Briar Rose

by Kimberly Cates

  "Never. You are the only woman I could love. Didn't you say it was destiny?"

  She nodded, overjoyed that he believed it too.

  His brow creased. "But my grandfather... I can't sort it all out. It's so strange. All those years when I was a boy, he was always there, forcing me to work harder, willing me to be stronger, making me think, no matter how damn painful it was. I've fought him my whole life, hated him. But he's the only family I remember. Now he is dead. Rhiannon, I don't know what to feel."

  She closed the space between them, slipping her arms about his waist. "Sometimes feelings are like that. Confusing. Uncertain. In time, you'll sort it out."

  Lion gave a humorless chuckle. "Knatchbull visited this morning with some astonishing news. It seems grandfather was so busy attempting to kill me that he forgot to change his will. I inherit everything."

  She swallowed hard, wondering what that would mean to this man who was still so tentative, finding his way. She wished she could erase it all with a sweep of her hand—the memories of that evil man, the pain Lion must have suffered deadening his sensitive heart, the loss of the family that loved him so much they would never betray him, no matter how desperate things got. But that was impossible. No matter how one wished it, none of it would disappear. And now he'd been left something tangible that would remind him.

  Lion crossed to the nightstand, his fingers caressing the wooden queen Rhiannon still kept there. "I thought perhaps I should go to Rawmarsh. The house where he raised me. Maybe it would help me lay things to rest."

  She suppressed a shudder. Return there? To his grandfather's house where he'd been hurt so terribly? What if there was only more darkness waiting for him there? Twisted connivance, traps laid by a man who only knew how to hate?

  "I would hate to leave you," Lion said, "but I would never ask you to take a bridal trip into hell."

  "Nothing could keep me from going with you, Lion. Don't you know that? I love you. I'd march through hell and gladly at your side."

  His lips curved in a smile, unabashedly vulnerable, daring to let her see how much he'd wanted her to go with him, needed her beside him. "I put you through so much, bastard that I was. But I'll spend the rest of my life trying to be the man I see reflected in your eyes."

  "I want you, Lion. Only you. Wonderfully flawed, perfect as the fairy cup that once belonged to my mother." She wanted so desperately to drive away every shadow, even the slightest cold whisper of his grandfather's presence—the one stroking darkness into her lover's face. "Make love to me, Lion," she pleaded. "Please. I need you so badly." Rhiannon needed to bind him to her forever in a circle of magic no evil ghost could break. "We'll make our own memories now, love. New ones. Bright ones."

  Lion's arms curved about her, drew her tight against him. "I love you, Rhiannon." He kissed her cheek, her temple. "God, what a miraculous thing. To feel it. To say the words aloud. Still, it frightens me. To love anything this much. It's dangerous. If I should lose you..."

  "That is the most magical thing about loving. You can never lose it if it's real. Even death has no power over it. The love still remains. When I was alone in the caravan, I still felt my papa's love. And you... even when that evil man locked you away, Lion, your father's love still surrounded you, made you strong. Kept that spark of light, of goodness, in your heart no matter how hard your grandfather fought to kill it."

  "There were times in my dreams when I could almost feel and see my father's arms reaching out for me, hear him calling to me. I thought I was imagining it, that it was wishful thinking. But now..."

  He shrugged, a man bred to logic, only just glimpsing a magical world beyond it. "I know that if you were in trouble, loving you the way I do, even death could never keep me from reaching out to you, finding a way to let you know I love you. Do you think it's possible that my father did just that?"

  "I'm certain of it," Rhiannon said, thanking God that the desperate boy Lion had been had felt that love, though he hadn't quite believed.

  Lion looked away. "I wish I had known him."

  "We'll find everything we can about your family, Lion. And when our own babes come, we'll tell stories about your father and mother, and they'll live again."

  "Babes... I'm not certain what kind of a father I'll be, sweetheart...."

  "You'll be the father you imagined all those years when you were alone. The father Paxton Redmayne stole from you."

  "Yes. I will." It was a vow as precious to her as those he'd spoken in the church. Lion, believing in his power to give love. To have others give it back. "And I'll be husband to you—everything you've ever dreamed of... if you'll show me how."

