Stuart, Elizabeth (19 page)

He
shrugged his shoulders, taking her hand and drawing her toward the horses.
"Of what can a man ever be sure save that he's born to die? We've laid our
plans well and have brave lads to carry them through. With a bit of luck you'll
be meeting my impish nephews on the morrow."

***

The
household dined that night to an unusual absence of laughter and merriment. Men
spoke to their neighbors in hushed whispers or brooded in anxious silence over
their slowly warming ale. Torches flickered uncertainly, throwing dancing
shadows across long, unsmiling faces in the dim light. At the chief's table,
Donald and Anne spoke little, and even Francis seemed distracted and
untalkative. One thought troubled the minds of all: somewhere in Ginahea Castle
a brave MacLean masqueraded as an English guard, and the lives of four innocent
men rested in his hands.

Following
that cheerless meal, Anne trudged slowly up the stairs to her bedchamber. She
could not shake the sense of gathering danger that had troubled her since
hearing of Glenkennon's coming. She longed for reassurance, for the feel of
Francis's arms around her and the sound of his easy laughter to drive away her
fears. He had seemed so preoccupied. She wondered a little at his brusqueness
in sending her away to bed. Was he already regretting his dangerous
entanglement?

It
was late when she heard his familiar step in the hallway. Her candle had burned
low, but she'd not dressed for bed, knowing the evening wasn't done. The brisk
steps halted and his knock sounded softly against the panel.

She
swung open the door, her heart beating unsteadily as it always did upon coming
face to face with Francis after even so short an absence. Leaning against the
door frame, he regarded her somberly, no hint of a smile lurking anywhere in
his dark countenance.

"There's
a full moon tonight, lass, and I feel a need to walk beside the sea. Will you
come?" He seemed curiously vulnerable, standing there in the shadows, that
strange, shuttered look masking his expression.

She
nodded wordlessly and turned aside for her cloak. The breeze would be cold
along the cliffs.

They
slipped through the sleeping castle, Francis propelling Anne silently with a
hand at her back. He unbarred the great door, and they stepped into the cool spring
night, then walked across the shadowed courtyard to the gate.

After
a low word from Francis to the guards, the gates swung open, and the pair
walked out onto the damp grass of the meadow. Anne wondered what the men made
of her midnight stroll with Francis. No doubt they thought it a lovers' tryst
and herself the mistress of their chief. She smiled, realizing she did not
really care. It was enough that Francis wanted her with him, that they walked
together in the moonlight with the damp night smell of the moors rising about
them and the soft murmur of the sea vaguely discernible in the midnight quiet.

Francis
took her hand when they entered the shadows at the edge of the woodland. He
drew her along beside him, leading the way with sure steps. They walked along a
rocky path before descending carefully along the cliffs to the sandy crescent
of beach below.

The
moon rode high over the sea, larger and brighter than Anne had ever before seen
it. The water shimmered beneath, reflecting the silvery light from its calm,
glassy surface. Small swells crested and rolled lazily up the beach in a shower
of dancing silver sparks as each drop of salt spray captured the moonlight,
reflecting it back from the water's multifaceted surface. Anne felt an ache in
her chest at the beauty of the scene—and at the fear that she might be taken
away from it all. As though he sensed her feeling, Francis moved closer,
wordlessly putting his arms about her shoulders and pulling her against his
chest.

Anne
leaned her head against his shoulder, gazing up into the black velvet of the
sky where stars twinkled like a million tiny diamonds flung across the heavens
by a generous hand. Her eyes closed in contentment as his lips traced the curve
of her cheek to the sensitive space behind her ear. He kissed the nape of her
neck, then traced a line back to her ear with his tongue. Anne shivered
uncontrollably.

"Cold?"
he whispered softly against her ear.

She
shook her head so vehemently that he chuckled.

