Wild Hearts (11 page)

"You were in that dreadful place so long, sweetheart, I don't know how you bore it. More than anything in the world, I want you to enjoy today. If you will put all your past behind you and live for the moment, I promise you I will reconsider my plans for you."

A great weight was lifted from her shoulders. He had softened toward her and was going to do the decent thing and let her return. Somehow she would see that no charges were laid against him for the impulsive act he had committed. "Thank you, milord. You must know how grateful I am." She sighed with relief.

He took her hand and led her into the stable. His horse stood ready for him, and the mare she had practiced on every day had been saddled for her. He lifted a bridle, covered in tiny bells, from the wall. "This should give you pleasure. They tinkle delightfully. They were made especially for a lady."

She smiled her delight and allowed him to lift her into the saddle. As his hands easily spanned her tiny waist, she realized all the discomfort of the little corset was worthwhile, even though it took her breath away. Actually, she was not absolutely sure it was the corset! She was vain enough to want him to find her attractive, and as his hands lingered at her waist, she knew beyond a doubt that her wish had been granted.

They rode down the coast through the small towns that led to the English border. He watched her carefully as she rode with pride. To Tabby it seemed his eyes never left her, and she bloomed beneath his approving regard.

Actually, his attention was divided, although he concealed this well. He suspected that they were being followed. In Burnmouth, the fourth town they -passed through, he noticed a man on horseback who had been in Coldingham, a few miles back. Although he was used to keeping his thoughts to himself, he spoke lightly to his companion. "You have a good seat," he told her as seriously as he could manage.

She blushed as she realized it was another double entendre that was sprinkled throughout the speech of all the Cockburns.

"We should enjoy today. There are so few days when we are bathed in sunshine like this. See how the North Sea actually looks calm now?"

At last, just North of Berwick-on-Tweed, she saw what he wanted her to see. Called Brotherston's Hole, it was an arch cut into the sandstone by the pounding waves. It had a stack on top and was a most curious freak of nature. They were atop eighty-foot cliffs of red sandstone. The North Sea spurted up through blowholes, thirty feet into the air, sending a shower of spray all over them.

As she laughed up at him, she had the sensation that they were the only two people in the world. Excitement ran along her veins, and she knew she wanted him to kiss her. It was wicked of her, but just for today she wanted to forget the kindly husband waiting in Edinburgh. She would dutifully go to him tomorrow and be a devoted wife, but today she wanted to play this dangerous game.

In the dampness of the spray, her hair sprang into tiny tendrils, curling wildly about her face. He reached down to lift a tress and rub its silken texture between thumb and forefinger. He whispered, "In truth, I am your prisoner, held captive by your beauty."

Her heart hammered wildly beneath her breasts as he lowered his head to hers. But at that moment the tail of his eye was caught by a movement behind an outcropping of rock some distance off. He was definitely being. followed! When he stopped short of claiming her lips, relief swept over her. His gaze shifted out to sea and he said, "'Tis lovely now, but the weather can change almost overnight. Shortly, the autumn gales will shoot this water ninety feet into the air."

"I've never seen anything like it. To think for centuries the sea has been slowly pounding the cliffs to sand," she said, regaining some small measure of composure.

"The sea can be all things to all men," he said slowly as the seeds of a plan began to form. "I have a ship. I would love to take you sailing. Would you come with me?" he challenged.

She didn't take his words seriously; it was just part of the game they played today that the future was theirs. She mused, "My mother must have crossed from France. She must have been very brave."

"And very beautiful," he said quietly, taking her fingers and brushing his lips over them. "There's a small inn I know you will enjoy if we ride inland from here. We can stay for lunch."

She was glad for the chance to rest. He dismounted quickly and came toward her. As he lifted her, she put her hands on his shoulders and felt his muscles flex; and she blushed uncontrollably as he swung her with ease to the ground beside him.

