Black Falcon's Lady (Celtic Rogues Book 1) (20 page)

She clutched at his chest, tremors shaking her. "Nay, you can't! He can’t. Tade . . ." Sobs of near-hysteria racked her, and her quaking knees suddenly refused to bear her weight.

"Maura!" His voice rasped with concern. Tade caught her as she sagged against him, sweeping one muscled arm beneath her legs and scooping her up into his arms. She felt him tense as if in pain; then the tautness in his muscles eased slightly as he carried her to a curved marble bench hidden in the maze's thick shadows. He lowered himself onto the seat, cradling her against his hard body, his hands stroking the tangled hair back from her moist brow. "Damn, you're cold. Shaking."

"Tade, oh, God, you have to listen to me!"

"I will, love. I will. Hush, now." He pressed the firm warmth of his lips into her hair, skimming kisses against her cheeks and lashes.

"If Dallywoulde finds Devin—"

"I won't let anything happen to Dev, Maura."

"But you, Tade, if anything were to befall you—" The horror of the scenes she’d imagined minutes before crashed in about her. Tade's lean body broken, bleeding. She closed her eyes against the images, a tiny cry breaching her lips as she arched her head back, reaching, seeking, needing the hot sweep of Tade's tongue upon hers. His mouth descended, hard, moist, and pulsing with life, upon her lips. A groan rumbled low in his chest.

"The bullet's not been molded that could steal my life away. Not now, love . . . now that I—" He dragged his mouth from hers, catching her face between his palms. "Maryssa, look at me." Her eyes fluttered open, his heart thundering beneath her hand for long seconds that seemed to stretch into forever. "Maura, I love you."

Maryssa gaped at him, the words splashing over her like a molten rainbow, searing, blinding, far too bright for her to touch. An overwhelming sensation of disbelief, elation, and anger rioted inside her, dashing away the tight-strung coils of fear that had bound her, replacing them with bands that cut more deeply.

"You love me?" Maryssa's eyes locked on his face, expecting to see mockery, jest, some tinge of the bored, accomplished rake who must have murmured the same words to countless others. Bitter tears threatened to spill over her lashes. "And just when, pray tell, did you make this great discovery? When you and Sheena O'Toole were out riding? Did she fail to thank you thoroughly enough for the gift you brought her?" Maryssa tried to pull away from his grasp, but his arms tightened around her.

"Gift?"

"The sugar swan. Sheena was most generous. Deirdre was munching on a piece of the confection when she came to tell me where you were." Maryssa turned her face away from him, unable to keep the hurt from her voice.

"I'm going to flay Deirdre alive!" Tade growled. Then his fingers caught Maryssa's chin in a determined grasp, tipped her face up toward his. "I brought that swan back from Derry for you, Maura. Deirdre knew it."

"It seems she knew a lot of things. That we—" Maryssa stopped, her cheeks burning with anger and humiliation at the words that had almost slipped from her tongue.

"That we what?"

Maryssa spun away again, her mouth set in a defiant line. “It is of no consequence."

"No consequence? I tell you that I love you and you fly in my face, clawing like a half-crazed kitten. And then you won't even deign to tell me why you're in such a temper? Deirdre lied!"

Maryssa gave a bark of bitter laughter. She leaped to her feet and wheeled on him, shocked at the depth of fury racing through her, stunned still more as it burst free. “It would have been difficult for her to have concocted this particular lie, her words were so close to what I know as truth."

Tade rose and clamped his hands about her arms, holding her captive.

"Maryssa, I'm not letting you go until you explain.”

"You told her!" Maryssa accused. "Told her what happened between us on the lakeshore."

"What?" Tade's fingers tightened, his eyes searching her face as if she'd gone mad.

"She said you told her about all of your—how did she say it?—
affaires de coeur
.''

"Maura, do you really believe that I would tell my fifteen-year-old sister about my dalliances with women?"

"She described this dalliance in great detail."

"How the hell could—" His face paled. "That night I talked to Devin. She must've overheard."

"Overheard what? Your recounting of your latest conquest? She knew everything, Tade. Where we were, what we did. How you stopped before we—" Maryssa hated herself for the tears that flooded her lashes.

"Before I came into you?" Rough-edged, ragged, the words seemed embedded deep in Tade's chest.

Maryssa's gaze flew to his face. He peered down at her—solemn, oddly vulnerable, the planes of his face taut with a look of exquisite torment. One thumb skimmed over her cheek, its callused tip gathering her tears. "Leaving you without making you mine on that lakeshore was the hardest thing I've ever done," he said.

