Baldwin cleared his throat. " 'Tis the princess, sir."
"Princess Rowena," Willie said in an undertone.
"That's my cousin you're talking about bathing and bedding," Jerome said from his stretcher. "The Heiress of Hartzburg."
Douglas gave her an addlebrained grin. "I know perfectly well who she is. She is Princess Rowena of the Pretty Hair. A princess is a good thing—" His grin brightened. "Am I a prince?"
Baldwin chuckled. "The Prince of Port Royal, sir."
"I think His Highness ought to lie down," Rowena said wistfully, peeling his clinging arms from her waist.
He nodded like a clodpate. "I think we ought to lie down, too. I have a stretcher for such a purpose."
Rowena shook her head sadly. "He does not know who I am. Get him on his back and carry him inside."
Douglas dropped down on the stretcher, groaning as if their conversation had drained the last of his strength. He folded his hands over his chest. He looked up with a thoughtful frown. "I know that you are the Princess Rowena, and I, apparently, am a prince. What I do not understand, however, is why we have not yet boarded my ship."
27
"Hold still, Douglas, and let me finish binding your shoulder."
He reached up, chuckling, and caught her finely boned wrist. "I would rather bind you to the bed, Rowena. I would prove to you my virility again. For political purposes."
"Political purposes, is it?"
"We will couple for your country," he said lustily.
"Do I need to summon help?" she said.
"I wish to prove my patriotism, princess." He winked at her with his blackened eye. "I shall be your most loyal subject."
Rowena straddled him and forced him back down onto the counterpane. For about two seconds he pretended to comply. Then he pulled her between his legs, capturing her mouth in a deep kiss that brought complete silence to the room. On his death bed, she thought, this man would be proving himself.
The fat tallow candle on the nightstand cast shadows between the green velvet bed curtains.
Douglas lowered his mouth to the creamy valley of her breasts. His free hand moved up to grip her bottom. This action caused him great pain. He was too much a man, however, to show it.
"The doctor will be here at any moment," Rowena whispered. "You are the worst patient I've ever seen, and Frederic and Jerome aren't any better."
He hooked his ankle around her stockinged calf, pinning her beneath him. She sighed in momentary surrender. Her hair had gotten wrapped around his muscular forearm. The weight of his groin, its warmth and vitality, pressed against hers. Delicious impulses sparked deep inside her.
"Pirates do not make good invalids," he said, his black gaze glittering. "We chase women around on our wooden legs and ogle them under our eye-patches. Once we get our hands on a genuine prize like a princess, our evil knows no end."
"You're dripping that vile poultice on my petticoats," Rowena said.
He brushed his unshaven jaw across the cleft of her breasts. "Take them off. And the poultice."
"Mrs. MacVittie is waiting for me to come down to supper," Rowena said primly, suppressing a shiver of pleasure. "Your men have been working on their manners for the wedding feast, and want to show off."
"Why does the very prospect send a chill of terror down my spine?" Douglas said.
"I've no idea." Rowena smiled. "They're the most darling men. Now be a good pirate, and lie still. When we're done, you can wear the lace sling Hildegarde made for you."
Douglas sat up in horror, spilling Rowena to his side. "A lace sling? My men will laugh me into the loch."
"Not after the way you fought three days ago," Rowena said. "Are you certain you should not remain in bed another week, my lord?"
"I need to prepare myself to rescue your father, Rowena. Lying in a bed weakens a man."
Rowena compressed her lips. Douglas would not be rescuing anyone, but his pride probably was not ready to accept this sad fact. Still, her papa needed someone's help, and she could not remain in this castle much longer than it took for travel arrangements to be made.
Douglas fixed her with a baleful glare. "There is nothing wrong with me. Good God. I can most assuredly withstand a walk to the supper table."
"Do you want your crutches?"
"Crutches? I do not need crutches."
To prove this point he vaulted off the bed and executed a series of deep-knee bends. For a terrible moment he thought he might have to grab the bedpost for support. His head spun like a top. His heart pounded.
