Black Falcon's Lady (Celtic Rogues Book 1) (15 page)

“Maryssa," he moaned, his lips opening over her flesh. “Maryssa." He suckled her deep into his mouth, feeling her hips writhing up against the hard proof of his sex. And he wanted her beneath him—naked, needing—wanted to fill her with himself, chase the desolation from her eyes.

"Maura, are you certain?"

She didn’t answer. Her fingers, made clumsy by the haze of desire, trailed a quavering path down his shirtfront, fumbling with the tiny buttons. The feel of her small hands baring his skin hurtled the driving need inside Tade higher, higher. He helped her, tearing the buttons free, his mouth never ceasing its dance upon her breasts, throat, and lips. A gasp escaped her throat as he stripped the garment free and hurled it to the ground beside them. She arched upward her trembling, moist lips skimming his hair-roughened chest.

A shudder of sensation rippled through Tade, rocking him. In one swift move, he claimed her mouth, forcing her down into the softness of the coverlet as his tongue thrust deep. Her fingers dug into the flesh of his back, her tongue swirling instinctively against his, mating with his in a way that robbed him of his senses.

He worked his hand between them, struggling with the layers of her petticoats until they came free beneath his hands. The heat of her fevered skin seared his roughened palms through the icing of fine lawn that shielded the slender columns of her thighs, the sweet mysteries of her woman's secrets.

Suddenly gentle, he eased the garment down over the slender curves of her hips and thighs. "Maryssa." The soft curse he uttered was profanity and prayer. "More beautiful than I'd ever dreamed . . ." A single fingertip trekked a worshipful path across the silken skin of her stomach, then lower. He watched as her lashes drifted down to grace the delicate rose of her cheeks. She whimpered as he skimmed her downy softness. "T-Tade, I want—need . . ."

"I know, love," he breathed. "Maura, I burn for you. Feel what you do to me." He took her hand in his, flattening it against the hard plane of his naked stomach, sliding it down to the waistband of his breeches. "Touch me, Maura," he said. "Please. I need you to touch me."

Her eyes fluttered open, and he could see her hesitate mere seconds that seemed to stretch into eternity. He swallowed, battling to force down the disappointment that tore at him. Then suddenly he felt her hand stir against his flesh. With agonizing slowness, her fingertips eased down over the soft doeskin.

Tade clenched his teeth, every muscle in his body whipcord tight as the tentative warmth of her hand brushed the tip of his sex through his breeches. The warmth retreated, then returned, testing the rigid flesh, skimming the length of him with an innocent wonder that slashed through his body with greater force than had any of a score of artful seductions beneath well-practiced hands.

The breathless sound of her voice tingled along his skin. "You're so . . . I . . ." A scarlet flush heated her cheeks. Her tongue swept out, moistening lips swollen from his kisses. She lowered her gaze, raised it, her eyes seeming to draw him inside her very soul. "I want to see you."

Desire speared deep in Tade's belly, but no words could pass the knot crushing his throat. He nodded, moving her hand to where the doeskin-covered buttons of his breeches strained against that which made him a man. Her fingertips eased inside the taut waistband, the backs of her fingers brushing the dark ribbon of hair bisecting his stomach. Tade shuddered, his pleasure akin to pain, each tug of button sliding through hole, each delicate brush of her fingers swelling the need building inside him, until he feared he would spill his seed upon the coverlet.

The breeches fell open, the lake-cool kiss of the breeze tantalizing his fevered flesh. He closed his eyes, grimacing in an agony of waiting.

"Tade." His name fell from her lips, hushed and awed. The soft pads of her fingertips trailed over the velvet heat of his flesh, the feel of her touching him pulsing torrents of desire through his hardness. "Tade," she whispered. "You're beautiful."

Groaning low in his throat, Tade wound his arms around her, crushing her in an embrace that tumbled them both into the grass-scented sweetness of the coverlet. His mouth sought hers with tormented hunger as he rolled her beneath him, crushing her breasts against his chest, tangling the hair-roughened leanness of his legs with the silken smoothness of Maryssa's. Downy-soft curls damp with wanting tantalized the shaft of his manhood.

