The Vicar's Frozen Heart (14 page)

He let his gaze linger as she breezed from the room, her luscious curves on full display. Before he sat, he limped to the front door and bolted it, then pulled the curtains closed. Some minutes passed and he wondered if he were making a grave error. Sooner or later this situation would crop up, as he did not intend to remain celibate for the remainder of his life. In truth he would rather it be with a woman he cared deeply about rather than a passing dalliance. And he did care for Eliza. Hell, if he allowed himself to examine the depth of his feelings he may even admit it could be love, but to do so would merely complicate matters. When he decided to take on the role of vicar, he had no intentions to involve himself in relationships of any kind. Yet he allowed Drew and Eliza close and his lies and false identity would eventually hurt them. Anger them enough to turn away from him. How did things become so damned tangled?

She entered the room carrying a large porcelain bowl and then frowned. “You haven’t removed your trousers.”

“Eliza, this is not a good idea.”

She placed the bowl on the table and moved toward him. “Nonsense. Here, allow me.”

She stood close, her luxurious auburn hair loose and flowing past her shoulders, which hardened him further. He couldn’t resist, he buried his nose in the softness and the scent of wildflowers filled his senses.

She unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it past his shoulders until it fell to the floor. “My, Vicar. You are a fine specimen. I did see you thus while you washed that night long ago. But to see you up close is a decided treat.”

“I’ve lost weight since the war. I used to be more muscular than this,” he whispered, pleased at her admiration.

She gazed up at him. “Truly? You must have been a formidable force on the battlefield.” With a soft sigh, she trailed her fingers down his chest, leaving flaming heat in her wake. She explored him, brushing past his nipples until they hardened, moving up his arms, caressing his biceps. “What’s this?” Eliza touched a circular scar on his left shoulder.

“Rifle wound.”

“The same time you injured your leg?”

Tremain shook his head. “Two years before. The bullet was nearly spent and the wound not serious.”

“And this scar on your collarbone?”

“Spear. I believe he was trying to plunge it through my neck. Instead it grazed me.”

“The same time you injured your leg?” she whispered.

He gave a slow nod. As if sensing he couldn’t speak of it, she distracted him by continuing to touch him, this time dipping below the waist. A husky groan tore from his throat when her feather-like stroke explored the hardened length of him. Gripping him tight, she stood on her toes and whispered sensually in his ear, “And quite the specimen here as well.”

“Oh, God,” he groaned through his clenched teeth. Lost in a lustful haze, he didn’t realize she’d unbuttoned his trousers and pushed them downward. He froze. “Wait. I don’t think...”

Eliza cupped his face, her thumb brushing across his flushed cheek. “Let me see, Tremain.”

“It’s horrible,” he rasped. There were many times in his life he knew raw fear. Most of the incidents were during his career as a soldier. But what he experienced here nearly rivaled it. She gripped the trousers and his small clothes then pushed them down to the floor. Instinctively he stepped out of them. No hiding anything now, he stood before her fully exposed. His hardened cock proved his desire, his hands clenched into fists showed his reluctance, and his chest rising and falling at a rapid pace proved he’d never been as vulnerable.

The injury ran from his upper thigh to his knee. By all rights he should have lost the entire leg, but mercifully he recovered from the fever that gripped him during the Battle of Rorke’s Drift and the limb did not turn gangrenous.

“Oh, Tremain,” she said, her voice soft. He kept his gaze firmly on her as if defying her to respond with disgust and horror. Instead she continued her exploration, the indentations across his thigh and the massive scarring and raw, red skin pulled taut across damaged muscle. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“A skirmish with a few Zulus. We were scouting when they came upon our camp at twilight. They are amazingly quiet, I never heard a thing. Since I was not fully asleep, I managed to twist away just as he thrust the spear, hence it grazing my collarbone.” He gulped deeply as he’d never told anyone this before, but he’d come this far. “I managed to stumble to my feet, grabbing my sword at the same time. Another warrior thrust as I stood, carving my right side as if I were a side of beef. He tried again, this time aiming for my heart. I knocked his spear away with my blade, but not before he sliced my leg again. I turned and ran the first warrior through, killing him. Meanwhile, the leg bled profusely while large flaps of skin hung to the knee, muscle and tendons exposed. The pain was unbearable and I collapsed.” He paused and took a deep breath. Exhaling, he met her gaze. Her eyes were wide, but showed no revulsion. Instead he observed compassion and concern, which gave him the courage to continue. “I wound up battling the Zulu while rolling around on the ground. Pain clouded my vision, but I managed to grab a large rock and smash him on the head. I kept smashing until his head was nothing more than a pulpy mass of brain and blood. He no longer looked human. I was...am...a beast.”

