Echoes of the Moon

by Jennifer Taylor

  “What on earth are you doing?”

  “Old stones have a unique smell. Every time I walk under the Landgate I wonder about all the people who have passed this way. I guess you could say I’m sniffing history. Did you know Queen Elizabeth came to town and passed under this very gate? What was she thinking? Do you suppose she liked the town? What about all the people who accompanied her?”

  “You are the most curious person I know.” He kissed her.

  “Oh!” She put her arms about his neck and kissed him back. “How many people do you suppose have kissed, like this, under the ancient Landgate?”

  He leaned his forehead against hers. “Oh Bethan. How you invigorate me.”

  He put his arm around her, and they walked on the old path. The moon lit the trail in front of them, and cast shadows on the trees standing sentinel on the path.

  “Tell me more about Maggie’s travails.”

  “You promise not to laugh at me?”

  “Of course not.”

  “It was a most…spiritual experience.”

  “How so?”

  “After the birth of the babe, Maggie convulsed.”

  “What causes such a thing?”

  “Ill humors and who knows what else? Maggie only said it happens sometimes.”

  “How frightening it must have been for her.”

  She stopped. “Please, don’t tell anyone. Ian stayed at Maggie’s side for the birth, and I’m glad he did, for I don’t know if she would have survived otherwise. It was frightening.”

  “I imagine so. You said it was spiritual?”

  “In the midst of my fear and distress, a woman’s voice, calm, gentle, yet possessed of great might, filled my body.”

  “How miraculous.”

  “You don’t think I’m crazy like my sister?”

  “No. Not at all.”

  They walked on.

  “She told me what to do, laid her hands upon me in blessing. She guided my hand, and a current ran through me and through her. And the convulsions stopped.”

  “My God.”

  “Do you believe me?”

  “Of course, I do, my love.”

  She should tell him not to call her that endearment, for she could never be anyone’s “love.”

  But just for tonight, she would pretend. She would grab what warmth and tenderness she could. She would discover what it felt like to be loved by a man like Henry. Life was too fleeting not to.

  He led her onto a narrow path, and the scent of honeysuckle mingled with the fresh salt tang of the ocean.

  “I have a special place in mind for our picnic. I’ve never taken anyone there before. When we first came to town, I was so angry and lonely. I’d come up here and sit, and it would bring me peace.” He held the branches for her as they came through an opening to a clear view of the sea below the cliff.

  “Oh, it’s breathtaking.”

  He set the basket down, took a blanket out, spread it on the grass. She gazed over the churning sea, at the stars bright in the sky, the moon lighting their picnic place as if just for them.

  “Come, Bethan. Let me feed you.”

  She approached the blanket and sat down.

  He took two wine glasses and a bottle out of the basket. He handed her the glasses and opened the bottle, pouring the red wine into the ornate crystal. Then he removed a round of cheese, a loaf of white bread, a jar of blackberry compote. With great aplomb, he set a peach and a dish of liver pâté on the blanket.

  “What a feast! I’ve never seen goblets so fine.”

  “I’ve been saving this wine for a special occasion. It’s quite old.”

  “What is this special occasion?”

  “You.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  He kissed her to carry his point home. As if to honor the special night, the wind had let up, and the waves crashed against the cliff, making the ground beneath them tremble.

  The moon caught the cut edges of the crystal goblet as she held it, causing it to sparkle like a ruby. “I feel as if I’m in the pages of a fairy tale, among myths and legends.”

  He needed no myths with her beside him. He broke the bread, not turning his gaze from her, reveling in her sense of wonder. “Are you hungry, Bethan?”

  “Yes, I didn’t realize how much until now.”

  He was starved—had been—since he’d held her in his arms, warm and soft, her silken head against his shoulder, his member hard against her soft curves.

  Her eyes had turned midnight blue, and she watched with rapt attention as he spread the pâté on the bread and put a dab of blackberry jelly on it.

