“It will eat at me, Tormand. It will slowly destroy me and whatever good we might share. And what will I have left in the end but a shattered heart, mayhap a deep bitterness inside of me that darkens my every thought and sharpens my every word. I can see it as clearly as the strongest of my visions. I love ye and I love Walin, but I could end up making us all so verra unhappy.”
Tormand stared at her as she sat down and buried her face in her hands. For a moment all he could think about was that she loved him. Then the sound of her weeping broke him free of the spell of those words. He sat down beside her, ignoring how tense she was as he pulled her into his arms, and kissed the top of her head.
“All ye say is true, lass,” he said quietly. “I have seen far too many marriages such as ye have just described to argue it. But this time your vision is all wrong.”
“Tormand,” she began to protest even as she began to relax in his arms.
“Nay, now ye will hear me out. Ye didnae have one verra important fact when ye thought this all out so verra carefully. I love ye. That is why ye will marry me.”
He smiled when she lifted her head from his chest to look at him. Her beautiful eyes were puffy and her nose was red from weeping, but he still thought her the loveliest woman he had ever seen. She also looked dazed. He felt that it was an appropriate reaction to the words he had never spoken to another woman.
“Ye love me? Are ye sure?” she asked, even as a still sane part of her declared that that was a foolish question.
Tormand brushed his lips over hers. “Verra sure.”
“Oh, then, aye, I will marry ye.”
“I am pleased that ye have finally come to your senses.”
Before she could scold him for that remark, he kissed her. Morainn was quickly swept away, the fierce hunger of his kiss rousing her own greed for him. She barely noticed when he picked her up in his arms and strode toward the cottage. Her mind was too full of those three little words that put everything in her world to rights. It was not until she was on her bed, naked, and she was watching Tormand rapidly shed his clothes that she regained a few of her scattered wits.
“Walin?” she asked even as she welcomed Tormand into her arms.
“Will be staying at my house until I return a betrothed mon. And, now, I believe we will take some time to celebrate our betrothal.”
Her laughter was swiftly ended by his kiss that proved to be only the beginning of his sensual assault. He caressed and kissed her everywhere, making her feel both beautiful and treasured in a way he had never done before. Morainn did not shy away from any of his attentions, but reveled in them. His vow of love had loosened the last restraints upon her modesty in the bedchamber. The freedom she now felt to fully express her passion for him only heightened her desire.
When he shifted his body in preparation of uniting them, she pushed him onto his back and began to return the homage he had done her in full measure. Tormand made no secret of the pleasure he felt with her every kiss, her every caress. Morainn felt almost light-headed from the freedom he allowed her to do whatever she wanted with him and from the knowledge that she had the touch needed to make a man like Tormand squirm.
She started to kiss and lick her way back up his body when he suddenly turned, pushing her onto her back. He eased himself inside her so slowly that she was nearly ready to scream out her frustration by the time he was lodged deep inside her. When he did not move, she looked at him and saw how bright with love his beautiful mismatched eyes were. He held her gaze as he began to move inside of her and Morainn watched his eyes grow soft and cloudy as he neared his time of release. As her own passions rose toward that pinnacle, she finally closed her eyes. Wrapping her legs more tightly around him, Morainn clung to Tormand as she joined him on that wild tumble into bliss.
Still deep inside of Morainn, Tormand had to struggle to find the strength to turn onto his back. He pulled Morainn along with him, smiling faintly at the way she sprawled on top of him, boneless in her satisfaction. Idly smoothing his hand up and down her slim back, he had to wonder how he would have survived if she had said that she did not love him and that that was why she could not marry him. He thanked God he had not had to know how that would have felt.
Morainn felt her breathing even out just as Tormand’s manhood softened and slipped out of her. She almost grinned. She was sated with the pleasure he had gifted her with and so dazed with love, she could barely move and yet she wanted him back inside her. Since that would require some movement on her part, she decided to let him rest.
“When did ye first ken that ye loved me?” she asked him as she nuzzled her cheek against his chest.
“Ah, weel, do ye want to ken just when I suspicioned it or when I was certain of it?” He grinned when she gave a soft grunt of annoyance.
“I never just suspicioned; I kenned it and verra quickly too.”
“Weel, ye are a woman and women are always more certain about such things. I also felt I was too young to settle yet. I fought it hard. Despite having been celibate for four months—”
Morainn rapidly lifted her head off his chest and stared at him. “Were ye truly celibate for four months?”
“Do ye have to make that sound as if it is akin to the second coming?” he grumbled and then sighed. “Aye, I just stopped. Told myself that I just needed a rest and ignored the voice in my heart that told me I was sick of the game, even a little sick of myself. That didnae mean I was ready to find a wife and all of that though.”
“Of course not,” she murmured, propping her head up on her hand and watching him.
“I had a lot of reasons for why I felt what I did when I first looked into your eyes. Had a lot more for why I couldnae seem to go a day without trying to see ye again. I think ye can see how that game was played.”
“Aye, I did a wee bit of it myself when I first started to feel, weel, something for ye.”
