Desert Song (DeWinter's Song 3)

by Constance O'Banyon

  Michael pulled Mallory into his arms. "What do you think, Father, did I choose well?"

  "I'd say you found a rare jewel, Michael," his father said.

  Raile opened a bottle of wine and passed glasses around. "I'd like to drink a toast to my new daughter-in-law. Without her, I wouldn't be here today, and neither would Michael."

  Mallory turned to Michael. "You know what I did?"

  "I didn't at first. But I should have known you could not be trusted to go to Cairo as I instructed. I should be angry with you for putting yourself in danger."

  Now, in spite of her attempt to hide her tears, they spilled down her cheeks. "I will never forget that I took a man's life. I can't get the look on his face out of my mind."

  Kassidy came to her and enfolded her in her arms. "You aren't to dwell on that. Think only that you saved my husband and yours. From what I've heard, Sheik Sidi Ahmed was an evil man and deserved to die."

  How comforting it was to put her head on the duchess's shoulder. Mallory had never known a mother's comfort before now. "I... will always see his face."

  Kassidy held her at arm's length. "No, you won't. After today, you will not give that man a thought." Kassidy reached into Raile's breast pocket and withdrew his handkerchief, dabbing at Mallory's cheeks. "My dear, if you cry another tear, you'll have me crying with you."

  "This is to be a happy evening," Raile said, trying to introduce a lighter mood. "To my family. No man was ever more blessed by his women, or more cursed by them," he said, winking at his son.

  Kassidy laughed. "Mallory, I think my husband is referring to us and my daughter, Arrian. You see, my dear, we must always keep them guessing about what we are going to do—that way they won't come to think of us as commonplace."

  Mallory smiled, feeling the warmth of the DeWinters surround her. But when she looked at Michael, she could see the brooding light in his eyes. He was quiet now, almost subdued, and she didn't know why.

  * * *

  Mallory followed Kassidy into the spacious cabin, where her feet sank into a thick cream-colored rug.

  Kassidy didn't understand why her son had asked her to put Mallory in separate quarters.

  "This is my daughter, Arrian's, bedroom," she said. "I hope you'll be comfortable here. I suppose I should have had it redecorated after Arrian married and moved to Scotland, but I kept it the way she had it. I suppose I'm sentimental."

  Mallory looked around the room, at the powder blue and lemon yellow furnishings. There was a narrow bed with silken bed hangings and coverlet. There was a yellow couch against one wall, and another wall had a long dressing table.

  Arrian chose the materials herself on her twelfth birthday."

  "It's lovely."

  Kassidy smiled. "I know you are feeling somewhat overwhelmed by all of us. But I want you to know how happy I am that Michael had the good sense to marry you."

  "But you don't know me."

  "I have always been gifted with great perception. I know you will make my son very happy."

  "Your Grace—"

  "I don't suppose you'd consent to call me Kassidy, would you?"

  "I will try, but you are a duchess."

  She touched Mallory's hand. "Someday I'll tell you how I came to be a duchess. I'm Michael's mother, and I want to be someone you can come to when you need a friend. You know, Mallory, one day you will stand in my place."

  "Oh, Your Grace, I hope not for a very long time."

  Kassidy laughed as she looked into earnest blue eyes. "Let us hope so." Then she became serious. "Michael's room is just across the companionway. He thought you would be more comfortable in here."

  Mallory lowered her eyes, but not before Kassidy saw sadness reflected in the blue depths.

  "It is but a short distance across the hallway. Perhaps you should take the first steps, Mallory."

  Mallory turned away and closed her eyes. "I will not do that, Your Grace."

  Kassidy knew something wasn't right between her son and his new bride, but she would not interfere. They must find their own way to one another, she could not help them in this.

  * * *

  Mallory sat beside the duke, listening to the light banter exchanged at the table. She had never known a family with such warmth and kindness toward each other. She watched Warrick as he spoke of his wife, Arrian, with love and respect. Clearly, he missed their children and her.