  "There is only one thing I want now, Lion." She let a wicked twinkle spark in her eyes. "You in bed."

  Lion laughed, the sound so beautiful and free. "I want that too, love. Very much."

  He scooped Rhiannon up in his arms, carried her to where their bridal bed stood, sprinkled with rose petals, scented with banks of flowers that filled every vase, gifts from the ladies who had come to love their captain's bride.

  His fingers trembled as they started to unfasten the tiny buttons at her throat, but Rhiannon caught his hand, held it. "No, Lion," she surprised herself with her own boldness. "You saw me before, when we almost made love. All this time I've dreamed of seeing you. Please, Lion. Let me, first."

  His eyes burned, impossibly blue, filled with a need he didn't try to disguise. He said nothing, only took her hands, placed them on the sash that bound his dressing gown about his narrow waist.

  Mouth dry, Rhiannon worked the knot, trembling at the delicious contrast of sleek satin and the skin that had warmed it. Mysteries she revealed one finger stroke at a time. The satin gaped open, and she pressed a kiss against the hair-roughened plane of his chest, reveling in the feel of him beneath her mouth, the scent of him, leather and horses and sandalwood, more intoxicating than any elixir the fairies had ever brewed.

  Rhiannon eased the cloth down the slope of his broad shoulders, let it fall to the floor. Golden, heartbreakingly perfect, he stood before her, as beautiful as some ancient god of the sun.

  She let her eyes sweep from the arches of his feet, up the long, powerful legs and narrow hips, to the shaft that made him a man. Swallowing hard, she raised her gaze up the flat expanse of his belly, to the swaths of muscle that created the landscape of his chest.

  Cheeks burning, she lifted her eyes to his face— the face that had haunted her dreams, carved with the masculine beauty of a fairy-tale prince, frozen by an evil spell. But the spell had been broken. The features that had been like a closely guarded secret were softened somehow, his smile tender, his eyes inviting her in. Into Lion's heart. Into a soul reborn.

  Tears stung her eyes as she strained up on tiptoe, pressing her lips against the melting warmth of his. With a groan, Lion slanted his mouth over hers, drinking her in, his lips searching for flavors he knew he would find there—the richness of love, the spice of passion, the indescribable sweetness of new beginnings.

  Rhiannon moaned softly, her hands skimming his chest as his tongue slid between her lips, searching out the secret recesses of her mouth. He loved her with a tenderness that made her quiver, his fingers struggling with buttons and waves of fabric as fragile as the wings of a fairy. He caught his breath when he drew away and stripped her nightgown over her head.

  Her hair cascaded down about naked breasts, and his gaze darkened, growing hotter still as he stared at her. Deft, strong fingers traced the line of her throat, down to the tip of her breast. "You take my breath away, angel. I don't deserve—-"

  She stopped his words with her lips, kissing him into silence. "The fairies gave you to me. Who are we to question their wisdom?"

  "I know who I am. The luckiest man who ever lived—because you are mine, Rhiannon Fitzgerald Redmayne, to love until the end of time."

  The light glowed in his eyes, fierce protectiveness, awe at the miracle that had drifted into his hands. Rhiannon could sense it, feel it
echo in the depths of her own heart.

  She gasped as he trailed hot kisses down her breasts, his mouth hungry as it fastened on the aching tip, suckling her as his hands explored secrets farther down her body.

  With exquisite mastery, he stirred the need that had tormented her for so long, every stroke of tongue and fingers, palms and warm, seeking lips driving her higher, making her need wilder, hotter.

  "This time nothing will stop me," he whispered against her hair. "You'll be mine, angel. Mine."

  She cried out as his finger eased deeper, slipping inside her, testing her untried opening. She bit her lip and arched into that devastatingly intimate caress as he stroked inside her, his thumb flicking ever so softly against the tiny nubbin hidden within the silky, damp petals of her body.

  She felt it again, that primitive pulse, that untamable sense of something building inside her, pushing harder and harder at her control. She wanted it—the sweet, sweet madness she had tasted once before, the wildness of it, the magic. But this time she wanted Lion with her as she plunged into heaven.

