Lovestorm

by Judith E. French

  Someone seized the mare’s bridle, and the animal bared her teeth and snaked her head out viciously at the newcomer. He shrank back, then moaned and crumbled to the ground.

  “Eliz-a-beth?”

  “I’m here!”

  Men were running with torches. Elizabeth caught sight of Robert with a cudgel in his hand standing over a fallen man. Tom, the groom, had blood streaming down his face. Bodies lay strewn about like dead rats after a terrier’s attack. One man crawled toward the nearest open door.

  “M’lady,” Bridget called. “Are ye safe?”

  “Yes, I’m all right.” She sagged against Cain, and for an instant their eyes locked. Then he lifted her into the saddle and leaped up behind her. She leaned back against him, heart pounding. The attack had come so quickly that she’d not had time to be afraid. Now her knees seemed made of jelly.

  “We should go before the watch arrives,” Robert said.

  Elizabeth looked down at the still forms in the street as the terror receded. “But they will want to-”

  “Better we go,” Cain murmured into Elizabeth’s ear.

  She slapped the reins against Star’s neck, and the mare lunged forward. Elizabeth guided her onto the main thoroughfare and urged her into a canter. Robert, Bridget, and Tom followed.

  When the horses clattered across the cobblestone courtyard, Betty came running from Lord Dunmore’s house. The large traveling coach was gone, and only a few servants were in evidence.

  “Oh, m’lady,” Betty called. “His lordship’s gone and left ye. He were frightful angry.” Elizabeth noticed that Betty’s lip was swollen and cracked, and her eyes red from crying.

  Cain slid down from the horse without speaking and helped Elizabeth to dismount. Then he took the mare’s bridle and waited, head down, seeming not to listen to what was being said around him.

  Grizzled John Hay came from the kitchen. “We’re t’ go at oncet, Lady Dunmore,” he explained nervously. Hay was a whip-thin groom recently promoted to coachman. He doffed his cap and glared sideways at his cousin Tom. “Lord Dunmore swore he’d have our hides if we left wi’out ye, lady. We must take the Colchester Highway. His lordship is driving straight through t’ Sotterley wi’out stopping. He gave orders that we’re t’ do the same. God grant the plague don’t ride wi’ us.”

  Betty spied Bridget and ran to throw her arms around her. “I was afeared the black death had kilt ye,” she said.

  John Hay cleared his throat. “We’ve no time t’ waste, yer ladyship. Best ye—”

  “We’ll leave first thing in the morning,” Elizabeth said. “See that these horses are stabled and cared for.”

  Betty whirled around. “But m’lady, Lord Dunmore said—”

  “We are less likely to be swallowed up by the plague tonight than to be murdered by highwaymen. I for one have no intention of being jarred along all night on the road when I could sleep in my own bed.” She turned to Robert. “You are in charge here. See that all is ready for our departure on the morrow.” She motioned toward Cain with her finger. “The savage conducted himself bravely. See that he receives meat with his supper.” With a wink at Cain, she gathered her skirts and swept regally toward the house, then paused in the entranceway. “Betty will assist me this evening,” she proclaimed. “You may eat and retire, Bridget. I’m certain you are wearied from the day.”

  “You heard her ladyship,” Robert shouted. “See all these animals stabled until morning.”

  Elizabeth ordered supper from the remaining kitchen girls and made her way up the grand staircase to her rooms on the second floor. She should just have time to bathe before Cain arrived at her window. For once, they should be able to enjoy a leisurely meal together and the entire night in each other’s arms.

  She sighed and allowed a faint smile to curve her lips. A pity I have to follow Edward to Sotterley at all. London would be much more interesting without him.

  Elizabeth leaned forward in her bath and sighed with pleasure as Cain rinsed her hair with warm, rose-scented water. “That feels wonderful,” she said. He emptied the pitcher over her head, then handed her a clean linen cloth to wrap her hair in. As she stepped from the tub, he enveloped her in a blanket he’d heated before the fire. “Ohhh, I love it. I’d trade you for Bridget any day,” she teased.

