Black Falcon's Lady (Celtic Rogues Book 1) (42 page)

Maryssa leaned her elbows on the windowsill of the tiny loft room and gazed out through the sparkling glass pane at the cottage yard. Rain had begun to fall, that soft, sweet rain she had only witnessed here in Ireland, the tiny droplets blessing the ground below. It was as though the sky wept, not tears of sorrow, but rather tears of love, as if the heavens felt the pain and grief of those below and sought gently to give comfort.

Aye, and she could feel that comfort stealing over her like some tangible thing, like the delicate fingers of a mother's caress. A sense of peace wove itself about the wooden bedstead tucked beneath the slanting roof and curled around the scarred applewood chest.

The creak of the loft ladder made her turn, her gaze fastening upon the cherry-bright curtain that divided the loft into two rooms. But before the calico parted, she knew who it would reveal. Her lips parted in a smile as Tade entered, his face scraped free of its stubble of beard, his half-open shirt clinging to skin still damp from his own bath. But the peace she had felt only moments before had eluded him; the bronzed planes of his face were still marked by the ravages of sorrow.

"I wanted to see that you were settled," he said, moving to the bed with a stride achingly devoid of his usual cocksure aura. "I know it is far from what you are used to." His hand smoothed the worn quilt, the pillows fat with goose down.

"Aye. It is far from what I'm used to, and I refuse to endure it." Maryssa came up behind him, her arms encircling his taut waist. "I've spent the past weeks curled up in your embrace, my head cuddled against your shoulder. It would be cruel to expect me to make common goose down and quilts suffice."

He turned, but instead of the hint of a smile she had hoped to coax to his lips, his face was somber, torn with sadness and a stark uncertainty that made a lump swell in her throat.

"Maura," he said, his voice so soft she scarcely heard him, "do you know, love, that I've never even told you how much joy I take in the knowledge that you carry my babe? I want to give both of you everything—a house dripping with comforts, a thousand silken gowns, gold-wheeled carriages. But even after we leave here and sail to America, I do not know whether I'll be able to give you more than you see here." His mouth twisted, one hand knotting against his thigh.

"You'll be giving me a home built by your own hands, Tade, and that will be the greatest gift you could ever offer me besides the babe I carry."

"The babe I threatened to take from you?" His voice cracked, his eyes drifting shut. "Sweet God, when I think of what I did . . . Said . . ."

“It is forgotten, Tade, and I thought in the weeks that we rode for Ireland you had forgotten it, too." Maryssa reached up to soothe away the lines of self-loathing carved deep in his face. "You were half crazed with grief over Devin. You trusted me, and I—"

"Nay, Maura. There is nothing on God's earth that can excuse what I said to you—what I meant to do. But when Deirdre told me about you, about the babe, rage was like a flame inside me. I did not whom I struck out at, whom my fury consumed as long as I felt some sort of power over my own fate again." He raked his hand through his hair, turning to face her. "When Devin died and you left me, it was as if—as if I'd lost my soul, or cast it to the devil. I didn't want to hear anything but my own fury, didn't want to feel anything but betrayal, because to face the truth, that Dev was beyond my power to save, shattered all the beliefs and certainties I had about myself. Sometimes I think I was fool enough to start believing the tales the people wove about the Falcon. I almost believed that I could spin magic.

"But I can't, Maura. I can't sweep away all the hateful things I said to you, can't banish the grief, the guilt, I feel over Devin's fate."

"Devin didn't expect magic from you, Tade, or miracles. He wanted you to live, be happy, not torture yourself over things that are beyond your power. His last words to Deirdre and me were laced with his love for you." Maryssa stroked back an unruly wave of hair that tumbled over Tade's pale brow, smoothing her hand down one side of his face, willing the force of her love to ease away his pain and guilt.

"He always—always loved me," Tade said. "He loved everyone above himself. I used to bait him mercilessly, calling him a coward, without ever truly saying it. But it was far easier for me to ride across the countryside with my pistols roaring than it was for him to wait in silence for his death, not stooping to violence like lesser men even when his own life lay in peril."

"He died bravely," Maryssa said, tears threatening to choke her. "He was so gallant. You would have—would have been so proud. Even when they led him to the gallows he was gentle, loving. He saw me there, Tade, and he smiled."

