Chapter Seven

"Grissell sheltered yer mother here?" Eagan asked.

Tessa watched Eagan's hard face. Brows lowered with a look of confusion and concern. His hands gripped her shoulders, and he looked like he wanted to peer inside her mind. It made her words come quickly. "'Tis how my father knew to bring me here when he rescued me from Paris but couldn't take me on his ship."

"Grissell remembers her?"

Tessa nodded. "She says Rebecca was happy here, but she went with my father to France."

"Where ye were raised," Eagan finished for her.

She nodded, remembering the cryptic words from the old woman.

Your mother fell in love and lost her mind. I'm glad you've come home.

But Wolf Isle didn't feel like home to Tessa. No place did. She'd moved around with her mother, following the royal court when Rebecca was the king's mistress. Even a royal mistress that was eventually set aside was welcome as long as she was beautiful and talented. No matter the fickleness of royalty, Rebecca Ainsworth had continued to be both. Tessa attended court with her at times, singing for various groups and even the newborn Prince Francis.

"Grissell wants me to stay here, take up where my mother left off." She looked one last time at the angry sea empty of ship masts and walked toward the tree line where it was quieter. Eagan followed.

In the protection of the thick trunks, leaves fluttering down to be caught by the wind, she touched his arm. Eagan was sturdy, like the oaks around them. To Tessa, who felt adrift as if lost in the sea, his powerful body felt solid, as if he were a safe harbor, which was a ridiculous notion. Her mother had taught her no man could be trusted, except for her father.

"Grissell has been training me this past year," she continued. "My mother learned cures and midwifery skills from her and taught them to me. When I returned, Mistress Grissell thought I was my mother. I look a lot like her but have my father's dark hair." She shook her head, glancing into the forest even though she knew the elderly woman didn't eavesdrop. She somehow knew every secret on the isle without having to resort to listening to spoken words.

"She wants ye to stay," Eagan said.

Tessa exhaled in a rush. "I think she worries about the children she'll leave behind when she dies, those in her care."

"Ye…ye could do it," he said. "The way ye are with children. Wee Elizabeth can't stop talking about ye and is making everyone call her Princess Elizabeth."

Tessa thought of the pretty little girl with blue eyes. "Perhaps…if my father never returns." The notion twisted her heart. He was all she had left.

"Life on Wolf Isle would be better for ye than a life at sea."

She frowned. "You don't know me, Eagan Macquarie. I might be part mermaiden." She looked back at the choppy waves. "And my father may decide to leave the sea, and we could live in Paris or even on his family estate somewhere in the countryside." Her mother said he had one, but they never went to it.

"Did he say that?"

He'd said little except he wouldn't see his daughter selling herself in the gutters of Paris. She'd explained she was managing to live by singing at court, but she wasn't naive and realized the men had been circling her for some time. It had been an exhausting dance of keeping safe while trying to earn money to eat without accepting their distastefully lurid proposals.

"If he didn't say he'd—"

"'Tis complicated," Tessa said, her temper licking higher. When Captain Lemaire found her in the apartment she and her mother shared, she'd been overjoyed, even if she barely remembered the last time he'd visited. He looked like an older version of the sketch in her mother's locket.

Like her mother had said, her father was a natural protector with his tall, broad form and intense look. People scurried out of Captain Lemaire's way when he stalked through the streets in his captain's uniform to escort her to boutiques for new frocks. He'd sent two men to pack her belongings. He was moving her to his ship with him, having been assigned another mission starting the following week. He'd even given her a small cabin, locking her in to protect her from his men, who looked half frightened of him and half ready to slit his throat. But when he'd rowed her over to Grissell's shoreline under a full moon, he'd promised her he'd return.

I promise to wait for you, mon père , she'd answered earnestly. He'd rowed back to his ship, setting sail immediately in the glow of the moon. When she'd turned away from the sea, tears in her eyes, Grissell had nearly struck her dead with surprise, standing there amongst the trees, her two white cats sliding along her legs.

The first heavy drops of rain sounded like acorns hitting the few leaves left above, pulling Tessa back to the present. One landed on her nose, making her blink. "You can come see my cottage," she said, grabbing his hand. It was warm and wrapped instantly around hers as she maneuvered through the trees.

The clearing between the cottages was vacant, the stone well standing alone with its bucket ready to fill with rainwater. Tessa led Eagan up the steps onto her porch made of hewn planks that Grissell had unburied from a stockpile she hid. "I built the porch myself with the help of the children," Tessa said. "Bann and Charlotte helped me, but little Grace just played with Orphy and made flower wreaths."

"It looks sound."

"I'd like a roof over it, an overhang so we can sit out here in the rain." She plucked a purple flower from the box and stuck it in her hair, then pointed at the garland over the door. "Grace made that with scraps of fabric Grissell had."

She pulled him through into the clean room. When she'd arrived, the cottage had been empty and full of cobwebs. Tessa had poured her worry over her father and her future into reviving it with a thorough cleaning, glossy wax, and paint. She'd even added her own designs in the corners, painting swirls and birds.