  Cain laughed softly as he seated her on a stool and towel-dried her hair. Then he took an ivory-handled brush and gently began to remove the tangles. “If this one knows you would have hot water, he does not wash in rain barrel.”

  She clasped his hand and raised it to her lips. “Are we mad, Cain? To joke and play when the black death rages through London? Should we have followed Edward at once, as he ordered?”

  He drew the brush through the length of her honey-colored hair. “Among my people it is thought that demons bring disease. It may be that our laughter and the brightness of your eyes will keep the demons away this night.” He shrugged. “Who can say? If we race out of the city like frightened rabbits, it may be that the demons cling to the back of your coach and creep down our throats as we run.” He raised a handful of hair and kissed her damp neck. “If I die tomorrow, I would have this night beside you, my Eliz-a-beth.”

  She twisted to look up into his intense gaze. “You are unlike any man I have ever known.”

  His dark eyes reflected the firelight. “You know only Englishmen.”

  “Here,” she continued, “with me, you are as gentle as a nursemaid. Yet back there on the street you were . . .” She swallowed, overcome with confused emotions. “Who are you, Cain?”

  He laid aside the brush and knelt beside her. “Have not fear of me, Eliz-a-beth. Never I harm you.” The angled planes of his face hardened. “I do not like to kill. I have killed and it may be that I must again—but I find no joy in spilling the blood of man or beast.” His chin jutted out defiantly. “Those men in the street were worse than beasts. They would hurt you to steal what is not theirs. Waste no heart’s tears on such men.” Cain made a quick motion of dismissal with the flat of his hand. “They are nothing.”

  Elizabeth blinked back tears. “I would not spoil our evening together with dark memories.” She laid her hand on the shining crown of his hair. “Sometimes I wonder what it would be like living with you in a wigwam on the shores of America. Are you never lonely?”

  He rose to his feet and caught her hand, pulling her up and over to the curtained poster bed. Color stained her cheeks as he whisked away the blanket and tucked her between the sheets with only her hair to cover her rosy breasts. “You would be happy, Eliz-a-beth. I know you would.” She scooted up to rest against the heaped pillows, and he settled cross-legged in the center of the bed.

  “The Lenni-Lenape are one family,” he explained. “We have many clans, but we consider ourselves brothers and sisters. When you came to me, I was alone, but we would not live alone in my land—unless you wished it. In the winter, my people move to a village deep in the forests. There, we spend the cold time feasting, dancing, telling stories, and visiting with our friends and relatives.”

  “But you must hunt in the winter, or how do you eat?” she asked.

  “This be true. Early winter is the time to hunt the bear. His meat feeds us. His fat keeps the winter wind from burning our faces. His skin gives a warrior and his woman a soft, warm spot to make love.” He laughed. “I would lie with you on a bearskin, Eliz-a-beth. The old women say it makes boy children.”

  “And in the spring? What then?”

  “When the ice breaks in river, we take . . .” His brow furrowed as he sought the right English word. “Onsikaamme, the maple tree gives us . . .” He tapped his forehead with a lean finger. “The words be there, Eliz-a-beth, but they do not always come. The juice of this tree makes a sweet like sugar. Always is time of joy among my people. There be weddings and dancing. Much fun for children. Games. All the time, stories and laughter. The cocumthas make . . . They pour the cooked sweet into shapes in the snow for children. When ake the earth warms, we p
lant our gardens.”

  “You farm?”

  “Corn, squash, pumpkin, and beans, we grow. The time of planting is a happy time. Much dancing and laughter. The time of new life. Many babies born.” His restless eyes scanned the room and focused on Elizabeth’s dressing table. “What be this?” he demanded. He left the bed and examined the box of cosmetics beneath her silver-framed mirror. “This be fine paint, Eliz-a-beth.” He returned to the bed with the box. “I like this paint.”

  Elizabeth giggled. “A gentleman does not pick through a lady’s personal belongings,” she admonished teasingly. “Be careful. You’ll spill the—”

  “Hush,” he said. He edged forward on the mattress, wet his finger with the tip of his tongue, and touched a bit of powdered color in the case. “I be the story-teller. You be the listener. It has not good manners for a Lenape to interrupt when a teller of tales speaks.”