“I kept thinking I should get as far away from ye as possible, but I couldnae. Then I didnae even think of it anymore. Then I started calling ye my woman in my head. Still kept fighting it, however.”
“Stubborn.”
“Verra. But when those bastards took ye, intending to hurt ye and kill ye, I kenned it. Nay, I admitted it to myself. The way I felt when I thought I might nay be able to save ye from them—” he took a deep breath and briefly hugged her tightly.
“I suffered much the same, just kenned what I was afraid of earlier than ye did. Why did ye think I let ye into my bed? Me who has held off so many over the years either with a knife, an ability to run verra fast, or a vicious cat?”
He laughed softly. “I did think on why ye would have gifted me with your innocence, weel, once I got over the urge to preen some like cock on a hill.”
“I suppose we should return to your house and tell everyone what has been decided. I have the feeling they are all waiting for that news.”
“Without a doubt.”
Tormand kissed her and then rose from the bed to get his shirt. As he picked it up he saw the packet Adam had given him and sat down on the bed next to Morainn, who was taking her time getting up. Silently he held it out to her, curious but knowing that it was really hers to open.
Morainn sat up and took the packet from him. “What is this?”
“Your brother said that once we were betrothed I was to give that to ye.”
Wondering if Adam had gifted her with a small dowry, she opened the packet. Her eyes widening so much they actually stung, she looked over the documents—twice. Even then she found it hard to believe.
“He has given me the cottage,” she said. “And some land.”
Tormand took the papers she held out to him. “Weel, ye ken that I would have taken ye if ye had naught but a shift, but this is good of him.” His words choked to a halt as he read the documents. “Some land? Jesu, Morainn, did ye ken how many acres came with this cottage?”
“Nay.” She looked down at the paper she had kept, unfolded it and read her brother’s message. “H
e says this was the dowry his mother brought to her marriage and he had intended to give it to me, but then decided it was best given as a dowry.” She read the last two sentences her brother had written before slashing his signature at the end and blushed. She had been right to think Adam had a few secrets, for he had obviously had a little peek into the future. “He says that, if ye have lands of your own, this will be a good holding to pass on to one of your sons.”
“One of my sons? Weel, I suppose we may have a son and there is also Walin to consider, but, to be honest, I have coin, but I am land poor. But, if ye are uncomfortable in taking such a gift, we dinnae need it.”
“Nay, I will take it if only because he already planned to give it to me and I believe he has enough that I will nay be depriving any children he may have. But what of your house in town?”
“’Tis my family’s, nay mine. We have one in every town the court spends any time in.” He put his arm around her and looked into her face, seeing that she looked a little uneasy. “If ye have no trouble accepting this then why do ye look so, weel, uncomfortable?”
“Because I think I may have gotten my ability to see things in some part from Adam’s father.” She held out the letter. “Read his last sentence.”
Tormand read it and gaped. “Twins? Eight months from now?” He looked at her. “Are ye with child?”
“Nay that I ken yet, but it is certainly possible. So, do we name the firstborn Adam as he asks?”
Tormand laughed and pushed her back down on the bed. “We celebrate and, mayhap, do our best to make sure he is right in what he sees ahead for us.”
“Sinful mon,” she murmured.
“Aye, but only yours. All my sinning will now be done only with ye.”
“Weel, I am verra glad ye said that, for I had a fear that ye might have become completely reformed.”
“Never. I have just discovered that love makes a little sinning so much more exciting,” he whispered against her lips.
“Aye, my love, it does indeed.”
Morainn held him close, but she was smiling in her mind. She would tell him later that her brother did indeed have a gift. His prophecy for them matched a dream she had had. As she fell beneath the spell of the pleasure he gave her, she decided she would wait before she told him that the soon-to-be-born twins would just be the first of eight boys. The man did not need to be put into a panic yet.
Greetings Readers:
For those of you who have been faithfully reading my Highland tales and the never-ending travails of the prolific Murray clan, the bad news is—I’m taking a little break from the braw Highlanders. For those of you who may be upset by this news, the good news is—I’ll be back with more Murray stories in a little while. After ten years of writing about the Murrays and their extended family, I wanted a breather to do something just a little different. And for those of you who might be tensed for some great dramatic change—breathe. It’s still me and I’m still doing historicals, but for just a little while I’m traveling to England and the Late Georgian period.
This trilogy will concern two connected families: the Wherlockes and the Vaughns. Their families are riddled with people with strong psychic gifts. You name it—they’ve got it. Considering how people with such gifts were often treated, it’s no surprise that they’re a reclusive and troubled lot. In the three stories, I will introduce you to three cousins in these families: Chloe Wherlocke, Penelope Wherlocke, and Alethea Vaughn Channing. I hope you enjoy them as much as I enjoyed writing about them.
Best
Hannah Howell
Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek of Hannah Howell’s
IF HE’S WICKED, coming in June 2009!
Prologue
England—Fall 1785
“Damn it, Tom, the woman is dying.”
Tom scowled down at the pale woman lying so still on the tiny bed. “She is still breathing.”
“Barely.”