And he wanted to see her, to see every quicksilver emotion flash across her angel's features as he claimed her for his own.

His hands knotted in the thick sable swirls of hair spilling about her shoulders, his tongue thrusting into her mouth. "Maura," he moaned, "open your eyes. Let me watch you."

Rich, sooty lashes swept up, unveiling eyes heavy with wonder... dark with... love? Love. Slowly, Tade drew his lips from hers, bracing himself on his elbows to peer for long, aching moments into her trusting face. The sweet curves of her mouth quivered beneath his gaze, innocent and vulnerable, the corners tipped down just a whisper, as though weighted by a lifetime of sorrows. Sorrows that he would magnify tenfold if he took her, and then . . .

She was Bainbridge Wylder's daughter. Heiress to a fortune, with the right to grace the finest ballrooms in England. What future could she have in the bed of an Irish rogue who had been robbed of his inheritance three and twenty years past?

"Tade?" Tremulous and tentative, her fingertip reached up to touch his lips, and the torment that raged in his loins nearly made him dash her hand away as if it were a flaming brand. He rolled away from her, flinging his wrist across his eyes as he sucked in deep, steadying breaths.

"Did I—” Her small voice faltered. “Did I do something wrong?''

Tade dragged his leaden arm away from his face, and the hurt clouding her eyes tore at his heart. He swept up, and cupped her face in his hands, fiercely, savagely. "Nay, love. Don't even think it. You were beautiful. More than I ever have a right to hope for."

"Then why?" He saw the sudden crimson stain the ivory of her skin, her endearing, uninhibited acceptance of their nakedness fading into bewilderment and shame.

"Because I can't hurt you this way. Now, this minute with the sun dripping down, the flowers, the meadow . . . now you think you want this, want me. But a week from now, a month . . ."

"I'll still want—" He stifled her passionate denial with his fingertips, pressing them tight against the lips that had given him such pleasure.

"Maura, do you think I could take you, make love to you like this, and then just walk away? Damn it, think."

The wounded light in her eyes deepened, and the need to love away that pain twisted like a knife in his belly. She wrenched away from him to snatch up the clothing strewn about them.

"Maryssa, I just cannot—"

"Can't what? Make love to me? From what your father says, you've done it often enough before." The defiant words snagged in her throat as she fumbled with the tangle of fabric. "Maybe I'm not well schooled enough to please you.”

In one, aching sweep, Tade pulled her into his arms and began to kiss her cheeks, temples, eyelids. "Damn it, Maura. This is different. You are different. You're not some willing dairymaid with petticoats lighter than swan’s down in the breeze."

"Nay, I'm Bainbridge Wylder's daughter. You're afraid—"

"Afraid? Aye, by the saints, I'm afraid. The bastard nearly shattered your jaw because you'd been defiled by the mere presence of a Kilcannon. What think you he would do if I planted my babe within you?" His hand splayed on her bare stomach, and Tade gritted his teeth against the vision of that gentle swell ripening with his seed.

"Maura, I won't risk that—risk you. You touch me, Maryssa Wylder. Here." He took one of her small, knotted fists and pressed it against his chest. "And I swear to God, I'll not let anyone hurt you. Nay, not even myself."

M
aryssa huddled deeper
into the curve of Tade's shoulder as the mist of rain drizzling from the dismal evening sky groped with chill fingers beneath the layers of her cloak. It was as if each lurch of the Marlows’s cart along the road that wound toward Nightwylde had spilled out the misery that gripped her, darkening the sun-glossed Donegal countryside to the stark gray hues of despair.

The cart jarred to the left as Reeve murmured a command to the mare. When the green-painted wheels ground to a halt, Maryssa could feel the supple length of Tade's body stiffen against her, and her own grip about his waist tightened instinctively, as if to hold the inevitable parting at bay.

