A Kiss in the Night (32 page)

Silver eyes, dark in the light, turned to him "Aye."

To her surprise, he only chuckled. "And just what is it about me that you struggle to endure, milady?"

He would tease her now. She stood in sudden agitation and took one step toward the ledge "I just cannot be near you."

She stared off at the stage, unable to hear a word with her heart hammering so. He stood up as well and came directly behind her. She closed her eyes If she but leaned back an inch, she'd be against him He was tormenting her, and yet…

Her back aligned with his front. The tiny space between them was charged and heated, like the air before a storm. He peered at her over her shoulder. She felt his gaze, like a lover's caress, resting on the swell of her breasts. She opened her eyes, still pretending to watch the theatrical proceedings below, but all she could think was how close he was, the quiet lift and fall of each breath he drew into his lungs, the warmth emanating from his hard frame.

"Love," he whispered as his finger toyed at the nape of her neck, light as a feather. "1 vowed to wait until you came to me. I intend to keep it, but you are a fool if you think I will make it easy for you."

The threat was explicit. "Paxton, you would torment me…"

He did not deny it. A shiver raced along her spine in a warning or anticipation, or both. They might be alone on a star-filled night for all she knew now. She tried to resist, but—

The prince stepped onstage and the audience applauded with anticipation.

Paxton, too, took an imperceptible step forward. With her next breath her backside pushed against his frame. The hard outline of his chest and hips and thighs brushed against her. She suddenly gripped the banister as his heat washed over her in a sensation of tingling pleasure.

"Surrender, love…"

The whispered words brought her firmly against his magnetic warmth. She felt his desire. A rush of fire shot through her, and she gasped his name. "Paxton..." His warm lips skimmed her neck, his strong hands crossed over her front to enfold her against him. Her hands came over his forearms to keep him there or push him away, she didn't know. "Paxton..."

She went still as his lips gently teased between neck and shoulders. Shivers rushed from that spot down to her breasts, where a hot congestion grew, an ache only he could assuage. His hands came to span her ribs just below the soft swells. She drew a sharp breath that shifted the warmth into his palms.

"Again," he said.

He rewarded her by cupping the soft flesh in his hands, sculpting the form until he felt her pulse race. "Do you feel that, Linness?" he whispered against her ear, his mouth as warm as the flesh he caressed. "The heat in my loins?"

She did and it was madness. She shifted slightly, nestling her buttocks against this heat. She heard his sharp groan. His warmth disappeared for the briefest moment and then suddenly his riding cloak surrounded both of them.

One hand held her seductively against his heat, while the other deftly unbuttoned her bodice. The cloth parted. His hands slid over her breast, massaging it until she was a mass of trembling pleasure. Warm serums were heating her blood.

His hands came behind her and there came a few anxious minutes of separation before he brought her back against him. The hard swell and heat of his naked sex pressed against a sliver of opening found in her unlaced pantaloons. She nearly swooned. He pressed her hips tight against him. A hot lick of fire shot between her thighs. She drew a sharp breath, shifting to ease the tension, only to hear his response, and feel another hot lick. She was suddenly gasping.

She felt suddenly hot and weak. "Paxton…”

"Lean over, love...”

She complied in slow motion. As if in a dream. His strong arm lifted her slightly at the waist. His leg nudged hers shamelessly apart. She closed her eyes as she felt his sex sliding against her, his huge body tense with pleasure. Each breath shot fire from the spot. His seeking heat crested at her moist opening, stroking her. A bright wave of ecstasy grew, straining for the blossoming each smooth movement promised. His hand slipped between her thighs. Deft strokes, heated pants, until—

The audience burst into thunderous applause.

She opened her eyes, startled, and abruptly straightened; his warmth vanished, replaced by shivers. The curtain dropped. His cloak came over her shoulders as her trembling hands hurriedly began buttoning the bodice of her costume.

"An arresting performance," she heard him say. Then he added in a whisper full of meaning, "The ending felt abrupt, though. Would you not agree, milady?"

She nodded. Abrupt. Too soon, precious seconds too soon. Yet a lifetime would not be long enough. And they did not even have a single night to call their own.

Tension still enslaved her breathing and claimed her deepest part, which throbbed in gentle insistence for more. She could only wonder how she would possibly manage the short trip back to the chateau. For she stumbled with her first step. "Paxton." She said his name in a plea as he helped her to her feet. His gaze was black and shining with unleashed passion.

"Tonight, love. Surrender tonight."

She knew then she could not deny him. Resisting him was like fighting against a strong and powerful current sweeping over her life and promising only to carry her to bliss. To heaven on earth. Resisting him became a hell, the death he warned her it was, a constant struggle wherein she lost ground inch by slow inch, and yet fought on and on until she could not remember against what she was fighting.

"Aye," she said, seeing the darkness swirl all around her as she reached this decision. "Tonight…"

"And when you come you will wear only the gold necklace with my ring beneath your robe.”

She paused as she absorbed this and then she assented with a quick nod.

* * * *

She fingered the ring about her neck as she waited in her well-lit chambers until at last she heard Morgan stagger into the entrance hall below. His voice, raised in a drunken song, stumbled through the absurd lyrics. She heard him climb each step, a tumble and a clang of spurs, a shuffle. He righted himself and continued on his way up.

She made no sound as she went to the door, pausing there to listen. She closed her eyes, her senses flooded with heady anticipation.

Paxton; his name echoed in her mind…

Morgan's boots paused outside her door.

She stiffened in sudden fear. What was he doing outside her door? Mercy, was he checking on her? Did he know? Did someone tell him? Yet who would dare?