“Just worn thin from birthing is all, Jack.” Tom picked up the swaddled child that rested in the woman’s limp arm. “Poor wee mite. Throttled by the cord, it looks like. Well, come on then, Jack, set that lad in this one’s place.”
“I hate this, Tom.” Jack gently settled the peacefully sleeping newborn he held next to the woman. “’Tain’t right. “’Tain’t right at all. The poor lass has no strength to care for the mite. He will be dying right along with her. Mayhap we could—”
“You just stop right there, Jack Potter,” Tom snapped. “You be forgetting what happened to Old Melvin when he tried to say no to that bitch? You want your bones tangled up with his in that pit? ’Course this ain’t right, but we got no choice. No choice at all. Better the wee lad dies, than gets reared up by that woman, I says. Or e’en murdered by his own mam.”
“His lordship’d take good care of the lad.”
“His lordship is blind to what that woman is and you be knowing that. Now, let us be gone from here. The bitch wants this poor dead babe in her arms ere his lordship returns and that could be soon, as he sent word that his wife had been brought to the birthing bed hours ago. The fool who did that will be fair sorry, I can tell ye,” Tom muttered and shook his head.
Jack started to follow Tom out of the tiny, crude cottage, but then hesitated. “I will come with you in a blinking, Tom. I just—”
“Just what? We have to go now!”
“I just want to make ’em warm and comfortable, give ’em a fighting chance, or I will ne’er rest easy.”
“Hurry then or soon we be both resting easy right alongside Old Melvin.”
After making a fire and covering the woman and child with another thin blanket, Jack looked around to make certain Tom was not watching him. He took a sheath of papers from inside his old coat and hastily tucked them beneath the blankets. When he looked at the woman again, he started in surprise. She was watching him.
“Your babe will have a fine resting place,” he whispered. “I hate doing this, I surely do, but I got me a wife and five wee ones. Aye, and I be a coward when all be said and done. That vile woman would ne’er hesitate to kill me if I ruined her evil plans. If ye can, take them papers and hide them well. If his lordship survives all his wife’s plots, he will be wanting his son and them papers will be all the proof he will be aneeding from you. ’Tis as much as I and a few others dared to do, sorry poor help that it is. I will pray for you, missy. You and the lad here. Aye, and I will pray for meself as well, for I have surely blackened my soul this day.” He hurried out of the cottage.
After waiting a few moments to be certain the men were gone, Chloe Wherlocke crept out of the niche by the fireplace where she had hidden herself when the men had ridden up to the door. She moved to kneel by her sister Laurel’s bed and stared at the child she held, the living, breathing child. Touching the baby’s soft, warm cheek, she looked at her sister, grief forming a tight knot in her throat. Laurel was dying. They both knew it. Yet, her sister smiled at her.
“’Tis just as you foresaw it, Chloe,” Laurel whispered, weakness and not a need for secrecy robbing her of her voice. “Life appearing in the midst of death is what you said.”
Chloe nodded, not at all happy to be proven right. “I am so sorry about your child.”
“Do not be. I will join him soon.”
“Oh, Laurel,” Chloe began, her voice thick with tears.
“Do not weep for me. I am ready. In truth, I ache to be with my love and our child. My soul cries out for them.” Laurel lifted one trembling, pale hand and brushed a tear from Chloe’s cheek. “This is why I lingered on this earth, why I did not die soon after my dear Henry did. This child needed us to be here, needed my son’s body to be here. I recovered from that deadly fever because fate required it of me. My little Charles Henry will have a proper burial. A blessing, too, mayhap.”
“He should not be placed in the wrong grave.”
“It matters little, Chloe. He is already with his father, waiting for me. Now, remember, you must make it look as i
f this child died. Be sure to mark the cross with both names. Wrap the bones we collected most carefully. Ah, do not look so aggrieved, sister. Instead of being tossed upon a pile, as so many others dug out of the London graveyards are, that poor child we gathered will have a fine resting place, too. Here in the country we are not so callous with our dead, do not have to keep moving the old out of the ground to make room for the new ’Tis a fine gift we give that long dead babe.”
“I know. Yet, throughout all our careful preparations I kept praying that we were wrong.”
“I always knew we were right, that this was a fate that could not be changed by any amount of forewarning. I will miss you, but, truly, do not grieve o’er me. I will be happy.”
“How could a mother do this to her only child?” Chloe lightly touched the baby’s surprisingly abundant hair.
“She cannot bear his lordship a healthy heir, can she? That would ruin all of her plans.”
When Laurel said nothing more for several moments, Chloe murmured, “Rest now. There is no need to speak now.”
“There is every need,” whispered Laurel. “My time draws nigh. As soon as I am gone, see to the burial, and then go straight to our cousin Leopold. He will be waiting, ready to begin the game. He will help you watch over this child and his father, and he will help you know when the time is right to act against that evil woman and her lover.” Laurel turned her head and pressed a kiss upon the baby’s head. “This child needs you. He and his poor love-blind father. We both know that this boy will do great things some day. It gives me peace to know that my sorrows are not completely in vain, that some good will come out of all this grief.”
Highland Sinner Page 28
