by Aliyah Burke
Chapter Seven
She walked away from the table before she set a bottle in front of him. It was Irish whiskey. Lucien looked up at her, his face bunched in confusion. “Where did you get this?”
“It was my father’s.”
“Was? Where is your father? Where are your parents?”
“Dead.” She offered nothing else.
Damn it. He wanted some sort of conversation from her. Some kind of emotion. Happiness, anger, sadness. Anything. Something. Not this indifference. He was used to being the cold one who shut people out. People tried to get him to open up, not the other way. They wanted to be the one to ‘tame’ The Black Marquess, the one who broke through the wall that surrounded his heart.
“How did they die?”
Her eyes deepened with grief as she searched for the right word. “Heartache.”
She rose from the table and picked up her cloak. “I will be back later. Can I leave Kosse here with you?”
“Kosse? Who’s Kosse?” He was lost—the conversation had been taken from him again.
“The kitten. Kosse.”
“Sure. No problem.” Lucien kept his own counsel. He might be a rake and a harsh man but even he knew when someone needed to get away. Heartache? What did that mean? He conceded this round to her.
“Faolan.” The word was spoken so soft he wasn’t sure he’d even heard it. The wolf did. He rose and padded over to her side and followed her out into the increasing darkness.
Lucien sat at the table as he stroked the kitten that seemed as confused by the abrupt exit as he was, as he thought about his woman. His woman. There was something about her that made him want to gather her in his arms and protect her, to shield her from the memories that she ran so hard from. He put the dishes in the sink and heated some water. While he was still weak, he found that his strength was rapidly returning to him. She had done a wonderful job of healing him.
Despite the fact that Kosse dodged his footsteps, he did the dishes. He put more water on for some tea. Maybe she would have some more of the one she gave him when he was sick for he would not deny he was a little achy.
Lucien looked at the door and noticed a large pair of boots. They were heavy and the insides were fur lined. He put them on, and while they were a tight fit, they would keep his feet warmer than his riding boots. He noticed his cloak, what was left of it anyway, hanging on a peg as well. It was shredded and he cursed as he realized how close he had been to dying.
There was a man’s heavy coat by the door and he slipped it on. It was again a little snug, but it would work. As he went to open the door, he noticed a cane resting there. It was a deep red color, smooth with figures of running wolves carved on it. The craftsmanship amazed him. He took it just in case he needed some extra help. A gun would have been nice.
As he opened the door, Kosse burst out in front of him and tumbled off the porch into the deep snow. He made the slow journey to take care of his needs. When he was done he spied Kosse who still played in the snow. Kosse lifted his head and bounded off in the opposite direction. Lucien had no choice but to follow.
He struggled through the snow as he wished he were healed all the way, wishing that there were a clear path. It was snowing and he was having a hard time following where Kosse was. In the trees, he realized that he’d lost him. “Damn cat.”
The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he turned his gaze, not in a rushed movement, getting a better grip on the cane, because that was his only weapon. It was Faolan. He relaxed a little. The wolf looked at him and trotted past him and headed off again. Before he was out of sight he angled his head and stared at him with those amber eyes as if to say, Are you coming or not?
Lucien followed the wolf. Faolan went at a pace that made him never disappear out of sight. He came to the clearing of a large meadow. He saw a figure in black as they kneeled in the snow by a headstone.
It was her parents’ grave. He knew it just as he knew his own name. Before he got to her, he cleared his throat so she would know he was there. He noticed Kosse romped beside her.
Ciara rose when he cleared his throat. “I see you found the cane. Good. Come, we should get back. There is a storm coming.”
“Do you think that we could rest for a minute? I wore myself out following that cat of yours.” He gave her a crooked grin to try to lighten her spirits and the somber mood.
She gave a slight one in response. “Fine. Not long, though. I wish to be back before the storm hits. It is going to be a big one. We are going to get a lot of snow.”
