Dust burst around her rescuers’ heads. They stiffened but didn’t retreat.
Brian promptly rolled over and brought his rifle up. He began to fire rapidly at the hidden enemy.
Brian’s father came up onto his knees, exposing himself to the bullets.
No, no, no! She couldn’t let this be for naught.
The heavy coil bounced heavily off the rock and landed in front of her.
Meredith gulped, her father’s heavy brooch rolling over her throat. She might be able to help the serfs or she could definitely build a life with Brian. But that life would be something her father would recognize, filled with good conversation and literature and laughter. Maybe that was why she didn’t trust it.
Perhaps that was why she should.
She picked up the rope and dropped it over her head before she could have second thoughts. She yanked it taut, wincing when the rope cut into her breasts through her clothes. Then she gripped the heavy leather belt holding her skirt and closed her eyes.
An instant later, her feet were ripped off the ground and her stomach rushed for her throat. Fireworks were launched more slowly.
She swung, spinning like a whirligig, back and forth in great parallel arcs. Morro was barking encouragement from somewhere.
She gritted her teeth and squeezed her eyes more tightly shut, determined not to look at the gorge.
Marriage would be easier than this.
Another hard yank and she surged upward again. Her shoulder banged hard against unyielding rock. She spun again more wildly, bouncing out again into the wild winds over the abyss.
She started to release her belt so she could defend herself against the cliff. The rope slipped, burning into her armpit.
No! She knotted her fingers into the leather and the tweed underneath. Safety depended on gripping her belt—and how well the modiste had stitched the skirt’s loops.
BAM! Her hat blew off her head and the winds began to pick apart her hair.
Somebody was shooting at her while she was hanging there, helpless as a target at a shooting club.
BAM! Fire burned into her left arm.
Spenser slid into place beside Brian, his Winchester in his hands.
No time to argue now about Mother needing help with the horses or find out if the kid had learned to shoot well enough for this. Right now, he just needed covering fire. “Two snipers in the chimney.”
“I see ’em. You take the Russian.” Spenser’s rifle settled easily into his shoulder. He squeezed off his first shot, splitting chips off the rock next to one sniper.
Brian rolled away, satisfied, and focused on Meredith.
Father and Marlowe pulled again, yanking her up another few feet. Sazonov had clambered over the boulder and had a clear shot at her. But he’d already missed two easy shots, so he might not be able to see too well from behind that bandage swathing his scalp. Perhaps Morro had hurt him more than they knew.
Thin thread to pin his hopes on with Meredith’s life dangling in the balance.
He shoved another magazine into his rifle and took careful aim.
BAM!
Sazonov ignored him. Instead he fired again at Meredith, protected by the great boulder.
Dammit, he couldn’t reach far enough forward to fire down at the bastard. He’d have to make it onto that spur to get a good shot. Who cared about what that position did to his chances for coming back, as long as it helped Meredith’s?
Time stretched, slowing his pulse. The shots spitting up dust around him seemed to be very far apart.
Brian lunged onto the rock knob, gritting his teeth at how it swayed under him. He dragged his Mauser forward and slowly brought it up to his shoulder. The rock rippled but finally steadied. He dug his toes into the ledge behind him, grateful he’d had his rifle shortened to something useful for a horseman. Sweet singing Jesus, he didn’t want to be carrying any extra weight right now.
The icy winds sawed at him, trying to suck his body forward into oblivion.
Sazonov looked up at him, a killer’s lust bright on his face. He deliberately worked the bolt, sending another round into the chamber, and took careful aim.
BAM! BAM! They fired simultaneously.
Chips exploded out of the spur below Brian.
Sazonov fell forward onto the boulder, a small crimson hole in his forehead. His heavy Mosin-Nagant rifle slipped sideways off his shoulder, overbalancing his corpse. It slid off the rock like an enormous, broken doll, onto the ledge, and rolled into the gorge. Heavy thuds marked its disappearance, barely audible over the whistling winds and gurgling waters.