"I—I don't believe you." Maryssa forced the words from between stiff lips, the icy wall of anger she had built around herself weakening.

"I scarce believed it myself at first. Love was just another game I played at, slipping about like a lad at a banquet, stealing nips of pleasure until I had nearly made myself sick with it. But you . . ." He ran his fingertips across the soft petal of her lip, and Maryssa felt the reverent touch in every nerve of her body. "From the moment I saw you staring up at me with those eyes, love stopped being just another frolic. There was something about you that buried itself in my heart."

"T-Tade," Maryssa choked out his name, feeling the tearing pain within him as though it were her own. But his fingers gently stilled her words, his eyes locking on hers with a fierce intensity that rocked her very soul.

"I wish—” Tade's voice caught in his throat. “—that I could come to you untouched, as you come to me, but I can't. All I can do is swear to you that never have I spoken these words to another: I love you."

Maryssa felt the earth vanish from beneath her feet, the rainbow that had burned her mere moments before, made only the brighter by the tiny black rim of doubt that still bordered it’s edges. Tears rolled down her cheeks unchecked as she hurled herself against Tade. She delved her hands in the thickness of his hair as he crushed her in his arms, every muscle, every sinew of his lean, hard body melding with the fevered heat of hers.

"I was so afraid when you didn't come to the lake. I wanted to . . ." The anguished words died on her lips as she sought Tade's mouth, opening to him, drinking in the heady feel and taste that was Tade's alone. "I love you," she sobbed into his mouth again and again. "I love you."

She felt an answering groan low in his throat as his tongue thrust deep, mating with hers in a wildly erotic kiss that left them both quivering, clinging. One hand slid up to cup her breast beneath its layer of cloth, his other palm riding down to her derriere, its gentle curve obscured by the layers of petticoat. His fingers clenched in the fabric, pressing her tighter against the muscled length of his thighs, the hard heat of his loins.

Maryssa whimpered in frustration, wanting to tear away the thicknesses of cloth that held them apart, wanting to touch the warm satin of his naked skin as his mouth again covered hers. Her hand tunneled inside his open shirtfront, hungry for the strong arch of bone, the rippling muscles padding his wide shoulders. She felt his flesh jump beneath her hand, the mat of hair on his chest delighting her, the small, beaded point of his nipple spinning heady sensations through her fingers as Tade's own hands wove their magic about her breasts. Of their own volition, her fingertips moved lower.

"Maryssa." Tade's head arched back, his face twisting in what was almost a grimace of pain as her soft fingertips swept down the line of hair that divided the taut muscles of his belly. Her hand brushed the waistband of his breeches. Tade's fingers closed in a bruising grip about her wrist, dragging her hand from beneath his shirt, forcing her back slightly away from him. He leaned there, against her, his breath ripping from his chest in short gasps, his fingers shaking as he buried his face in the curve of her neck.

Maryssa tried to nudge his jaw away, to find his lips, but Tade pressed his face more tightly against her, his voice a hoarse whisper. "Don't. Don't move, Maura love. Touch me like that again and I'll tumble you back into the grass and love you here and now."

Confusion and the same horrible hurt that had roiled through her on the lakeshore curled about her. "Tade, I—I want you to.”

"Nay, love." He raised his face from her shoulder, threading his fingers through the silken curls that framed her face. "When I love you, I want our first time to be perfect. More than just a hurried coupling in the shadows with the chance of heaven knows who stumbling upon us. I want candle shine, coverlets soft with swan’s down; I want the scent of wild roses, and strings of golden hours in which to kiss you, stroke you, see you smile. I want so much for you, Maura,
mo chroi
. "

The glow from a pink paper lantern bobbing on a hedge caught the misty green of his eyes, and the hurt that had washed over her faded. Maryssa felt cherished, loved, the driving need he had stirred in her body dissolving in the promises his words wove within her. She blinked back tears of joy, her fingers stealing up to the muscled column of his throat, feeling the warm pulsing of his life's blood beneath his skin. "Tade, it doesn't matter where or how, she quavered shyly, "as long as it is with you."

She felt a shudder go through him. Then his mouth widened in a dazzling smile.

"I'll come for you on the morrow, then. Don the dress I sent you from Derry, and—"

"Dress?"

"Aye. It is wrapped up among Christabel's things. Ask her, and—Damn, how will I ever wait until dawn?"

His mouth swept down, claiming hers in a kiss—hungry, haunting, flooded with honeyed promise. "I love you, milady," he breathed. "More than life itself. God help me, but I do."