They had a delicious lunch of poached salmon. She enjoyed the blackberries and cream so much, Paris ordered her a second dish. The innkeeper kept referring to her as Mistress Shannon, which made her giggle for some reason. Paris urged her to try the homemade ale, assured her that Shannon wouldn't hesitate and, to her delight, she found it quenched her thirst well.

Afterward, they strolled through the orchard behind the inn and out into a hayfield that had just been reaped and stacked. She picked a handful of poppies and cornflowers. The air, was filled with pollen, and she began to sneeze.

"One for a wish, two for a kiss," claimed Paris, coming closer. Two more little sneezes followed, and she laughed. "Three for a letter, four for better."

She held up the wild flowers for him to admire, and he took her hands and gazed down into the amethyst eyes. "Five for a secret never to be told," he murmured softly, lifting her clear of the ground in an embrace that took her breath away. His mouth covered hers as he kissed her gently, slowly, thoroughly. She could feel her heart beating wildly. She was breathless at his touch. Her lashes swept down quickly as she recalled the last two lines, "Six for silver and seven for gold," and the moment was destroyed for her. She pulled away from him sharply. She must be mad to let him kiss her, when he had kidnapped her for gold.

When she pulled away from him, Paris was also brought to his senses. He frowned and ran his fingers through his hair. If anyone watched him now, they would know she was not his sister. Who was following him, and was the castle being watched? The day had been a rare chance for him to relax and let his heavy responsibilities slip from his shoulders, yet the presence of the unknown rider, though not worrying him unduly, nevertheless provoked questions.

They reached the castle by dusk. Tabby was in a state of confusion, which had been produced by Paris's undivided attention all day. She realized she was vulnerable to this strong, handsome man. Was she so starved for affection that she was willing to close her eyes to all his faults? If she didn't get away soon, she knew she was in danger of losing her heart to him. Perhaps it was too late. Perhaps she had already fallen in love.

At the stables, he didn't help her dismount but watched her closely as she managed the task. "You rode well today. You can be proud of your accomplishment," he praised.

She lifted her face toward him in the dimness of the stables. "You will let me return to Edinburgh tomorrow, Paris, won't you?"

"No," he said shortly.

Her hand went to her throat in dismay, her eyes showing their hurt as if he had slapped her. "But you gave me your word you would reconsider," she cried.

"I have reconsidered, and upon that reconsideration, I have decided that you shall stay," he said harshly, his brows lowering in anger for the first time that day.

She was angry, too. She wanted to slap his face hard, but she did not dare, for she knew if he returned the slap, his strength would fell her. She picked up the velvet hem of the habit and ran swiftly from the stables.

"Thank God you are back," said Venetia. "She's been at it for hours."

"Who?" asked Tabby.

"Anne," said Venetia. "Paris is the only one who can calm her down."

"Who is Anne?" asked Tabby blankly.

"Paris's wife," stated Venetia.

"His what?" asked Tabby in shock. She felt a buzzing in her ears and thought she must have heard wrong. Icy fingers were clutching her heart until she thought it would stop from sheer misery. How could he have told her she was beautiful? How could he have kissed her like that? How could he have deliberately tried to make her fall in love with him when he had a wife in the castle? At this moment, her anger and her hatred for the man almost blinded her.

"Haven't we told you about Anne?" asked Damascus dreamily. "Oh, Paris was so in love when it all began. One glimpse of her and he walked about in a trance for weeks. It was such a whirlwind romance. He swept her off her feet. She was so small and beautiful, with hair the color of moonlight. They were so very much in love, then tragedy struck! She had a child and was never able to walk again. But he is so devoted to her. He always brings her a big box of chocolates from Edinburgh. Whenever he comes in, the first thing he always does is rush up to the White Tower," sighed Damascus.

"She makes this up as she goes along," assured Alexandria. "Damascus lives in a fantasy world where everything must be perfect."

"Why didn't you tell me about her?" demanded Tabby.