  “Oh! Is that blackberry? I love blackberry.”

  “I know.” There were other things he could think of to put utter delight upon her face. He held the bread to her mouth.

  She laughed and took a bite, darting her tongue out to catch a drop. Her eyes grew large. “I never knew such a strange combination could be so good. Salty, sweet…” She licked her lips.

  He reached over, and as slowly as he could without dying, kissed her. “More?”

  “Yes.”

  She stared at him with such intensity he thought he’d not be able to take another breath. He fed her, until his fingers touched her lips.

  “Your lips are as soft as rose petals,” he whispered and kissed her again.

  He fixed another piece of bread with a generous dollop of blackberry, fighting to keep his hands from trembling. But he missed, and the jam fell on his white shirt.

  He reached for his handkerchief to wipe it off, but she grabbed his hand.

  “Let me.” Before he could stop her, she lowered her head and gently sucked the blackberry off. His muscles tightened at the feel of her lips and her tongue, and her breasts soft against his lap. If she continued…

  He straightened, and as if waking from a dream, she jerked her head up, swallowed hard. He grasped her shoulders, kissed her blackberry-tart lips.

  He cleared his throat. “Are you enjoying the wine?” He poured her another glass, handed it to her.

  “This must be special wine. I feel as if I’m drinking an entire vineyard in every mouthful.”

  The wine sparkled like a ruby against her fingers. She took a sip. “And it’s sweet, but not overly much.” She peered at him from above the glass. “No one’s ever taken me on a picnic before, let alone a moonlight picnic.”

  “I’m glad I could be your first.”

  “I can’t imagine it being any other way.” She blushed then, twin spots of cabernet. “This wine must have cost you dearly.”

  He shrugged. “Yes, but more precious is the memory of the trip to Italy with my brother. Before…”

  “How is it you were able to go to Italy? It sounds like something a wealthy lad would do.”

  He would encourage her curiosity, for it so enlivened her. He merely shrugged and smiled. “How is it you’ve never been on a picnic?”

  “My mother was unwell and fearful, especially after Father died. She was afraid to let us out much. Our sister Polly, who as you know is several years older, had the bulk of caring for us.”

  “You were like a damsel locked in a tower, waiting to be freed.”

  She nodded. “Looking out the windows of the lighthouse, I’d see the ships come and go, but never met the people, and always wondered what their life was like. I was always watching…waiting for my life to begin.”

  She grinned at him, spread her arms out. The moon cast the luster of pearls on her goddess arms, perfectly rounded, long fingers with the power to undo him, the power to give him life.

  “But I’m free now, have lived more since I came here than I ever did before.” With one hand she removed her kerchief and took the pins from her hair, let the silken curtain fall down her back.

  He reached over and ran his fingers through the silken strands. “The moon glints silver on it. So many colors: chestnut, onyx, bits of copper throughout.”

  She leaned into his hands. “I’ve not had my hair tou
ched in so long and never by a man.”

  He was fiercely glad.

  She gazed at him. “Thank you for taking me here.”

  “May I embrace you?” He gestured toward the moon-kissed sea. “There’s no one to interrupt us here, and I would take my time with your lips. I’ve been dreaming about your lips.”

  He ran a finger lightly against her lower lip, and she grasped his shoulders, kissed him, the kiss of a woman aroused. He wrapped his arms around her slender back and answered her kiss with his own.

  “Closer.” She moaned against his mouth.

  He let his fingers trail down her shoulder blades and up her sides to feel her fine shivering. His thumbs grazed the sides of her breasts, and she gasped. He kissed her until he felt he would burst from the joy of it.

  “Bethan, the thought of kissing you has sustained my dreams for weeks. To be in your company, in communion with you now…” He had not thought her passion could be so innocent and instinctive.

  She broke away, breathless and windswept.

  “Bethan.”

  She undid her bodice slowly, never removing her gaze from his.