More than life
. . . The night wind echoed his words and Maryssa was haunted by the hatred in the faces ringing the Marlows’s table, the rage and warning in Kane Kilcannon and Deirdre. Her hands slid away from the corded sinews of Tade's neck; the throbbing veins therein suddenly seemed terrifyingly fragile. Fear shot through her, her fingertips freezing in their path upon Tade's arm.

Maryssa tore her hand away, not wanting to feel or think. But as Tade vanished into the darkness, the knowledge she had fought to hold at bay pounded relentlessly into her mind as Rath's gloating words broke over her in fresh waves of terror: A ball from my pistol struck his left arm. I saw him jerk . . . and the blood . . .

"God help us both, Tade," Maryssa whispered. But even the slice of her nails in her flesh could not banish the sensation burned into her palm—the feel of woven cloth beneath a lawn sleeve. The thick-woven cloth of a bandage.

T
he dawn melted
over the horizon like rich cream, gilding the weathered walls of the Marlow stables in patterns of mellow gold. Maryssa smoothed her sweat-damp hands over the full skirt of the gown Tade had bought for her, astonished yet again at how perfectly the garment's tight jacket molded itself to her breasts and waist. It was as if some fairy had charmed the seamstress's needle, forming the yards of satin into a gown fashioned for Maryssa alone. Yet whoever had sewn this wonder of silver lace and fine, glistening cloth had never set eyes on Maryssa.

Had the fit been but an accident? A casting of luck? Or had Tade, indeed, marked with his hands and heart every curve and swell of her body? Had he charted them exactly and held them in his memory all the way to Derry? Maryssa felt a warm surge of delight at the thought and could not restrain herself from twirling about like a child in the deserted stable yard.

Yet she had scarce wheeled about once, when the sound of unseen hooves pounding near flung her joy still higher. Maryssa's fingers knotted into a fist, pressing against the bounding pulse-beat at the base of her throat as she strained to see the rider just cresting the sweep of hill to the west of the stable.

The sunlight glinted off massive bay flanks and midnight-black mane as Tade's stallion raced down the slope, its noble head tossed high in the wind in an equine expression of the same pure enjoyment that shone in every line of its master's lean body. Maryssa's breath caught at the picture they made—the magnificent horse and Tade astride it. A scarlet-lined cape streamed behind Tade's broad shoulders, the wind molding his shirt to the muscle and sinews of his chest. And as the stallion gathered his haunches and sailed over the high fence surrounding the yard, the unsullied joy in Tade's face filled Maryssa with such love and longing she thought her heart would burst.

Even when the horse thundered toward her, she knew no fear, and as Tade reined the beast to a halt scarcely three arm's lengths from where she stood, she felt her lips curve into a smile.

"Good morrow, Miss Wylder." A current of huskiness ran beneath the teasing in Tade's voice as he swept his scarlet-plumed hat from his head. “IT is little wonder the dawn has burst forth with such glory this day. No doubt the sun sprites rousted all their fellows from the star beds to view the loveliest sight in all Christendom." Green eyes roved in a lingering path from the top of Maryssa's silk hood to the toes of the soft kid slippers that peeked out from above their shielding clogs.

Maryssa felt his gaze burn her, firing a blush in her cheeks and on the skin veiled beneath the satin as well. She groped for something witty to say, but words eluded her, and she could only fix her gaze on one of Curran's oiled hooves as a quivering excitement stirred deep within her.

She saw a flash of tight leather breeches as Tade swung from the saddle, then heard the crunch of his boot soles as he came lightly down before her.

"Maura."

Rough and warm, his fingertips brushed her chin, raising her gaze to meet his, and it was as if the full force of what she—they—were about to do had stolen her tongue. But then her gaze caught the heat of his green eyes, saw within them not only desire but also a tenderness that made her knees tremble. She raised her fingers and laid them, feather-soft upon the moist warmth of his lips as she blinked away the droplets that clung to her lashes.

"Tade, the gown." She forced the words from between trembling lips. “It is the most beautiful thing anyone has ever given me."

"I'd give you heaven, Maura, if I could," Tade breathed against her fingertips, his own eyes glistening. "Let me try." He swallowed convulsively, his thumbs sliding up into the curls at her temples, his large palms cupping her cheeks. "There is a place high in the mountains, a place Devin and I built as lads. We vowed we would keep it secret until the day we died, but for you . . . for what this morning holds . . . I fear I'd break a vow to God himself if keeping it meant I could not . . . make you my own."

“It is all I've thought of and dreamed of since we parted." Maryssa's hushed admission seemed breathless even to her own ears. "But I—I'm afraid . . . afraid I'll not please you."

