Wild Hearts (40 page)

He summoned every servant down to the last stableboy. He managed to establish that Shannon and Damascus had left for Edinburgh yesterday. Two old servants admitted they had seen a dark-haired visitor arrive today, but none had seen them leave. Mrs. Hall said she did not find the note until after lunch.

Paris had never felt such impotent frenzy in his life; he feared for his own sanity. He called down a curse upon the Gordons that would last throughout eternity. He was on the horns of a great dilemma, knowing not if she had been taken to Edinburgh or to Huntly or anyplace between, and the day's light had gone from the sky and already it was night. He shouted orders to begin searching. Torn between going out and staying put in case Gordon communicated further, he decided to lead the search.

They began at their own villages to see if any had seen the riders go through, but the answers always came back in the negative, driving him to desperation. He sent Troy with a dozen men to Edinburgh to see if they could pick up any trace. He dispatched Ian and another dozen to the port of Leith to see if they could find Gordon's ship. He and James searched in the vicinity, meeting back at the castle every two hours, all night long.

Paris tortured himself as he remembered how he had stabbed Gordon in the arm at their last encounter. Now Tabrizia would be made to pay for that reckless deed. Discouraged, they met back at the castle at four in the morning. James argued that it was fruitless to go back out in the dark. It made more sense to rest and regroup their strength for a couple of hours and go out again at six when daylight arrived. Paris reluctantly agreed and went off to his chamber; wishing to be alone in his misery.

He dared not let his mind linger on what John Gordon might do to his beloved, but rather he castigated himself for the way he had treated her. He had wanted her to admit that she loved him and was prepared to go to any length to goad and provoke such an admission. Now her loss was unbearable— unthinkable, even— for she was a part of him. The best part.

He swore an oath that if he ever came out of this, if he got her back unharmed, he would cherish and guard her forever. He realized with a dull ache that it was not necessary that she love him; it was enough that he loved her. His red hair stood wildly on end, from running his frantic fingers through it again and again. At half past five he could wait no longer and went to the stables to ready his horse. The stables were filled with Cockburn and Douglas men, and they passed around warmed ale and oatcakes to break the morning's fast. Paris gratefully shared with the men, then saddled his faithful, strong-legged mount: As he rode into the castle courtyard, a villager ran in waving a note. Paris snatched it up and read the words that filled him with dread. "I am finished with your wife. She is at Dunbar." His heart stopped as he saw that it was written in blood. The word
finished
pounded over and over in his brain. Either it meant he had killed her or ravished her, and Paris begged his God to let it only be the latter. His voice was ragged as he called out, "She is at Dunbar. I will go alone!"

He spurred his horse up the coast road, urging it on, yet dreading what he would find. If she was alive, he must convince her of his love; convince her that whatever Gordon had done to her, it could not destroy that love. He tethered his horse at the entrance to the tower at Dunbar and mounted the steps.

She closed her eyes and prayed as she heard her husband's unmistakable step upon the stair. How could she face him? How could she convince him that his sworn enemy had not lain with her? As he stepped through the doorway, she knelt upon her cloak with bowed head, her hair partially covering her nakedness. As he came and knelt before her to cut the bonds from her arms, she raised her eyes to his face, and the tears spilled onto her cheeks and dropped upon her naked breasts, which quivered with her silent sobbing.

"My precious one, I have never loved you more than I do at this moment." His arm slipped under her knees, and he lifted her tenderly and cradled her against his heart.

Her arms stole about his neck, and she hid her face against his chest. His lips gently brushed her temple as he held her securely, safe from further harm. She raised beseeching eyes to his and said, "Paris, I swear before God he did not touch me. He wanted to destroy your peace of mind for the rest of your life, simply by leaving me naked. Tell me that you believe me. Don't let him destroy us!" she implored frantically.

He looked into her eyes and saw, the purity there. This time there was a total honesty between them, and by some miracle, he did believe her. Without explanation, without proof, he believed her with all his heart.

"Oh, my love," she cried as he smiled into her eyes and kissed away the tears. He took off his cloak and wrapped her twice with it, then he picked up her cloak from the floor to wrap her legs for the cold ride home. Never had he covered five miles in less time, and his heart sang with every hoofbeat. As he rode into the castle yard carrying his precious burden, two hundred voices let out a great cheer that the lord's new bride was safe. Paris grinned down at her, and she laughed up into his eyes, almost delirious with the joy of being loved.

He didn't relinquish his burden until they were alone in their chamber. He sat her on the edge of the bed, then crossed the room to bring her a goblet of wine. He unwound his cloak from around her body and held back the bedcovers for her. He held the goblet to her lips while she took a sip, then he drank from the same spot.

She said, "I haven't had anything to eat since yesterday, the wine will intoxicate me."

"Nay, it will just make you sleep for a while." He stretched out beside her on top of the furs. "I'll be here while you sleep. I never want you to feel afraid again, love. I want this room to be our refuge, our haven away from the rest of the world. It has been that for me, except I always longed for someone to share it with. I want us to be able to be alone together here, to shut the rest of them out. Tabrizia, I want you so much. I need your warmth. I need someone to share with, to really talk to. I need to care deeply for someone and have her care about me."

She gave him a tremulous smile. "I was so afraid of you, and so afraid...." She blushed. "You are so big... I am afraid you will hurt me."

"Oh, God, I can't bear to see the apprehension in your eyes. I swear I never meant to be brutal with you. Let me make a promise to you. I will woo you with all the patience in the world. I vow not to demand your final surrender until you are ready and willing to yield it."

She reached for his hand and brought it up to her face in a loving gesture.

"Are you beginning to relax now, my honey love"

She yawned and snuggled down to rest.