  “You…” He should tell her to stop. But how could he not kiss her shoulders, ivory in the moonlight, resolute and delicate? His eyes lingered on the swells of her breasts.

  “Love me this night, Henry. I want to feel as others do,” she whispered. Her lips glistened with their kiss.

  She cast the bodice aside, removed her skirt, and in the silver light her nipples strained against the linen shift. She looked like a statue of a moon goddess, tall and benevolent, a giver of life and light.

  Like the sea reaches for the moon, he lifted his hands and trailed his fingers down the marble smoothness of her shoulders. He kissed her, and she moaned in his mouth. He let his fingers trail to the hollow of her breasts, and one by one, he held them in his palm.

  She pressed her body into him. “Please,” she whispered.

  He took his hands away. “No, Bethan.”

  Anger, need, and vulnerability flitted across her face like scudding clouds. “So little I can call my own. Could I not have this night, for myself and for you?”

  “I would not use you so.” He hadn’t meant to say it so harshly.

  “I would use you.” She lowered her eyes, the temptress, gazed at him from under her lashes. “I would use you, have wanted to since I saw you by the pond.”

  No, not this way. “Marry me, Bethan.”

  She untied her shift, let it fall to reveal her breasts, perfect and silken, an offering. “Give me this night. Love me.”

  He would use her desire for the sake of their forever. “Marry me, Bethan.”

  He drew near and lay her down, held one silken breast, took her tender nipple in his mouth. “Will you, my love?”

  He paid tribute to her other breast with mouth and tongue, and her back arched. He lifted his head, held his breath at the magnificence of her body. “Will you marry me, Bethan?”

  She moaned as he kissed the tender skin of her belly.

  “Yes.” She lifted her hips. “Yes.”

  “Soon?”

  “I will marry you, my Henry. Just don’t stop.”

  ****

  “Yes.” She would agree to the impossible, to have his touch upon her skin. The rest could wait until tomorrow.

  He trailed his kisses along her neck, kissed each breast, then her mouth again. The low rumble of his voice reverberated through her, sent a jolt to her center. “You are magnificent. How I’ve longed to do just this…” He sat back on his haunches, powerful and wild. His dark gaze swept over her, as if she were a holy relic. “I would worship you every night like this, Bethan. As your husband, for eternity.”

  She sat up and unfastened his shirt, running her hands over the muscled plains of his chest and the tight, quivering stomach. His labored breath made the fine hair on her neck rise. All the while her gaze met his.

  “I love you, Bethan.”

  She kissed the hollow of his throat. “I’d not thought it possible to love anyone like this. To want anyone.” She grasped him by the shoulders, felt the strength and restrained power in the broad muscles. “Love me, Henry. Show me how to love you.”

  He trembled as she slowly removed his shirt. She paused to breathe in the scent of cedar and the mystery of him. She lowered her eyes to his breeches, where the outline of his manhood strained against the cloth.

  “Do not think me wanton. Think me selfish, for I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want you.”

  She untied his breeches, slid her hands over the thick length of him through the cloth.

  “Bethan,” he moaned.

  She slid his breeches down over his muscled thighs, took them off. The wind blew again, a cold blast from the channel, but he was solid, wide-shouldered, and quite still, his hair untied and blowing about his face.

  She grasped his manhood with both hands. “It’s so smooth and warm.”

  “Yes, you must hold onto something in this wind,” he rasped.

  She laughed, but her breath caught in her throat. “Am I hurting you?”

  “God, no.” He very gently removed her hands, placed them on his shoulders. “I have imagined this many times, and never has it ended too soon. So as much as I want your touch on me, now is not the time.”

  She shivered, as a gust of wind assaulted her hot skin.

  He had misinterpreted her shivering for fear. “Bethan, are you sure? We don’t have to do this.”

  “You look very much as if you do.”

  He smiled, kissed her. “It doesn’t matter what I want. What do you want?”

  “Cover me, Henry.”