Reeve turned his rain-damp face toward his friend. "Tade," he began hesitantly, "Christa and I thought... well, perhaps it would be wise if you would—"

"Spirit my blackguard Kilcannon self back into the wilds where I belong?" Maryssa saw the slightest hint of irony twist Tade's lips as his green eyes flashed toward Nightwylde's battlements, the jesting tone of his voice sounding oddly strained. "When, pray tell, Mr. Marlow, have you ever known me to be wise?"

"Rarely." Reeve's mouth crumpled in disgust. “It is just that . . ." He fingered his neckcloth, studiously keeping his gaze away from Maryssa. "Well, Mr. Wylder might make things, er, difficult."

"Difficult?" There was an edge underlying the velvet of Tade's voice that belied the lazy tones. “It is good of you to caution me. I lead such an old woman's life that—"

"Damn it, Tade, for once it is not your blasted neck I'm worried about. Sometimes I think if ever a man courted disaster—" Reeve gritted his teeth, a white line of irritation ringing his mouth. "Use what paltry sense God gave you. Maryssa—"

"Aye. Maryssa." The stiffness of the arms still holding her gentled, and she felt the breath ease from his taut chest in a sigh as Reeve turned again to face the darkened road. Tade lowered his mouth to the crown of her head for long moments, pressing his lips against the silken sable strands. "Maura." His palm curved under her chin, raising her face so that she could meet his eyes. "It seems for once I needs must take Reeve's advice. It is best if I leave you here. But I—” His voice faltered, and she could swear it was not just the mist that clung in crystal droplets to his lashes. “I want you to know that I'll always remember . . ."

Maryssa died inside, what little hope she had held that she would see Tade again fading. “It is— it is all right, Tade," she said softly. "Today was the sweetest I have ever known. I'll hold it in my heart forever."

His gaze swept over her lips, cheeks, and hair. "I'd give you a thousand tomorrows as beautiful if it were in my power.''

Maryssa forced a tiny smile to her lips, wanting to soothe away the worry creasing his brow. "Perhaps I would get greedy then, and not see how perfect a tiny glen can be, or how gentle a man—" She stopped. Her tear-blurred gaze dropped to the damp shirt clinging to his chest. "Thank you, Tade, for—"

"Damn!" She started at his savage oath as his mouth swept down, capturing hers in a fierce kiss and then abruptly released her. "By God, I should shove you through your father's gates and stay away from you, but I can't. I have to see you again, touch you. Maura . . ."

He pulled her against him, every sinew of his taut body burning into hers, sending life and joy hurtling through her in a rush that stole her senses. "Wait for me, love. I'll send word with Christa. Somehow I'll find a place where it is safe for us." He crushed the words onto her lips, his tongue delving deep into her mouth, greedily, hungrily. And then he was gone. Maryssa forced open passion-heavy eyelids as he vaulted from the cart, lifting one bronzed hand in a silent salute to the Marlows as the wheels jarred into motion.

With chilled fingers, she drew the folds of her cloak tighter abut her shoulders.
Where it is safe for us.
It was as if the wind itself mocked Tade's words, sweeping in sinister whispers off the castle's cold stone walls. Maryssa shivered as Tade Kilcannon's tall, lean form melted into the mist of the castle's brooding shadows and the gates of Nightwylde closed behind her.

T
he cottage drowsed
behind the veil of night, the pale wood of its newly hewn door standing out against the time-mellowed walls like a fresh wound, one of many inflicted of late by Tade and the father he loved with a fierce protectiveness that had changed a lad into a man long before the years of childhood's frolics should have passed. Wounds that had no time to heal before the next breach split them wide.

Tade wiped his soaked shirtsleeve across his damp face, his eyes roving to where the flame of a single candle glowed from the cottage window, its soft light beckoning like a loving, gentle hand. From the time he was a lad of thirteen, rebelling against his stern father to run wild in the Donegal hills, the candle had been Rachel's way of guiding him home, telling him all was forgiven.