Two bodies were slumped in the chimney, silent testimony to Spenser’s expertise with a rifle.
Two strong hands seized Brian’s ankles and yanked him to safety.
He gave Spenser a quick nod of thanks then rolled to help bring his darling over the ledge onto safety. Blood streaked her face and dripped onto her jacket.
He brushed it away, his hand shaking. “Meredith, darling, how badly are you hurt?”
Her beautiful gray eyes blinked open. With a glad cry, she fell forward against his shoulder and buried her face against him.
However pleasant that felt, he needed to check her face. “Sweetheart,” he crooned. “Please let us take care of you.”
“Your jacket is bloodstained now.” Her voice was muffled.
“Do you think I care?” His father handed him a wet handkerchief and he gave it to her.
“No.” She sat up and he began to gently wash her face. Morro butted his way onto her lap. She tried to pet him, flinching when she used her left arm.
The world spun around Brian. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, she was bleeding there, too. He gritted his teeth and tried to speak normally. “Please let my mother look at your arm, Meredith.”
“It hurts,” she whispered and held out her blood-soaked arm.
Sazonov had died far too quickly.
He begged his mother for help with his eyes and Father fetched Mother’s omnipresent first aid kit from her horse, his expression very thoughtful. Marlowe and Spenser, their rifles at the ready, edged forward to spy on Sazonov’s remaining companions.
Meredith buried her face against Brian’s shoulder while her sleeve was cut away. He clumsily stroked her hair and made soothing sounds while Mother tended to her. He could not, would not believe anything could happen to her now, not with his family to protect her and when they were so close to Switzerland. Not when they had the rest of their lives before them.
He ruffled Morro’s fur, silently reassuring them both.
“It’s a nasty graze but nothing too alarming,” Mother pronounced, firmly tying off the bandage. “But you need a good meal and some rest, to say nothing of a bath.”
“The other men are racing back down the mountain,” Marlowe reported. “We’re free to head back to Switzerland.”
Brian traced Meredith’s mouth with a fingertip and she kissed it.
“Will I be scarred?” she whispered.
“I don’t give a damn.” She wouldn’t, judging by Mother’s signal, but he didn’t care either way.
“That wasn’t my question,” she snapped, recovering more of her spirits.
“It’s the only important answer.”
“Oh.” She thought some more. She still hadn’t looked directly at Father but that would come in time. She caught Brian’s hand. “Will you marry me?”
Joy burst through his veins.
“Yes, of course. How about today?”
She began to giggle, a sound he’d never expected to hear from her. “Whenever you’d like, if you plan the wedding.”
He’d plotted the answer to this on that interminable train ride, dreaming it would be an elopement.
“Scotland then. It’s your home and we can arrange everything very quickly there.”
Saint Andrew’s Metropolitan Cathedral, Glasgow,
Scotland, three weeks later
Meredith bounced a little, marking time to the organ music. Prof
essor Aubrey patted her hand reassuringly and she forced herself to calm down, assuming the expected outward semblance of a decorous maiden.
The Donovans had somehow managed to persuade the chair of her father’s old department at Oxford to give her away. He truly was the closest person she had to a father figure for this occasion, especially since he’d been one of her father’s fellow professors. He’d already shared some delightful stories with her.
He’d been especially delighted to learn her husband was also a Roman Catholic, thus sharing her and her father’s faith.
Morro was waiting on the church porch, neatly groomed for once. He’d even tolerated a white satin bow for the occasion.
The organ eased to a stop, gathered itself, and launched into Handel’s La Rejouissance’s beautiful opening chords. A smiling, black-clad priest opened the heavy, carved doors to the sanctuary and Meredith’s future with Brian.
She started forward, trying to match Professor Aubrey’s conservative pace.
Rippling stone columns rose around her, leading to the arches vaulting over the ceiling high above. Great panels of stained glass poured light over the altar and those waiting for her.
