Susan Johnson (38 page)

And outside in the waning light of morning under the shadows of dark pine and the naked limbs of winter hawthorne and beech, a group of Graham prisoners and dead and wounded gave evidence of their flight from the castle.

“Four brothers dead,” Adam quietly said to Johnnie’s nod at the bodies on the ground.

“What of the fifth?” he quickly asked.

“We missed Matthew. He’s in Carlisle, according to the captain of their guard.”

“Bloody hell,” Johnnie swore in disgust.

“This should make him reconsider his lawsuit.”

“I’d prefer more surety,” Johnnie grimly said, relentless in his quest to protect his wife. In a time when nobles were tortured, hanged, beheaded, drawn and quartered, for supporting the wrong monarch or political cause, when the lives of the poor had little value beyond their physical labor, when loyalty could be openly bought and sold, when protection of one’s lands and possessions depended on personal strength and force, Johnnie Carre would have preferred that all the Graham brothers been dispatched to hell. “We’ll have to go and find him.”

“Now?”

He shook his head, his gaze surveying the carnage, his expression unreadable. “I promised Elizabeth I’d be back in two days. We’ll return to Goldiehouse first. Although a small troop should make for Carlisle immediately. When Matthew Graham receives reports of this, he’ll bear watching. I expect he’ll ask for protection. At least there’s only one left,” Johnnie softly said, the faintest smile curving his mouth.

Within a short time the Carres were mounted, their wounded tended to; miraculously, none of the Carres had been killed. Although the Grahams weren’t noted for taking a stand, their defense had been less vigorous with their leaders in flight.

The large group separated again at Carter Bar, taking different routes back to Ravensby with Johnnie reaching
Goldiehouse shortly after dark. Quietly approaching the house from the service drive, he washed in the stables, leaving his jack and sword behind to be cleaned of bloodstains. And when he walked into the house, to be greeted by Munro, who’d received word of his coming from Kinmont, Johnnie cautioned his cousin to silence with a raised hand. “Have Mrs. Reid send up some dinner to my suite in an hour,” he said to Dankeil Willie, “and I’ll announce my return to Lady Elizabeth myself.”

Motioning Munro to follow him into his study, Johnnie shut the door behind his cousin. “I’ll give you the details tomorrow; Elizabeth is waiting, but I wanted to thank you for staying behind and taking care of her. How is she?”

“She’ll be fine now that you’re back. In almost one piece,” he added with a smile. “You should bind that arm.”

Johnnie glanced at his sliced shirt and the gash in his right arm. “It’s nothing. The Grahams didn’t fight to the end once the brothers bolted. Not that I expected them to. But you heard, Matthew lives. A bloody shame.”

“Kinmont tells me he’s in Carlisle.”

“Perhaps, or on his way back to Redesdale Forest. I think he’ll stay in Carlisle, since it’s one of the English garrison forts. A troop’s on its way to find him. I’d promised Elizabeth to return in two days, so I’m briefly back.”

“You can’t let him live, of course.”

“No.” Johnnie flexed his fingers, restless against his urgent need to destroy Matthew Graham.

“Must
you
do it? Send someone else.”

Johnnie gazed at his cousin from under half-lowered lashes and then smiled, a grim, swift flexing of his lips. “He’s mine.”

“Don’t risk your life for him.”

“I don’t intend to.” Johnnie smiled again, this time a smile of notable warmth. “But thanks for the concern.”

“When will you leave again?”

“When I hear from Adam. Probably in three or four days.”

“Don’t let me keep you now,” Munro generously
offered, gesturing toward the door. “Elizabeth will be pleased you’re home.”

“I’d travel across the wastelands of the world to come back to her,” Johnnie murmured.

“You’ll have to tell her that,” Munro said. “She’s been crying a lot.”

“It’s the baby … her moods are skittish now.”

“Or perhaps psychic. You could have been killed.”

“Then I’d have had to come back from the netherworld to be with her.”

Munro gazed at Johnnie for a brief moment, reflecting on the profound changes he’d witnessed in his cousin’s capacity for love. “And if anyone could cross that black passage,” he quietly said, “it would be you.”