Tade nodded, his voice raspy with sorrow. “I am glad that you were there for him, Maura. That he didn't—didn't die in that hideous crowd, alone." She saw tears well over Tade's thick lashes, and she reached out, her fingers tangling in his dark hair.

"Nay, Tade," she said with a fierce certainty that stunned her. "Even after the bullet struck him, Devin was not alone."

Tade swallowed as her words and the strength shining in her eyes swept in to warm the chill that still grasped his heart. The beauty of her face, turned so trustingly to his, filled him with love and a savage, healing pain. It was as though, in her eyes, he could see the gold hair of his brother, see the solemn blue eyes, untouched by a brutal world, sheltered in the haven of a faith beyond all reason.

Tade's fingers drifted up over Maryssa's features, his heart filling with a love so deep it shattered something deep inside him, freeing him from the agony of self-doubt, the chains of grief that had bound him since Devin's death.

"Maura," he whispered in a choked voice. "Maura, I love you."

She breathed a wordless reply, rife with love and joy, as she strained to capture his lips with hers, but Tade's hands closed gently about her arms, holding her but a whisper away from his own body.

"Twice before I've asked you to wed me," he said, his gaze searching her face. "Once with the wild recklessness of a boy, once with the bitterness of a man wearied of living." He fought to steady his voice, drowning in the wonder of her loving gaze. "Now I ask you again. I beg you with all that I am to be my wife. Let me be father to our child. Husband to you. Let me cherish you, protect you, fill your nights with splendor, your days with laughter. Let me, Maura."

"I love you, Tade. Love you." The cry that burst from her was brimming with wonder and promise as she broke free of his grasp and hurled herself against his chest. Her arms twined about his neck, and he could taste the salt of her tears. "Aye, I'll marry you, my tender rogue." She kissed him, her lips hungering, sweet upon his mouth, then pulled away, laughing. "But we'd best make haste, milord Black Falcon," she teased, "lest your son be trailing after us to the altar."

No merriment curved Tade's lips, his brows suddenly lowering in concern. "Damn," he muttered. "I had forgot."

"Forgot? Your own son? I can't imagine how, since he's kicked you full in the stomach three times during our kiss."

"Nay, Maura. The altar. Church. Whatever. I want to make you my wife. Now. Before the sun sets again, but no priest would dare wed us, what with the law." His gaze flicked away; the pain of Devin's murder still fresh.

"Nay, Tade. I'll not have a strange priest join us, nor a vicar of my own church. I want none of their hatred to sully our joy—and their laws bind my heart no more than they bound my rogue Falcon." Her cheeks tinted delicate rose, her face tipping away as though she were suddenly shy. "The closest I've ever felt to God was in a sun-drenched Donegal glen with you at my side."

Fierce love lanced through Tade, and his hands swept up to frame her face.

"I'll take you there at dawn, love," he rasped. "Pledge—"

"Love, Tade," Maryssa choked out, pressing her lips to his damp cheeks. "Pledge only your love. It is all I've ever wanted."

T
he sun poured
down over the deserted glen at Christ's Wound like melting honey, whispering of spring as it turned the last mists of dawn into gossamer wings of gold. Maryssa raised her cheeks to the March wind's kiss, cradling the bouquet Tade had given her in her arms. He had fashioned it himself while she had lain deep in slumber, weaving a nosegay of dried flowers from the summer before—from the sweet, remembered days when first she had been captured in the spell of rakish laughter and the glint of emerald eyes.

Maryssa raised her eyes to Tade’s face. The beloved features were soul-wrenchingly solemn, agonizingly handsome, set against the magnificence of his clothes. Velvet, the shade of emeralds, clung to his broad shoulders; breeches of snow white encased his lean-muscled thighs. A froth of lace tumbled like sea foam from beneath that stubborn Kilcannon jaw, accenting the aristocratic chin and patrician nose while his mouth—that mouth that cursed her, kissed her, swept her from despair to wonder—murmured words to her, love-words sweet and tender, that reached inside Maryssa's very soul, binding her to Tade forever.

She fought the memories of sorrow that still hovered about them, wanting Tade to see in her face this dawn only joy. Always joy. But when he took her hand in his with a tenderness that struck through to her heart, it was as if the warmth of his love enfolded her, banishing even those few whispered sorrows, while his voice and the tremor in his strong hand filled her with a reverence such as she'd never experienced.

