Kathleen Harrington (34 page)

Francine fought the niggle of fear that crept up her neck. This was the same ship that Kinrath had sailed when he’d conjured the storms. It would take all her courage to board the vessel.

But she knew that his kinsmen had taken turns standing watch throughout their journey. Kinrath himself had rarely slept. Even after their lovemaking, he would doze lightly, his sword always within reach, his dirk beneath his pillow. At the slightest sound, he would be instantly awake, ready to reach for his weapons.

Their horses were led away to spend their days at Newcastle munching on sweet hay in a stable. The baggage carts would be stored in a quayside warehouse.

Francine held Angelica’s hand as they crossed the River Tyne in a rowboat to the
Sea Hawk.
The child was ecstatic, chattering nonstop about everything she saw.

“Angelica was too young to remember our voyage from Naples with Mathias and Lucia,” Francine told Kinrath, who sat on the other side of her daughter. “She was only two years old when we returned to England.”

“Signora Grazioli was there at her birth?” he asked.

“She was the midwife. Lucia delivered Angelica.” Francine gave a slight shake of her head to remind him to say nothing of Cecilia.

He nodded, reassuring her without words that he’d keep his promise of secrecy.

Kinrath helped them climb the ladder and board the ship. He led his guests to the captain’s cabin.

Francine looked around in curiosity, as Angelica bounced happily up and down on the bed attached to the wall in front of a pair of bowed windows. There was a worktable bolted to another wall. On it were maps, charts, and maritime instruments.

“We’ll have supper in here,” Kinrath said. “Walter and Colin will join us. My gillie will serve. Right now, I’m going up on deck. I need to talk to my crew and then inspect the ship. There’ll be time for the three of you to bathe and change into fresh gowns.”

At Francine’s grateful smile, he added. “I’ve had some of your baggage brought on board. Your trunk will be moved in here momentarily. Roddy will see to your needs. He’ll fill a tub and lay out the soap and toweling. Then he’ll leave you three womenfolk to your toilettes. All the men will wash up on deck. I advise you not to come up till you’re called, as we strip and suds down, then pour buckets of water over ourselves.

T
hat evening, Francine lay in Kinrath’s arms and looked up at the starry night sky through the cabin’s open window. Moonlight streamed in, bathing them both in its soft light. They’d made love and were both sprawled, naked and relaxed, on his bed.

She moved to sit up beside him, studying his long, muscular body. He’d loosened his hair from its usual braid when he’d scrubbed up earlier. The reddish-brown waves framed his classic features and brushed against his shoulders in an unconscious display of masculine perfection.

Everything about him, from the bulging muscles of his upper arms to his massive thighs, bespoke power and indisputable male strength. Even relaxed as he was, an aura of lethal aggression surrounded him. And the certain knowledge that in one fluid motion he could reach for his sword on the floor beside the bed and spring to his feet to meet an enemy’s assault.

“We saw your ship on our voyage back to England aboard the
Bocca di leone
,” she told him softly. “The
Sea Hawk
came out of a fog bank and ran alongside us. Our captain signaled that we were a passenger ship sailing under the flag of Genoa. He ordered every man, woman, and child up on deck, so you could see us and know he spoke the truth. There were seventy all told, including the Italian crew. We stood at the railing, praying for God to deliver us from the pirates. I held Angelica, while Mathias kept his arm about us both. Then just as quickly, your ship disappeared back into the fog and sailed away.”

Lachlan reached up to cup her cheek in his palm. He could see the pain of that terrible memory in her expressive eyes. “I’m sorry I frightened you so, darling. Our orders were to protect Scottish ships from Dutch and English privateers. We never attacked passenger vessels.”

She gave him a weak smile. “The Italian sailors called you the Sorcerer of the Seas. It seemed as though you had conjured up the fog to conceal your ship.”

Lachlan sat up beside her. “Surely Francie, you dinna believe I can control the elements?”

She took a deep breath and released a sigh. She placed her hand atop his, and Lachlan could feel her fingers trembling. “I saw what happened when we were attacked on the road to York. You raced toward me, cutting down your assailants without even breaking your stride. Bodies littered the roadway when the assault was over. Yet not one of your kinsman had a scratch on him.”