Brian stood there, with his two younger brothers at his side, and the bishop behind them. His expression was solemn enough for a service in a church that had fought for life in order to serve the workers nearby. Their descendants watched from the pews around her, their clean, well-darned clothes and wide eyes making them look so very similar to her friends in Eisengau.
Brian’s lips curved into a slow smile at the sight of her.
She wanted to run to him and leap into his arms for joy. Soon they’d be united forever. She grinned at him but he couldn’t read her expression at this distance through the heavy lace veil. It matched her very fashionable, very frilly, satin and lace wedding dress, which Viola Donovan had somehow conjured out of Paris. The sleeves were fuller than usual at the top, to accommodate her bandage, although her arm barely hurt any more.
She’d chosen it for him, to emphasize her commitment to him and all that a traditional marriage meant, rather than living together outside wedlock.
His eyes traveled over her, lingering on her tiny waist and swaying hips, the hundreds of pleats frothing along her white satin train’s edges. A month ago, she’d have thrown it at anyone who dared suggest she yield to the male establishment.
His smile broadened into a joyous grin and their eyes met through her veil, shooting her into a joyous leap. Only Professor Aubrey’s quick grab for her wrist stopped her from racing toward the altar like a hoyden.
A gurgle of laughter ran through the assemblage. Brian’s parents were in the front pew, while Mrs. Aubrey was her matron of honor. The American ambassador and his wife were also here, together with Gareth Blackwood and some of her father’s old colleagues. There were just enough of them to add a little extra color among all the gray stones and flowers bedecking the high altar and pews, plus the parishioners’ black clothing.
She didn’t want to think about the strangers, or how closely Blackwood and the American Ambassador scrutinized her. It was time to start her future with Brian, not worry about the past.
The Latin words wove magic around her, tying her to Brian and him to her. She could keep these vows, of fidelity and honor for all time. She loved him with all her heart, no matter what else happened. When he slid the heavy gold ring onto her finger, she rejoiced that he accepted one from her.
Their first kiss as a married couple was very gentle, a sacred pledge for the years to come.
Finally the nuptial mass, including the prayer for Neil Donovan’s safety, was over and it was time to leave for their wedding breakfast. Meredith shook out her skirts, preparing to take back her bouquet.
“Mrs. Donovan.” It was a conqueror’s triumphant growl.
She whirled to look up at him, her long train flinging itself around her feet.
He caught her against him, heedless of her crisply pressed dress. “My Mrs. Donovan.”
His mouth came down on hers and she met him more than halfway, aching to give him everything in her heart.
Meredith glanced around the bedroom one more time, checking to make sure everyone was in place. It was ridiculous for her pulse to be rattling through her veins like a trolley car engine in need of repair. It was even sillier to be shaking so hard she could barely fluff up the pillows.
After all, she and Brian had shared a bed before—and very successfully, too!—although not since they’d left Eisengau. They’d decided to wait until after the wedding, so her arm could heal, and to respect his mother’s feelings. She didn’t think much could shock that lady, who seemed to laughingly tolerate their frequent disappearances to hug and caress each other.
Mr. Donovan was another matter, with his quiet formality toward her and his open warmth toward his sons. She had no idea what to think of him yet. He seemed to be treating her with the same courtesy she’d offer an unhappy, new puppy, although that was an absurd thought.
At least Morro was safely curled up outside the door in his new basket, as he’d done at Schloss Belvedere.
She smoothed out the sheet once again and contemplated the coverlet, brilliantly white in the lamplight. Dearest Brian had brought her to this very fancy hotel, deep in the Scottish Highlands, promising her comfort and complete privacy for anything she wanted. They could open the curtains and enjoy the view of the loch down below or dive under the blankets like a long-time married couple or…
He caressed her shoulders from behind. “Hmm, lace. I love it.”
She turned to face him. “Do you?” She spread her hands, displaying her pleated, embroidered, beribboned, white lace peignoir. “Or is it too overblown, considering we already, ah, know each other?”