"Who?" asked Shannon coming into the room.

"Anne," answered Alexandria.

"That bitch! God, how that man has been made to suffer. They hate each other with a vengeance, you know. They go at it like cat and dog! Haven't you heard them? One night he beat her so badly, she hasn't walked since. She was lucky he only crippled her— he should have killed her. But mark my words, one day he will have had enough, and we will find her body smashed on the cobblestones of the keep."

"She makes this up as she goes along," repeated Alexandria reassuringly. "Shannon lives for melodrama."

Tabby looked from one to the other and said, "My God, you are all raving lunatics." By the time she reached her chamber, the salt tears were blinding. She slammed the door and fell on the bed to sob her eyes out.

After she had exhausted herself, she noticed what a crumpled mess she was making out of Shannon's green velvet. "Damn,'" she swore, and carefully removed the habit and hung it up. Then, in a frenzy of abandoned self-pity, she threw herself down and resumed sobbing.

She fell asleep long before Paris sought his bed; he therefore heard nothing of her distress. Sleep eluded him, though he willed it to still his thoughts, but every time he closed his eyes, Tabby was there with him.

She was everything he desired in a woman. Although exquisitely beautiful, she was not vain or spoiled, and she had a sweet innocence that had already found its way to his heart. Once he had made her his mistress, he would delight in spoiling her, giving her the things she had never enjoyed. He could go up to her now It would be so simple, none would know: He should have taken her today in the cornfield, in the sunshine. How lovely it would have been. What had stopped him? He hesitated only because he did not want to frighten her She was still asking to go back to Edinburgh. Didn't she know he could never let her go? His thoughts shifted to the man in Edinburgh. No doubt Abrahams would keep the abduction as quiet as he could, for fear of being Iaughed at. Better to be thought a fool than to open your mouth and remove all doubt. Abrahams would be making some discrete inquiries, though. It was probably killing him not to know the identity of who had carried out the abduction.

Who had followed him today? Was there a connection? There was no one Abrahams could question who would lead him to Paris. All at once he sat bolt-upright in bed. That old bitch who ran the orphanage! What was her name? Mrs. Graham. Would she remember his visit two years back? If Abrahams got to her before he did, she just might. He slipped from his bed and began to dress. This could not wait until morning.

Paris, wearing dark riding clothes, wanted to be as inconspicuous as possible. He entered the formidable gray structure through a high window at the side of the building and once more found himself in the dismal entrance hall of the orphanage. He waited a few silent moments, then went toward the back, where he knew Mrs. Graham had her private quarters. Her sitting room was empty. He sensed something as his eyes swept the darkened room. His ears were alerted for any strange sound, but all he could hear was the loud ticking of a clock. Her bedroom door stood open. Quietly, he walked to the door and struck a light.

The body lay upon the bed in a natural pose. He swiftly discerned her throat had not been cut, nor were there any wounds. He knew, however, that she had been murdered. Smothered in her sleep most likely, as there was no sign of a struggle. This was one he could definitely lay at Abrahams's door. No doubt Tabby hadn't been the only orphan he'd purchased from Mrs. Graham, although she likely was the first female. If Abrahams thought Graham was involved in the demand for ransom, he had disposed of her out of revenge. Of course, he would have paid others to do his dirty work. Paris hoped that she had not been questioned, but for now he must assume Abrahams knew his identity.

He opened the bedroom window and glanced out. The alley was deserted. He departed quickly and quietly without the risk of going back through the building. Next he made contact with each of his men who were doing surveillance for him. He particularly questioned the man watching the Abrahams residence. Yes, two rough-looking types had visited early in the evening. No, no woman of Mrs. Graham's description had been brought to the house. Callum McCabe had made one visit to Abrahams, and Abrahams had made one visit in return.

McCabe's eyebrows shot up when he found Cockburn waiting for him to open his office. "I thought .you wished to conceal your identity, milord."