  "Please, Lion," she gasped. "I need you... want you inside me."

  He gave a low growl, and she marveled at the depth of the passion suffusing his handsome face—emotion in its rawest form, pure desire, a lifetime of need.

  He eased himself between her legs, and she felt the blunt tip of his shaft nudge against her, hard and hot and wonderful, promising fulfillment. He hesitated, kissing her mouth. "Rhiannon, there will be pain. If I could take it for you, I—"

  "I want you, Lion. I've waited for you for so long. My whole life. Please, come inside me."

  With soul-shattering tenderness, Lion bracketed her hips with his hands and slowly embedded himself deep in her body. The burning pain between her thighs was nothing in comparison to the burning pain in her heart—a loving so complete no tale of magic could ever compare.

  He thrust against her in a rhythm so precious it seemed her heart would surely burst. Tears coursed down her cheeks as her body reached for the magic, a magic more beautiful than any she had ever known.

  It burst, so bright she was blinded by it, so miraculous she knew she'd never forget this moment, Lion's cry of fulfillment, the arching of his body into hers so deep as he spilled his seed inside her.

  She clung to him, stroking his sweat-sheened back, holding him as if she never wanted to let him go. It seemed forever before he lifted his face from the waves of her hair.

  "Whatever happens when we go to Rawmarsh, I want you to know this," he murmured, his eyes glistening with tears. "I'm going to make it up to you, everything Paxton Redmayne stole from you. Primrose Cottage is to be your first gift. I'm going to buy it back for you, Rhiannon. Knatchbull is already seeing to it. You'll have a home again."

  She smiled, so touched she thought her heart would shatter. "Oh, Lion, it wasn't the walls that made it home. It was knowing someone was waiting for me, eager to see me, to tell me little things—that a new litter of pups had been born in the barn or that a double rainbow shone over the glen. Someone to laugh with over a plate of burned cookies, someone to kiss the finger I blistered when I baked them. Don't you see, Lion? The moment you took me in your arms I was home—the only home I'll ever need."

  Lion groaned, holding her tight, so tight. "If that is what home is, my love, I swear you'll never be without one again. My arms will reach out to hold you until the last day of forever."

  She clung to him, so fierce, wishing they could stay forever in this bright room, with the soft shield of their love around them. But tomorrow waited beyond the curtained window, and with it the journey to the place where Lion's nightmare had begun.

  CHAPTER 21

  Lion stared at the portrait, stunned that it still hung in its place of honor in Rawmarsh's blue-and-gold gallery—Paxton Redmayne, dressed as Socrates in flowing Grecian robes, while a slender, pale boy of seven with intense blue eyes and silver-gold hair stood stiffly at his knee, a modern-day Plato drinking in brilliance at the feet of his incomparable master.

  It had amused Paxton no end, the tableau he'd arranged. It still showed in the smugness about his mouth, the wicked twinkle in his eyes. Yet there was also a hint of pride in those arrogant features as he gazed down at his protege.

  Wishful thinking on the part of the artist? Lion wondered. Or had there been something more in the man—something that Lion had never seen?

  Rhiannon squeezed his arm, her touch warm and familiar in the morass of confusion and ages-old pain Lion had been plunged into the instant he crossed the threshold of his boyhood home.

  "How sad," she said softly. "Teaching is the most noble of aspirations, yet he turned it into something twisted, evil."

  "When I first came here, I had nightmares that this place was the labyrinth in the Greek myths that Papa had read to my sister and me. This vast, writhing maze of corridors and chambers. There was no escape, and always, waiting within, there was this hideous monster who wanted to devour me. It was so terrifying, Rhiannon. Every step I took, every word I spoke... I never knew what would bring that cold rage of his down on my head."

  "But you survived, Lion. You escaped the labyrinth, and were so brave and strong that you even managed to free yourself from all the traps he set in your own mind."

  "I'll always believe that was your doing, my love. That, or the fairy magic you've spoken of. But now this—it's all so strange."

  He crossed to an exquisite globe balanced on the shoulders of a wood-carved Atlas. "The monster is dead."

