The Beauty of the Mist

by May McGoldrick

  “Maria,” he began haltingly. “I have spent a lifetime at sea. It is difficult...I have lost the ability...well, women are...”

  John cast about, searching for the words. Turning toward the window, he placed his palm on the smooth wood of the casing.

  “Maria. I am a third son. This is something you don’t observe, but that you must know.” He looked for a change in her, a reaction, but none was apparent. “Do you know what that means?”

  “I am the fifth child,” she answered. “And nay, I don’t know what that means.”

  John stared at her. She hardly reached his chin, but the way she addressed him–she had the presence of a giant. “It means that I am in no position to inherit titles. I have wealth, it’s true. But no position. I will never be laird of my clan, I will never be lord of any region...”

  “Is that important to you?” she asked quietly, interrupting him. “It bothers you that you’ll have no kingdom to call your own?”

  “It’s no kingdom that I am after, lass. And it is not a lairdship nor earldom that I desire. None of these things mean a straw to me.”

  “Then why do you bring it up?” She gazed steadily at him. “What does it matter?”

  John scowled at her. “Because though you’re a widow, you’re still a highly marriageable young woman. I know these things mean a great deal to you.”

  “To me?” she cried out in shock. Now her frown matched his. “Why should titles mean anything to me?”

  “For God’s sake, Maria, though you don’t say so, it’s obvious you are a woman of family and rank. A bonny lass, at that. I’m a man past his prime, and your family, I’m certain, has much better prospects in mind for you.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. For someone who didn’t know anything about her family, the Highlander certainly had a clear picture of her brother and his plans. “We are discussing you and me, not our families.”

  “You’re still a noblewoman,” he pressed.

  “And?” She raised an eyebrow and continued on, not waiting for an answer. “Is that to be held against me? Would it have been better if I’d been something else? Perhaps I should only have pretended to be low-born. A peasant girl. How would that have altered your feelings for me?”

  John shook his head. “Maria, what I feel, I feel for you. And you could pretend away your life–pretend to be the Queen of Hungary, if you like–it wouldn’t change who I know you to be, nor how I feel about you.” He took a deep breath. “But this is not why I began all this talk. I needed you to know...I didn’t want my lack of worldly titles...”

  Maria put up one hand, interrupting him again. “Just look at the person who is standing before you. See me, John. It’s me.”

  The words vanished from his lips, blown away by the fresh, spring breeze he felt sweeping through his soul. Her sparkling green eyes encompassed him, drawing him in with their beauty and with the goodness they reflected from within her.

  John Macpherson stopped. The woman before him was not Caroline Maule. Gazing at her, the Highlander realized that he was seeing this woman for the first time, and his heart leapt at the sensation. He had been so focused on himself, on his own shortcomings–his age, his position in life, his failure to live up to the expectations of...whom? John rubbed his chin with his knuckles. He had prepared himself to face the same complaints he had heard from Caroline. About his lack of position, about his unworthiness. He realized he was expecting from Maria the same charges that Caroline had leveled against him. Against his pride. Against his very manhood. He stood, gazing at this lass he’d found floating in the mist, and felt completely lost for words.

  Maria saw the lines around his azure eyes soften. The heavy clouds that had darkened his mood lifted, and Maria took a step toward him.

  “Nothing you’ve just said changes the man I know. Nothing. Rank, power, and all the wealth in the world–I can turn my back on these things without a moment’s hesitation.” She paused and dropped her gaze to her hands. She was in love with this man. He was the only one she didn’t want to turn away from. But how could she tell him this, declare herself, when she would be walking out of his life forever the moment they reached Antwerp. Maria lifted her eyes to his and smiled. She was not prepared to confess her artifice, but something within her drove her to share a piece of her past. “Anyway, you’ve confessed your life. But you still haven’t answered how is it that you’ve been content knowing so little of mine?”