“How do you know?” he asked as he collapsed on the ground and tried unsuccessfully to push Kosse off his chest. Although still a kitten, Kosse was strong.
“I have lived here most of my life. I know the weather. It smells differently when there is going to be a big storm like this.”
He sniffed deep and only hurt his lungs. Nope, can’t smell anything except cold. “Is that why you said that I would be here until spring?”
“Yes. In the winter the trek to Paradise Cove would take close to a week. It is too much of a risk, with storms that come up so fast. You could be stranded right by a cabin and die not knowing how close you were to survival. Look at you now, you probably think that you walked a good distance to get here when the cabin is not very far at all. Just with the snow and cold winds, it takes a lot out of you.”
“I feel like I walked a good distance.” Kosse was busy and occupied as the kitten pounced at the cane. He teased the kitten. Lucien pulled it away and dropped it just out of his reach.
“No doubt you do. That is only because you are still weak from all your blood loss.” Ciara approached and held out her hand to him. “We need to go now. Come, I will help you up.”
The devil in Lucien twitched to life. He reached up to take her hand with the full intent to yank her down into the snow with him when she narrowed her eyes and braced herself. “How did you know what I was going to do?” He sounded like a petulant child.
“It was all over your face. You get this devilish glint in your eye.” She pulled him without effort to his feet.
“Saint’s woman, you are strong.” Saint’s woman, my name is Saint and she should be my woman.
“Aye, I am. And it’s a good thing that is so or you would be still lying on the ground.” She turned, gave him his cane and proceeded to walk away. Ciara left him to follow.
Lucien saw she was right, that Kosse had taken a long way to get to her, as the cabin was not that far away. By the time they got there, though, he was exhausted. Ciara looked back over her shoulder at him and flicked her gaze over his body in obvious perusal, making him just about groan aloud with desire.
“Do you wish some assistance?” Her voice came to him.
“Yes.”
She walked back over to him and ducked under his arm. “Lean on me. You won’t crush me.”
He gave her most of his weight and, true to her word, she didn’t fall—she did not really even stumble. As they got to the door he began to pull away so she could open it when she said, “Faolan, door.” By god if the wolf didn’t hit the latch with his muzzle and the door swung open.
She helped him inside to sit on the chair by the fire. She closed the door, and after making sure that Kosse had not gone back out, she took off her cloak and hung it on the hook.
Lucien liked the intimacy this gave him. He removed his boots and set them by the fire to dry out. Faolan lay down and Kosse flopped down next to him. Lucien looked up to see Ciara holding out a cup for him.
“Tea,” she said to his raised eyebrow. “You looked like you were in some pain, so hopefully this will help.”
“Thank you.” He drank the warm brew and enjoyed it, much to his surprise. Before he would not dare drink tea. Hated it. Every time his stepmother wished him to drink it he would have a brandy or something.
She pulled up a cut log and set it between them then brought over another chair. She propped her feet, snug in warm moccasins, up onto the log and
gestured for him to do the same. As she took a drink from her tea she spoke. “Tell me about your family.”
The question startled him. Lucien swallowed hard as all the old resentment came up at the mention of his lands, holdings and such. He started with the stuff that had been drilled into his head to say when asked about his status.
“I am the eighth Marquess of Heartstone and will be the—”
“No,” she interrupted with an unexpected wave of her hand. “I don’t want to hear title stuff. Tell me about your family. Not what you are worth.”
“My family and I don’t get along. We are estranged. My parents, father and stepmother, rarely speak to each other and have affairs with other people. My brother—my stepbrother—despises me because I am to become the duke when our father passes on. He is four years younger than I. Nothing I do is good enough for my stepmother who seems to hate me with every breath she takes.” Lucien didn’t ignore the bitterness in his voice but for once it just was nice to get it off his chest. He glanced at her to see if there was pity in her gaze. There was nothing of the sort. Nothing but assessment.
