Cates, Kimberly (40 page)

Aidan's
chest squeezed at the sight of her—the pale wisp of fabric that hugged her
curves, begging for the touch of his hands, the cascade of dark silk that was
her hair. And her incredible angel's eyes—God, would he ever stop hungering to
peer into their depths, to see love, that tender, most elusive of emotions,
shimmering out at him from beneath her lashes.

Ever
so gently, he slipped the chemise from her shoulders, pressing the fabric
between his palms and her body as he slid the garment past her waist, her hips,
down the length of her legs, until it pooled over her dainty slippered feet.
She stepped out of the ring of lace and muslin, and Aidan knelt once more,
taking her foot in his hands, removing her slippers as if they were made of the
finest crystal.

If
there was such a thing as sorcery, he was entrapped in it this night. For as he
stripped the stockings from her legs, trailing kisses upon the flesh he bared,
he was certain that he would never be the same again.

When
Norah was garbed in nothing but mist and moonlight, Aidan rose to his feet, his
mouth dry with wanting her. He wanted to imprint the sight of her forever in
his mind, to remember when life's light was fading in his eyes. He grasped her
arms gently, turning her in a slow circle in the liquid silver of the rays
streaming down from the heavens, his gaze caressing the firm swell of breast
tipped in delectable coral, the flare of hips, the pale curve of her buttocks.
Shadows dipped low, to skim her belly, and glimmers of light snagged on the
dark down between her thighs.

That
she should offer herself to him thus, here, in this place of magic, wrenched at
Aidan's heart. And he wanted this loving to be everything she had dreamed of
before she'd crossed the sea to a man who was nothing like those cherished
fantasies.

His
fingers went to the fastenings of his jacket, but she reached out, stopping
him. Her tongue crept out, moistening her lips, as she began the task of
undressing him. Awkward, fumbling slightly, she struggled with buttons and
neckcloth, waistcoat and breeches, while Aidan stood, rigid, waves of arousal
all but driving him to his knees. And when he was naked as she, he eased her
down onto the mound of garments, covering her moon-washed body with his own.

"Norah."
He breathed her name, kissing her, stroking her. "Sweet, sweet Norah. Was
it some benevolent spirit who brought you here to save me from myself?"

She
whimpered, her fingertips learning the landscape of his body, her thighs
opening to him as naturally as a flower to the kiss of the sun.

And
as Aidan mounted her, thrusting with exquisite gentleness inside the sheath of
her body, he felt himself slipping into realms far more fantastical, more
beautiful, than any fairy land could ever be.

A
place where love was real and lasted for all time. A place where miracles
touched the most jaded heart and healed betrayal. A place where Norah waited
for him in a castle of beauty, with flowers in her hair and forever in her
eyes.

"Tell
me, Norah," he rasped, as the madness whirled up inside him. "Tell me
again."

"Wh—what?"

"That
you... love me." The words were a grated plea, a surrender.

Her
hands tangled in his hair, her mouth raining damp kisses wherever she could
reach his bare skin. "I love you, Aidan," she said against his
fevered flesh. "I love you... I love you... I love you."

He
didn't know how many times she said the words, a sensual litany as he filled
her time and time again. But if she said them forever, he knew he would still
never get enough of hearing them on her tongue, tasting her passion for him,
like nectar upon her skin.

He
caught her nipple in his mouth, suckling with fearsome tenderness on the
hardened bud, drawing wild little cries from her. Her hands were desperate on
his back, his buttocks, his shoulders, as if she were battling to find
something... something Aidan knew he could give her.

He
eased one hand between their joined bodies, finding silky petals, a pearl of
sensation hooded within. She jerked when he skimmed his callused finger across
it, circled it, teased it.

"Norah,
love, come with me, angel. Fly with me."

She
cried out, and Aidan felt the pulsing of her release against the white-hot
hardness of his shaft. He thrust, wild, hard, desperate. And in a heartbeat,
his own climax shattered him, stunned him, rocked him until he was gasping and
shaken.

He
rolled slowly to one side, drawing Norah atop him, covering her with the folds
of his cloak. Her hair tumbled across his chest, her face silhouetted against
the moon-kissed sky.

"Norah,"
he breathed, as she stared down at him, a shy aura wreathing her face.
"Tell me one more time."

"I
love you," she said, cupping his stubborn jaw in one soft palm.
"Aidan, I—"

The
words died as she stiffened against him, his own nerve endings snapping taut at
a sound out of sync with the night.

Hoofbeats.

"Sir
Aidan!" the rider bellowed into the night. "Sir Aidan, for the love
of God, where are you?"

Aidan
swore and scrambled up, shoving Norah's clothes into her arms and guiding her
behind a shattered outcropping of wall. Thunderation, what the blazes could be
amiss now? Had that infernally meddling daughter of his noticed that he and
Norah were missing and struck up a search party?

Whoever
it was, there was no choice but to answer.

"Here,"
Aidan shouted above the wind. "In the ruins."

He
had barely thrust his legs into his breeches and yanked them up into place when
the rider came into view.

Stunned,
Aidan glimpsed the troll-like countenance of Gibbon Cadagon. The old groom's
face was stricken. "Thank God that I found you, sir. I vow I never thought
the bastards would be so bold."

"What
is it?" Aidan demanded, yanking on his shirt, a coil of panic unfurling in
his gut.

"It's
Miss Cassandra. After that Montgomery fellow left in such a state, she went
into the garden, looking for you and your lady, and someone... someone tried to
steal her away."

"Steal
her away? What the hell do you mean? One of the guests was making improper
advances to her?"

"Nay,
sir. It was something far darker than that. I'm thinkin' they meant to kidnap
her, hold her for ransom. And your bride, sir, she—she's gone as well. We fear
that—"

"Norah
is with me," Aidan said, and Cadagon stared as the love-tousled figure in
crumpled green satin stepped from behind the wall of stone.