Rain began to pour down, but the earthen roof softened the violent thrashing. The cottage was cozy and warm, and opposite the cold, bare apartment she'd shared with her mother with its few pieces of gilt furniture.

"Where is yer fawn, Orpheline?"

She smiled. "You remember her name." A man who pays attention to more than a woman's curves. Unusual.

"Names are important," he said and reached up to touch some of her dried herbs. "They tell a lot about the giver of the name and the person named." He was careful when he touched the dried chamomile heads so as not to knock them to the floor. He lowered his strong arm and grinned at her. "Like Tempest. I think there's a whirlwind perhaps hiding within ye."

Warmth slid through Tessa, a different kind of warmth from the heat that their kiss had ignited last evening. It was gentle and infused her, warming her to her toes, whereas the passion that had hit her before was like lightning. Both drew her to this large, chiseled man.

She glanced toward the door. "Orpheline has a nice paddock in the barn with my little goat, Grissell's milk cow, and the chickens. The cats walk out there, too, giving the rooster a purpose to protect his lady hens even though Saint Joan, Saint Margaret, and Sia wouldn't touch them."

"Such odd names for cats," Eagan said, running his finger along the snugly fit panes of glass. She watched the trail of his finger across the chilled surface and wondered what it would feel like across her skin.

"Saint Margaret is the patron saint of childbirth and women with child. Joan of Arc is strong and brave, helping to defend our bit of land. She should be a saint. And Sia has six toes on each paw. The names fit."

He walked to the hearth and added a square of dry peat before crouching to blow under it. He must think they were remaining there. Was he presumptuous or merely seeking her comfort?

Tessa watched the play of muscles under the white tunic that was stretched across his back from broad shoulder to broad shoulder. Was Eagan Macquarie a good lover? He looked fit, confident, and every inch a man.

Her mother had endured sloppy and selfish attentions in the bedchamber, first with the king and then some of his courtiers, but Rebecca had wanted her daughter to understand how pleasurable physical love could be with an expert lover. She'd explained much with words and sketches and then hired a tutor for her daughter once she reached the age of twenty. Tessa knew the difference between an attentive lover and a selfish, hasty-witted coxcomb. And from the kiss and how Eagan touched various things in her cottage, she guessed he was of the attentive variety.

"You should stay," Tessa said. Eagan looked at her over his shoulder. She indicated the windows where rain beat a rapid pulse. "Unless you wish to return to the castle soaked through."

He stood slowly, glancing at the door like a maiden realizing she was locked in with a wily fox of a man. "I won't attack you," she added. "And you can leave. I'm merely saying that 'tis—"

"Do ye attack men?" The edge of his mouth rose, and she remembered how those lips felt against hers. Warm, soft, but powerful, too.

She returned his half grin with her own. "Not frequently enough to answer oui and not never to say non."

His brow rose, but his mouth dropped to seriousness. "Have ye had to defend yerself then?"

She snorted softly. "In this world, everyone must defend themselves, from the smallest kitten to the surliest butcher."

He walked over, gently resting his hands on her shoulders. "I have no right to pry, Tessa, but my sisters-by-marriage have had to defend themselves from villainous men before they came here and married my brothers. Ye can find comfort talking with them."

She met his gaze with steely determination. "I've met many villainous men, but I thwarted them." She'd learned to get out of every situation, even crawling out a window to slide along a ledge to safety. Staying physically fit, agile, and silent had saved her emotional stability and even her life several times. One didn't circulate in the viper's nest of court without becoming slippery as a serpent, too.

Tessa raised her hand to Eagan's cheek, feeling the soft bristle of his closely trimmed beard. "You, Eagan Macquarie, are not a villainous man. I believe you to be a good man." He was also tall, so she slipped her hand up to his neck and around the back. Eagan lowered his face without resistance, claiming her lips.

Despite the confidence she displayed in her movements, her heart slammed hard. Eagan's arms came around her like the granite walls encircling a castle, and she felt protected within them. And that feeling of trust and protection was intoxicating. Perhaps that was why the heat had risen from a wisp of smoke to an inferno in moments.

She trusted Eagan Macquarie.

To enjoy the passions of the flesh in full, one must have absolute trust in their partner.

She hadn't been attracted to the sophisticated instructor her mother had hired to teach Tessa about feeling satisfied in passion, but she'd trusted him enough because her mother did.

Tessa slanted her lips against Eagan's, pressing against the taut muscles of his frame. His erection pressed against her, feeling long and hard and very capable. Mon Dieu . A rush of heat slid down through her abdomen to dampen the crux between her legs, and thoughts of what she should do and what Eagan should do faded from her mind as instincts took over.

Sliding one leg behind his, she rubbed her crux against his thick thigh and let the moan that had built at the base of her throat breeze out with her exhale. One of his large hands cupped her backside, helping her lift and rub.

He kissed a path along her jawline to her ear as Tessa tipped her face to the slanted ceiling so he'd have complete access to her throat. Perhaps it was the throbbing in her that made the skimming of his lips not tickle.