He
drew her comfortably into the curve of his shoulder, and they walked the
water's edge. After a few paces, one wave edged farther than its companions,
wetting her feet. She hastened to higher ground, pausing to inspect her damp
slippers. There was no sense ruining her shoes, she thought, removing them with
her stockings. The sand was still warm from the heat of the sun and felt
wonderful beneath her feet. She wriggled her toes delightedly in its grainy
warmth.

"What
are you doing, lass?" Francis inquired.

Her
only reply was a lighthearted giggle. She stepped into the edge of the
advancing waves, splashing playfully in the shallow water. "It's
wonderful, Francis," she gasped. "Take off your boots and come out
here... if you dare." Raising her skirts about her knees, she laughed
aloud as the cold waters rushed and swirled about her naked calves.

Francis
watched in amusement while Anne played, finally removing his own boots to join
her in the dancing shallows. They wandered the beach arm in arm, finally
reaching the looming darkness of the granite cliffs which marked an end to the
narrow stretch of rocky beach.

He
purposefully led her out of the bright moonlight into the deep shadows cast by
the towering rocks, his eyes burning with a warmth even the night could not
hide. Taking her cloak, he spread it beneath them on the sand, wordlessly drawing
her down into his waiting arms.

For
a moment, they lay together in contentment, side by side, watching the great,
billowing ocean rise and fall in easy, rhythmic swells. Then his hands began to
caress her sides. He bent his head, nuzzling the hollow of her throat, his warm
lips sending a multitude of pleasurable sensations radiating along her nerves.

"Umm...
you taste good, lass."

Gently
loosening the gold clasp restraining her hair, Francis fumbled for the pins
that held it in place. It tumbled down her shoulders in fragrant golden waves.
Unable to stop himself now, he tangled his fingers in the luxuriant mass,
holding her head still while his mouth buried itself in hers with a message old
as time.

Anne
leaned against him eagerly, trembling at the unexpected excitement of lying
against his muscular length. Her tongue touched his tentatively, playing about
his lips until he drew it into his mouth, caressing it with his own.

With
a groan he shifted slightly, drawing her beneath him, pressing her down on the
warm sand. His tongue probed deeper, as if he would taste all of her, know all
of her, through the passion of their kiss.

She
met his desire with a growing hunger of her own, her blood surging with a
cadence more powerful than that of the rolling breakers. Clutching his broad
shoulders, she drew him closer, moving her body instinctively to fit the curve
of his.

His
hands moved with tantalizing slowness in ever narrowing circles about her
breasts, his thumbs gently stroking her suddenly sensitive nipples. She did not
understand the wild excitement pulsing through her veins or the wealth of
sensations shooting through her body. She only knew that carrying his
unfamiliar weight felt right—that the pleasing touch of his hands could not be
wrong.

Beneath
his knowing fingers, the crest of each aching breast grew taut. His tongue
teased her lips, then explored more deeply the welcoming recesses of her mouth.
In and out, in and out, with a rhythm that did strange things to her heart—and
to a deep, secret part in the very center of her being.

Drugged
with passion, Anne made no protest when Francis lifted her against him to
unfasten her gown. She dimly noticed the cool caress of the night wind against
her skin. His trembling fingers slipped the dress from her shoulders, then
tugged the straps of her shift down her arms, dropping it to join her gown in a
crumpled heap at her waist.

He
gazed at her silently, lifting a shaky hand to caress her cheek, her throat,
the velvety softness of her breast. The creamy perfection of her naked
shoulders gleamed against the dark backdrop of shadowy rock. With a groan he
lowered his mouth to hers in an all-consuming kiss, his hands gently cupping
the ripe fullness of each breast.

She
shivered with delight at the warm touch of his fingers against her skin. Then
all rational thought ended as his lips left hers to follow the wanderings of
his hands.