“Damn right,” Johnnie said with a grin. “Now let’s not be morbid. I’m back more or less undamaged, and the most beautiful woman in the world is upstairs waiting for me. I have to change quickly, so adieu.” One brow lifted roguishly. “I’ll see you about noon tomorrow.”

Elizabeth was seated by the fire when he entered the room, wrapped in the folds of a midnight-blue cut-velvet robe, her hair gold in the firelight. She rose with a cry of delight when he stepped through the door and ran to him, the heavy velvet flaring out in wings behind her.

And he moved forward in great long strides, so gladdened at the sight of her, he wondered how he’d ever lived before he’d met her. She flung herself into his open arms, and he caught her, swinging her around in a transport of joy. She squealed with pleasure, and he laughed, lighthearted as a young boy.

“You were gone too long in Jedburgh,” she complained as he gently placed her on her feet, but her smile was dazzling.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he promised, his own smile impudent, his arms lacing around her waist.

“Do you think I can be so easily appeased?” she teasingly inquired.

“I
know
you can be so easily appeased,” he seductively
replied, drawing her closer so their thighs brushed and then their lower bodies. So she could feel him.

“I’ve turned wanton since I’ve met you,” she whispered, her body’s response intense, immediate.

“A charming quality in a wife,” Johnnie murmured, his hands drifting downward over the luxurious velvet of her robe. “Show me.…”

Reaching up, Elizabeth placed her small hands on his face and, pulling him downward, kissed him with slow, lingering intensity. Then she whispered against the warmth of his mouth, “I haven’t had sex in two days.…”

The implication of her deprivation added length to his arousal. “Could I be of some help?” he asked, his fingers tangled in the pale silk of her hair.

“Let me see,” she quietly replied, as if some vetting might be necessary, drawing back a small distance, her hands drifting down his chest, past his belt buckle, then lower to the obvious bulge under the soft chamois of his breeches. “Ummm … this is marvelous.…”

“I’m glad you approve,” he said with a grin. “Will you require some … measurement?”

“It seems quite acceptable,” she said with an arch look, her fingers tracing its length, exerting pressure so it swelled against her touch.

“I stand relieved,” he dryly murmured, his smile sunshine bright. And then he sucked in his breath as she squeezed the very tip with knowing subtlety.

Several tremulous moments later, when his respiration was restored, when his eyes opened again, and reality intruded into his consciousness, he swept her up into his arms, carried her over to the bed in swift strides, and lowered her gently onto the silk coverlet. “I didn’t give you leave,” she softly said, her green eyes like emerald fires, her white nightgown and dark blue velvet robe swathed around her in a flourish of ripples and heaps.

“Really,” he replied, unbuckling his belt. “Do you think that should stop me?”

“I thought it might.…” Her words were coquettish.

“But then I don’t have manners,” he blundy declared,
pulling his belt loose, dropping it on the floor, beginning to untie his neckcloth.

“So you expect only compliance in a wife?” Her eyes followed his hands as he opened the neckline of his shirt.

“I
expect
a hot, wet welcome,” he said with a lazy smile, pulling his shirt over his head. “Can you accommodate me?”

Her hips moved slightly as if in response to his words, and her fingers closed on handfuls of velvet and silk, crushing the luxurious materials, sliding her robe and nightgown upward so her calves came into view, then the white satin of her thighs. As Johnnie Carre sat down on the bed to tug off his boots, he viewed the slow unveiling of the golden down between her legs.

Leaning over, he placed his large hand over her silken curls, a proprietary gesture as natural to him as breathing. “Don’t go away,” he softly said, “I’ll be right with you.”

“You’re hurt,” she softly cried, half-rising, the wound on his upper arm visible when he turned.

“A scratch from a tavern brawl, that’s all. You can sew it up later.” And he exerted pressure on her mons to keep her down.

“You’re sure?…” The heel of his hand moved in slow circles, pressing downward, and puzzling questions slipped away, muted by irrepressible passion. “Will I ever have enough of you?” Elizabeth whispered, intemperate desire coursing through her body, her gaze traveling over his muscled torso, down his powerful arm to his strong, long-fingered hand holding her captive.

