"See how beautiful you are?" he whispered. He held her from behind, so they were both reflected. "Tonight we look like lovers," he breathed against her hair. "We'll stand and gaze into the mirror every night to see how we have changed."
"I had no idea you were such a romantic," she teased. "You must have caught it from the honeymoon couple."
"Honeymoon— it comes from the French. The aristocracy in France shut the couple in the bride's bedchamber for a month. They see no one else in all that time. Food is left outside the door."
"Whatever do they do for a whole month?"
He turned her so he could look down into her eyes. "They get to know each other very, very intimately," he replied softly, and laughed at her blushes. He took off his doublet and then removed his shirt. She trembled visibly. "You are cold, love. I'll see if I can get the fire to blaze."
She glanced at him as he knelt before the fire. He did strange things to her composure; always had, since the moment she had clapped eyes on him. She loved him madly but had never dared to show it, because she feared his physical response to her. Now she moved toward him by the fire. She took pleasure in gazing at the wide, naked shoulders before her. He turned and caught her staring at him. She saw his chest now, and his maleness was so overpowering, she could almost taste it.
"When you look at me, I can hardly breathe," she confessed.
"You take my breath away, too, sweetheart."
She looked like she might flee, so he suggested they roast some chestnuts. As he held the long-handled pan over the flames, a delicious smell arose. When they were well roasted, they each tried to pick one up to peel, but they burned their fingers. He put her fingertips to his lips to kiss away the burn.
"Are you not cold without your shirt?" she asked, not really knowing what she said.
"I'm never cold, feel me," he invited.
Her hand rested on his shoulder, then slipped to his chest. He groaned and reached for her. His lips brushed hers gently, softly; he murmured her name against her lips, then other love words, driving him mad with desire. She was faint from the exquisite sensations all so new and pleasurable. She melted into his arms; the chestnuts lay scattered and forgotten.
"Say my name," he whispered. "I want to taste it on your lips."
"Paris," she breathed, and he kissed her again and again, until her lips were swollen with passion.
Every instinct drove him toward possession; but he stayed his hands from exploring her body further, knowing full well if he did not stop now, his passion would be beyond his control. He tried for a light tone, but his voice was ragged with desire. "Come to bed, I want to hold you." He lifted her against his heart and carried her to his big bed. "Instinct tells me you should sleep on this side." He smiled down as he deposited her against the pillows.
"Why?"
"Your side is nearest the fire, and mine is nearest the door, in case of danger." He blew out the lamp before he removed the rest of his clothing, so that he would not expose his ugly thigh scar to her this night. He knew it would increase his agony to feel her against him, but he reached out, anyway; and drew her to his naked body.
She felt him hard and hot, pressed down the length of her. As his arms tightened, she felt all his body's strength; the powerful legs, the massive shoulders, and she shuddered with anticipation at what he was about to do to her. He felt her tremble and realized he would need a will of iron not to plunge into her and take all the sweetness for which he thirsted, but he had promised to wait until she yielded to him. Her heartbeat quickened and her pulses beat wildly as she lay with her cheek against his chest. She could hear and feel his heart beating so strong and loud, she instantly realized the effect she was having on him. She smiled into the darkness. His wildly beating heart told her better than words that he was in love with her. She felt a deep thrill go through her. She knew he wanted her immediately but was curbing his desire to please her. It came to her suddenly that she wanted him. Here in the bed. She wanted to explore him and feel every part of him, from the great slabs of muscle in his back to the fiery loins from which rose that burning shaft.
Shyly, she reached out to him, but she could not bring her fingers to close around his hardness. She reached her hands up behind his head instead, to feel the crisp curls that lay on his neck, and as she reached her lips to him, he met her more than halfway and took her mouth in a demanding kiss that led to a hundred more.
He held her more gently now, tucking her head under his chin. "Sleep now, Tabrizia, sleep." He lay looking up into the darkness and offered a silent prayer: Dear God, do not give me anything more; just do not take anything away!
