Wild Hearts (42 page)

"See what you've done?" He grinned. "Come back to bed."

"Paris, not again?" she breathed.

"Yes, again," he assured her.

CHAPTER 18

Paris and Tabrizia rode to Douglas on the day of the wedding, savoring this precious time they had alone together. The wedding in the church of St. Bride was very stately and formal, and though the church was large, it was packed to capacity. Many of the village people crowded outside for a glimpse of the bride. Douglas Castle was most comfortable, even though it was a formidable stronghold. Vast monies had been expended on its comforts, and James's two younger brothers, Hugh and Will, outdid themselves entertaining the beauteous, redheaded Cockburn ladies.

The Great Hall with its roaring fireplaces was bustling with preparations for the evening's entertainment and feast. Feast was the only word to describe the plentiful fare Douglas had provided. Shannon's wedding gown was in her husband's colors of blue and white, the décolletage so daring that her pink nipples could be seen from a side view, which is exactly where her new husband would be sitting.

Paris and James sat together, deep in conversation, their women on either side. They spoke for so long, Tabrizia was piqued at his lack of attention. Not until James's attention wandered to his wife's magnificent breasts did Paris turn to Tabrizia to offer her some choice woodcock. She refused, to spite him, and chose from a platter presented from her right by Hugh Douglas. Hugh said something Paris did not catch, and Tabrizia's merriment rippled out across the table. She smiled so prettify at Hugh Douglas, he actually flushed. Paris cast a sidelong glance at the young man, then his glance traveled to Will Douglas, and he saw that youth also devouring Tabrizia with hungry eyes. She pretended to know nothing of it and said provocatively, "I fear you will spoil me. I shall be moped to death when we have to return home."

"Count on me, madam, to invent new amusements for you," teased Paris, but she did not respond with laughter.

A game of blind-man's-buff was proposed, and Paris hinted, "I'm sure we won't be missed, if we disappear."

"Oh, I don't want to miss the fun, milord. If you older men would rather talk, I'll join the young people."

He let the barb pass smoothly and replied, "Not at all. If you wish me to join in the games, I shall do so."

Whoever was blindfolded sought out their favorite so quickly, it was suspected the blindfold had a peephole in it. When it was Tabrizia's turn, the muscle in Paris's jaw tightened dangerously as she ran toward Hugh Douglas and felt him indelicately about the arms and chest. Pretending ignorance of his identity, her hands touched his face, then his hair, as she exclaimed, "A handsome devil, whoever he is!"

Paris walked over to Tabrizia and gave Hugh a warning look, so that the youth was left in no doubt of his displeasure.. Paris tickled her neck, and she swung around and groped for whoever had touched her. Her hands came into contact with the hard broad chest, and she knew his identity instantly. She feigned ignorance, however. "Is it Hugh?" she asked sweetly. Everyone howled with laughter and shouted, "Wrong! wrong!"

She explored further, her hand reaching up and tracing the strong chin. "Oh, 'tis Will," she guessed.

The laughter grew louder. "Wrong! wrong!"

"Let me feel your hands?" she begged. He held them out stiffly, and she took them between her own.

"Oh, I give up, I don't know these hands at all." She reached up and lifted the blindfold. She allowed her features to fall in disappointment. "Oh, 'tis you!"

For an instant she saw hurt in his eyes, then it was gone as they flashed angrily. "I thought I forbade you to wear revealing gowns," he growled.

"Revealing?" she gasped. "Have you noticed what Shannon is wearing?"

"I no longer have the controlling of her behavior, thank God," he spat out, and took himself off to drink with the rest of the men.

Though they were provided with a luxurious bedchamber, neither seemed to be in the mood to enjoy it. The quality of her silence told him that she would have none of him, and the annoying thing was that he didn't know what had precipitated her coolness toward him. A dozen times he almost reached out to her, but he wished to avoid a total rejection, so he left things as they were, hoping a new day would clear away the clouds between them. When she awoke, he was already gone, off for a day's hunting in the forests that surrounded the Douglas Castle. As the day wore on, he grew troubled that he had left her without a word, so he left the hunting party early. He would surprise her. He took the flight of stone steps two at a time, then checked suddenly as he looked up toward the gallery and saw a couple embrace and kiss. He knew it was Tabrizia, for she wore the fur cloak he had gifted her with. A black-biled rage consumed him as he flung back down the steps and went off to await Douglas's return from the hunt.

"What has savaged your temper?" asked James as soon as he saw him.

"Someone has played me false." His voice crackled. James recognized woman trouble when he saw it.

"Your brother Hugh is about to draw his last breath unless you can control him. We will be leaving at first light." Paris left him and returned to the Great Hall.

When Tabrizia saw him, she gave a little cry of delight and ran to greet him. The icy contempt she saw in his eyes prevented her from flinging her arms about him.

He said, "Such devotion is touching."

She searched his face, unsure of herself beneath his accusing glare.

"Upstairs!" he ordered.

"Milord, what's amiss?" she whispered.

"Get upstairs when I tell you!" he repeated.

She fled, ashamed that others were witness to the scene. Now she was angry, and when they were alone, she would tell him so in no uncertain terms. The stone walls almost shook, so hard did he slam the chamber door. She faced him defiantly, with hands on hips. He advanced on her in two long strides. "I'll have an accounting of your whereabouts this afternoon, madam."

She tossed her head and exclaimed, "Pish!"

He grabbed her roughly and shook her like a rag doll. "You faithless bitch!" he swore.

With horror she realized he was going to strike her. She cried, "Paris, you mustn't be so fierce with me, I'm with child!"

"What?" he demanded, stunned at the audacity of the lie she offered him.

Damascus opened the door, saw her brother's angry face, and quickly said, "Oh, please forgive the intrusion, I'm just returning your cloak."

