"Good God!"
"Right. Only it would be too late to pray to God if that animal got his hands on you."
"Why is he allowed . . ."
"Because it's not against the law to bed slaves, gently or otherwise. Half the men around here figure it's their right. If he's broken any laws, no one will admit to it. He rarely bothers white women, but when it's rumored that he has, nothing ever comes of it."
"Why?"
"Probably because they're too embarrassed to report him."
He reached for her again, dragging her close. His lips never moved as he growled between clenched teeth, "Jesus, when I think what might have happened, I could kill you."
"I don't think so," she said, her voice suddenly breathless, her eyes growing darker than ever as she understood the sudden need in his hungry gaze.
"No? What would I do?"
"You'd kill him"
"Without a doubt. And as slow as possible." His expression softened, and he almost smiled. "The question is, what would I do with you?"
He watched her standing before him and knew a tightness around his heart. He'd never love like this again. This woman gave reason to his very existence. The soft glow of red light from a disappearing sun caressed her skin and hair with fire. Tristan felt his heart squeeze with fear as he imagined how different this day might have ended. If he'd lost her . . . If he'd lost her. . . . He couldn't think beyond that one terrifying thought. He knew a glimpse of agony and an anger unequalled that she could so carelessly cause him suffering.
"This," she said as she moved closer and offered her mouth to his devastating, mind-stealing, bone-melting kiss. The force of his hungry mouth caused her knees to crumble beneath her weight. Her arms came around his neck and tugged him closer, closer.
"God, I was so scared," he groaned against her mouth.
"I'm sorry," she said as his mouth seared the skin of her throat with hot, hungry bites.
His hands were hard against her softness, almost punishing as they moved over pliant flesh. His emotions were raw, his fear having left him without control. "Don't ever do it again. Swear to me you'll never disappear like that again."
"I won't," she gasped between almost violently hungry kisses. "I swear I won't."
Her hands tore at his shirt. Buttons popped from torn fabric, lost forever in the grass at their feet as she leaned eagerly into his kisses.
Tongues entwined: his with a desperate need to forever possess; hers to appease as they sank unknowingly to their knees. His fingers threaded through her hair and pins flew unnoticed to the ground. His fingers twisted the black curls and pulled her face more firmly to his. "I love you," he said, his voice little more than a painful groan as his dark gaze devoured her exquisite beauty. "I love you," he said again as he brought her mouth to his, wondering if he could ever kiss her enough, love her enough, to ease this terrible suffering.
Her hands moved to her blouse and, despite her rumblings, managed to open the garment. Moments later both shift and blouse lay discarded upon the ground as she sensitized her breasts by rubbing them against his naked, hairy chest.
He caught her to him, pressing her tightly against a wall of warm muscle, feeling her breasts flatten, rubbing his hands along her sides to cup the plumped out softness.
"Damn it! I can't go slowly" he gasped as he tore lis mouth from hers. "I'm sorry, Gypsy. I need you so badly. Be ready for me."
"I am," she murmured between fevered kisses as he tore at her belt and pushed her trousers to her knees. "Hurry," she said. "Oh yes, please hurry."
His hand moved between her thighs, and he groaned at the feel of her, hot, moist, and eager for him. Her hips moved forward into his hand, mindlessly seeking more of his touch. In seconds she was on her back, the last of her clothing flung aside as he knelt between her thighs and fumbled with a sense of desperation at his trousers.
Exposed to him, her modesty a thing of the past, she raised her hips invitingly. Her eyes glittered with daring seduction, and she smiled with satisfaction at his low, aching groan. "Oh God, don't," he said to her deliberate taunting. "I'm not going to make it."
His trousers were open at last, pushed down his hard thighs. He couldn't take the time to completely disrobe, his need was too great. All he could think of was the delicious sight of her hips, her wicked, alluring movements, and the need to bury himself deeply inside her luscious warmth.