And when child's games had given way to the quests of a man, unbeknownst to the loving Rachel the taper had served as signal to those who secretly sought the Black Falcon, telling them that the daring rebel was already one with the darkness.

Tade grimaced, tunneling his fingers beneath the rain-sodden mass of hair that clung to the back of his neck. No doubt the perils of the Irish highroads would prove more peaceful than his father's hearth tonight. For there could be little question that Kane Kilcannon had spent the hours since the hurling match stoking his blazing rage. Irony twisted Tade's lips. By now he should be well used to his father's temper and the bitterness that ate like poison in the older man's belly. For Kane always seemed to vent his anger on the son he saw as nothing but a reckless rakehell, gallivanting across the countryside in search of fresh diversions.

If only he knew . . . Tade sighed wearily. For certainly Kane Kilcannon would claim the Black Falcon as blood of his blood with a pride he never felt in irresponsible Tade. The older man's trouble-ravaged eyes would gleam bright with the same fierce pride he reserved for Devin. He would grip Tade by the shoulders, pull him into that manly embrace.

Yet no matter how deeply Tade needed his father's respect, that respect would be small comfort when matched against the danger his family would suffer if Kane Kilcannon knew Tade’s secret.

It was best for everyone in the cottage that his father view him with contempt. Tade might as well get the angry scene that waited beyond the newly hung door over with. Poor Rachel must be at her wit's end trying to calm the rampaging old lion.

Sucking in a deep breath, Tade squared his shoulders into a belligerent stance, forcing onto his lips the expression of bored arrogance that always enraged his father. Grasping the latch, Tade threw the door open, his gaze flashing immediately to the hearth before which his father always paced as he waited. But the turf fire glowed upon a room strangely empty. No solemn-eyed children glanced fearfully back and forth between the two men they adored; Rachel's gentle face didn't plead from the flickering shadows.

A needle-thin shaft of dread pierced Tade's belly. Had Rath been here? In three quick strides he crossed the darkened room, throwing wide.the half-open door to the little ones' bedchamber. The turf fire's faint glow touched the arch of a tiny bare foot thrust out from beneath the bedclothes, mops of carroty red curls, soft dark waves, and rosy cheeks just visible above the edge of a tattered quilt. Relief washed through Tade, releasing a small measure of the tension gripping his body. Yet another row with Da suddenly seemed insignificant when matched against even the tiniest threat to the safety of the little figures sprawled across the soft feather tick.

Silently, Tade padded to the bedstead to ease five-year-old Thomas's leg back into the warmth of the coverlets. "Ma?" The little one's mouth gaped in a yawn.

"Nay, it is Tade. And I'll thank you not to be putting petticoats upon your older brother, Tamkin."

The boy's lips curved in a sleepy grin, revealing two missing front teeth. "Tade, I caught a wee fishy today."

"And aren't you growing to be a fine one with the nets? By next summer you'll be leading the curraghs out of the bay."

The boy snuffled into his pillow, rubbing sleep-blurred eyes with one small fist. His mouth turned down at the corners. "Da made me frow the fish away. Said it would burn to an ash, it was so small."

"Well, tomorrow I'll work you a bigger net, and by next week you'll be filling the kettle so full your ma'll have to put stones on the lid to keep it from bursting."

"Mmhummm... bursting..."

Tade felt a ghost of a grin curve his mouth as Thomas sighed in sleepy contentment and rolled over on his round little belly.

Tade stroked a wayward curl back from the child's pale forehead, shadows making the strands dark as the spun sable framing Maryssa's delicate face. A fist tightened in Tade's loins. Sons. Kilcannon sons. How many times had his father railed at him to take a wife, sire heirs to feed the fires of justice and reclaim the family fortunes. Yet always before, Tade had been content to play hero to Rachel's brood, championing their small causes, giving them playthings and much needed winter shoes, listening to their woes.

Only now did the fierce primal need to hold a child of his own blood pulse through Tade's whole being. A baby with eyes the shifting colors of a sun-struck sea, a babe with haunting innocence and ebony curls.