An
explosion of feelings swept her as his searing mouth spread an arching flame
throughout her body, igniting the slumbering passion that had never before been
touched. His lips toyed expertly with the taut crest of first one breast and
then the other, sending a flood of sensations through her that left her
breathless and eager for more. The flame within burned higher and hotter with
each exquisite movement of his mouth, leaving her with a desire she could not
long deny. A low moan escaped her, and she half rose against him in ecstasy.

Francis
tried to go slowly, but his own loins ached with the throbbing pressure of
desire. He felt drunk with passion for the woman in his arms. For a month now
he had watched her close about and had denied himself release. The past
fortnight had been a real struggle for self-control as Anne had teased him with
her innocent kisses, and her beauty had haunted him night and day.

Now
he held her yielding body so closely that he could trace every curve, and he
felt her quiver in excitement with each touch of his hands. His heart slammed
crazily against his ribs and his breathing grew ragged and uncontrollable at
the thought of slaking his desire with her. His hungry lips slanted across
hers; his starving senses drank their fill of her eager response. Sliding one
knee between her parted thighs, he pulled her into a more intimate position
against him, already imagining the thrill of their love-making.

Anne
felt the swell of his manhood against her, but she had no thought of stopping
him. She longed to know every inch of him—to love every inch of him. Slipping
an eager hand beneath the cloth of his shirt, she stroked the rippling muscles
of his back. His skin was warm and smooth, inviting the play of her fingers.
Her hands slid lower, caressing the flesh along his ribs, stroking down along
his taut belly...

With
a sharp intake of breath, Francis flinched from her touch. Sitting up, he
fumbled with the lacings of his shirt, then flung it away onto the sand beside
them. Never before had he been so aroused. Even in her innocence, Anne could
excite him more than the experienced hands of any of his previous mistresses.
The blood pounded in his head and surged hotly through his body. Throwing
himself back down beside her, he drew her against him with an urgency
heightened by the teasing touch of her breasts against his naked chest.

"God,
Anne," he mumbled hoarsely. "God, I want you!"

His
mouth moved over hers again, leaving her weak and helpless with desire. She
arched her body against his with no thought save an incredible yearning to be
even closer to him. His hand crept down over her hips, pushing aside her skirt
to stroke boldly along the inside of her thigh.

An
unfamiliar tension was building within the lower reaches of her body. She
twisted beneath him, restless and uncomfortable in his arms, longing for
something she hardly understood. Nothing seemed important but the one primitive
urging that bid her seek release from the exquisite torture of his hands.

"Anne,
I need you," Francis whispered against her throat. "I need you, and
before God, I can wait no longer."

She
stared into his eyes, black now in the shadows. He waited for her answer; he'd
not take her against her will despite his desire. Her heart swelled with love,
and she ached to fill his need. "Francis, I love you more than life
itself," she breathed. "Make me yours now. I want to be- long to you.
I'd give anything to make you happy and would count the cost as nothing."

At
her words, Francis's eyes snapped shut, and he winced as if she had struck him.
Glenkennon would kill Anne if he discovered that Francis had lain with her.
Releasing her abruptly, he sat up with a groan, head and arms propped against
his knees. He sucked in rapid breaths of the cold night air, clasping his knees
tightly, fighting hard to regain control.

Anne
clutched her dress about her shoulders and sat up beside him in alarm.
"What is it, Francis?"

There
was no answer save the sound of his labored breathing in the strained quiet.

"Did...
did I do something wrong?" she asked humbly, quick tears of humiliation
starting to her eyes. Dear God, in her innocence she had done something to
disgust him!

"No
lass, no," he whispered, quickly reassuring her. He ran a finger along her
cheek. "You please me greatly, love. So much, in fact, I near broke my
word."

At
her puzzled look, he smiled grimly and shook his head. "There's too much
unresolved between us. To take advantage of your willingness now would be the
act of a scoundrel." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "But damn it,
woman, you're enough to make a monk forget his vows!" Pressing a quick
kiss against her forehead, he rose to his feet. "Wait here," he
commanded.