"There. I told you." He schooled his grimace of agony into a smile as every muscle and bone in his big body throbbed in rebellion. Lord, was there an inch of his flesh that did not ache? And his feet hurt, for the first time in his life. His blessed feet were killing him!
"I have conquered Spanish garrisons and captured galleons, Rowena. A little tussle won't stop me."
"You brought down seven men in that hut, my lord."'
"Seven?" Was that all? he wondered. Hell, to judge by his groaning bones he would have sworn it had been at least fifty. Ah, well, he had won the fight. Neacail was dead, and Douglas did not look like such a daisy. He had kept his promise to Dunmoral, and to himself. He would heal, his desire for Rowena a potent medicine. He would marry her and concentrate on the happy business of begetting heirs. In a hurry.
"Now all we have to do is rescue Papa, reclaim his power, and round up the insurgents who threaten Hartzburg," Rowena said.
Douglas frowned. "Well, what are we waiting for?" He headed dizzily for his wardrobe. He would not lead a rescue in his nightshirt.
"You're in no condition to command an army, my lord." Rowena winced as he limped past her, banging his bandaged knee on the dressing table. '"I must find another man to rescue Papa."
He skewered her with a dragon scowl. "Upon my corpse, woman."
"If you force that battered body of yours into another fight, then dropping dead at my feet is a distinct possibility."
"I conquered Spanish garrisons with a concussion, Rowena."
"Ten years ago, my lord."
"Ten?" Douglas said in astonishment. "How the devil do you know? 'Twas three at most."
"Ten, Douglas. I have memorized the date and place of most of your daring exploits."
He fought a wicked urge to push her down on the bed and throw himself upon her. Except that he suspected he might not have the strength for it. Had he broken his bloody kneecaps?
"My wounded warrior," Rowena said with a gentle smile. "My dragon in bruised scales. I shall pray that your body mends."
Douglas grunted, sinking down on the bed. "Stop that embarrassing prattle, Rowena. I need a mere day or two to heal before we travel to Hartzburg."
"Let us see if you can make it to the supper table first, my lord."
He pulled himself up by the bedpost. Then he drew her back against him, locking her arms in his hand without any effort at all. His other hand busily began to unbutton her gown. He untied her chemise and petticoats next. Rowena stared down in disbelief at the pool of silk and muslin that imprisoned her. With a wicked grin he removed his shirt.
His voice was a seductive whisper. "You cannot refuse me, Rowena."
It was, unfortunately, true.
Shivers ran down her spine as she felt his erection pressing against her bare buttocks. Then he began pinching her nipples between his callused fingertips. The muscles of her belly tightened. She felt a shameful dampness between her thighs.
"I love the way you respond to me," he said in a ragged voice.
She was too embarrassed to say anything. She just squeezed her eyes shut as he pulled her down on the bed, his big body looming over hers. He brushed his mouth back and forth across her distended nipples, and it felt so wickedly good, she wanted to die. He ran his hands over her naked curves. He probed her secret places with his fingertips until she couldn't hold still. She had to strain upward to feel him. She needed him deep inside.
He penetrated
her slowly at first. He pressed inside, then withdrew in a rhythm that drove them both wild. But she was so tight and willing that he soon began to thrust, sliding his hands under her bare white bottom to bring her closer. Pleasure streaked through his groin as she stretched to accept his pulsing staff. He released a deep growl of domination.
He possessed her, not once but twice, proving his power and mastery.
He loved her so late into the night that Frances burned the haunch of venison and ended up making a stew from what she could salvage. He loved her with such abandon that Hildegarde, concerned by her mistress's absence, half-convinced Aidan that the water-horse had reawakened to spirit Rowena away.
He loved her until a cloaked silence fell around the castle, and Rowena, her supple body damp with perspiration, her veins bubbling, could barely heave a sigh of utter contentment.
"And now supper," he said cheerfully, springing out of bed, stretching his abused warrior's body this way and that to impress her with his prowess.
'Twas yet another deception (he felt like death), but Douglas would be damned before he'd sink exhausted back onto that bed. And as he helped his lady dress, he was too much in love, and pain, to hear the sentry's shout of surprise from the watchtower.