"Afraid you'll not please me?" Tade's lips parted into a smile of such sweetness it pierced Maryssa's heart. Gentle, so gentle, his laugh rippled across her skin. "Do you know, Maura
mo chroi
, how precious you are? Not one woman I've ever known has held more than a paltry concern that I feel pleasure in the loving. They cared only about taking pleasure, gaining whatever they could. But you . . . always, in all things, you seek to give." His head tipped down, his lips blending with hers in a kiss of infinite sweetness and bridled passion.

He released her slowly, reluctantly, molding his rein-hardened palms about her waist and swung her up onto the stallion's back. Maryssa knew she should be prey to the raw terror that had gripped her each time she had faced a horse since the night of the wild ride that had thrown her into Tade's arms. But the web of security and love his words and caresses had built about her shielded her from even that fear as he lifted her high and settled her on the horse's back.

In one lithe, graceful movement, Tade swung up behind her and cupped her hips between his hard leather-encased thighs. And as she leaned back against the muscled plane of his chest, Maryssa smiled, remembering that night not so long ago when a terrified, unloved girl had thought Tade Kilcannon was dragging her into hell.

"We'll ride through the wilds," Tade said in her ear. "You need not fear anyone will see us."

Maryssa didn't even answer, just laid her cheek against his smooth-shaven jaw in a gesture of complete trust, reveling in the scents that clung to him—wildwood, sea breeze, saddle leather.

The movement of Curran starting forward jarred her deeper into the curves of Tade's body, and as the stallion loped smoothly away from Marlow Hall, losing them in the untamed beauty of Tade's mountains, Maryssa cast the last vestiges of her doubt and unease into the sunrise.

The countryside seemed to open its arms to her, embracing her in bright splashes of wildflowers and stark juts of stone lovelier than any carved by a sculptor's hand. And the low rumblings of Tade's voice as he pointed out a roe drinking from a crystal stream or a soaring bird skimming the treetops only served to heighten the anticipation that tingled through Maryssa's veins.

When the narrow trail on which they had been riding disappeared into nothing but turf beneath Curran's hooves, Tade grew suddenly silent, the tension in his muscles building against her. Maryssa felt as if a fist were tightening inside her, every brush of Tade's body against hers so exquisitely pleasurable it was almost painful. At the rim of a tiny valley ringed with jagged stone, Tade reined Curran to a halt and dismounted.

Maryssa felt a shiver work unbidden across her skin, the absence of Tade against her making even the sweet, sun-warmed breeze seem chill as it played among the clouds. Then there was only the feel of his hands lifting her down, his strong arm curving beneath her knees, pulling her against his chest.

She started to move, intending to gain her feet, but his grip about her tightened. "Maura, let me hold you, carry you." His request set her pulses racing. "I want you in my arms when you see my secret place."

She wrapped her arms about his neck, and it touched her to see that instead of the usual leather thong, a black silk ribbon caught up the thick strands of his unruly hair. As he strode down into the valley, she buried her face in the ruffles at his throat, terrified that she would ruin the magic hours of their loving by sniffling and weeping in her joy.

But he had taken no more than a score of steps before Maryssa lifted her head, tempted away from her tears by a fragrance so tantalizingly delicate and lovely that it seemed to have been borne on angels' wings.

Her eyes swept the tiny valley, searching for the source of the wonderful scent, but the glen was spangled by only a few late-blooming flowers. Hardy grasses struggled to gain purchase on what little soil clung between the wealth of jagged rocks scattered across the east side of the valley, while a single gnarled oak tree, larger than any she'd ever seen in Donegal's wilds, thrust its mighty branches skyward from the center of the glen.

Maryssa hazarded a glance up at Tade's expectant face, confusion niggling at her as she tried to imagine them somewhere in this rocky hollow. But as they drew near the towering oak, confusion gave way to disbelief, then amazement, as her gaze followed the massive trunk up to the lacy foliage above. She gasped, dazed, as her eyes locked on what looked to be a fairy castle tangled so high amid the oak's lush leaves it seemed to touch the very sky.

The low walls of the wooden haven were draped with cascades of wild roses, their heavy blossoms festooned with ribbons of pale blue satin. And even from her low vantage point Maryssa could see the waxy whiteness of a dozen unlit tapers set among the blossoms.

She tried to speak but couldn't as she thought of the hours he must have spent gathering the roses, tying the ribbons so that they would hang so perfectly among the delicate flowers.

"Tade, it is so beautiful," she whispered, "how long did you work to do all this?"

