her throat as his hands opened her thighs. "I adore you, my darling. Yield to me," he begged.

  "No, I cannot bear the pain," she protested, and in her struggles, her knee caught him sharply in the groin.

  "There would have been no pain if you hadn't gone as rigid as a board!" His eyes glittered like emeralds.

  She fled from the bed to retrieve her gown and petticoat. He followed her quickly. She turned burning eyes from his nakedness. "Cover yourself! Have you no shame?" She felt so much shame herself, she feared she would die from it.

  "Dammit, wench, why did you have to ruin such a beautiful night? A typical woman's trick to make a bloody hue and cry over nothing," he accused.

  "Nothing?" she asked as the tears slipped down her delicate cheeks and fell upon her naked breasts. "That's like saying I'm worthless," she whispered, and closed her eyes to shut out the cruelty of his words.

  She buttoned her dress and drew herself up to her full height, pride and anger staining her cheeks pink. "Well, at least I have the satisfaction of knowing it cost you twenty thousand in gold. You will never get the ransom for me after what you've done."

  A short laugh escaped him because he was not to be outdone. "I already have the gold. You watched it being brought aboard at Leith."

  She was stricken. Her eyes reminded him of a fawn he'd once wounded before it died. The moment the words were out, he could have bitten off his tongue. She was devastated. With one sentence he had stripped away her self-respect and destroyed her honor. He loved her so much, yet with each word he uttered he drove her further away. How could things have gone so badly between them in the space of a few minutes? he thought wildly. Everything had been perfect while he cradled her in his arms before the fire. The anticipation had been delicious, then everything had gone wrong. He stood helplessly before her while she told him what she thought of him.

  "You had to have me aboard that day so you could gloat over your victory," she said slowly, sadly. "That I was unknowing and guileless made no difference to you. It required my presence before you could savor your triumph." White-lipped, she finished dressing. She averted her eyes; she could not bear the sight of him.

  He said her name: "Tabrizia--" But she could not tolerate the sound of his voice: She covered her ears and fled from the room.

  Tabrizia took little notice of her surroundings or where she went. She ran along a gallery, down a staircase, then turned left into another wing of the fortress. A castle guard halted her and demanded to know what she was doing there.

  "Lord Cockburn brought me," she blurted.

  Immediately, the guard was contrite. "Forgive me, mistress, for questioning ye, but the earl's private chambers are in this part o' the castle. I didna know ye were a guest here."

  Magnus came out of his library. "What's all the racket?" He stopped in amazement as he saw Tabrizia. "Danielle... Danielle; how can this be?"

  "My name is Tabrizia... my mother was Danielle."

  "Danielle Lamont?" Magnus demanded incredulously.

  Paris, advancing upon the pair, concluded for his uncle, "This is your daughter, Magnus."

  The older man stared in disbelief, the fierce glare emphasizing the hawk-like features and hooked nose. He slanted questioning brows at Paris; then looked back again at the delicately beautiful girl before him. She was so like Danielle, his dearest love, yet there was no mistaking she was a Cockburn. As the shock of awareness hit him, Magnus felt a sharp spasm of pain in his chest and sat down abruptly as if the wind had been knocked out of him. He said slowly, "Impossible as that seems, I cannot deny the evidence of my own eyes! My God, boy, where did you find her?"

  Tabrizia had sustained too many shocks for one evening. She sank to her knees and began to sob. Paris knew better than to attempt to comfort her, but Magnus immediately bent to her aid.

  "Don't touch me!" she spat so savagely, that he recoiled at the bitterness.

  " 'Tis a long story, Magnus. It began for me ten or twelve years back. I was with my father in Edinburgh the day a young Frenchwoman died. She gave her child to Angus, and he took her to the orphanage. It meant nothing to me. I was fourteen or fifteen at the time. After my father's death, I was going over the ledgers and discovered he'd been paying for the Lamont child all along. When I saw her, I suspected she was a Cockburn. Later, when I discovered she was named after a city like the rest of us, I was certain. I was almost positive she wasn't my father's child— so that left only you, Magnus."

  "My God, if only I'd known. Child, forgive me," he said quietly.

  "I will never forgive you," she swore.

  Paris explained, "The orphanage was rather a harsh place. Now she discovers her father is the Earl of Ormistan. Rather ironic, is it not?"

  Magnus was filled with horror at the immensity of the wrong that had been done her. "I'm sorry, child. I didn't know of your existence." He tried to explain his part in the tragedy.

  She lifted her face and said passionately, "The orphanage was nothing! I survived, didn't I? The tragedy is my mother. It took five long years on the streets of Edinburgh to kill her, after you cast her out!"