She awoke slowly, coming to the surface of consciousness drowsily. She had never felt so safe and warm in bed before. Then she realized Paris held her from behind, cradled in his massive arms. She could not believe that he had kept his word to the letter. She was still clad in her nightgown, although it gave little protection from the hot, muscular male body pressed against hers. She stirred and tried to slip from his embrace without awakening him, but his arms tightened and drew her back as he said quite firmly, "No!"
She sighed and relaxed against him, happy to remain safe and warm a while yet, and away from the prying eyes of others. However, Paris was now fully awake and not content with her back. He turned her to face him, smiling down at the disheveled picture she made: The tousled hair suited her; she was wildly beautiful.
He whispered, "I discovered a secret about you last night."
"What was that?" she blushed.
"You may correct me if I am wrong, but I believe you enjoy being kissed, excessively." His eyes hungrily focused on her mouth, making her aware of his desire to resume where he had left off in the night. His lips began by brushing hers lightly, teasing her deliberately. His lips strayed to her ears, then back to her mouth. He kissed her eyelids gently, then he sought her lips again. This time he got the response he had been trying to evoke. Her mouth fused to his, not letting him escape this time.
Very deliberately, his lips traced down her neck. His hands slipped the nightgown off her shoulders, and his lips followed, going ever lower until he had one breast fully exposed to his avid gaze and touch. As he kissed the tip gently, the nipple budded and stood erect, proof that she responded to his lightest touch. She hid her blushes against his chest; then, feeling his nipple beneath her lips, she kissed it and touched it with the tip of her tongue. Immediately, it responded exactly as her own had. He grinned down at her reaction.
The door opened, and Mrs. Hall bustled in with a breakfast tray.
"By God, woman, only you would dare!" he bellowed harmlessly.
"Forgive me, milord, but all below await ye. The new bridegroom is in a fever to get his bride to his own castle."
"I don't know why. The beds here are wondrous comfortable," he muttered, forgetting the servant and gazing at his beloved.
Tabrizia had felt his manhood arise-with their first kiss. Mrs. Hall's interruption had not dampened his ardor in the slightest, and she felt him now against her thigh, hot and pulsing. She was covered with shame to have Mrs. Hall find them in such an intimate embrace, and wished the bed curtains were pulled to conceal them. The older woman was not embarrassed in the least. "I thought I'd have to throw cold water on the pair of ye to separate you." She laughed.
Paris was thoroughly enjoying Tabrizia's embarrassed blushes but gallantly came to her aid by giving the older woman a taste of her own medicine. He threw back the covers and patted the bed, "Come on, Mrs. Hall, your turn now," he invited.
The older woman threw her apron up to cover her eyes from his nakedness. "Och, yer lordship, stop yer blether."
Tabrizia giggled as the servant ran from the room. She reached for the quilted bedgown, but he stayed her hand. "Please? Don't cover yourself," he asked her.
"'Tis chilly," she told him apologetically.
He bent to the fire in a flash, poking it to a blaze and adding a great slab of peat. As he knelt naked before the firepl
ace, his magnificent body held too much curiosity for her, and she found herself admiring the muscles across the wide shoulders and back. As he felt her eyes upon him, he smiled a secret smile to himself. She would gradually lose her fear and shyness of him. Actually, he delighted in her modesty. Soon he would teach her to be bold, even wanton, but not yet, not now. First he would savor the precious innocence as a rare gift, which indeed not many men were granted. Keeping the scarred thigh away from her, he pulled on a pair of breeches.
He brought the tray of food to the bed. There were over a dozen eggs, a great mound of braised lamb kidneys and sweetbreads, a jug of hot ale and a platter of freshly baked hot scones with damson preserves. Tabrizia shuddered at the sight of so large a repast. She took a small scone and spread a little of the plum on it, then left it untouched upon her plate. She watched with unbelieving eyes as her husband finished all the food on the tray. She watched him bathe and dress with pleasure. He put on an embroidered shirt and a wine-colored doublet cut in the latest fashion. "I won't shave now. I'll wait until tonight, so I won't scratch your delicate skin!'