“No,” he said, plain, unhesitating. “Never.”

And a moment later his boots were tossed aside, his chamois breeches disposed of, and he was lifting her into a sitting position on the bed so he could undress her.

“Kiss me,” she said like a
jeune fille
, all lush, coaxing innocence, her face lifted.

And he kissed her gently as he reached for the closures on her robe.

“More,” she murmured, hushed and low, seated in a tumble of dark velvet.

“Soon …” he whispered.

Swiftly unclasping the braided frogs on her robe while she tried to kiss him, he pushed the heavy fabric from her shoulders, slid it down her arms, gracefully dodged her hands as she attempted to pull him close. Her nightgown came off as rapidly, and then he stopped eluding her, his mouth available once again, yielding to her feverish pressure, letting her taste him, letting her lean into his hard body, her wafting sigh of pleasure sliding down his throat.

Selfishly, she wanted to possess his raw strength, the memories of his absence still crowding her thoughts. She wanted to absorb him, engulf him; she wanted to concentrate on sheer physical sensation to drive away two days of apprehension and fear. “Touch me everywhere,” she whispered as she came up for breath.

“So you’ll know I’m back.…” he murmured against the sweetness of her parted lips.

“So I can keep you with me.…” Allure as old as Eve resonated in her breathy voice.

And he gave her what she wanted, understanding himself how urgent his own need to ground himself in her. His hands drifted over her breasts, heavy and swollen with pregnancy, glided around their rounded abundance, paused to delicately stroke the distended nipples, moved upward between her cleavage, spread the weighted globes apart so she felt their heaviness in her brain and in her throbbing core, in the tips of her fingers and toes.

Then he released his hold, and they sprang back like ripe fruit on a trembling limb. He let them vibrate and quiver as his warm palms slipped over her rounded belly, traced the curve of her hips, moved downward to rest for a moment on her soft thighs before his fingers slipped over her pubescent curls and disappeared inside her throbbing labia.

“Can you feel me now?” he whispered, his gaze on her face, knowing the answer to his question from the expression in her eyes.

“I’m glad you’re home.” Her voice held a rich undertone of passion.

“I can tell.” His fingers were drenched. “Now lie
down and spread your legs,” he said with a lush smile, “and I’ll show you know how pleased I am to be home.”

He kissed her for a lazy interval, and she basked in the flagrant glow of undisguised sensation.

“I can smell the scent of paradise … it’s so close … like sweet coconut.…” she whispered.

“Ummm,” he murmured, tracing a warm path with his tongue over the lush, pouty fullness of her bottom lip. “My paradise tastes more like”—his hand slipped downward, his finger dipped inside her honeyed warmth as if testing its readiness, and a moment later, he touched his finger to his mouth and then briefly to hers—“shrimp.…”

“Make love to me,” she whispered, her piquant flavor on her lips.

“I am,” he said, placing his hands gently on her face and kissing her.

“It’s not enough.” She touched his erection lying hard against his stomach. “Give me that.”

And he did then, turning her on her side, his chest warm against her back, easing himself slowly inside her until she was filled with him. She moved back into the solid wall of his body to feel him penetrate inches more, and sighed then in blissful ecstasy. And he moved away a moment later until she whimpered … and he glided back in. Filling his hands with her breasts, he pulled her closer so she felt every nerve attuned to the extravagant feeling. Reaching down between her legs, she touched him as he slowly glided in and out, her fingertips sliding over the swollen veins and velvety skin sheathing his rock-hard erection. He could feel himself lengthen under her massage, and he held himself motionless inside her for a moment as his arousal swelled.

She moaned, a luxurious pleasure sound.

He smiled in contentment, holding her close.

And they explored the rarefied world of sensation, gently at first, and then with unbridled passion.

Because he’d been gone from her, and she’d realized in his absence that she wasn’t whole without him.

Because he’d found the only woman in the world he could love—and because, too, killing always had a turbulent arousing aftermath only she could satisfy.