“Do you think I could sleep, knowing that in the morning I would be bringing you here, touching you?" His soft words twisted in her heart. "Look, love. You'll not even have to climb the branches to reach it. I fashioned a carriage fit to bear my lady up into her kingdom." She turned to look in the direction he indicated, seeing, partially obscured by the tree trunk, what seemed to be a wooden swing, the ropes that anchored it to the tree castle twined with delicate green vines and sun-colored blossoms.

"That will carry me?" A tiny quaver of doubt edged her voice as her gaze traveled from the sturdy wooden seat up through the branches to the platform. “It is so high."

Tade's laughter rumbled deep in his chest. “It is the tallest tree in these mountains, I vow. When Dev and I were lads we used to love the tale that was spun around it." His mouth crooked in an amused grin.

“It was said to be
Badb Catha's
haven, the place of the druid goddess of war. She and her three sisters supposedly had aided in battle one Preanndaigh the Red, crushing his enemies, but one enemy warrior, Cian of the Sea, showed courage so great that
Badb Catha
could not bear to see him die. Disguised as crows, she and her sisters tore out Cian's heart and buried it here within the glen. And, legend claims, the oak born of his life's blood grows great with his courage."

Maryssa shuddered. "He must have had a great deal of courage for the tree to grow so—" She craned her neck back, peering up fearfully into the branches.

"Tall?" Tade's voice fell gentle. "Maura, I'd never let anything hurt you." He strode to the swing and eased her down onto the seat, the tenderness in his face spiced by an imp of mischief. "Of course, once I hold you captive in my castle, I may never let you come down." He dropped a kiss upon the tip of her nose. “It will take me but an instant to make ready once I reach the top. Then I will pull you up. Hold fast to the ropes."

Her fingers had scarce closed about the hempen cords before Tade's muscled arms and legs carried him up among the spreading branches of the oak. A moment passed, then two, but though she peered up into the tree, he remained hidden from sight. She was about to call out to him when she felt a strange sensation of weightlessness. The ropes tightened and she began to rise upward like a leaf drifting on a breeze, being carried higher, ever higher. She arched her head back, feeling the velvety caress of leaves against her skin, feeling the playful wind thread its fingers through her hair.

The glen spilled out beneath her, dappled gold, spangled with emerald grasses. Maryssa drank it in like honeyed wine, wanting desperately to hold the jeweled shades and sweet scents fresh in her memory for all the endless tomorrows that stretched before her. Moments later, the swing broke through the branches, and the wonder of the glen faded beneath the soul-wrenching beauty of Tade Kilcannon's face.

The smile that had shone upon his countenance as he scaled the tree was gone, his eyes now solemn, brimming with a vulnerability that touched her. She felt as though he had bared for her his heart, his dreams, and had tried to create here in this crudely built castle a tangible symbol of his love for her. Maryssa released her hold on the rope and placed her hand in his outstretched palm. His fingers closed over hers, steadying her as she stepped from the swing into the wood nymph's bower.

The foliage blocked out most of the sunlight, dimming it to the soft gray of twilight. The weathered wood that had been fashioned by a boy's hand long ago was iced now with velvety petals, the tapers set among them now glowing with soft orange light. In the corner of the surprisingly large floor nestled a basket, the aroma of spiced cake and wine emanating from beneath the cloth that covered it. And beside it were spread five thick down comforters, layered atop one another to form a soft bed amid pools of candlelight.

"You said once you wanted to give me heaven," Maryssa whispered. "But heaven will seem a dismal place compared to what you have given me here."

The brush of his fingertips as they untied her hood made her knees feel like water. As he cast the bit of camlet aside and slipped free the pins that imprisoned her curls in a loose chignon, waves of desire crashed over her so sharp and deep that she had to grasp his hard-muscled arm to keep from sinking to the floor.

He ran his long fingers through the sable mass of her hair, smoothing it past her waist, stroking it as though it were the finest silk; then he bent down to retrieve from the coverlets a single perfect rose. "For milady." It was as if he had laid all that he was in her hand at that moment. And she wanted to offer him something beautiful in return.

She lifted her hand to trace the planes of his face with her fingertips, memorizing each arch of cheekbone and jaw, the tiny crinkled lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes the result of a lifetime of laughter. Then she rose up on tiptoe and touched her lips to his mouth in a kiss blushed with all the love that filled her bursting heart. Her fingers slid down to grasp the folds of his shirt; then she sank onto the coverlets, drawing Tade with her. He eased her back, his muscled forearm curving beneath her to pillow her head as his mouth moved over hers, and she could feel him shaking against her, could feel his need.