He was too engrossed in his princess to realize the threat he had most feared, and temporarily forgotten, was about to come true.
28
Douglas stared with displeasure from the doorway of the great hall. "What lackwit invited all these people here at this hour? I wished to celebrate our betrothal alone."
"I invited them," Rowena said. "These are our dearest friends."
"Friends? These men are pirates. I will not have my future bride subjected to an orgy. My crew cannot behave for five minutes."
The pirates rose respectfully from their benches as Rowena approached the dais. Dainty, Aidan, Shandy, Phelps, Gunther, Baldwin, Willie, Martin, Roy. They were no longer the servants of a Scottish castle. They were an assortment of the roughest, ugliest, raunchiest scoundrels to sail the Seven Seas. Brocaded hats, lace cuffs, knee-high boots, dirks and cutlasses. They had dressed for a royal occasion.
"This is going to be a disaster," Douglas said.
Mrs. MacVittie was present, presumably to orchestrate the debacle. So was the doctor, and Henry, as a representative from the village. Jerome and Frederic hobbled to the table, looking as miserable as Douglas felt.
Douglas sat with a sense of impending doom. In a quarter-hour it would be midnight. He was too much a pirate not to fear announcing his betrothal at the witching hour.
Even though his betrothed had indeed bewitched him.
He studied Rowena with a fierce pride he could not conceal. Candlelight glinted in her hair, drawn in a figure-eight from her face. Gentle amusement moved across her aristocratic features as she addressed his men as if they were her equals. How amazing that he, with his nefarious past and sin-tainted soul, had won her loving heart. There would be no more deception between them.
His smile hardened into a scowl. How could her brothers have allowed such an enchanting creature out into the world to raise an army? Douglas's blood near boiled at the thought of it, his princess leading unprincipled mercenaries into battle.
Of course, as her husband, he would have to help rescue her papa. It looked to be a hell of a honeymoon.
"Ye're in fine shape tonight, sir," Baldwin lied. Douglas fingered his blackened eye, staring down the table at his men in apprehension. No one had stabbed anybody yet, broken wind, or bellowed a bad word. This could not possibly last.
"What is the matter with you?" he asked Willie, who sat red-faced and looking tortured with a waterfall of lace frothing at his throat.
"Gemma's tied my cravat too tight." Willie sounded like a frog with a wheezy windbox. "I can't breathe."
Douglas's startled gaze stopped on Aidan. Aidan with his black shoulder-length hair tortured into lacquered ringlets. "What in God's name happened to your hair?"
"Frances took a pair of curling tongs to it," Aidan said through his teeth.
"Your men are behaving like perfect angels," Rowena whispered in his ear. "But why is your cook standing in the door with such a lost look?"
He reached for his goblet. "She is probably ashamed of what she was."
"Why?" Rowena asked. "Was she a murderer?"
"No. She kept a bawdyhouse on Tortuga. She cared for Gemma when I sailed." He took a deep drink of wine as he remembered those turbulent days. "We were the scum of the earth, princess."
"I want to speak with her," Rowena said. "Summon her here. The woman practically hides under the table when I visit her in the kitchen." Douglas shrugged, then did as she asked. Frances turned pale, reluctantly trudging to the table with her eyes on the floor. She dropped Rowena a shy curtsy.
"Please sit with us, Frances," Rowena said. "I understand you were a nursemaid to his lordship's sister."
"A nursemaid?" Frances said in surprise. "Douglas said that?"
"Take a place at our table," Rowena said firmly. "In my palace, the nursemaid is an esteemed member of the family."
Frances stood there in an agony of longing. "Your Highness," she said, tears burning her eyes. "I can't. I'm a fallen woman."
Rowena smiled at her. "Well, I'm a fallen princess so that makes us a good match. Mayhap my lord and I will have a place for you in our nursery."
"You would trust me with your children?" Frances said in disbelief.
Douglas smiled. "You have a gentle hand and a loud bellow, Frances, both of which are needed skills for the raising of bairns."