  "He has no power over you. He never really did. Perhaps that is why that pride in the picture turned to something poisonous."

  "Master Lionel?"

  The voice made him start, turn to see the housekeeper. The woman's face was rounder, more lined with age than when he'd marched away to join the army. Yet there was something different in her eyes— fear—that had always been there. Yet an almost pleading light, an anxiousness, a sorrow. "I hope you've found everything in order."

  Lion grimaced. This was Paxton Redmayne's household. Everything had always been agonizingly in order, with a painful precision that left no hint of humanity, not so much as a flicker of warmth. Even the servants who had lined up to greet their new master had seemed as lifeless as the lions carved into the gray stone. Only their eyes betrayed them. Dread, confusion, uncertainty.

  Most of them had spent their lives in service to Paxton Redmayne. Now their livelihoods teetered on the whim of the tall young officer who stood before them, a man grown from the boy they had seen tormented so mercilessly.

  Despite his own confusion, Lion felt a sharp sting of pity. Did they fear he would take vengeance on them now for failing to help him?

  "Mrs. Smith, you needn't hover, nor should you be afraid," he said with that new gentleness in his voice that never failed to surprise him. "Tell the rest of the servants their positions are secure. I realized long ago that all of you were as much his prisoners as I was."

  Tears welled up in the woman's eyes. "I always knew you were far too bright for 'im. Too strong. Aye, and too good. That was what he could never forgive you for."

  "If there are any people who need to be taken care of—servants too old to do their work, crofters in need of tools or cottage repairs, please let me know. Grandfather had a way of neglecting such things, as I recall. I wish to see that they are taken care of before I go."

  "Yes, sir. That's good of you." She hesitated, fretting a bit of braid trim on one of her cuffs. "There is one matter." Her voice tripped with nervousness. "I didn't set it before you earlier because... well, there were nothing legal drawn up, and I had to see for myself what kind of man you'd grown into before I... I could trust you with it."

  Lion winced, thinking how different Mrs. Smith's reaction might have been if he'd strode into Raw-marsh two months ago—a cold, hard man, more dead inside than alive. It was impudent of her to hold some- thing back, but how could he blame her for her caution? "What is it?"

  She still looked a trifle u
neasy, as if she wasn't certain she'd made the right decision. But then she glanced at Rhiannon and seemed to take comfort. "I knew that Mr. Paxton was up to some devilment. When I heard he'd tried to kill you, I knew the real reason."

  Lion swallowed hard, fear stirring in his gut. A reason to kill the man you'd raised as a grandson. One you'd watched grow from a boy... Perhaps he didn't ever want to know. Yet Lion hadn't been of Paxton Redmayne's blood. Their relationship had been an illusion, hadn't it? And wouldn't understanding the hate that had finally pushed Paxton Redmayne over the edge help Lion put this to rest?

  Mrs. Smith sucked in a steadying breath. "If you and your lady will follow me, I'll show you."

  Lion nodded, and with Rhiannon on his arm, went after Mrs. Smith. But as she left the gallery and made her way to the rear of the house, his muscles tightened, his own steps slowed. Winding stairs spiraled up, dark stairs he'd climbed many times. He wished to God he could tell her to stop, turn, and run back out into the sunlight where he could breathe again. But Rhiannon's hand on his arm, the love radiating from her touch, sent her strength flowing through him, her complete faith in him, her healing of both body and heart.

  "These were my chambers when I was a boy," he explained, fighting to keep his voice steady.

  "Yes." She looked up at him, sorrow and complete understanding in her eyes.

  At the top step, Mrs. Smith fetched a heavy key from her vast ring, slipped it into the lock. "Sir, I did what I thought was best, hiding what I did."

  What the devil was it? Some information about his family? Some shard of his past?

  "Open the door, Mrs. Smith," Lion said, wishing he could bar the portal forever.

  Her hand trembled as she shoved the door open. It was the same, Lion thought numbly. All the same, as if he'd just left the schoolroom for a lesson in swordsmanship with Signor Tidei. Lion stepped into the chamber where he'd spent countless hours, the walls lined with books, maps pinned on every empty surface. His heart wrenched in pity for the boy he had been.