  It was apparent that the heart of the family was the duchess. All three men appeared to defer to her, and their eyes softened when they looked at her. Mallory was not allowed to feel like an outsider. They included her in the conversation, while asking about her life.

  Kassidy's eyes saddened when she heard the unspoken loneliness of Mallory's childhood.

  "Tell me, Mallory, what do you think of the Nightingale?" the duke asked.

  "I never knew a ship could be so luxurious, Your Grace. It reminds me of a floating palace. Does the name have some significance?"

  Raile's and Kassidy's eyes met, and they smiled.

  Warrick laughed. "We would all like to know the significance of the name, Mallory. But Raile and Kassidy keep it as their secret."

  Kassidy placed her hand lovingly on her son-in-law's. "I'll leave you a note in my diary, to be opened in the event of my death, telling you about the Nightingale."

  Raile caught his wife's hand. "I think not." He raised her hand to his lips. "That's our secret. It will die with us."

  Mallory looked at Michael, aching inside to have him look at her the way his father looked at his mother. She wondered if this family knew what a rare gift they had— yes, they knew, and they treasured it.

  * * *

  As the Nightingale moved from the Nile into the flow of the Mediterranean Sea, moonlight cast shimmering reflections across the dark water.

  Mallory stood at the railing, feeling on the fringe of something wonderful. How she wanted to be a part of the feeling of togetherness she felt in this family.

  "I wondered where you disappeared to, Mallory," Michael said, coming up beside her. "I looked around, and you were gone."

  "You were playing chess with Warrick, and I didn't want to disturb you. Who won?"

  "I did this time. But my brother-in-law is good. Most probably, he'll win next time."

  "Congratulations."

  He looked down at her. "So you like the Nightingale?"

  "I never knew anything could be so wonderful. You must love this ship."

  "Yes, I do, but wait until you see Ravenworth. That's the family's real love."

  She shivered from cold, and he pulled her into the warmth of his arms. "That's your ancestral home, Michael?"

  "Yes. You know, it's strange. Before I came to Egypt I thought little of my heritage, and even less of my future. Now everything seems so clear, as if a door has opened and I saw the secret of life."

  "That's because you are one of the fortunate ones who had your life set before you were born."

  A wisp of her hair blew across his face, and he ran the silken strand through his fingers. "I met your father and mother."

  "What did you think?"

  "That you have had a lot of loneliness in your life. I intend to change that."

  She looked up at him, her breath caught in her throat. "What are you saying?"

  "That you belong to this family now, and we will take care of you."

  She dropped her gaze to the gold button on his shirt. "Oh."

  He smiled, not knowing that she was hurting inside. "How would you like to take the helm of the Nightingale?"

  Her eyes suddenly gleamed. "Is that allowed?"

  "Of course." He pulled her forward and led her to the upper deck.

  "Mallory, may I present Captain Norris? Captain, my wife, Lady Mallory."

  The captain grinned. "Pleased to meet you, your ladyship. I never thought his lordship would settle down. After meeting you, I can see why he has."

  Mallory liked the captain and the easy way he spoke to Michael. "I'm happy to
meet you, Captain Norris."

  "Mallory, Captain Norris taught me all I know about sailing. He's the only captain the Nightingale has ever had."

  "She's my only love, m'lady. I know every bolt on her, and I guard her jealously."

  "I'll relieve you for a while," Michael said, taking the wheel.

  "She's running smoothly, m'lord. When you're ready to go below, just have MacNab take the helm." He touched the brim of his hat. "Have a pleasant evening, m'lady."

  When the captain had gone, Michael pulled Mallory to him and placed her hands on the wheel. "Do you feel what I do when you take her helm?"

  "What do you feel?"

  "That she's somehow alive. She's like a lady that will respond to my every touch."

  She smiled up at him. "I'm sure there were many ladies who would do just that."

  He pressed his hands over her, helping her guide the wheel. "I was speaking of the ship."

  "I like your family, Michael."

  "They like you."

  Suddenly he tied the wheel off, and turned her to face him. "Why did you leave me?"