  She giggled again as he sketched lines on her forehead with the lip powder. “What are you doing?”

  “I tell of spring planting,” he said. “This mark means to the young bucks to seek elsewhere for a woman. It says that your eye falls on a mighty warrior.” He removed a silver beauty patch in the shape of a crescent moon from a tiny crystal box. “What is this?”

  “It’s a patch, to cover smallpox scars or warts, or just for fashion. Women wear them.”

  “Edward wears them. This one has seen. And other men—at the house of your King.” He moistened the patch and stuck it on her left cheekbone.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Shhh. I make medicine. This mark will keep sickness from our lodge and cause your breasts to grow.”

  “My breasts? What’s wrong with my breasts?”

  Laughing, he dove at her, nuzzling his face in the softness of her breasts. The cosmetic box tumbled to the floor unnoticed as he savored the sweetness of her lips. Elizabeth tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled him close.

  “I do love you,” she whispered. “I must be as mad as a bedlamite, but I love you more than life itself.” She relaxed her grip on the sheet, and her eyes sought his.

  “This one think it grows warm in here,” Cain murmured huskily in his own tongue.

  “Then take off your clothes,” she replied in the same language.

  “Do you invite me?” he asked in English.

  She moistened her lips with her tongue and raised the corner of the sheet. “It’s not cold under here.” His clothes followed the cosmetic box, and he climbed in beside her, wrapping her in his strong arms.

  Their lips met, and Elizabeth trembled. “And in summer,” she murmured. “What will we do in summer?”

  “In summer,” he whispered, “I will hold you like this . . . and kiss you here . . . and here.”

  She moaned and pressed against him, thrilling to the rising heat of his swollen manhood. “In summer,” she prompted.

  Cain cupped her breast in his hand. “In summer, we leave our winter camp and go to the sea. There we fish, and swim, and lie in each other’s arms in the moonlight.” His tongue teased her nipple to an erect peak.

  “And in autumn?”

  He covered her with his body. “In autumn, we return to the winter camp, laden with dried fish and clams. We harvest our fields and call our loved ones to join us in thanksgiving. We dance, and sing, and pull dark-eyed maidens into the forest to share promises of joy.”

  Elizabeth arched provocatively against him. “And what of green-eyed maidens?” she teased. “Is there no hope for them?”

  “Ask me in the morning,” he murmured, and fire leaped between them as his eager mouth sought hers.

  Chapter 20

  Sotterley, Essex

  The riders galloped past the tiny hamlet of timber-framed houses, over a hand-hewn wooden bridge, and across a lush green meadow where fluffy white sheep grazed under the watchful eyes of two young shepherds. Tails streaming behind them, the finely bred horses stretched their long necks and raced through a carefully manicured section of oak woodland and onto a wide, brilliantly verdant field interspersed with yew hedges.

  Elizabeth, two lengths ahead of the nearest rider, urged her mount over the low hedge that blocked her path. The mare took the jump smoothly and responded to the light pressure on the reins as Elizabeth guided her into a tight circle and brought her to a halt. She leaned forward and patted the mare’s neck, praising her with soft words. Then Elizabeth looked back across the hedge and laughed. Cain’s sorrel stood just beyond the jump with pricked ears and rolling eyes. Cain was picking himself up off the wet grass.

  “You’re supposed to stay on the horse when he goes over a jump,” she teased. Cain’s reply was a badly pronounced English oath that brought tears of laughter from Elizabeth.

  In the two weeks since they had come to Sotterley, Cain had been learning to ride. It was Edward’s wish that his Indian servant be trained as a groom and huntsman so that he could accompany Edward on hunting parties. Tom had been ordered to teach Savage, and so far, progress was proceeding by abrupt starts and stops.

  Tom reined in his gray hunter and brought the crop-maned animal back to stand near Elizabeth’s. “I’m afraid Savage’s ridin’ ain’t much, m’lady,” the groom observed with a wide grin, “but I do fink we’re teachin’ ’im a bit o’ proper talk.”