They cried out in unison as he fused -their bodies together with a feral groan and a savage thrust. It was agony, ecstasy. It surpassed anything he'd ever known in his life.
She groaned and her eyes rolled back at his fierce entry. She'd never known such hunger, such pleasure. Her nails bit into his hips as she urged his powerful movements into untamed fury while a cry of elation tore itself from her throat.
He gave a final lunge and held himself stiffly above her as her body convulsed in endless, earth-moving bliss.
His arms shaking, Tristan collapsed upon her, gasping for air. "You," he breathed in short, gasping breaths, "are the most wonderful, wonderful woman." He groaned again as he felt her body tighten around his sex, and he buried his face into the curve of her neck.
"This wonderful woman has a twig stabbing her rear."
Tristan chuckled. "Shall we compare injuries? I think you drew blood this time."
Meg's eyes widened and a smile teased her mouth. "Did I? How? Where?"
He rolled her to lie upon him. "I'll show you later.
Right now there are other things I'd like to show you."
Meg grinned, looking obviously interested. "What kind of things?"
"The things I have in mind start with a kiss."
"Oh? I'd like that."
"Would you?"
She nodded. "I told you before that I love the way you kiss."
"What else do you love?"
"Beside you?"
Tristan grinned. She couldn't say it enough. He'd never hear it enough. "Besides me."
"I shouldn't tell you. It won't sound very nice."
"Good. I especially love it when you're not nice."
Meg giggled. "All right then. I like — "
"Love," he interrupted. "We were talking about love."
Meg smiled. "I love it when you touch me."
"Where?"
"Everywhere."
"But most especially where?" he asked, his dark eyes bright with interest.
"I know what you want me to say."
"So say it."
"Here," she said as she pressed her hips against his.
"Which do you like best? When I touch you with my hands or my . . . ?"
"Either one!" she said louder than necessary, her cheeks darkening,with color. She didn't miss the twinkle in her husband's eyes. "I think we've covered the subject. Let's talk about something else."
Tristan laughed. "You are the most confusing woman."
"I thought I was wonderful."
"You are. You do the most amazing and delicious things when I get you all excited, but you can't talk about any of it once you have your senses about you
again."
"Tristan" she groaned, growing more embarrassed by the minute.
He laughed. "All right, sweetheart. If you don't want to, we won't talk about it."
"Thank God" she groaned again, never lifting her face from his neck.
"At least not right now." He pressed his growing length deeper into her body. "Sometimes it's better not to talk at all."
It was close to an hour later before they found all their clothing. Giggling, their hair and clothes in disarray, their mouths obviously well-kissed, their eyes glowing with the love they knew for each other, they sneaked back into the house. Using the kitchen and back stairs, they never noticed the knowing smiles of the servants they passed along the way.
Chapter Twenty
They came just before dawn, a stream of constantly moving humanity. At least two and sometimes as many as five to rest, hidden in the barn's loft during the day, only to leave as
night approached with instructions to follow the river toward their next safe house and, Meg prayed, freedom.
Food and drink were supplied in abundance. Clothing, shoes, an occasional coat, and sometimes a coin was pressed into desperately needy hands.
Meg didn't know who sent these pitiful souls her way, nor did she know to whom she sent them. Her aunt had somehow made the contacts, and the slaves simply began arriving.
Night after night the prohibited sound of drums beat in the distance. Messages. Another had gone on to safety, giving hope to those who remained behind. The dogs never stopped their barking. They trekked through dense woods as masters sought a new quarry, and Meg suffered alone the terror of being found out.;
She held no false hope that those in charge would go easy on her because she was a woman. No, they
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wouldn't care about her sex. They'd recognize but one fact. She was an abolitionist, a most hated breed, for abolitionists sought to end a way of life.
It was a fight for survival. And for either side to lose was to forfeit one's life.