“My stepmother is a cold, vain woman who wishes me to marry someone like her. A cold, heartless bitch. But one I suppose she can control. I spend my days doing things that will shock them and am usually found in the middle of a scandal. I have a sister but she is different. Her name is Devonna, she is eight years my junior, the one family member that I like but she doesn’t acknowledge me. She spends her days sitting while she stares out of a window, not smiling or laughing. Our mother died when she was born. Of course, in our houses there is not much cause for laughter. I’d say that about sums it up. What about your family?” He looked to see if his language shocked her, but she sat there and listened to him without judgment.
“Well?” he prodded. “Your family?”
A wistful look came across her face. “My father was a farmer and bought my mother as a slave in Ireland. When they fell in love, he freed her and married her. They headed here for America to start over, where I was born. Why they left Ireland, I’ll never know. I do know he wished to return some day.
“My father was a tall man, not as big as you, but close. He had bright red hair and I remember him having a booming laugh. He was a strong man, but gentle. So gentle. My mother had skin the color of mahogany. Her hair was black like ink, but soft as silk. She was tall as well and muscular. Very strong for a woman. I remember teasing Dad that she could beat him up if she wanted to. He would just laugh and say it was only because he could never raise his hand against the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
“He taught me how to hunt, carve and speak his native Gaelic, which is where I get my accent at times. His name was Cormac, Cormac Aiden. My mother claimed that she was an African princess and Dad never argued with her, just said it was probably true. She knew medicines and taught me how to use herbs to help heal the sick.
“She was also one of the gentlest people ever. Never said a bad word about anyone. Unless they badmouthed my dad. Her name was Kerry Jahzara. She taught me to speak in her tongue and so I learned that along with English too. I am sure every now and then I sound like Mama did when she was vexed with Dad.” Her words were not meant to brag, she stated what she knew.
Lucien watched as her face grew soft with love for these people she spoke of.
“We would spend our days outdoors. They helped to found Paradise Cove. But one day we moved away.” Her tone grew sharp, then, as if she remembered herself, she calmed down. “Dad built this all on his own and made several trips to the town to get the things. No one knows where it is. You are the first person to be here.
“Anyway, we weren’t rich but we had love. I learned to be strong and fend for myself. I have many happy memories with my parents.” Ciara got up for another cup of tea. She brought more for Lucien as well.
“I think that is enough about my family.”
Lucien experienced a pang of something, wistfulness perhaps, as he listened to her go on about her family. The love and happiness was something he didn’t know much about. It was no wonder that most of London referred to him as the black sheep. He was a loner because that was what they made him. His parents never had time for him, never showed him love and so as an adult he was the same way. Heartless. Cold. Empty. He didn’t like that revelation.
After he settled back, Lucien rubbed Kosse with his foot. The wind picked up and hammered the side of the cabin with increasing force. It was cozy and warm inside the walls, however, and he was glad to be there. They sat in comfortable silence as she sewed his cloak back up. She brought him more clothes from her father and put them on the bed.
After a while she stood and looked at him from under her lashes. “I will bid you goodnight.”
She got to the door of her room when he stood and spoke. “Wait.”
Ciara turned to face him. She was tall and yet she came only to his shoulder. He stroked one lean finger along the side of her face and lifted her chin to meet his gaze.
When she had said goodnight, Lucien knew he couldn’t let her go just yet. He rose and bade her wait. When she turned he could no longer resist the urge to touch her. He needed to have the silkiness of her skin against his own. Lucien stared into her eyes, eyes the color of whiskey, and he could not stop himself from tasting her.
Their lips met, soft. Gentle. It was a featherlike touch but there was no denying the jolt all the way to their souls. Although he wished for more, Lucien backed off her mouth but stayed that close to her as he whispered, “Goodnight, my lady.”
Ciara backed into her room.