When she awoke, the afternoon shadows were lengthening into twilight. She could smell food, and for the first time in a week, her stomach did not protest. Paris brought her a velvet bedgown, and as she looked up at him, she saw that he had shaved off his beard. Her face lit with delight, and she reached out a hand to caress the clean-shaven jaw. "Did you do this for me?" she exclaimed.

He nodded. "I think the beard frightened you a little. Come and eat something." He moved a small table before the fire and lifted the silver covers from three great platters. There was a baked salmon stuffed with herbs, grouse cooked in red wine, and a small rack of lamb. She took a small portion of salmon but left it untouched on her plate. Paris didn't take his eyes from her. He couldn't remember taking such pleasure in just looking before.

"Eat something, darling," he urged.

"I cannot eat with your eyes upon me."

"Then I'll feed you." He moved to her side of the table and scooped her up into his lap. He fed her the salmon and insisted she have some slices of meat.

"No more. I'll watch you."

He ate with relish, enjoying the food before him, then poured them both wine.

"You have a true man's appetite." She smiled.

"In all things," he assured her. When their eyes met across the goblets, she dropped her eyelashes demurely because of the naked desire she saw in him. "I'll tell Mrs. Hall to order you water for your bath. I have things that must be attended to, but I promise I won't be gone long. We have a lot of catching up to do." He pulled on soft thigh boots and carelessly selected two rings from his jewel case.

By the time he returned, she had bathed and chosen a white nightgown with tiny pleats that cleverly concealed and revealed her lovely curves with each movement. He reached out and took the pins from her hair so that it tumbled around her shoulders in wild abandon. He wanted to crush her to him, to bury his face in the fiery mass, but instead he reached for her hand and drew her to the mirror.

"See how beautiful you are?" he whispered. He held her from behind, so they were both reflected. "Tonight we look like lovers," he breathed against her hair. "We'll stand and gaze into the mirror every night to see how we have changed."

"I had no idea you were such a romantic," she teased. "You must have caught it from the honeymoon couple."

"Honeymoon— it comes from the French. The aristocracy in France shut the couple in the bride's bedchamber for a month. They see no one else in all that time. Food is left outside the door."

"Whatever do they do for a whole month?"

He turned her so he could look down into her eyes. "They get to know each other very, very intimately," he replied softly, and laughed at her blushes. He took off his doublet and then removed his shirt. She trembled visibly. "You are cold, love. I'll see if I can get the fire to blaze."

She glanced at him as he knelt before the fire. He did strange things to her composure; always had, since the moment she had clapped eyes on him. She loved him madly but had never dared to show it, because she feared his physical response to her. Now she moved toward him by the fire. She took pleasure in gazing at the wide, naked shoulders before her. He turned and caught her staring at him. She saw his chest now, and his maleness was so overpowering, she could almost taste it.

"When you look at me, I can hardly breathe," she confessed.

"You take my breath away, too, sweetheart."

She looked like she might flee, so he suggested they roast some chestnuts. As he held the long-handled pan over the flames, a delicious smell arose. When they were well roasted, they each tried to pick one up to peel, but they burned their fingers. He put her fingertips to his lips to kiss away the burn.

"Are you not cold without your shirt?" she asked, not really knowing what she said.

"I'm never cold, feel me," he invited.

Her hand rested on his shoulder, then slipped to his chest. He groaned and reached for her. His lips brushed hers gently, softly; he murmured her name against her lips, then other love words, driving him mad with desire. She was faint from the exquisite sensations all so new and pleasurable. She melted into his arms; the chestnuts lay scattered and forgotten.

"Say my name," he whispered. "I want to taste it on your lips."

"Paris," she breathed, and he kissed her again and again, until her lips were swollen with passion.

Every instinct drove him toward possession; but he stayed his hands from exploring her body further, knowing full well if he did not stop now, his passion would be beyond his control. He tried for a light tone, but his voice was ragged with desire. "Come to bed, I want to hold you." He lifted her against his heart and carried her to his big bed. "Instinct tells me you should sleep on this side." He smiled down as he deposited her against the pillows.

"Why?"

"Your side is nearest the fire, and mine is nearest the door, in case of danger." He blew out the lamp before he removed the rest of his clothing, so that he would not expose his ugly thigh scar to her this night. He knew it would increase his agony to feel her against him, but he reached out, anyway; and drew her to his naked body.

She felt him hard and hot, pressed down the length of her. As his arms tightened, she felt all his body's strength; the powerful legs, the massive shoulders, and she shuddered with anticipation at what he was about to do to her. He felt her tremble and realized he would need a will of iron not to plunge into her and take all the sweetness for which he thirsted, but he had promised to wait until she yielded to him. Her heartbeat quickened and her pulses beat wildly as she lay with her cheek against his chest. She could hear and feel his heart beating so strong and loud, she instantly realized the effect she was having on him. She smiled into the darkness. His wildly beating heart told her better than words that he was in love with her. She felt a deep thrill go through her. She knew he wanted her immediately but was curbing his desire to please her. It came to her suddenly that she wanted him. Here in the bed. She wanted to explore him and feel every part of him, from the great slabs of muscle in his back to the fiery loins from which rose that burning shaft.

Shyly, she reached out to him, but she could not bring her fingers to close around his hardness. She reached her hands up behind his head instead, to feel the crisp curls that lay on his neck, and as she reached her lips to him, he met her more than halfway and took her mouth in a demanding kiss that led to a hundred more.

He held her more gently now, tucking her head under his chin. "Sleep now, Tabrizia, sleep." He lay looking up into the darkness and offered a silent prayer: Dear God, do not give me anything more; just do not take anything away!