Paris stared at the fur cloak his sister had left, and some of the crimson mist cleared from his brain. "Please, before I go mad, tell me what you were doing this afternoon and with whom you did it."

Since it was a plea, rather than a command, she replied, "We were fashioning baby clothes for Venetia... and for myself," she added, blushing.

"A child— I can't believe it," he breathed.

She searched his face. "Are you angry?"

"Angry?" he puzzled, his heart soaring.

"Paris, you just called me a faithless bitch. Perhaps you accuse me of what you yourself are guilty of."

"My darling, my little love, you are the only woman in the world who has ever meant anything to me, or ever will," he vowed. "I love you with all my heart."

Her tears of relief spilled over. He picked her up and cradled her. "My little lamb, my honey love," he crooned. "Let's go home tomorrow?"

They did not go down for dinner. Instead they undressed quickly, and he held the covers for her to come in to the warm cocoon where they could delight in each other and shut out the world. "I have been longing to touch you in all my favorite silky-soft places," he whispered.

"Such as?" she asked huskily.

"Behind your knees," and his fingers touched the place he mentioned. "I love this silken place beneath your breasts." He bent to place his lips where his fingers had been. Now his hands went lower, one finger slowly tracing a circle around her navel, then he caressed the inside of her thighs. "Ah, the softest place of all."

She drew in her breath as her nerve endings awoke to an insatiable desire. "Funny, but I like to touch you on all your
hard
places," she whispered as her hands caressed the hard slabs of muscle in his back.

He groaned. "Oh, God, I'm hard everywhere, at the moment."

She gloried in his bold advances. His hardness was like a searing hot iron against her thighs. It would explore all the secrets of her body with a sureness and thoroughness that blotted out all thought. She knew a quicksilver pain at the thrust of his entrance, replaced by pleasure that widened and deepened into a wild frenzy. She writhed beneath him, gasping his name over and over, begging him for more, and he gave her everything she desired and more. A cry— was it her or him? Then came the pulsing, throbbing release that went on and on, until she curled against him, limp and deliciously exhausted from the passion their bodies had indulged in so shamelessly. She lay touching him, with the new life in her nestled beneath her heart. How many moments of pure bliss such as this would there be in her life? I'll give him a son, she vowed fiercely. I'll give him a son if it's the last thing I do.

It was midday before the large cavalcade of Cockburns started for home, and Paris thought wistfully of how easy it had been when there had been just he and Tabrizia. Damascus pouted all the way home; and Tabrizia knew that she was ripe for marriage. She had flirted outrageously with Hugh Douglas, and Tabrizia thought she would speak to Paris to get things settled with Robert Kerr. She rode up beside him, and he smiled down at the pretty picture she made on the palfrey.

"Paris, at the risk of interfering in your business, I wish you would settle things with Lord Cessford about Damascus. She won't be fit to live with, you know, now that Shannon is married."

He frowned. "She's over young, don't you think?"

"She's the same age as I, and you consider me woman enough."

"Woman enough for what?" he teased.

"Woman enough for anything, judging by last night's performance!"

Their first visitor upon their return to Cockburnspath was the young Laird of Cessford. Apparently, he had missed Damascus so badly, he decided he would approach Paris once more. Paris soon put him out of his misery by telling him he would be more than proud to have him for a brother-in-law. The contracts were signed, and Damascus, finding herself the center of attention and loving every moment, began making plans for the most lavish wedding ever held in the Borders. Robert was hoping for an Easter wedding, but Damascus insisted upon being a June bride, so she could indulge in light dresses, masses of flowers and sunny skies.

An official message arrived from Bothwell, asking that Paris see him in Edinburgh as soon as possible. The meeting took place in Edinburgh Castle, making Cockburn alert and cannily wary, for Edinburgh Castle was a formidable fortress, easier to enter than leave. Bothwell's long legs covered the distance between them in a genial enough welcome. He clapped him on the back and demanded, "What hell-broth have you been brewing?"

Of what am I accused?" Paris smiled blandly

"Not a thing, man. I've a document requires yer signature. Simple as that."

"Document?" Paris echoed innocently.

"Peace bond, man, peace bond."

"Well, I'm truly sorry, Francis, you've been stuck with the damned thing," apologized Paris smoothly.

"Ah, well, the King's business, ye ken. Two signatures on a document— simple enough, wouldn't ye think?"

"I hope so, for your sake, Francis. I'll be pleased to sign. After Huntly. Best not slight the old earl by having him sign second, eh?" said Paris smoothly.

Bothwell's heavily lidded eyes hooded their shrewdness. He hadn't really expected Rogue Cockburn to sign first, if at all, but it was worth a try. Bothwell grinned. "I hear the Black Douglas has snatched your beautiful sister."

"You hear correctly, my friend," confirmed Paris.

Bothwell shook a finger at him. "Allying yerself with power on every side. Watch out ye do not become too strong, my young cockerel."

"I am only taking a page out of your book, Francis." Paris grinned.

"Just so. When I have Huntly's signature on this paper, I will summon you, and be warned I'll brook no more humbuggery!"

Paris made his way from the castle to the north side of the Cannongate, where the Cockburn ladies had turned the dressmaking establishment into a shambles. Tirelessly, the modiste had pulled out every bolt of cloth she possessed for their critical inspection. She was fully aware that the order for this wedding alone would provide her with more than enough luxuries for a year. It finally dawned on the woman after two hours of helpful suggestions that Damascus Cockburn had a mind of her own and automatically rejected every shred of advice.

"My mind is made up. The whole wedding party will be silver and white," decided Damascus.

Paris had allowed them ample time when he entered the establishment to escort them home. They were still in the process of having their measurements taken. "Lord God, are ye not finished? All this frivol is enough to make a man tear his hair."