  As she looked up at him from beneath her thick lashes, John felt the stirring in his loins once again. She looked more enticingly beautiful than ever. She was a vixen...no, she was an angel. As she lifted her chin, and her eyes flashed like emeralds, the Highlander thought her more ethereal than any time he’d seen her. John thought back on what she’d just said, on turning her back on all that other women sought in men. His hands lifted to gather her close, but then he stopped. He had to finish what he’d started.

  “What is important about you, lass, I already know,” he said quietly. “But I want to know more about you.”

  “Then tell me, what is it that you do know?” Her question came out as a whisper. She wasn’t sure how far she was going, but she realized–absently, without concern–that her heart was quickly taking over her reason. John had revealed some of his past; she wondered, vaguely, how much of her own she dared to reveal.

  He looked deep into her eyes and then, unable to hold himself back, he reached out and took hold of her hands. It was true what she said, there was so much he didn’t know about her. Turning her hands in his palms, he looked down at the new pink skin on her freshly healed wounds. She must have removed the bandages today. “Let me see–you are a quick healer. That much I know.”

  She nodded encouraging him to go on.

  His thumb caressed her palms lightly and then lifted them to his lips. “You have the softest skin of any woman I’ve ever met.”

  “No exaggerating to make me feel more...cordial toward you,” she smiled. “No lies. Only facts, if you please.”

  He nodded noncommittally. Placing her hands around his neck, he gathered her close around the waist. “You have the most magical eyes...”

  “Only physical description, m’lord,” she interrupted, tightening her hold around his neck. A rush of excitement ran through her as her body pressed against his chest. “There is no magic in my eyes.”

  “I can only tell you what I see, lass.”

  “Perhaps you only see the light in your own eyes reflected in mine.”

  “You are very clever. But nay, your eyes are the color of rare gemstones, and the light in them comes from deep within you.”

  “Tsk, Sir John. Exaggerating again.” She lifted herself on her toes, and grazed her lips lightly against his mouth.

  His arms were like steel as they pressed her tightly to him.

  “You are passionate, quite a bonny creature, smart, and undeniably good-hearted.” As she opened her mouth to object, he silenced it with a brushing kiss. His voice was but a whisper against her lips. “And you are unwed.”

  “Do you think a convent is the place for widows?” Seeing his eyebrows rise, she smiled.

  “Some, perhaps,” he answered. “But not all.”

  “But you seem to think a woman should fear for her future.”

  “Aye, but you’re not afraid of what I don’t have to give you. You don’t seem to concern yourself, overly, with what tomorrow might bring you.”

  Her fingers combed through his long black hair. Her body arched against his. “And you find that an attractive quality?” she cooed.

  “For the moment I do.” His hands caressed the length of her back, rising to the laces at the nape of her neck. “But I believe the time may come when I will suffer for it.”

  She drew her hands back and began working her fingers inside his shirt. They were two days from Antwerp.

  “Then let’s enjoy this moment that we have.” Her hand found his skin. “And when we arrive at that other time, I’ll suffer along with you.�
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  “Maria,” he whispered, lifting her in his arms. She wrapped herself around him as he carried her toward his bed. Her mouth roamed freely, tasting the skin of his face, his neck.

  He stood her on her feet, and leaned back against the high bed. Pulling gently, he loosened the laces of the dress, and it fell to the floor, pooling around her feet. Maria, covered only by her thin linen chemise, stepped closer to him, drinking in the sensations that were racing through her. His lips played over hers, while his hands cupped her backside, pressing her hips intimately against his aroused manhood. Feeling bolder as he deepened the kiss, Maria’s body rocked against his, while her hands sought more of him. Her fingers fought to remove the barriers between them. The thought of his skin against hers, of seeing him lying naked beside her, made her nearly frantic with desire. But the Highlander pushed her hands away.

  This was sheer madness, he thought. To promise one thing, and then to make them both crazed by such behavior. He felt, for a moment, like some boy at the abbey school, playing games with the cook’s daughter. But feeling Maria’s firm flesh against his, John could not quite bring himself to halt so abruptly such a moment of pleasure. He slid his hand up over her firm round buttocks.

