Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Twenty-Nine

“Oh, my God! John Campbell, you have kidnapped me!” Elizabeth sat up in the bed, her violet eyes wide. “You have bound my hands so I cannot fight you. And you are naked!” she accused with alarm.

He gazed at her, bemused. “Beth, I rescued you. I tended your hurt hands. And you too are naked,” he teased lightly, immensely relieved that she was awake and feeling feisty. “I found you in the blizzard, knocked unconscious by a fallen tree limb. It’s a miracle that you didn’t freeze to death.” His words suddenly turned harsh. “I should take my belt to you, you reckless little bitch—risking your life over a donkey!”

She drew up the eiderdown as if it would protect her from him. “I remember now. Thistle got out of the stable, and I feared wolves would eat him. Queenie and I found him buried beneath the snow.”

“I take it Queenie is the Border collie and Thistle is the donkey?” The fallen bedcover had revealed much of her high-thrusting breasts, and he found it difficult to reprimand her.

“You found them?” Her eyes shone with hope.

“Queenie found me and insisted I follow her. I brought you to Chatelherault first, then went back for the bloody donkey. I left them both in there, asleep by the fire.”

“Chatelherault is where we are? How long have I . . . have we . . .”

“Been sleeping together?” He grinned. “About two hours.”

“How dare you dishonor Hamilton hospitality, sir? Get out of my bed immediately! And get that lecherous grin off your face.”

He threw back the cover and, naked, stepped from the bed. “The first order I can obey. The second is impossible.” His grin widened. He held up his hand, “No, Your Grace, I insist no thanks are necessary. I enjoy carrying damsels and donkeys about. But of the trio, the bitch in the other room has the most intelligence.”

Her eyes flashed their warning. “Bring me my gown.”

“It’s woolen. It will still be soggy.”

“Then bring me my petticoat!” she ordered imperiously.

“Sorry, Duchess. You don’t have a petticoat. I used it to bandage your hands.”

Elizabeth held up her hands helplessly, trying to muster her defiance, and burst into angry tears. “Don’t call me Duchess! You must know how much I hate, loathe, and detest being a duchess.”

He was beside her in two strides and gathered her into his arms. “Don’t cry, Beth.” He raised her face and wiped her tears away with gentle fingertips. “You’ll feel better once you have some food inside you, I promise.”

She pulled away and nodded, angry with herself for weeping.

In a very short time, John returned with a big bowl. He indicated her bandages. “I’ll have to feed you. I gave Queenie her own bowl, but we’ll share.”

“It smells wonderful. I’m so hungry! Oh, what about Thistle?”

“I gave the donkey oats I brought from the stable for porridge.” He lifted the spoon to her lips and took delight in watching her.

“Mmm, I haven’t tasted rabbit stew since I left Ireland.”

The word Ireland evoked memories for both of them. Each wished they could turn back the clock to that carefree, unfettered time.

Elizabeth blushed. Sitting here naked, sharing warm food, was far too intimate, especially with the attractive devil’s dark eyes devouring her. She watched his hands as he fed her. They were beautiful, sensual, disturbing. Her memory caught the thread of something they had done to her earlier. It eluded her for a moment, then she remembered the feel of those hands, massaging her from head to foot, front and back, above and below. His hands coupled with his nakedness were too wickedly tempting. She opened her mouth for the last spoonful but lowered her lashes. “Aren’t you cold?” she asked pointedly.

“You know I’m not . . . this close you can feel my fire, Elizabeth.” He ran his finger round the empty bowl and raised it to her lips.

She could not resist licking it, though she knew it was provocative. Her blush deepened. If she were truthful, she’d admit she could resist nothing about him. “Please, get my undergarments. I want to come out by the fire. I want to see the animals.”

John returned with her busk and drawers, but when she donned them she suddenly realized how inappropriate they were. She tossed back her hair with a defiant little gesture and walked with the haughty pride of a duchess wearing an elaborate ball gown.