"Tessa," he whispered at her ear. "I want ye, lass, but I won't dishonor ye." His hands rose to her upper arms. She felt him step back and heard his groan of frustration as if his body warred with his honor.

Her eyes opened, catching his intense stare. It mirrored her own low-lidded desire. "I am no maid, Eagan, and I do want to dishonor you, gar?on." Her accent was thicker with the passion, the flow of the French language being made for love. "And you're full of muscle and passion and honor."

She could see desire flare up in his gaze, and his hands fisted at his side like a starving man resisting a sweet tart. His ready verge pushed outward against his plaid.

"I wouldn't take advantage of yer trust, Tessa. Ye don't know me."

Sliding one of her palms up his tunic while the other slid down, she rose on her tiptoes to reach his ear. "All I know is that I want to feel you moving within me." Her lower hand slid over him, and she heard him exhale.

He was larger than her tutor, and the thickness of his stiff verge sent another wave of heat through her. She moved her hand down to the edge and pulled the wool up enough to reach him underneath. Her breath was ragged as she slid her hand along the hard length.

"Bloody hell, Tessa."

She met his fevered gaze. "I ache, Eagan, and so do you. I can feel your ache." She stroked up and down the smooth skin. "Touch me where I ache."

Eagan's hands grabbed her to him with one arm around her back. She continued to work him as his free hand rucked up her simple green petticoat. His fingers climbed the flesh between her thighs, and she opened her legs more.

Relax and feel.

The words burned away as her body wound tighter. She certainly could feel, but there was no relaxing, not when she wanted Eagan's length inside her, parting her flesh and stroking her until she reached her pleasure. Her world tipped as he touched the joining of her legs.

"Mon Dieu," she moaned, pressing her pelvis against his firm hand. He rubbed and stroked, building her to a frenzy. When he sunk his fingers inside, she climaxed right on his hand, her eyes and mouth flying open.

She released him and grabbed his shoulders to keep herself from falling as waves of pleasure crashed through her. "Mon Dieu. Mon Dieu." She kept murmuring as he held her up, his hand still stroking her but slower, gentler, letting her float back down to the ground. She'd never peaked so quickly nor so intensely.

Before she could form coherent thoughts, Eagan lifted her off the floor and carried her to her bed. Breathing heavily, he released her amongst the pillows, staring down at her. His hand slipped under his wrap as if he were in pain.

"I can… I won't if ye…"

His words trailed off as she plucked the laces of her bodice and moved her shoulders back and forth until the edge dropped. Her full breasts swelled out the top, perching on her chest like pale puffs of flesh with hard, dark pearls in their centers. A thin gold chain held her locket shaped like a birdcage. It lay against her skin close to her heart.

"Mo dhia," he murmured, and she could see him stroking his length. The sight of him pleasuring himself sent a new wave of heat surging through her.

Pinching her nipple with one set of fingers, she raised her petticoat until her still throbbing crux was exposed. "Let me see you."

He lifted his wrap so she could watch him stroke his length. She touched herself, and he groaned as he watched her rub and touch. She knew he'd like that as much as she liked watching him. "Come to me," she whispered and spread herself wide.

Eagan yanked his belt open, letting his woolen wrap fall with it. In a swift arch of his arm, he yanked his tunic off over his head while kicking off his boots. He was naked in seconds, and her breath caught at the beauty of him. She licked her lips as her gaze followed his chiseled muscles from his shoulders and powerful arms down his chest, over the ridges of his stomach muscles where she stopped on his thick verge straight and long against his abdomen.

Spreading her legs more, she beckoned, and Eagan fell upon her with a growl from deep within his chest. "Oh yes," she exhaled as he braced himself over her, his biceps mounded on either side of her head.

"Ye're…sure?"

"Oui, yes!"

Her breath caught as Eagan thrust into her, his groan rising to the rafters of the cottage, mixing with her answering moan. He pulled out and thrust again, so deep, so completely deep. She felt his strokes along all her sensitive spots all at once. Mon Dieu! They fit together perfectly, him filling her entirely. She lifted her feet, wrapping them to ride across his lower back and contracting derriere. She kissed him with fierce, wild abandon. They moved together as if they'd truly become one writhing, hot beast.

The wave of sensation built slower this time. She felt him shift higher on her so that he also rubbed her exposed bud, teasing her pleasure. Her fingers curled into his shoulders. When they broke to breathe, she stared into the taut lines of his face. A mix of pain and ultimate pleasure reflected her feelings.

"My God, aye," he said as he stroked full and fast.

Tessa's eyes flickered shut, and she crested. "Mon Dieu, mon c?ur!" she yelled, imagining her cry cracking the glass panes in her windows.

With a growl, Eagan rolled off her, catching his release in a rag she hadn't seen him place on the bed. Her hand went to her crux, pressing against the waves there, enjoying the continued sensations. She turned her face to the side to watch Eagan stroke himself, the two of them panting next to each other on their backs. He didn't release inside her because he didn't want to get her pregnant.

As much as she agreed getting with a child outside of marriage would be life-shattering, she felt cold as she thought of her father's words: If you get pregnant out of wedlock, Claudette, make sure 'tis with a Macquarie.