"Damn." A sardonic smile twisted Tade's lips. Should he ever indulge in such folly, there would most likely be a battle as to whether Bainbridge Wylder or his father put him beneath the gelding knife first. And yet. . . Tade's smile faded, the memory of Maryssa's caresses drizzling over his skin like warm honey.

Tade turned, his gaze skimming across the dimly lit room. The door to the chamber his father shared with Rachel stood tightly closed as if to block from Kane Kilcannon's vision the return of his blackguard son. That was just as well. Tade arched back the muscles of his shoulders, kneading the stiff sinews at the base of his neck. He had little stomach for Da's bitterness this night. Mayhap whatever they had to say to each other would have softened a bit by the morrow.

Tade paced back out into the light of the fire and lifted the taper from the window ledge. Shielding the dancing flame with his hand, he moved quietly to the ladder in the corner and reached up to perch the candlestick on the edge of the loft opening.

Light radiated in a golden circle past the flowered curtain Deirdre had strung across the loft. Tade climbed the ladder, then paused, his head just above the hole cut into the loft floor, and watched her anger-stiffened shoulders rise and fall slightly as she lay on her pallet feigning sleep. For the millionth time in the years since she had moved her bed into the cranny below the roof, he silently thanked God she had insisted on dividing the room with the yards of cheery calico. Otherwise he might be hard pressed to keep from strangling her tonight.

Tade sighed, retrieving the candle, then pushing the curtain aside to step into his own small room. The welcoming quiet of the nook that had been his sanctuary for three and twenty years closed about him. Yet even here peace eluded him. The velvety darkness reminded him of the cloud of soft hair he had buried his face in hours before. The dried posies Rachel had hung from the rafters to sweeten the air smelled of the meadows, of rose-tinted flesh warm beneath his lips.

Tade settled the candle on the worn lid of an apple-wood chest. Maryssa. So fragile, so haunted. He had wanted to chase away her demons, to heal her, but never had he dreamed she would steal his very soul.

"You'd best strip off those wet things or you'll die of lung fever before Da has a chance to put an end to you himself.''

Tade started at the sound of a soft voice behind him. Spinning toward the bed that lay tucked beneath the slope of the roof, he glared at the shadowy form perched atop the brightly patched quilt.

Gentle blue eyes peered back at him from a face lined with a sorrowful disappointment that clawed Tade more deeply than Kane Kilcannon's blackest rages.

"Devin!" Tade uttered a savage oath, darting for the small window cut in the whitewashed wall and slamming the wooden shutter closed with a force that nearly cracked the cottage walls. He wheeled on his brother, fury and fear warring in his belly. "For the love of God, are you mad, Dev, or just courting a cursed hanging? "It was folly enough to go stalking about at the hurling match in the light of day, but this is pure idiocy! Rath's been patrolling the cottage every night. If he decides to make a search tonight you’ll be trapped.”

"He won't," Devin interrupted with a calm that infuriated Tade. "I was passing careful when I slipped inside. Besides, I judged there was more danger of you and Da murdering each other this night than of Rath choosing to make a search. So I persuaded Da to go to bed, while I—"

"Waited to show me the evil of my ways? Da and I did well enough tearing at each other's throats while you were away. It is foolhardy for you to risk capture over something so trivial as—"

"As you roaming about the countryside with a woman who is English, Protestant, and the daughter of our family's most hated enemy?"

"Maryssa has nothing to do with her bastard father. I thought you, at least, would understand."

"Understand what?" Devin pushed himself upright and walked to peer out into the slice of night visible through a tiny crack in the shutter. "That Maryssa is one of the sweetest, most unspoiled women I've ever met? That she possesses an innocence, a depth of loving that is rare indeed? Aye, and that she looks at you as though the very angels dwelt in your smile?"