  "I did no such thing," Magnus thundered. "I worshiped the ground Danielle walked upon She was the dearest love of my life. It was she who left me. I nearly went mad with grief when I couldn't find her. I remember it as if it were yesterday. I'd been with King Jamie on one of his endless progresses to Montrose and Aberdeen. When I got back, she'd run off with another man. It was Margaret's mother who gave me her last message. She could not face me because she was carrying another man's child. Now I can plainly see it was all lies."

  Margaret Sinclair, her long, black hair framing the paleness of her face, stood in the shadows. She pressed her hands to the low-cut gown to still the agita
tion in her breast. She made her move swiftly, lest Magnus recall who had been there to console him all those years ago. "Both of you should be ashamed," she scolded. "I'll see to her." She frowned darkly at Magnus. "Not an ounce of sensitivity between you." She helped Tabrizia to her feet. "You need to rest, you are at the point of exhaustion. Come, enough for tonight. Emotions won't run so hot in the cool light of day."

  The emotional shocks Tabrizia had sustained took their toll. She wanted to get as far away from these Cockburn men as possible, so she allowed Margaret to take control and lead her to a chamber where she could be apart.

  Though she seemed filled with concern, Margaret had always been able to conceal her true feelings well. At the moment she was seething with anger. She cursed her mother's stupidity for not discovering who this girl was. All those years ago her mother had plotted and schemed to get rid of Magnus's French mistress and set the fifteen-year-old Margaret in her place. Her mother had ambition and had schemed for her to become the new countess, but after all her efforts, Magnus had never bothered to wed her.

  Now the French bitch's daughter had turned up to haunt them. Margaret was doubly furious because she knew very well that Paris had brought the girl here for dalliance. She put Tabrizia into a guest room next to her own and gave her an extra down-filled comforter. In her own room she brewed a potion and took it in to the distraught girl. Using her smoothest manner, she urged Tabrizia to drink up and climb into bed. Margaret returned to her chamber and drew the bar across. The woman in the next room would be unconscious till morning, and Margaret had a lot of thinking to do.

  Tabrizia lay back in the strange bed and relived the evening's events. She felt a great emptiness inside, as if all her emotions had been used up and there was nothing left. All those years she'd endured in an orphanage while her father was a great earl who spent time at the King's side The implications were too numerous to comprehend at the moment. Her mind seemed to go floating off across the room all by itself. She was trying to think of a name. Paris! He was the one. She had been so fearful of giving him her trust; then, in a great rush of love, she had pledged herself to him with all her heart and the moment she did so, he had betrayed her. Her eyes kept closing until she could fight the drowsiness no longer. At last she capitulated and let sleep carry her off to delicious oblivion.

  Magnus looked at Paris and said, "I can scarce believe what's happened here tonight. You don't know what it means to me. To be denied children all my life, to watch my brother Angus found a dynasty of seven fine sons and daughters, then miraculously I find the girl I loved so long ago gave me a daughter of my own. I'll make it up to her, Paris. You must plead my case for me. The first thing I must do is get her legitimized within the law. I'll redo one of these wings to give her her own apartments. By God, Paris, I was feeling low with this accursed pain in my chest, but now I've something to live for— plans to make. One thing I must do is change my will."

  Paris frowned. Everything had erupted into one hell of a mess. Magnus was already making plans for Tabrizia that were totally opposed to his own. Magnus expected her to live at Tantallon, and there would be a hell of a hue and-cry when Paris took her away in the morning. Magnus's temper would erupt like a volcano when he found out Paris intended her to be his mistress. Another thundering match was inevitable when Magnus discovered his child was married to the usurer, Abrahams, but between them, they could soon have that marriage set aside. Not so easily dealt with would be Magnus's reaction when he learned Tabrizia was the bride Paris had abducted for ransom. It might cause a breach between them that could never be healed. So be it. Paris was not about to surrender her. He decided against telling Magnus anything for the moment.

  Magnus stammered, "You'll think me a great fool, but I feel the need to go down to the chapel. Excuse me, Paris."

  His nephew was astounded, for a more irreligious old rogue he had yet to meet. Paris retired to his own chamber. Back in the bed where he had so recently lain with Tabrizia, sleep completely eluded him. An exultant feeling was building inside him at the thought that no other man had ever touched Tabrizia. Male power surged through his veins as he vowed no man, save he, ever would touch her. He finally admitted that it was more than just desire and lust; he had loved her for some time. What a clumsy brute he'd been to her tonight. No wonder she was near hysterics. Next time would be different. He would use infinite patience and wait until she was ready, nay, eager for him. And, yes, he admitted, he'd even go as far as giving the damned gold back, if that was the only thing that would placate her.

  At first light he arose and went to her. It was very difficult to rouse her, and when she finally did sit up in the bed, she was disoriented and had an unnatural glitter in her eyes. He swore beneath his breath as his suspicions took hold.