When Tabrizia came downstairs, the girls gathered around her to see for themselves that she was recovered from her ordeal, although they were careful not to probe for too many answers on strict instructions from Paris.
Shannon moved about like a whirlwind. "I want everyone to come with us to Douglas for the wedding, and you shall all stay with me for at least a month. I insist," decided Shannon.
James raised his glass to her. "There speaks my countess."
Paris told her, "Troy and Damascus can accompany you, but Tabrizia and I won't be able to come until the day of the wedding. I can't leave the castle unprotected in case there is a raid."
Tabrizia spoke up. "The twins can go, too."
Paris disagreed coldly. "The twins cannot go. They can travel down and back with us, so that I can keep an eye on them."
Everyone knew that Alexandria had gone on the raid, and all they knew was that she had returned safely. Paris had no intentions of divulging what had taken place, but he had in no way forgiven her behavior.
Tabrizia took his hand and pulled him into an alcove. "If you let them go, we can be alone and travel down to Douglas alone." She tempted him with eyes filled with promises.
He reconsidered. "You two can get your things packed, but be warned that I expect you both to be models of good behavior. For Christ's sake don't shame me further before the Douglas clan!"
Tabrizia wouldn't have believed it possible, but before midafternoon, the cavalcade of Douglas was under way, bound for home. It was due entirely to a superhuman effort on Shannon's behalf to organize servants, sisters and tons of household effects, to say nothing of all their personal clothing.
Paris marveled, "By God, James, your men look smart in their liveries. I'm not averse to a little pageantry myself. Why don't I ready fifty of my men, and we will escort you partway? Troy, get fifty men, full livery. I'll spur up and be with you directly." He told Ian he would be gone for a couple of hours and told him to post guards at every entrance. As Tabrizia watched Paris take a pair of pistols from their case, she breathed, "For God's sake, take care!"
He came to her and took her chin in his strong fingers. "No power on earth could keep me from you this night."
After they had ridden out for an hour, Paris bade his brothers and sisters Godspeed, and he and his fifty men turned east and headed back toward the coast. He was pleased with them about the raid on Huntly. When they returned to the barracks, they insisted he stay to dine, and he decided he owed it to them.
Tabrizia had been watching for Paris's return from the battlements. When she saw the long line of riders flying their pennants, her heart soared, and she dashed below to put on her prettiest gown and brush her hair up into an intricate chignon, held in place by the jeweled dragonflies she had found under her pillow that morning, She impatiently shooed Mrs. Hall from their chamber and awaited his arrival.
When he did not come, she schooled herself to be patient. Naturally, he would attend his horse first. Her patience grew thin, and she was at first a little hurt, then annoyed. As the minutes stretched to well over an hour, she became angry. She paced around, practicing the cool reception she would give him. No, she would not ignore him, she would give him a piece of her mind. He was far too arrogant, especially with women! Well, he wouldn't treat her as a convenience: He would sleep alone tonight.
Damn, why didn't he come? Two hours had gone by. Something was wrong. He had been hurt, and they were attending him in the barracks, trying to keep her in ignorance. My God, she knew the pistols had been a mistake. If he went about looking for trouble, it was sure to meet him more than halfway. She was certain of it now. Something was wrong. She actually caught herself wringing her hands. Determinedly, she decided to go to him. At that moment she heard his step at the chamber door, and before he had entered and closed the door properly, she ran to him and flung herself upon him. "Paris, are you hurt?" she demanded.
He winced a little to tease her, then seeing the very real fear in her eyes, he looked more serious. "No, no, sweetheart, I'm fine."