"How Maura does or does not look at me is none of your affair. I'm no blasted monk." Tade stripped off his wet shirt and snatched up a square of soft wool toweling from beside the battered washstand. "The night I gained my manhood you endured my ravings about the wonder of it for hours. Now suddenly, when I am six and twenty instead of sixteen, you crumple up your face in disapproval and sit in my room like a saint awaiting martyrdom."

"This time it is different." Devin turned, his face solemn. "Always before you've chosen those you could not hurt in a tumble across the coverlets. Women who desired—simply, openly—as you did. You made your conquests, aye, but you left no shattered virgins, no broken hearts in your wake. But Maryssa is different.”

"You truly believe I'm blind to how special she is?" A feeling of sharp betrayal coursed through Tade, and even the forced cynicism twisting his mouth couldn't hide the pain in his face. "I thought that you—you, at least—knew better of me, but I see that Da has finally convinced you that where women are concerned I'm capable of heeding nothing but my loins."

"What are you heeding this time, Tade? Do you even know? From the time you were a child, I've seen you hurl yourself into peril to save a drowning pup or a wounded bird. I've seen you thrash boys thrice your size to spare a weaker child pain. But this time you are courting calamity such as you've never known."

"Thank you, Father Devin, for another one of your holy sermons, but I think it would be better if you saved it for the Sabbath."

"Blast it, Tade, if I were talking to you with the robes of my priesthood, I'd have you on your knees for a full month doing penance! I'm speaking to you as a brother. Asking as a brother why. Why hurl yourself into something you know can only end in disaster? Because you thirst for danger? Because you need to defy Da? Or is it because in some dark and untouchable part of you, some part that you scarce realize exists, you unknowingly see Maryssa as a tool you can use to wreak vengeance on the man who betrayed our father?"

Tade wheeled, fists clenched, lips white with fury. "If any man but you had dared—"

"I know." Devin caught the stiff fingers in his hands and held them, his gentle face taut with concern. "Maybe I deserve the sharp side of your fist. It will make you feel better, you have my leave to whack away until you can't raise your arms. But know this: I love you, Tade. Too much to stand by in silence and watch you destroy an innocent girl. Aye, and in doing so destroy yourself."

At Devin's earnest, loving words, the anger ebbed out of Tade in a rush. The day's events had suddenly exhausted Tade, drained him. "Devin," he said softly, "I would die before I'd do her harm."

"Then you must not see her again. Stay away."

“It is too late, Dev." Tade raised his eyes to the troubled blue of his brother's. His fists uncurled then dropped slowly to his sides. "I think I love her."

Understanding dawned in Devin's features, followed by stunned pain. "Tade—"

"I laid with her on the shore of the lake," Tade breathed in the barest whisper. "I touched her, desired her as I've never desired a woman before. And she wanted me, Dev. I could feel it in her kisses, in the way she caught fire in my arms.” Tade pressed his fingertips to his eyes, the image of Maryssa in his arms crushing his chest. "But I folded her clothes back about her and held her. Only held her, because—"

A crash against the heavy door below shattered the hushed words into a thousand fragments of terror. Tade lunged toward the loft opening, eyes catching fleeting glimpses of Devin's taut features, of Deirdre sitting up in bed, her face pale as her nightdress. But just as Tade reached the ladder, a clamor of voices filled the silence, their slurred tones desecrating the melancholy strains of a ballad.

"Tay-ed!" someone bellowed. "Kil-can-non! Get out here." The rowdy voices changed into drunken giggles, and there was a thumping sound as if someone's feet had rebelled against holding his liquor-deadened body upright.

"Come ou' an' tip a glash with us, Tade," a tenor sang to the strains of the tune. "They're breakin' out butts o' whiskey right near Derry Town, an' we're gonna drain it dry-o, we're gonna drink 'em down."

Tade heard his father curse and the sounds of the children stirring. Going to the window, he opened the shutter just wide enough to see into the yard below.

"Neylan? MacGary? Shut your drunken yaps," Tade called, with a forced bantering tone. "I'll be down as soon as I find my boots, though it sounds like the lot of you won't be able to sit a horse long enough to make it down the mountain."