“It’s beautiful, as you are, and enhances your charms.” He caught her hands and drew them up to his chest. His gold chain rippled over his collar bone, carrying his crucifix and medals. Other than that, only black silk trousers clung to his form. Her fascinated eyes could find the tempting hollow at the side of his hips, the taut sweep of his ass, the heavy muscles of his flanks. All only barely hidden behind a shimmering veil of rippling black—but much less interesting than the smooth, ivory satin of his bare flesh.
Her knuckles brushed his chest and swept through his hair, caressing him. His skin was warm and soft, luring her more than the greatest books. Her fingers flexed, seeking out the broad span of his heavy muscles.
Her peignoir’s folds whispered against each other, echoing her slightest movements. Her stiff collar rose and fell over her breasts, marking her desperate quest for breath.
He kissed her palms and sought out each finger to suckle. Her breath caught and surged, sparking with lust to match his rhythm.
Her eyelids slid down, allowing her gaze to seek out his fascinating nipples, nestled like small copper coins amid his dark fur. Her knees weakened when he folded back her sleeve and raked his teeth over her wrist. Her pulse skittered frantically, racing into a world where veins carried molten desperation and breathing only added fuel to the flames.
She ran her other hand down his waist to his hip. “I should be cherishing you, not the other way around,” she gasped. Hunger ached and burned, pulsing into liquid fire between her legs.
“I won’t last five minutes if you do,” he countered, his voice all dark, masculine certainty and laughter.
He kissed her thudding pulse and she swayed dizzily.
“Meredith?” He caught her in his arms.
“I’m dizzy with anticipation, love.” She managed to open her eyes and met his brilliant gaze directly, letting him read her honesty. “I feel like a package about to be unwrapped. As if I’m about to be reborn.”
“By all the saints, I don’t deserve you, Meredith. But I swear I’ll love you all my life.”
“As I you.” He rolled his hips against her and her head fell back. She managed to tease him. “And remember to love me with your body as well.”
H
e choked with laughter. “Always.”
She glided her palms up his chest, sensing him through as much of her skin as possible. Oh yes, very hot, slightly sweaty, the curves, the strength. Her man.
She moaned softly, her eyes sliding shut. Heat sparked and flared through her, pulsing between her breasts and her core.
He unfastened her collar, lingering over the fragile ribbons and tiny buttons.
She spanned her fingers over his shoulders, greedily exploring how his muscles met his bones. If she rubbed herself against him, perhaps fire would leap from her skin to his and she could explode.
“Meredith?”
“Hmm?” She stroked his biceps, jumping her fingertips lightly over to his ribcage. Her hips circled, echoing the movement, aching to approach him closer.
“Meredith darling…”
She looked up reluctantly, his blood pounding under her hands. His hips rocked, pushing closer to hers.
“What are you wearing under this?” His voice was a harsh whisper.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing???”
“Except slippers.” Her fingers slipped down the back of his pajama trousers and cupped his beautiful ass. “That’s why there are so many pleats.”
“I take my hat off to good women; they’re more devious than I ever suspected,” Brian muttered. His cock brushed against her belly like a customized invitation to frolic, every time she squeezed his rump.
He kissed her cheek and teased her lips. She sighed and opened to him, forgetting any excuse to delay. Cream heated faster, scenting the room, dripping over her folds. She rubbed herself against him, her aching nipples inciting them both as much as her fingers did.
He kissed her, plunging his tongue deep into her mouth, mating them. His fingers pulled and twisted, desperately seeking and undoing every miniscule button. Finally he yanked the frothy lace down her shoulders where it pooled on the floor.
He lifted her in his arms, stripped the sheets down, and laid her on the bed. She rolled to greet him, desperate to touch him, and found him peeling those silk trousers over his rampant cock. Oh, very definitely yes.
Kisses Like a Devil Page 25