The lightest of knocks sounded as if to check if she was sleeping. She stepped back in panic. Should she pretend to be asleep?

Nay, 'twould not do.

In a breathless rush she said, "Come in."

Morgan stepped into his wife's room.

With one hand fixed on the ring, she stood there staring at him. She tried to look calm, but her face was drained and her eyes were wide with trepidation. Her other hand clasped the robe tight about her neck.

Paxton heard Morgan enter her room from behind the stone wall separating them. Within the next minute he was pressed against the ledge; seized by his rage, he gripped his sword tightly, his mind filled with thoughts of blood and violence.

Yet he waited outside her window, listening.

Linness saw immediately that Morgan was quite intoxicated. Once upon a time he could drink the night long and remain seemingly unaffected. No more. It seemed he became drunker on ever smaller amounts. Clair said this was the progression of many drunkards; she swore she had seen it happen thus a dozen times...

Presently Morgan's eyes were red and his skin blotched. Blood vessels appeared prominently on his nose. It was a struggle for him to focus. With an unsteady hand, he wiped his mouth. He seemed quite unsure of himself. Nothing could have frightened her more.

Why had he come? Tonight? He rarely entered her chambers alone. He appeared only with Michaels or when Clair was with her.

Surely he did not come for...

Dear Lord, please not for that.

"I saw the light through the door," lie explained obliquely as he rocked back on his heels, then righted himself. "You are well?"

She nodded. "Yes. And you?"

"Aye." He smiled with a pleasant memory of the night. A smile that vanished as he focused again on Linness. "I did not see you all day at the fair," he said, his words slurred. "Paxton and I were…Never mind that. I understand Jean Luc had a good time with my uncle?"

"Aye, the two of them had a fine time.”

He nodded and seemed to drift off. He rocked back again, teetering, and his hand went to the wall to steady himself. "I, ah, want you to know something…"

She saw suddenly he was afraid. "Aye?"

"This…bishop. You were so wary of his coming, and I see why now. He is...like a darkening storm cloud..." Deep crevices furrowed his brow, disappearing as he said, "Aye, but Paxton will save us. Milady, I, I know I am not the best husband, but I want you to know...I will never let him hurt you."

Emotion sprang to her eyes and shimmered there as this sentiment touched her. No matter what, he cared deeply for her; in his own sad and distorted way, he did care for her.

She nodded, her eyes filled with sympathy. "Thank you for that. It means much to me.”

He smiled gently at her words and then hesitated for a moment. With an unsteady hand he reached into the folds of his cape, struggling to find something in his pockets. "Here, I bought this for you.”'

He presented to her an object wrapped in a frosty pink velvet and tied with a white ribbon. Linness reached for it. She untied the ribbon and pulled the velvet cloth from the object.

It was a small hand-carved wooden statuette. Of Mary. She studied the fine, smooth lines, like nothing she had ever seen before. She gently traced the graceful folds of Mary's cloak, the delicate and beautiful lines of her face. Somehow, the artisan had captured the love Mary offered the world.

She studied the small wooden reminder of Mary's love and she held perfectly still as her thoughts raced. Was she wrong to love Paxton and not her husband?

Yet how could she not love Paxton? 'Twas not possible! Like altering the course of the planets around the sun, she did not have that awesome power. Each breath in her body declared this love.

The silver gaze lifted to Morgan, then dropped back to the statuette, to her fingers still sliding over its smooth lines. Mary's love stared back. Mary would not ask the impossible of her humblest servant.

And Mary's light would protect her from the darkness Bishop Luce was surely bringing into her world.

Her hands trembled slightly; she clasped the statuette against her heart as she lifted confused eyes to Morgan. He smiled tenderly at her. "I thought maybe I should get you a new dress or ribbons, but when I saw it at a little stand on the edge of the fair, I thought this might please you more—"

"Aye," she said in a heated whisper, and she reached up and gently kissed his cheek. "Aye. Thank you. ‘Tis so beautiful. More treasured by my heart than a thousand dresses."

The answer pleased Morgan. He nodded as he turned and left the room. The door shut.

Outside on the ledge Paxton's hand relaxed at last from the hilt of his steel. He drew a deep breath and confronted his madness. He would have killed Morgan. Killed his flesh-and-blood brother tor touching his own wife.

He looked up at the star-filled night but saw no beauty in the distant pinpoints of light against the black velvet. A warm breeze whispered in his ear. No solace in the future. For he knew the tables were reversed, or would be soon.

Forgive me, Linness...

He swore softly, viciously. He could not save her; he had always been too late to save her. He had no choice. Even if he did not have to save Linness from the bishop's vengeful malice, and get him gone from Gaillard, he could not save Linness from his king's edict.

In truth he wouldn't save her, even if he could.

The idea that he would soon be losing Linness filled him with urgency. He wanted her to damn his brother's bumbling gestures and come to him tonight. He wanted her to answer his urgency with her own.

They had so little time left…

He slipped back inside his chambers. A fire had been lit in the hearth, despite the mild night air. He set down his sword, unclasped his belt, and pulled off his tunic. He sat on the bed to remove his boots, and when he had taken both off, he caught the faint sweet scent of perfume: lilacs and oils.

His dark blue eyes searched the shadows of the room.

She stood across from him, leaning against the wall.

‘
Twas a dream spun in a waking state, she looked so beautiful. She wore only the long gold robe. The thick braid of her hair fell over one shoulder. The delicate Celtic features were marked by a lingering flush of anticipation.

In a husky whisper he said, "Drop the robe."The robe slid off her bare shoulders to fall in a neat circle of cloth over her bare feet. She drew a deep, unsteady breath and closed her eyes beneath the intensity of his gaze.

"Come here."