"Thank
God you're all right, my lady," the groom said, his aged voice cracking.
"Thank God."

"Tell
me what happened, old man. You can't mean to say someone attempted to harm
Cassandra at Rathcannon in the middle of a ball? I can't believe it."

"Take
a peek at poor Calvy Sipes's leg and you'll believe it right enough. He foiled
the skulduggery. Took on three of the villainous bastards and got a pistol ball
in his thigh for his troubles."

"My
God." Raw terror rioted in Aidan's veins at images of masked curs
brandishing weapons at his daughter. "Cassandra? She's safe?"

"She's
safe enough now. The lads and me fairly barricaded her in her chamber, with
every burly servant in the whole castle keeping guard over her. Scared the
blazes out of her, though. And she's right terrified that whoever attempted to
steal her had got their hands on the lady. Kept saying she heard them say Lady
Kane's name."

Was
it possible for fear to cinch any tighter? Instinctively, Aidan's arm swept
out, drawing Norah's trembling form against him. Feral protectiveness clawed in
his vitals, seared through every nerve in his body. Whoever had dared this
would regret it for the rest of their lives.

"Has
the surgeon been sent for?" Norah asked. "To tend to Calvy?"

"The
doctor is with him now. The boy's a hearty lad, and a brave one. Didn't even
mention the wound till we had Miss Cass settled and safe. The instant she was
in her room and the other guests were bustled out of the castle, the boy-o
fainted dead away. Only then did we see the blood on his breeches. Sir Aidan, if
it hadn't been for his courage, I vow we'd be tearing apart the countryside,
searching for the little missy."

"I
owe that boy more than I can ever repay him. Who the devil would dare such a
thing? Attacking Cassandra in Rathcannon's garden walls? Threatening my
wife?"

"Not
certain, sir. They wore grain sacks over their faces, only the eyes showing
through. It was dark. Calvy said it all happened so fast. The only thing he did
note was the voices. They were Irish, sure enough, and full o' loathing for you."

Aidan's
jaw knotted. "Irish and they hate me? That narrows it down to half the
county. Damn. Damn it to hell." He felt violated to the very core of his
soul at the idea that anyone should attack his family, breach the safe haven he
had provided for his little girl, and now for this woman who had given him her
heart. He felt helpless—the same rage, frustration, desperation, and wild,
pounding agony he had during that hideous ride he had made years ago, chasing
after that coach into a stormy night.

Without
a word, he stalked to where his stallion was tethered and unfastened the reins.
He mounted the restive animal, then pulled Norah up in front of him, his arms
surrounding her. Spurring the horse to a gallop, he raced down the dark road
along which he had found such unexpected enchantment, enchantment now shadowed
by dark happenings that shivered through his soul in frigid wisps of
foreboding, secret dangers that reached out skeletal fingers to clutch at him
from the night.

No,
Aidan resolved, tamping down his panic with savage resolve. He would find the
bastards who did this. And when he did...

A
feral snarl spread across his face. When he did, hell would not be a dark
enough place for them to hide from his vengeance.

Cassandra
was sleeping at last. Aidan sat beside her bed, her fingers linked in his,
clinging with quiet desperation, despite her closed eyes and even breathing.
The candles beside the bed flickered, picking out the bruised circles of
exhaustion beneath her eyes, the tiny scratch that had marred one babe-soft
cheek during the scuffle with whoever had attempted to carry her away.

She
had been so shaken, his brave little Cass, all but flinging herself at Aidan,
and clutching Norah, murmuring again and again that she was sorry; sorry for
being angry, sorry for her temper, sorry she hadn't come to the wedding the day
before.

She
had been racked with guilt and fear, shaken so badly that Aidan had been beset
by his own grim self-recriminations.

She
had the face of an angel who had suddenly crashed to earth, battered by the
hard realities he had tried so hard to shield her from. She realized, perhaps
for the first time, that chilling truth. Papa might slay imaginary dragons, or
send her soaring on a stone-carved Pegasus. He could love her to desperation.
But even though he would give the last drop of his heart's blood to keep her
safe and protected, it was possible that sacrifice would not be enough to
shield her from pain, from danger, from men like those who had charged into
Cassandra's world tonight and left fear and uncertainty in their wake.

Regret
crushed his throat at his own helplessness in the face of the world's
wickedness. Aidan reached out to stroke his daughter's hair. The candlelight
glistened on the delicate necklace she had worn since that long-ago night when
another mysterious man had attempted to steal her away from Aidan—that man
aided by Cassandra's own mother.

The
thought that someone would dare attempt such villainy again seethed inside
Aidan, eating him alive with rage and terror, hate and the fierce resolve that
they would never, ever, touch her.

He
started at the soft sound of footsteps entering the tower room, the scent of
roses wafting over him, subtle, soothing. Norah. He didn't turn, didn't move.
Just waited for her to touch him, secure in the certainty that she would.

Her
fingers curved tenderly against the tousled darkness of his hair, stroking his
rigid shoulders. He wanted to turn in the chair, to bury his face against her
body, to drive away the nightmare that had shattered this night.

Instead,
he stared at his daughter, reminding himself how close she had come to being
hurt, reminding himself that once again he had been helpless to shield her.

Norah
said nothing, giving him the gift of her silence, her touch, until the fingers
of emotion crushing his chest drove him to speak.

His
finger stole out to touch the heart-shaped locket that gleamed in the
candlelight. "Do you know that this never leaves Cassandra's throat?"

"It's
beautiful," Norah said softly. "Strange, I never really looked at it
closely before. My mother had one like it a long, long time ago, with her
miniature inside it, and my father's. It broke my heart when she hid it away
after my father died."