"You need only learn to turn a deaf ear to Hildegarde's worries," Rowena added. "No doubt she will lord it over the nursery."
Douglas would have pursued this intriguing interest Rowena had taken in their offspring, but a commotion from his other guests distracted him.
He sneaked a peek at his gold pocket-watch. He'd been wrong. The good behavior had not lasted even five minutes.
Trouble had erupted when Willie took a loud slurp of stew.
"Shut up, Willie," Baldwin said in an undertone. "Ye're offending the princess."
Willie lowered his spoon. "Well, your face is offending the poor woman. I've seen the backside of a baboon that was easier on the eye than your ugly mug."
"That wasn't a baboon's backside you were looking at," Dainty shouted. " 'Twas a mirror."
Rowena rose to her feet to put a stop to this, but Frances, looking mortified, flung her back into her chair. "If you ruin her betrothal dinner, you weasels, I'll throttle the whole bloody lot of you! I've never sat next to a royal princess in my life."
Shandy emptied a pitcher of ale over Frances's head.
Frances picked up a knife.
Douglas leaned back in his chair with a deep sigh of resignation. Salty insults and eating utensils began to sail over his head.
"Is this going to be an orgy?" Rowena whispered as a boot landed in her bowl.
Hr grinned, wrenching her by the hand. He hauled her out of her chair. They broke into a run as four men overturned a bench. "I'm not staying here to find out. Would you like a walk in the garden? Gemma's petticoats are still in bloom."
"Good idea." She stopped to hurl a loaf of bread at the man who'd thrown his boot into her bowl. "Thank you, my lord," she said, hurrying after him. "That was the best formal supper I've ever attended."
Their laughter didn't last long. The kisses Douglas planned to steal in the passageway were thwarted by the jingling of a horseman's spurs and a devastatingly cheerful voice, which Douglas had hoped he would never hear again in his life.
"Is anybody at castle?" the cheerful voice cried.
"My God, 'tis him." His face stark with fear, Douglas pulled away from Rowena as a jaunty figure in a white cloak rounded the corner.
Matthew, with his shaggy blond hair and angelic grin, the other side of Douglas's midnight soul.
"So there you are," Matthew said. "Cornering the kitchen help, are we, brother? Where is everyone?
It took me nigh on a half-hour to stable my horse. This is not what one expects from an earl."
Rowena stepped out from behind the broad shadow of Douglas's back. "Kitchen help," she said indignantly. "I take exception to that."
"Rowena," Matthew said in shock, then chuckled as she launched herself into his arms.
Douglas's mouth tightened as he watched their warm reunion. He wanted to tear Rowena from his brother's embrace, but said instead, "You're the only person in the entire world who could travel from Sweden to Scotland in a white cloak without a speck of dirt upon it. This is unnatural."
Matthew winked at him over Rowena's head. "I changed in the stables. I would not appear before a princess in a disheveled state."
Douglas could not bear it any longer. He pried Rowena from Matthew's embrace, not even pretending to be subtle.
Matthew held out his arms to Douglas. "Congratulations on your newfound respectability, brother. Do you realize that you now outrank me?"
Douglas pointedly ignored the outstretched arms. "For a man with a broken leg you appear to have made an amazing recovery."
"Haven't I?" Matthew came a little closer, examining Douglas's face in the torchlight. "I cannot say the same for you though. Dear me, Douglas. Have we met the wrong end of a battering ram?"
"He rescued his village from raiders," Rowena said, gazing up at Douglas's forbidding face with a concerned smile. "And he refuses to rest abed for a proper recovery."
Matthew stared at them both for several moments, his gaze inscrutable. "I see. Well, perhaps I shall hear this stirring tale of heroism in the morning. For now I need to talk to you in private, Rowena. 'Tis most urgent."
Douglas folded his arms over his chest. He stared down at Matthew with a warning in his black eyes. "There are no secrets between us."
"Not that you know of," Matthew replied, giving Douglas a patronizing pat on the hand. "Do you have a private room that we may use, Rowena?"
Delight Page 20