  Hell, he thought, at worst they were only two days from Antwerp. And with the way the Emperor’s warships patrolled this part of the German Sea, this might be the last moment he and Maria would have together. Besides, he was in control. This was all such harmless play. Vaguely, he wondered how much more speed he could squeeze out of the Great Michael.

  As she reached for the brooch that held his tartan in place, John pushed her hands behind her back and held them there.

  “Why don’t you let me touch you,” she complained softly.

  “Because of my promise,” he growled, his attention drawn to the full, round breasts that strained against the tight linen of the chemise. He could see the points of the hardened nipples pushing through the fabric. “One touch from you, love, and I can’t say how fair a job I’d do keeping that promise.”

  Her breath caught in her throat as he pulled her closer and kissed the pulse that fluttered beneath the skin of her throat. His lips moved lower and she arched her back as he pressed his lips to her heart. She opened her eyes and gazed at him when he drew back. Using one hand, John pushed first one strap of the chemise and then the other off her shoulder. She closed her eyes and let her head fall backward as he started to peel the chemise downward. Maria shuddered as the soft linen pulled gently at her breasts before it fell to the floor with her dress.

  John’s lips closed on a rose-colored nipple, his tongue darting, laving, tasting. His hand lifted the weight of her breast, squeezing gently as he suckled.

  “John,” she gasped, continuing with a voice ragged with desire. “I care nothing for that promise. I want you to lose yourself in me as I lose myself in you.”

  “In time I will...in time...” The Highlander sat back, releasing his hold on her, his words evaporating as his eyes swept over her naked body. She did nothing to hide herself. In the dark of the night on the deck, he had not seen– nor had he guessed–the extent of her beauty. She had the presence of an angel. Her skin shone, shimmering and as snowy as puffs of clouds in the midsummer sky. His eyes moved lower. Her breasts were high, full, beckoning for his touch. The curve of her hips and the dark triangle that hid the splendor of her womanhood. Her legs, strong and lithe. His eyes returned to her face, now covered with a deep blush.

  “By God,” he growled. “You are beautiful.”

  She had never thought possible to stand this way before any man. She had never thought it possible to feel so cherished by anyone. His eyes were dark, smoldering with desire, and they bore into hers.

  “Take me,” she whispered, fearing nothing. She knew the truth. She belonged to him as she had never belonged to any other man. John Macpherson would be the first and the last.

  The Highlander’s hands shook when he reached for her again, drawing her back into his arms.

  “I never have felt such weakness, such attraction for a woman,” he whispered the words as his hands roamed over the smooth skin of her shoulders, her breasts, her belly and hips.

  “Why...” Maria shuddered beneath his touch. “Why must we consider attraction a weakness.”

  “I brought you here to give you pleasure, knowing that I myself must wait–until we reach Antwerp, at least. But you’ve washed away my defenses. You’ve bewitched me, spun a web, taken away my discipline with this spell of your beauty, of your goodness.”

  “I am no witch,” she answered, breathless. “I’ve only returned the spell you yourself have cast. Your charm that has stripped me of my reason.”

  Maria took his hands and pushed them to either side of him, pressing herself against him and kissing his throat where she could see the throbbing of his pulse. Resting her head against his shoulder, she felt his hands encircle her, the bare skin of his knee sliding across her thigh. She lowered her hand to his muscular thigh.

  I am in control, John told himself. I can wait. He knew he had kindled a volcano between them. And now his body was taking over his mind. But I will not give in to my desire. John lifted her into his arms and placed her on the bed beside him.

  She watched him beneath half-lidded eyes as he moved next to her. The contrast between them–him fully clothed, in his white linen, his tartan and kilt, the thick leather belt crossing his chest; her, naked against the deep green of the bedclothes–the difference was so strange to her, so exciting. She reached for him, grasping the buckle of the belt. He moved on top of her.