Lucien sat by the fire and tried to control his lust. He had never been so close to taking a woman with a need like this. His breaths became ragged and he banked the fire for the night and climbed into his bed, lying there for a long while before he surrendered to dreams ruled by a bronze-skinned woman who smelled of honey and something else.
* * * *
Lucien woke late warm and toasty under his quilts. The cabin was empty but there was a note on the table for him.
Breakfast in the oven. Kosse’s with us.
He ate alone and afterward he got dressed to go outside. After he opened the door to the cabin, he found a difficult time maneuvering on the porch. The snow was up to his knees there. He saw a shoveled path leading to the outhouse and one to the woodhouse. With the wind, the porch stayed covered as if she had not been there at all with the shovel.
Lucien swore under his breath about the fact that she’d had to do this instead of him while he walked to where the shoveled path ended. Her footsteps were visible in the snow that led to where she had been yesterday. He gripped his cane and plowed after her.
The closer he got, the more he could have sworn he heard voices.
“Easy there,” a voice crooned, husky and making the hairs on his body stand. That was Ciara’s voice. “Easy, boy. That’s right. You are a handsome one, aren’t ya? You know me. Easy now. Let me take care of you. Just a little more, a little harder and then we’re done. That’s my boy. You are fine now. Easy now, don’t fight me. You know me, I won’t hurt you.”
His blood ran hot. What the hell was going on out here? He stumbled around the last tree and into the clearing, his body tense and ready to fight. She was talking to a horse. His stallion. The bay. She worked on his side.
“Ciara. Move away from the horse.”
“Good morning to you too, Wolf. How are you feeling?” She stayed right where she was. Ciara calmed the stallion with a few words when he started to fidget at Lucien’s presence but never once did she look up from her task.
“That horse could injure you. Move away from him.” Fear made his voice sharp.
“This horse was injured.” She patted him on the neck as she spoke to Lucien then the magnificent stallion headed off. She turned her gaze to Lucien. “He will be back, worry not. You will have him by spring. If he makes it through the winter.” She looked at Lucien. Really looked.
Chapter Eight
Gold met brown. Eyes met and held. Kosse broke the spell when he attacked Lucien’s ankle. When he tumbled into the snow, the cat was all over him. Before long, Lucien was actually enjoying himself.
Ciara allowed herself a smile. He was so handsome it made her ache to watch him. She just watched as he rolled the kitten away and as it came back for more he obliged him until they both panted with exhaustion.
A quick glance at the sky told her all she needed to know. “We must get back now. It is going to get very cold.”
Lucien didn’t argue, just reached up a hand for her to pull. When she placed her palm to his, he tugged and she fell on top of him. Her face was scant inches away from his. Their breath mingled and he inhaled her fresh scent along with that of horse on her cloak. Her body was plastered to his. Her legs were inside his muscular thighs and lean hips.
Ciara’s hands were on either side of his neck as she licked her lips and lowered her head unable to keep her lips from his. She groaned as their lips met. Or Lucien groaned. Maybe they both did. His tongue slipped between her lips and invaded her warm, silky mouth. Lucien’s hands were on her arms from when he had pulled her but he moved them to her back and pressed her closer to him. Her curves against his hard body inflamed his passion even more.
He was oblivious, as was she, to the cold. He wasn’t, however, oblivious to the cold that was making its way down his collar. His eyes flew open and he saw into Ciara’s laughter-filled gaze. The snow she pushed had passed the coat and was headed down his shirt.
Ciara pulled back and jumped up. She was trying to keep in her laughter as she watched him try to get the snow out of his shirt. Kosse was not making it any easier for he was jumping on him and adding more snow from his massive paws.
“I will get you for that, woman.” He growled his promise. He took her hand when she held it out this time and they made their way back to the cabin.
The temperature had dropped by about ten degrees when they reached the cabin. Ciara turned to him and said, “You go and add to the fire in there and I will bring in some more wood. I think we will need a lot for the night.”