"You lie! My God, where are you wounded?" She pulled the heavy leather jack from him, none too gently, then began to undo his doublet with feverish fingers. Without pausing, she divested him of his shirt.
Naked to the waist, his arms clasped her and lifted her into the air: "Sweetheart, is this your way of telling me you are ready?"
"You are all right? You are not wounded?" she cried with disbelief.
"You wound me with your eyes at every glance," he whispered.
"Damn you, you rogue. Put me down this instant! Where have you been for the last two hours? I dressed and put my hair up special for you, and all for naught!"
"Nay!"— he took the dragonflies from her hair—"now I have the pleasure of taking it down." He lifted her struggling, and kissed her lips just as she was about to curse him again. With his mouth still against hers, he whispered, "This is the homecoming I have longed for. Someone who really cared. Who would shed real tears for a real wound and tend me with care and love."
Relief at his safety swept over her, and she was weak with it.
He lifted her to the bed. "You undressed me; now you must allow me the same pleasure. The fire has made the chamber very warm, so you have no excuse about being chilled tonight."
She allowed him to remove her gown.
With a swift movement, he flung it across the room, "One!" he said triumphantly. Next came her petticoat. It followed the dress in an arc. "Two!" he claimed.
"Paris, stop." She laughed and blushed at the same time to find herself in corset, pantaloons and stockings. With expert fingers he had her right garter and stocking off in a trice. "Two and a half," he said, laughing. The left one followed it across the room with very little pause between. "Three!" Then another article of clothing sailed across the room and he exulted, "Four!"
"Whatever was that?" she asked.
"Your nightgown from under the pillow." He grinned.
"You beast! You tricked me again."
He undid the laces of the tiny corset and set her breasts free. She was very still then, her breath caught in her throat. He gathered her up tenderly, and his lips traced tiny kisses across the swell of each breast. Each time he returned to the nipple, whispering lavish love words as his lips touched her body. She began to respond. When he left her for a moment to remove the rest of his clothes, she protested with an incoherent little moan. His hands moved downward, caressing her belly, and he bent to kiss her navel and touch his tongue to the deep center. As he removed her pantaloons, she sighed deeply and slightly opened her thighs to his worshipful gaze.
She had never felt like this before. She wanted him to go on loving her and never stop. She took a shuddering breath as she felt his lips touch her thighs just above her knees and begin their journey upward. As his mouth moved higher, the desire within her flared up, then blazed and burned to the very center where h
is lips were exploring. She thrashed her head upon the pillow, and her face came into contact with his muscled thigh. When her lips touched him, she knew immediately it was the scar he always tried to hide from her. The beloved scar! Her tongue shot out, and she traced its length lovingly, erotically. It was his turn to groan. As her eager lips kissed his shaft, he cried raggedly, "Darling, you're ready. Over ready, mayhap!"
He towered above her, eager, quivering. She-opened to him like a night-blooming orchid, then closed over him with a scalding tightness he had never experienced. He thrust inside her, hoping it would never end, but each thrust made him pulsate almost to bursting then the night was shattered with their cries.
"Did I hurt you, love?" he murmured.
"A little, when you entered, but the pleasure was worth the pain."
He kissed her deeply. Her skin was like silk to his roughened fingertips. He spanned her waist with his huge hands. "God, you are so small." His hands slipped up to her breasts.
"I'm not small everywhere."
"No," he laughed, drawing her into the curve of his body, cupping each breast from behind. Then he pulled the covers back and lit the candies. He lifted her from the bed and set her down in front of the mirror. It reflected the naked man, so strong and broad and tanned, and before him, not even reaching to his shoulder, it reflected her creamy curves and flaming curls. They made an intimate picture, standing so close they touched.
"You do not find my scar distasteful?" he asked.
She turned to look at it more closely. Without realizing it, she instantly reached out to touch it, and her fingers traced the uneven edges. He became aroused the moment she touched him, and her eyes widened at the huge, weaponlike phallus.
Wild Hearts Page 30