“My men are battle-tested veterans,” he protested.

When she made no reply, Lachlan cupped her full breast in his hand and caressed her nipple with the pad of his thumb. “You’re a bundle of contradictions, Lady Walsingham. Not only can you read and write, you compose music, create pageants, and speak four languages—

She interrupted him with a laugh. “Five. I also read Latin.”

“Yet you believe in foolish superstitions.”

She wrinkled her nose like a naughty child. “That’s what Mathias called them. Foolish and ignorant.”

Lachlan pulled her down on the mattress and leaned over her. “I’m starting to feel a wee bit jealous of your deceased husband,” he growled. “You seem to consider Walsingham the wisest man ever born. I’ve a fair bit of learning myself, lass. As a youth, I was known as a lad o’ parts.”

Francine burst into a peal of laughter. “When it comes to making love, milord, I have to admit you’re a genius.”

Lachlan smiled in satisfaction. “I’ll take that compliment,” he said huskily, “and improve upon it.”

He covered her breast with his open mouth, licking the tiny bud into a hard peak. She arched her back, allowing him better access. He smoothed his hand over her belly and down between her satiny thighs. He stroked her, building the excitement inside her, until she was freely rubbing herself against his practice fingers.

Positioning himself between her legs, he touched the tip of his sex to her sensitive tissues, rubbing himself lightly against her in small circles. “Can you feel me, lass?” he asked hoarsely. “Can you feel me worshiping your sweet body?”

“Lachlan,” she gasped, drawing air in short gulps. She whimpered with need, as she reached down, taking him in her cool, tapered fingers and guiding him home.

The feel of her moist warmth clinging against his heated flesh sent the blood rocketing through his veins. He purposely slowed his movements, the wish to prolong her pleasure foremost in his mind.

Never before had he felt this driving force, this need to take her again and again, to keep her beside him, to never let her go. He wanted to hear the words of love on her lips as she reached culmination. The words that every other woman had given him so quickly and without his needing, or even wanting, to hear them.

“Tell me darling lass,” he whispered in her ear. “Tell me how you feel.”

“Lachlan,” she said, her breath coming in quick, short pants. “Oh, Lachlan. Tis so wonderful . . . I . . .”

“Tell me, Francie. Say the words.”

She tensed as she clutched his shoulders, arching her hips against him. She released a long, low sigh of female capitulation as her delicate folds convulsed around his sex.

Lachlan’s body shuddered with his release, the intense pleasure unlike anything he’d known before. Francine had wiped from his memory every other woman he’d ever lain with. How could this confounding female have attained such power over him?

Still embedded within her, he rolled onto his back and positioned her bent legs on either side of him. Her breath came in deep gasps, as she lay atop him, her head resting on his chest.

Francine lifted her head and met Kinrath’s deep green eyes, filled now with immeasurable tenderness. “I know,” she told him. “I know that you have enchanted me.”

He gazed at her quizzically, as though he didn’t understand her meaning, and then smiled in triumph. “As you have enchanted me,
a ghaolaich
.”

She placed her finger on his lips. “Do not use words I don’t understand,” she admonished. “I’ve warned you about that before. And I most certainly have not placed you under my spell. I wouldn’t begin to know how.”

He reached up and twirled a lock of her hair around his finger, then gave it a gentle tug. “Ah, but you have, love.”

Francine scowled at his playful rejoinder. “Try to be serious,” she scolded. “I have no powers of enchantment. I don’t know the words of a single charm.” She started to swing one leg over, but he cupped her bottom in his palms and held her in place. “Stay here with me inside you,” he coaxed. “We can sleep this way.”

“Will you sleep?” she asked, her tone dubious.

He nodded. “Tonight, yes. The ship’s crew is standing watch, while the others are sleeping. No one can reach us without approaching in a boat. In this moonlight, we’ll be completely safe until we go ashore in the morning.”

With a satisfied sigh, Francine nestled her head beneath her lover’s chin. “Mm, why didn’t you tell me you made such a nice pillow?” She heard his quiet chuckle deep in his chest.

“I’ve many talents, lass. Some of which you’ve just begun to appreciate.”