Eliza gasped and covered her mouth. But she recovered and grasped both his hands. “It was war, Tremain. You were fighting for your life.”

“I turned and also smashed the head of the warrior I had already killed. I was caught in the throes of bloodlust fueled by excruciating pain, at least that is what the doctors told me, as if to excuse and explain away my brutality. But here’s the thing, and this may give you pause to involve yourself any further with me....” Tremain blew out a shaky breath as a tear trickled down his cheek. “I liked it.”

The words chilled Eliza’s heart. How to respond to such a horrific confession? War was brutal. Though she knew nothing of what men experienced when in battle, she imagined it was much as Tremain explained. How could it not leave scars on your soul? It did with him. Deep, torturous ones. She gently swiped away the lone tear that ran down his flushed cheek. “This is why you became a clergyman--to find peace?”

He squeezed her hands and did not let go. “Peace. Forgiveness. Penance. I wanted to give something back to my fellow man while hoping to acquire some relief for my tormented soul. I vowed to try and save men rather than partake of their butchery.”

This explained much of his behavior. But not all of it. “Then why remain inaccessible? Are you aware it is spoken in certain circles in the village that you possess a frozen heart? Is it true?”

A small smile curled about his lips as his thumbs brushed the tops of her hands. “I’ve heard the talk; I encouraged it and even instructed my family to leave me to my own devices, since I needed to be alone and wanted no one close. Not easy to achieve when one is a priest. But I believed I could carry out my duties adequately and offer compassion when needed. And I did in my own remote way.” He glanced down, then continued in a soft voice. “From my earliest memory I felt separated and distant from everyone. My travails in the Zulu War furthered this coldness to where I felt nothing for any individual. This was my way and it became my curse. The coldness like an unstoppable sickness spread through my body into my heart and my very soul.”

“Yet, a small boy who lost his mother touched your heart,” she whispered.

“And a beautiful woman with intelligence and strength whom I found in a snow bank did as well,” he replied.

Eliza’s heart leapt with joy. “Thank you for telling me about your injury.” Tentatively, she ran her hand along the damaged and scarred skin. “I’m not horrified, not by your wound or by what you confessed to me. In fact, I understand you more and am glad of it. If your superiors did not hold you accountable for what happened that night, neither should you. Perhaps the time has come to forgive yourself.” She glanced up and gave him her warmest smile. “Now, concerning your injury, we should address it immediately. Lie on your side and I will fetch the plasters.”

He did and after gathering the bowl, she turned to face him. The thigh and leg were quite ghastly to look at. As he described, it looked as if he’d been carved like a roast of beef. No wonder he lived with constant pain. Kneeling next to him, she met his gaze. One eye stared at her from the pillow, watching her every move. “I did locate pieces of muslin in the linen cupboard. In between the layers I spread a mixture of crushed mustard seed and ginger mixed with flour and water to make a paste. This will feel hot. I’ll watch closely so it doesn’t burn you.” Eliza laid the cloth on his thigh and he took a sharp intake of breath. Concentrating on her task remained difficult, as her gaze slid to his aroused state more than once. The erection had lessened during his war narrative, but as soon as she touched him it sprang back to life. Reaching in the bowl, she grasped the next cloth and laid it against his leg. Smoothing them out, she said, “The nuns taught me a mustard plaster will stimulate blood flow and improve circulation. The warmth will relieve your pain.”

“You relieve my pain, and not only in my leg and thigh.” He reached out and clasped her hand, then squeezed, as if needing her strength.