  "I . . . had much to think about. I had killed a man. That is a difficult thing to live with."

  "I have killed many men." There was regret in his voice.

  He outlined her face with his finger. "It was you who nursed me the night I was so ill, wasn't it?"

  "Yes."

  "I felt it was."

  "Michael, I wanted to give you your freedom, because we married for the wrong reasons. Seeing your parents and Lord Warrick, I know I don't belong with you. I have nothing to give you."

  He touched his lips to her forehead. "On the day when you can give me what I want, come to me, and I'll be waiting. Until then, I will be patient."

  "I don't understand."

  He smiled sadly. "More's the pity."

  He turned her back to the wheel, and for over an hour they steered the ship.

  Mallory felt as if she were part of the wind, as one with the sea, and her heart was beating wildly because Michael was pressing his body against hers. She remembered their wedding night, when he had made love to her, and she ached for him to take her to his cabin and make love to her again.

  She tossed back her head and found him watching her intently.

  "Michael, I want to be your wife."

  "Why, Mallory?"

  She stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips against his.

  Taking a deep breath, he pulled her tightly against him, deepening the kiss. Suddenly, he released her and called out. "MacNab, you can relieve me now."

  When the crewman came on deck, Michael led Mallory to his cabin. It was dark inside as he took her in his arms and pressed a burning kiss on her trembling lips.

  Chapter 31

  Michael ran a stroking hand down Mallory's hair. "So soft, so alive," he murmured in her ear.

  "Michael?"

  "Yes, Mallory?"

  "You said that you wanted something from me that I have not yet offered. I gave you my body, and then I gave you freedom—what else can you want from me?"

  "Don't you know?"

  "No. I have thought about it, and I have nothing of value that could possibly interest you."

  "Why did you leave me in Caldoia?"

  "For many reasons. Because I'd killed a man and didn't want you to know about it. Because . . . because you called out another woman's name when you were ill."

  His hand slipped up her arm, and he paused at her soft shoulder. "I did?"

  "Yes, you did. I believe that when a man calls out a woman's name in his delirium, he must love her."

  He tried to think whose name he could have uttered. "Will you tell me the name?"

  "Samantha."

  His smile was hidden by the darkness. "And just what did I say about Samantha?"

  "I didn't understand it, you weren't lucid. You said something about a Gypsy . . . love and betrayal. I don't remember exactly."

  Michael's arm slid around her shoulder, and he brought her against him. "Dare I hope you are jealous?"

  She wanted to melt against his warmth and experience again the awakening of passion, but she dared not. "I have no right to be jealous, Michael."

  He brought her closer to his bed, the only place in the room that was illuminated by the moon shining through the porthole. "And you want your freedom?"

  What she really wanted was to stay in his embrace forever. "I . . . yes, I do."

  His lips brushed her neck. "Why?"

  "I . . . can't think when you do that."

  He gripped her around the waist. "Oh?"

  She twisted out of his arms. "Why are you doing this to me?"

  He took her hand, kissing each finger. "Doing what, Mallory?"

  "Michael, don't torment me. You know I'm not accustomed to—"

  He bent down, his lips brushing hers and then settling into a long, drugging kiss. All the while, he was unfastening the back of her gown.

  He kissed her throat, her cheek, and nipped her ear while she collapsed weakly against him. "Now do you know what I want from you, Mallory?"

  It suddenly became clear to her, and with that realization came pain. "You want a son," she whispered.

  She couldn't see the disappointment in his eyes.

  "I want many sons, Mallory, will you give them to me?"

  "That's why you married me so quickly," she said as her mind began to clear. Why hadn't she seen it then, it was there before her eyes. "You didn't marry me to save my reputation, you thought you might die, and you wanted to get me with child."

  His voice was deep as he slipped her gown off her shoulders. "Does it matter why I married you? I wanted you then, I want you now."

  "I'll give you your son, Michael. I suppose I owe you that much."