Francine shifted her weight slightly and felt his manhood move inside her. Once again, her entire body responded to him, as though she no longer had any control over herself. Only an enchantment could explain this power he held over her. What she felt could not be love. ’Twas just as she’d told him, she was certain he had enchanted her.

Oh, yes, the sorcerer had captured her in his potent love spell.

And only an equally potent counterspell could free her.

F
rancine woke in the middle of the night to find Kinrath sound asleep beside her. She eased out of bed, trying to make as little noise as possible. She crept over to his pack, which Roddy so often remained in charge of but had left on the cabin floor that afternoon. Crouching down, she opened the canvas bag and searched through the articles of clothing and male accoutrements. Razor and soap, brush and comb, and an extra thong to tie his braid. Filled with disappointment, she knelt back on her haunches. She’d hoped to find a small item, such as a rune carved on a stone. Or a tiny book of faery riddles, like the ones he’d been teaching Angelica lately.

She returned cautiously across the cabin to the bed. On the floor, illuminated in the moonlight, lay Kinrath’s unsheathed broadsword. The sharp blade shimmered in the moonbeams streaming through the open window, as though it were alive. Strange characters of an unfamiliar alphabet had been inscribed on the glittering steel.

Perhaps, she’d found something after all.

She slid back under the blanket in silence. Kinrath stirred and slipped his arm around her, pulling her close.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” he asked softly, not even opening his eyes. He was still half asleep.

“I was just wondering,” she whispered, “what does the inscription on your broadsword say?”

“Invincible,” he murmured. “Now go back to sleep, lass.”

Invincible.

Dear Lord above. Exactly the perfect word to describe a sorcerer.

T
he next morning, they were free to explore the city of Newcastle-upon-Tyne. The quayside was bustling with an impromptu fair celebrating the coming arrival of the royal princess. Merchants and farmers crowded the docks, their booths displaying bountiful wares.

Lachlan had agreed to the excursion on the condition that Francine and Angelica walk next to him, after first promising never to leave his side. Walter and Cuthbert, with Signora Grazioli between them, followed Lachlan. Colin and Roddy led the parade. Behind their small group came six of Lachlan’s stoutest kinsmen, each man armed and ready for any trouble that might arise.

Their air of martial preparedness did nothing to diminish the golden-haired lassie’s excitement. Dressed in a rose-colored gown that matched her mother’s, she bounced along, holding tightly to Francine’s hand and exclaiming about everything she saw.

Jugglers, musicians, and vendors hawking baskets of dyed yarn made from fine Yorkshire wool, apples, cheeses, and the morning’s catch of fish and crab from the cold North Sea wandered through the jostling crowd of townspeople. Morris dancers in their colorful costumes gyrated across the dock’s rough wooden planks.

“Mummy, Mummy,” Angelica said, “Laird Kinrath taught me another riddle this morning while you were dressing.”

“He did!” Francine’s vivid features lit up with interest. “Tell me the riddle, sweetie. But don’t tell me the answer,” she cautioned. “I have to guess it by myself.”

Angelica was thrilled to comply: “As I looked over the castle wall, I saw a ship a sailing. What was the king’s name in the ship a sailing?”

Francine smiled at her daughter’s excitement. “King Henry?”

Her brown eyes shining, Angelica shook her head and executed a little hop, skip, and jump.

Francine immediately guessed again. “King James?”

Angelica laughed. “No, no, no!”

Francine launched into naming every king she could recall, including Solomon and David from the Bible. “Don’t tell me, dearest,” she reminded the lassie. “Give me a chance to think.”

Angelica giggled irrepressibly, adding the second verse: “I am telling you, but you’re never caring. What was the king’s name in the ship a sailing?”

“I give up,” Francine said, disappointment in her voice.

Her daughter skipped along beside Lachlan. She looked up, her eyes brimming with laughter. “The king’s name was
Wat,
Mummy! His name was
Wat
!
Wat
was the king’s name.”

Francine bit her lip, frustration overriding her sense of humor. “Fie!” she cried in disappointment. “Why couldn’t I think of that?”

“’Tis only a riddle, love,” Lachlan told her.

Francine glared at him. “Humph,” she sniffed. “Some riddles are more important than others. But then, I’m certain you’re quite aware of that!”