  He closed the gap between them, lowered her to the blanket.

  She gasped when skin met skin. He was burning, the rough hairs of his chest like kindling to her fire. He braced his hands on the outside of her body and kissed her again, lowered his head to her breast, and she buried her fingers in his hair.

  He trailed his lips down her neck, kissed one nipple, traced it with his tongue, wrapped his lips around it and drew from it, as the moon draws the ocean waves.

  Her body rose to meet him. Could he not get closer?

  He slid his hand down her belly, down to her womanhood, waited. “Yes?”

  She nodded.

  He ran his palm across it, lightly.

  She gasped.

  He paused. “Do you want me to stop? Because I will. No matter how hard, er, difficult it would be. If you have changed your mind.”

  “No.”

  He sighed. “Thank God.”

  He kneeled over her, shielding her from the wind, and parted the folds of her womanhood with fingers gentle and sure. Heat pulsed in her center, through every limb, and all that existed was the pull of her body toward his.

  “More,” she gasped, and pulled him on top of her, reached down to grasp his member. She guided it to her, lifting her hips. He held himself there, and entered her, his heat sliding slowly into her yearning center. When she heard him moan, she lifted her hips. A piercing pain, there and gone, as he thrust. Then, motionless, he held himself there, and she could feel every inch of him.

  He withdrew and thrust again, and a warm tingle swept over her body. She pulsed around him, cried out, as the stars whirled around her.

  “Bethan.”

  Another jolt of pleasure shot through her like a comet at the sound of his voice, and his love crashed over her.

  She wrapped her arms around him as he collapsed on top of her, exulting in the solid feel of him. Chills of pleasure echoed through her body.

  He lifted his head, smoothed her hair with one hand. “Thank you.”

  She laughed, making him bounce against her. “There’s no need to thank me. It’s I should thank you, for making my first time…there are no words for how I feel.”

  He started to roll off her.

  “No, stay. I love the feel of you on top of me.”

  “I didn’t hurt you?”

  She
laughed again and kissed him, whispered against his mouth. “You made me feel part of the air, the water, the sky. Do I sound silly?”

  “I felt the same.”

  He rolled off and grabbed a linen napkin, knelt in front of her. “Let me care for you.”

  Her eyes drank in his dark strength, as if he’d emerged from the earth like primitive man. He gently dabbed her womanhood, and she gasped.

  “Am I hurting you?”

  “Not at all. It’s pleasurable. Is it always like this the first time?”

  He eyed her with a fierce pride. “No, not necessarily.” He resumed his duties, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

  “How many times can it happen?”

  His voice sounded choked. “As many times as you want.”

  “Really? How marvelous!” She laughed in sheer delight, then stopped short. Was she wanton? Would he mind?

  She might as well ask. For she would make this a night she’d remember in the lonely days to come. “Would you…”

  He grinned, full out then, his white teeth in contrast against the dark stubble of his beard. “Nothing would give me more joy. There are many ways to bring you to your pleasure, other places I would kiss you. May I?”

  He sounded every bit like a boy asking for another helping of pudding.

  She caught her breath, and by way of saying yes, kissed him.

  When she cried out a short time later, he covered her up with the cloak, and leaned on his side, watching her face. “Just rest, my love. Enjoy the afterglow.”

  “What a wonderful way of putting it. But I’d like to learn to give you pleasure, Henry.”

  “You’re not too tired?” His eyes were shiny as new toffee, and as sweet.

  And then he taught her, with gentle guidance and great joy, how to make a man feel alive. What she wouldn’t give to be his willing student always.

  Before long, dawn lit up the edges of the sky, and after they packed up their supplies, they stood together, breathing in the crisp salt air of the sea.

  “I promise you this will not be our last midnight picnic, Bethan.”

  If only it could be.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  She was so busy watching the rising light play on Henry’s face, she barely noticed the stares of the early rising townspeople as they made their way into town.