“You know, Tremain, if you did not possess a heart or a conscience, your war experiences would not torment you as they do. You would have brushed them off and continued on with your life without care. But you didn’t. What you told me is dreadful. I cannot imagine how haunted you must be by these wretched experiences. I am not disgusted nor do I condemn you. Instead, I am glad you survived. You wish to heal. Why else enter the church? Giving back to one’s fellow man is noble. I quite admire you.”

“I have nightmares,” he whispered, his voice raspy.

“I’m not surprised, considering what you told me.”

He squeezed her hand tighter. “They seem too real. I woke up the other morning on my knees, pummeling my pillow to shreds. What if that had been you? Do you now understand why we cannot become involved? Why I push you away?”

She leaned down to kiss his forehead. “Hush, no more talk of war and nightmares. Not tonight. Relax and allow the warmth to flow through you. I will stay right here.”

“You are an amazing woman.”

“Another compliment. You’re making me blush.” Pulling her hand from his, she lifted the plaster and examined his skin. She began to massage around his knee and Tremain moaned. “Pain?”

“No. It feels good. Keep doing it.”

The muscles in his leg were tight and knotted. She worked them, kneading and caressing. She had no idea what she was doing, but it seemed to help. His eye fluttered shut and his body relaxed. After inspecting the plasters a second time, she removed them. With a gentle nudge, she pushed Tremain onto his back. Without giving him time to react, she laid kisses across his collarbone until his eyes snapped open.

“What...”

“Let me explore. Lay still and relax.”

While she discovered new delights in kissing and licking his skin, for she never did this with the young son of the earl, Tremain moaned rather loudly. She lay on her side next to him and grasped his hardness, then squeezed, causing a long, husky moan to reverberate in his powerful chest. “Tell me what to do, Tremain. Tell me what you want. My experience was brief and did not involve touching like this. Instruct me.”

“What I want? I want you to make me come. Stroke me, suck me, and never stop touching me.” His tone, though commanding, was also laced with desire.

“I am being too bold? Perhaps my wanton ways disturb you...”

He shook his head. “Never. I am thankful you came to me. I applaud your boldness and courage. Wanton? No, you are passionate and entirely desirable. I’ve been attracted to you from the first, but kept my distance because I believed I did not deserve the attentions of a beautiful woman. I still don’t.”

She leaned in and laid kisses along his chin and cheek. “You deserve everything. Peace, happiness, contentment, and passion. Allow me to help you achieve it.”

He moaned as she increased the pace. “Suck me,” he’d said. Could she? Heavens, how wicked. She ceased her strokes long enough to run her tongue along his hardened shaft, his groans deepening. By the flickering firelight, Tremain resembled a pagan god. Golden illumination highlighted every chiseled aspect of his hard, muscled body. The cords in his neck were pulled taut, his sensual lips parted as she explored him. Her tongue left no part of him untouched, from his heavy sac to the purple head. While a husky cry escaped him, she closed her mouth over his shaft and the noise emanating from him grew louder and fiercer.

The taste of him intrigued. Musky and decidedly masculine. She watched as he writhed on the blankets, his head lifting and lowering on the pillow with each pull and suck of her mouth. No hiding his feelings now, he lay open and exposed, physically as well as emotionally. How glorious he looked, and it increased her arousal to heights never before scaled. How she longed for him to come apart under her tongue. He grabbed a fistful of her hair, and held her still while he thrust deeper into her mouth. Hard to tell if the sound leaving his throat was mired with pain, lust, or a combination of both. Regardless, he did not slacken his hold or his forceful plunges, and neither did she.

His right leg tensed. Perhaps he was in discomfort. She tried to pull away, but he held her still. “No. I’m nearly there. A moment more...” With a ragged cry, he let go of her hair as if to allow her to pull back. But she did not and he spilled into her mouth. How wondrous.

* * * *

Tremain shook and trembled with the force of his release. Good God, he’d never experienced such an intense climax. Eliza pulled away and watched him, a slight smile on her face. He pulled her down to rest against his shoulder. Taking the blanket, he dabbed the corner of her mouth, wiping away a small amount of his seed. When he let go of her hair, he thought she would do as most women in his experience had done, pull away and avoid his coming inside her mouth. But not his Eliza. Passionate woman.
His Eliza?
He had marked her then, as his possession? The thought surprised him.