  She gasped at the feel of his weight upon her, at the feel of his arousal, large and heavy, pressing so intimately against her inner thigh.

  He closed his eyes and rested his head against her forehead, trying, for a moment, to catch his breath. I am in control, he told himself over and over. Maria lifted her knee, opening herself for him as he settled deeper between her legs. I can stop this any time, he thought vaguely as her hands slid downward over his back.

  She moved beneath him and smiled at the sound of his loud groan. Her hands caressed his lower back and moved past his waist. Her body was on fire, her womanhood, moist with desire, ground restlessly against him. His buttocks were like rock beneath her probing fingers. Slowly, ever so slowly, she started gathering his kilt upward.

  “Maria,” he rumbled, searing her mouth with a kiss. Taking hold of her hands, the Highlander pinned them over her head.

  Maria gave in to him breathlessly. His mouth had never felt so wonderful, his tongue probing, thrusting. His free hand never stopped–stroking, caressing, sending shivers of pleasure into the very core of her. Their legs were entwined, and when John moved down her body to take her breast into his mouth, her gasps of pleasure filled the air. His hand fondled her breasts while his tongue swirled around one nipple. When he finally began to suckle, a white-hot flame of need began to engulf all conscious thought in her.

  John raised himself a bit and slid further down her body. His control was slipping badly, and he knew he needed to do something, focus on something...other than burying himself deep within her. Do this, he threatened himself. You are in control.

  Maria moved restlessly beneath him, her hips responding to the love dance that was emanating from within her. Aware only of the blaze that was consuming her, her desire to touch him, to taste his body the way he tasted hers began to emerge from some dusky corner of her mind. But the sensations coursing through her were so raw, so new, that she had no way to control them. Her gasps turned to moans as his lips moved lower across the sensitive skin of her belly. And then he moved lower. Still lower.

  Maria nearly came off the bed when his tongue sank into her. Gripping the sheets, she became wild as his lips and tongue found the source of all pleasure. Her moans became shrieks as a world inside her exploded in molten streaks of reds and white. As wave after wave consumed her, Maria clawed at the bed, wanting him to stop, begging him to keep on.

 
John knew their was no going back. Her cries of ecstasy, her liquid heat, the love scent that filled the air–all of these things combining to smash to pieces any remnant of control. Control, discipline, promises, every vestige of civilization–gone, washed away on wave after wave of primeval desire. Pushing her to the peak of pleasure, John held on as Maria’s hips lifted in an arching moment of bliss. Hearing her cry out his name, the Highlander moved on top of her, gathering her in his arms.

  “There will be no more waiting, love,” he murmured as she fought for breaths. He bit at the velvety lobe of her ear. “I want to, lass, but I...”

  Her hands pushed him over on his back, and he went willingly as she tore at his kilt and reached beneath it. Her fingers encircled his arousal, stealing his breath away. John groaned deep in his throat and dropped his head onto the bed next to her as Maria’s hands stroked and kneaded him.

  “I’ve never done any of this,” she whispered raggedly, pulling herself onto his chest. “But again, there is so much I have to learn.”

  John watched her breasts swing free as she raised herself up and began tugging at his shirt.

  “Maria,” he growled.

  “John,” she answered. Her green eyes sparkled as she exposed the bronze colored skin beneath his shirt.

  “This is no time to toy with me, lass.”

  “I agree, it is not.” She lowered her mouth to his stomach, running her tongue over taut muscles of his belly. “But I’ve just learned something, and I intend to put it to use.”

  I’m in control, he told himself.

  And then she moved lower.

  David nodded to the grizzled sailor by the cabin door. “Have you seen Sir John, Christie?”

  “Nay, sir. Only Mistress Janet in there.”

  “Oh?”

  “Aye, I heard the bonny thing say she’d be only staying a wee bit, but I believe she dropped anchor...”

  Before David could bring himself to respond, the cabin door opened and Janet stepped into the narrow corridor.