A baby! Oh Lord, she was precious. But a baby. Meg hadn't ever planned on hiding an entire family. It was thoughtless of her, of course, but the idea had never occurred. And now that they were here, Meg was terrified. Would her mother be able to keep the child quiet? Or would the infant's cries alert those who never gave up the hunt?
"Can I hold her?" Meg asked the exhausted mother.
The woman nodded, and Meg took the tiny bundle into her arms, holding her firmly against her breast. The fact that the child was wrapped in rags didn't matter. She was a beauty. The perfectly formed miniature features looked more like a doll than a real human being. Meg was positive she'd never seen anything half so wonderful as this warm bundle of tiny humanity. "She's lovely," Meg said as she watched the huge brown eyes open wide, no doubt wondering who it was that spoke.
"She's a good baby. She won't cry."
Meg nodded at the mother's obvious fear of being sent away. The woman's eyes widened, silently begging to be allowed this refuge. "She don't fuss none at all." And if she does?"
"I put her to the nipple. She quiets down."
Meg nodded again. "A man sleeps down there." Meg joked over her shoulder toward Aaron's room in the back of the barn. "You must keep her quiet."
The woman nodded eagerly. "Yes'm." And Meg could only pray she would.
The family left that night, but the next morning a boy came, burning with fever and terribly bruised from an inhuman whipping.
"What happened?" Meg asked the man standing near his son. She was leaning over the boy, wiping at his festering wounds and wrapping them in clean bandages.
"The massa said he took an apple."
Good God! A beating like this for an apple? Meg shuddered at the thought of living under so ruthless a master. "Did he?" she asked, almost automatically.
The man's eyes were lowered to his worn shoes, but he didn't answer directly. "I told him not to do it, but he's always hungry."
Meg muttered an unladylike word as she continued with her chore. "He has a fever. I'll leave you water. Make him take as much as you can. Tonight follow the river that way," she pointed north. "Stop when you can to bathe him."
The man nodded, but Meg knew by the hunted look in his eyes he wouldn't. Couldn't take the time. Didn't dare stop now that they were this close to freedom.
And so it went, day after day, week after week. And Meg discovered that all the stories she'd heard about slavery were all too true.
Meg eagerly ripped open the envelope. Her gaze quickly scanned the contents. An instant later she gave a small cry of delight, twirled in a circle, left the rest of her letters on the table in the hall, and dashed without knocking into Tristan's office. "You'll never guess my news," she said in a burst of delighted laughter as she sat herself upon the papers that covered his desk.
Tristan grinned at the interruption, sitting back in his chair, his knees on either side of her legs. "Then why don't you just tell me?"
"Tristan," she said with a frown. "Guess."
"All right, let's see," he said as his eyes glittered with laughter at her obvious excitement. "You're having a baby."
Meg blinked with surprise and her happy expression grew to one of confusion. "What makes you think that?"
He grinned. 'Jesse can't keep enough food in the larders. I've seen you take enormous amounts myself on your daily rides, and still you eat your regular meals." His gaze moved over her trim form, lingering for a long moment on her midsection. "Is that your news?"
Meg felt her cheeks grow red with guilt. He thought she was having his baby. Lord, if he knew what she did with his food, the man was likely to throw himself a fit. Meg trembled at the thought of an anger so great and wondered if he had the strength to contain it. He'd probably take a stick to her. She looked down at her lap and realized it didn't matter her penalty. There was no way she could or would stop what she'd started. "It's too soon. I don't know for sure."
Tristan laughed. "It's nothing to be embarrassed about, sweetheart. Women have been having babies for some time now."
"I eat a lot when I ride." Meg shrugged. "It's the fresh air, I think," she said, a feeble excuse for her supposed gluttony.
His eyes glowed with pleasure. "When was the last time you had your . . ."
Meg groaned. Her cheeks were on fire as she instantly cut him off. "I can't remember."
"The third week you were here."
Meg blinked in surprise. "You're keeping count?"