She felt something smooth and cool slip over the tip of her finger, and realized that it was a ring. But her puzzlement as to when and how he had obtained the gold band melted to nothing but wonder as Tade's eyes caught hers. "I, Tade Kilcannon, take thee, my Maura, to be my wife, to weave with me a life of loving and laughter, to hold, cherish, shield thee from any pain I can spare thee until my death, aye, and after."

The ring slid into place, and she felt it in the depths of her heart. She raised her gaze to Tade's, her eyes clinging to his, her voice trembling. "I, Maura, take thee, Tade, to treasure and love through anything that befalls us, knowing that in my love for you and yours for me we will find the strength and power to heal any pain, any trouble, the world can offer. I promise to hold you, cherish you, comfort you, and love you with all that is within me, to my death, aye, and after."

She tipped her face up, feeling some unseen blessing drift down upon them, as though borne on doves' wings, an unearthly sense of serenity enfolding her spirit. Her lips parted, the words to describe what she felt eluding her, but she saw the splendor of it blushed upon Tade's sun-kissed features, felt it in his lips as he drew her gently into his arms, his lips melting into hers in the tenderest of kisses.

"Maura. My wife," he said, his voice husky with emotion. "Mine . . ." With a suddenness that startled her, he arched his head back and let his laughter ring through the air as his arms caught her up, sweeping her high. He whirled with her in a circle, the glen spinning in a glorious blend of gold, blue, and the first sprouts of green. Maryssa relaxed in his arms, feeling the wind whisk through her loose curls, dart about the delicate curve of her throat.

"Aye, milord rogue," she cried. "Yours. Always yours."

"I never thought this day would come," he said, whirling with her to the shelter of a grassy knoll. "That I would see you, with your face shining, your hair sweet satin about your face as we wed. It was so—so hard, loving you, holding you, yet thinking I could never truly have you. And now . . . now you are my wife. And before the spring wanes, our babe. . .”

His voice trailed off, as if his joy was too great to give voice to, and he eased her down onto the soft grass. Maryssa's hand swept up to caress his lips, but a bright gold glint caught her eyes as the sunlight kissed the circlet about her finger. A tiny cry of astonishment breached her lips as she stared in amazement at the delicately wrought ring. A stone the hue of her own eyes gleamed in opalescent beauty, curled within the graceful wings of a golden swan.

"Tade!" she gasped, her throat constricting. "How—where did you ever find this? When—"

"I bought it in London just after my ship anchored," he said, a flush staining his cheeks. "I was intending to chain you to me as my bride, so I—er—knew I'd have need of a ring."

"A ring, milord Falcon?" Merriment bubbled up within her as she watched Tade shift restlessly upon his glossy booted feet. "And how long did it take you to find this ring in London?"

The flush deepened farther still, but she pressed forward, grasping his hand and tugging him down until he sat beside her.

"I didn't exactly find it," he admitted, looking for all the world like a guilty school lad caught at some mischief. "I—er—had it made. There was a shop that displayed in its window a score of gems, and when I rode by . . ."He glared at her. "Well, blast it, the cursed thing held all the colors in your eyes, and—"

"And so you bought it for the woman you supposedly loathed, so you could drag her into the hideous torture of being your bride?''

"I bought it because it glowed with the green, gold, and blue light of the eyes I'd not been able to drive from my mind and my heart since that first night I saw you at the Devil's Grin. I bought it because, despite all that had torn at us, I loved you more than life, more than pride." He turned his gaze away, fixing it upon the rising sun. "Maybe… maybe I wanted it to show you that despite my fierce words, I loved you. The babe, aye, I wanted the child we created together, but it was not for that alone that I rode across half of England. It was you I wanted, Maura, you I needed, with your gentleness and your courage."

"Courage?" Maryssa laughed, peering up at him with a love that understood all, forgave all.

"Aye. The courage that made you heed Devin's last wish, cast your own chance at happiness to the winds in order to spare my life. The courage that made you dare to face your father and that bastard Dallywoulde when they would have crushed you, aye, and the courage to rid yourself of a man who had spat nothing but cruelty and hatred at you, vowing to wrench from your arms the babe that you carried in your womb." He turned back to her, his gaze finding hers, holding hers. "It takes no great courage to charge a line of soldiers, knowing that, if the worst befalls you and a bullet ends your life, it will be over in a matter of seconds. But to face years. . . a lifetime . . . alone, casting aside happiness in the name of love . . . that is rare courage indeed."