  Margaret hurried in when she heard him. Gowned in royal blue, embroidered with silver roses, she looked beautiful, as if she had spent all night in front of her mirror. But Paris didn't notice.

  "Christ-all-fucking-mighty, Margaret, what did you give her last night?" he demanded furiously.

  She looked hurt at his harsh words. "Why, Paris, it was only a sleeping draught. She was so upset, I had to calm her."

  "A sleeping draught of poppies! I know morphia intoxication when I see it. I've had more than a passing acquaintance with the drug," he snapped bitterly. He turned back to the bed. "I've brought your cloak and your boots, Tabrizia. We are going home."

  Tabrizia put her hand to her head. It ached so vilely, she couldn't think straight. This much she knew— she did not wish to go with Paris, and she did not wish to stay here. Her goal was Edinburgh, and she intended to reach it this day. She pulled on her boots and donned the cloak. She did not look at Paris but kept her own counsel. She would have to endure his company as far as Cockburnspath, but that was all.

  Paris turned back to Margaret. "Where is Magnus?"

  "He's asleep. He was in the chapel till after four this morning. He also took a sleeping draught and won't awaken for hours yet. I think you should wait to speak to him. He will be angered if he discovers you have left."

  "I'm needed at home. The harvest feast is planned for tomorrow. Ask Magnus to bring you. He hasn't been at Cockburnspath in a year A daughter will be a lure he cannot resist."

  Margaret almost hissed, "It seems others cannot resist her, either," and nearly bit off the end of her tongue in an effort to appear sweet and gentle. "Thank you for the lovely invitation, milord." She changed her mind about asking Paris to deliver a letter to her mother. If she was going to see her this week, no need to risk putting anything in writing.

  Tabrizia was pointedly silent on the ride home. When she spoke, it was to Paris's moss-trooper who rode alongside her. Once she asked him, "What are these small, cave-like openings on this mountain?"

  "They are for lambing time, ma'am. They are called shielings. Sometimes in the spring after the ewes have delivered, we get deep snow. The shepherds put the new lambs in these little shelters to keep them from the cold. It saves a lot of newborn stock, if they can get to them in time."

  Paris signaled his man to ride ahead, so he could speak with Tabrizia. "Never take a sleeping potion again unless it is from my hand," he warned her sternly.

  "Do you never tire of giving orders, milord?" she asked casually.

  "Authority comes naturally to me," he stated.

  "Along with arrogance, cruelty, lust and deception," she said, sneering.

  "Never speak to me in that disrespectful tone again, madam, or you will find out just how cruel I can be."

  "Lord Cockburn, on the ride to Tantallon I was but a waif; however, on the ride back, I find myself the daughter of an earl. I shall speak to you in any way I wish!"

  Instantly, his hand was on her horse's bridle. He, pulled her mount up short and maneuvered so close, the horses' flanks touched. "If you were the daughter of a king, I would not take insolence from you." His dark, angry face came too close for comfort. She took a deep breath to calm herself. In spite
of her momentary defiance, she was afraid of him and decided not to antagonize him further. She would not have to endure his presence much longer.

  "I realize I was drugged last night. My head is aching vilely."

  "I accept your apology," he compromised carefully, before letting her continue the journey. Not until she was well ahead of him did his face show the tenderness he felt toward her.

  CHAPTER 9

  When Tabrizia arrived back at the castle, she found Shannon with her jaw swollen from an abscessed tooth. Everyone was giving her advice. Troy offered to pull the tooth for her, but she was horrified at the suggestion. "Don't you realize when you lose your back teeth, your cheeks sink in and you look old?"

  Alexandria said, "I'll go down to the kitchen and get you some cloves. If you hold one against the sore gum, it will make it bearable for a while."

  Damascus wondered, "Isn't there an old gypsy remedy or spell or something? Doesn't it have to do with a cobweb? You'll have to ask you-know-who about it."

  "As if I would let him see me looking like this," Shannon said scathingly, holding her swollen jaw

  "I can give you some practical advice," offered Tabrizia, "We will make a poultice to draw off the poison. It can be made from either bread or oatmeal; they both draw well."

  "Please show me how to make it, the pain is unbearable. I'll try anything," said Shannon.

  "It has to be put on as hot as you can stand it, and as soon as it has cooled, you replace it with another hot one. You will likely have to do it all day before it works. When the poison is drawn off, the swelling will go down."

  They all rallied around Shannon for a short time, but each in turn went off to make her own preparations for the harvest festival that would be upon them with the first light of dawn.

  Only Tabrizia held out and was still patiently boiling oatmeal until darkness fell in the late afternoon. Shannon noticed the dark smudges under the younger girl's eyes and felt remorse. What the hell had Paris done to her last night? She looked fragile enough to break. Shannon was by nature generous, and on impulse said, "Someone should meet. Johnny Raven for me and tell him I'm not coming out tonight."