"No. I remember because I was dying to have you. And since then I have had you, damn near every night, and there hasn't been a sign of it."
"I don't know."
"Think."
Meg did. A moment passed before her eyes widened as she realized he was right. She hadn't had her monthly flux since the third week she'd come here. And she'd been here almost four months. "But I haven't. . . . Nothing's happened. I'm supposed to be sick, aren't I?"
Tristan shrugged. "Apparently some women don't get sick. But you do have a sign." His gaze moved hungrily to her chest. "You're breasts are bigger."
Meg followed the direction of his gaze and looked at the object in question, realizing, for the first time, why her dress stretched so tightly across her bosom. An instant later she looked back to her grinning husband, laughed with delight as she threw the letter aside and lunged into his outstretched arms, almost knocking the chair over in her excitement. They kissed for endless moments before she pulled back and laughed again
absurdity of a man telling his wife she was having his baby.
"Have you got any other news for me? Maybe you can tell me if it's a boy or girl."
"I believe it will be one or the other," he predicted.
Meg chuckled. "You're probably safe with that guess."
Tristan smiled as he ran his hand under her skirt. "Now that I've told you mine, tell me your news."
"I can't. Not yet. I've got to think about this for a minute." She jumped from his lap and began to pace.
"What?" he asked, puzzled. "What do you have to think about?"
She stopped and turned toward him, leaning over his desk. "Fm having a baby! Isn't that the most exciting thing you've ever heard?"
"I thought it was exciting for weeks. Come back here."
Meg shot him a dark look. "I pray this baby does not have your arrogance." She paused. "The door's not locked."
"I hope it looks like you. With black curling hair in pink ribbon braids. . . . No one would come in here without knocking."
"Braids? I assume you're hoping for a girl, then. . . . It's the middle of the day."
Tristan smiled. "A girl would be nice. Very nice, but what difference does it make what time it is?"
Neither seemed to notice that they were having two separate conversations at the same time.
"How could you keep this from me? Didn't you think I had the right to know?" she said. "One of the hands might come in."
Tristan shrugged as he came to his feet. "I figured you'd notice it sooner or later." He walked across the room. "I'll lock the door."
"Wonderful. And suppose I didn't?" she countered.
"Not being able to fit into your clothes anymore would have given you a clue." His hands reached for the buttons behind her.
"The servants will know what we're doing in here."
"Do you think they believe us when we say we're tired and need a nap in the middle of every day?"
"Lord, I can just see myself waddling around this house wondering why I've grown so fat." She giggled at the nonsensical thought. "You really are a beast. . . . Do you think they know we're doing it?"
Tristan chuckled. "I don't care what anyone thinks."
They were on the small couch at the opposite end of his office, obviously cramped and just as obviously comfortable in holding each other no matter how tightly confined. "That was very good," she breathed against his chest.
Tristan chuckled. "Are we grading performances?"
"No." She giggled at the thought. "But now that you mention it . . ." She let the sentence hang.
"Now that I've mentioned it, you're going to tell me how magnificent I was," he finished for her.
"Magnificent men don't fish for compliments."
"Do you blame me? My wife is so stingy in bestowing them that I find myself begging for an occasional crumb."
Meg laughed at his pitiful lament. "Darling, you were magnificent, and I love you madly," she said as she deposited tiny kisses along his jaw.
"Even though I'm arrogant?"
"I forgive you your arrogance. After all, when one is perfect, they can allow for faults in others."
"Why, you little . . ."
"You told me I was per—" The room exploded with the sounds of her laughter as he tickled her into begging his forgiveness.
Tristan was helping her dress when he said, "You never told me your news."
Meg's eyes sparkled with remembrance. "I told you I couldn't understand why my father and sister hadn't returned home yet."
"Yes?" he said as he slid his hands over her breasts for one final delicious caress before he helped her bring her shift over her head and into place. "Have you found out the cause of the delay?"
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