  His lips brushed the hollow of her shoulder, and he laced his hands through her hair, untangling the curls. "And I, sweet Mallory, what shall I give you?"

  "A family," she said as he lifted her into his arms and settled her on his bed. "I want to belong to this family."

  He came down beside her, his hand trembling as it slid over her hips, pushing her underclothing aside. "Then come to me." He settled into her softness, and his body shook with emotions he couldn't understand. "Come to me, and I'll fill you with sons, Mallory."

  "Michael, I—"

  "Shh," he whispered, "don't deny me. "I will have you every night, and when we dock in England, you will be carrying my seed."

  He wasn't saying the words she longed to hear, but his hands burned into her flesh, and his mouth was draining her of denial.

  With a forward thrust, he robbed Mallory of her reasoning. With his hands, he guided her hips so that she met his sensual movements.

  Oh, how she wanted to have his son, to carry within her that part of him that no other woman could give him, a legitimate heir.

  "Fiery little redhead," he whispered, "you do take my breath away."

  She felt a building pressure and gasped when her body trembled and quaked. Wave after wave of wild sensations exploded within the deepest core of her body, and she clutched at Michael, trying to hold on to him. In her mind, she touched the sky, the stars, the moon, before she settled back into the bed.

  He rubbed his mouth against hers. "I chose well for the mother of my sons. You have fire in your blood, Mallory. With you I could spend my life in bed."

  Her mind was slowly clearing, and she realized she was just an instrument to him—a receptacle to carry his seed and give him sons.

  "There is one more thing I want from you," he said, pulling her head into the light and staring into her softened eyes. "And this one is the most important."

  "I can't imagine what that could be, Michael."

  "When you know, you will tell me."

  He was a mysterious man with great depth, and she doubted she'd ever understand him. Her hand moved over his back, and she felt the scars there. With tears in her eyes, she kissed the scar that ran across his shoulder.

  He pulled her to
him and stared into shimmering eyes. "Do you weep for me?"

  She turned her head away. "I cry for innocence lost, Michael."

  "Yours or mine?"

  "I wonder if you were ever innocent."

  "Perhaps more so than you know. If only we'd met before Egypt, you would know how I've changed."

  His hands were again moving across her body, sliding delightfully, arousing, pulling her beneath him. His kisses were drugging, and he knew just what to do to make her want him.

  Mallory willingly gave herself to her husband. As long as he needed her, he would keep her with him. She wouldn't allow herself to think past the day she gave him a son and he no longer needed her.

  * * *

  Kassidy removed her gown and draped it over a chair while her husband reclined on the bed, watching each movement. "Raile, something is wrong with Michael and Mallory. They don't act like two people in love."

  He watched her unpin her hair, and a curtain of gold fell to her shoulders. "Not everyone is as fortunate as we are, Kassidy. And don't forget, you didn't love me when we were first married."

  She backed up to him so he could unhook her pearl necklace. "It's more than that, Raile. Mallory is so sweet, but she never smiles. And Michael—well, he's not the son I raised. Sometimes, when he thinks no one is watching, I see such ... remorse in his eyes. What could it be?"

  Raile dropped her pearls on the bed, and pushed her hair aside, his lips brushing against the nape of her neck. "Must we talk about this now, Kassidy?"

  She sat on the bed, her eyes troubled. "Yes. I want to know what happened to my son in Egypt. I don't mean about the beating he took from Sidi. I see cynicism and a hardness in his eyes that wasn't there before."

  Raile had been dreading this moment, for he had known his wife would begin to question the change that had come over their son. A man could better understand what Michael had been through—war, fighting, killing. Did a man ever forget the faceless, nameless men he'd killed in battle?

  He took her hand and laced his fingers through hers. "Michael has faced death, Kassidy. He's killed men—he'll never be the same. As his mother, you should never ask him about what happened in Egypt. If he wants to tell you, that's another matter, but don't ask him. Our son is strong, Kassidy. Stronger than even I had imagined. He did the impossible and won, but not without it taking something out of him. He will need time to put all this behind him."