  On the third attempt, Cain remained technically in the saddle as the gelding cleared the hedge, and the three riders continued across the flat parkland. Ahead, just inside a grove of towering oaks, Bridget and Robert waited with the noon meal. When they reached the spot where Bridget was spreading delicacies on a clean linen cloth, Elizabeth allowed Tom to assist her in dismounting, then instructed him to return to the manor.

  “Yes, m’lady.” Tom tugged at his forelock and nodded toward the Indian. “I’ll take ’im back wi’ me.”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “That won’t be necessary. Robert and Bridget are here with me, and the savage may as well stay too. I intend to ride on to Druid’s Well this afternoon. It’s not far. He can accompany us. God knows the man needs the practice.”

  Getting rid of Bridget and Robert after the meal was simple; Elizabeth had only to lay her head on a blanket and pretend she was napping. She heard the two whispering, and then their careful footsteps fading away into the forest. Bridget and Robert had been unable to hide their growing attachment to each other, and Elizabeth was certain she knew the purpose for their abandonment.

  Lying on the blanket under the trees was so relaxing that she nearly did drift off to sleep. The April day was warm, and the air smelled of wildflowers and ancient peat. Overhead, birds sang and squirrels chattered, and a soft wind played music through the treetops.

  Her dreamlike trance was shattered by a Lenape war cry as Cain swooped down on her, seized her wrists in an iron grip, and pinned her to the ground.

  “Oh!” she gasped.

  He crouched over her and stared into her eyes. Cain’s cheekbones bore stripes of blue and red paint, and his features gave no hint of a smile.

  Excitement tinged with fear bubbled up in Elizabeth’s throat, and she attempted a giggle. “Where did you find the paint?”

  “Silence woman,” he ordered. “You are my prisoner. I tell you when you can speak.”

  Elizabeth swallowed and moistened her lips. He’s teasing me, she thought, to get back at me for laughing at him. But an inner voice cautioned, Are you certain? She wiggled in his grasp, and he tightened the pressure on her wrists.

  “Lie still.”

  “I would have thought you were too sore to move so fast,” she ventured. His nearness was both frightening and intoxicating. Her mouth felt dry, and her heart was hammering as though she’d been running. She could feel the heat of his body through her clothing. “Let me up before you wrinkle my riding habit.”

  “If Wishemenetoo had wanted his children to ride on the backs of beasts, he would have made horses that did not come away from the rider,” Cain answered huskily. His eyes narrowed. “And I am certain he did not
mean for keequa to make joke at husband’s pain.”

  “Cain,” she persisted, fighting her own rising desire, “let me go. Someone may see us.”

  “Robert and your woman go into the forest. This one does not think they will return soon.”

  A shiver passed through her. Wasn’t this what I had in mind when they wandered off? Didn’t I intend for us to . . . “It’s not safe,” she said. “Edward might—”

  “He will do nothing. He will lie in his room and drink the fire liquid until his body dies. Can a man who cannot walk alone ride a horse?”

  “He has spies to watch me. He could—”

  Cain silenced her with his lips. “I like the taste of you, English equiwa,” he murmured. “I think I keep you.” He kissed her again, and she was unable to resist the singing in her blood. She returned his kiss ardently. He released her wrists, and her arms went around his neck. She hugged him tightly to her, arching against the hard length of his muscular body.

  “Cain . . . no.” She sighed with pleasure as he lifted her hair to kiss the soft places of her neck. “We can’t . . . it’s too dangerous.”

  “I hear you, woman.” His hand slipped beneath her skirt and moved slowly, caressingly up her leg and inner thigh. “This one hear your words, but he hears your heart speak louder.”

  Her breath came in ragged gulps as their kisses intensified, and his hands continued to touch and fondle her. Somehow her skirts were bunched around her waist, and Cain was on top of her, whispering Lenape love words into her ear.

  “Are you mad?” she protested weakly. “Not here in the open where anyone could see us. We can’t . . .”

  “Cannot,” he whispered in his soft, lilting way. “Cannot what? This? Or this?” His mouth claimed her again, kissed her in places that he had never done before.