Her pretension vanished the moment she saw the dog. “Queenie! Careful, don’t knock me over. Yes, Queenie, I love you too.” When the dog’s tail swished against her bare legs, she laughed with delight and scratched the collie’s ears, one white, the other black.

John left her to enjoy the animals while he repaired to the kitchen. He returned with the rabbit legs spitted for roasting and a pan of kneaded dough. He was wearing a sackcloth apron tied about his middle, but when he bent to put the flat bread on the fire to bake, she saw his exposed bare buttocks and laughed merrily.

“You think your drawers don’t make you a figure of fun?” he asked in mock offense. “Here”—he placed a long iron spit in her bandaged hand—“make yourself useful.”

As they sat side by side, roasting meat over the fire like boon companions, Elizabeth mourned what might have been, and her honesty bubbled to the surface. “I wish I’d said yes when you asked me to come and live with you at Sundridge. You were right, John. I’m not suited to being a titled lady of the ton. I prefer the country to London . . . detest Court functions . . . loathe being a duchess.”

“Regrets are a waste of time, love. Pretend you are not the Duchess of Hamilton. You are a born actress—you can be Elizabeth, or Titania, or my lady in gray—” His fingers stroked her cheek.

“No, John. I am married to another man. I am not yours.”

“Shall I show you that you are?” He took the spit from her and set it on the hearth beside his. He knelt before her and cupped her face in his hands, gazing down at her reverently, intensely, possessively. His lips touched hers. “Mine now and forevermore.”

Elizabeth sighed, and her mouth clung to his. The kisses were gentle at first but gradually turned fierce. “Your kisses are like snowflakes—no two are alike.” Just for this moment she had decided to be Elizabeth, Titania, and his lady in gray. It wasn’t real, it was only pretend, and what did it hurt? She felt his lips trail kisses along her cheekbone and her throat. His warm breath on her skin sent delicious shivers all the way down to her lush breasts and sensitive nipples.

John removed his apron then unfastened the busk and lifted her naked breasts to his lips. He ran his tongue across one pink crest and heard her moan deep in her throat. “You taste like whiskey,” he whispered huskily. His dark eyes held hers, and he saw her response to him flare up like a flame. Her eyes told him she knew that he had marked her as his; it was impossible to hide it from him. With possessive hands he removed her drawers and gazed at her with adoration. The fireshine turned her hair to red-gilt, her pale flesh to golden honey. She was truly an achingly beautiful woman to be cherished. He gently pushed her down on the thick rug, captured her wrists, and lifted her arms above her head as he moved his body over hers. “Wrap your legs high about my back.”

She remembered how she loved his weight and his fullness inside her and yielded eagerly, arching up to meet his downward plunge. Until he was inside her, she’d had no idea how much she wanted him, or how long she had hungered to have him make love to her again. She wanted the feel of him, the smell of him, the taste of him to engulf her senses. She kissed his throat then licked it, and as he began to thrust, she bit him in a little sensual frenzy. The first time there had been pain mingled with the pleasure; now there was no pain whatsoever, only deeply thrilling enjoyment.

Her sheath felt like hot silk as she tightened passionately around his shaft, joining him in the tantalizing rhythm that was so achingly perfect. He yearned to watch her shiver and shudder as he brought her to climax, so he unleashed some of the fierce desire that had been goading him for months. She arched up with a cry and tightened on him, sending fire snaking through his loins. He felt the pulsebeat in his cock, felt his seed start, and, coming to his senses with a low groan, withdrew before he spent. He took his weight from her but held her close and rolled until they lay together on their sides.

She buried her face against his chest, and as he feathered kisses along her brow into her hair, she could hear the strong, steady thunder of his heart. As they lay embraced, she felt replete, happy, and cherished. Joy sang in her blood; love almost melted her very bones.

When at last they could bear to separate, John wiped his pearly ejaculate from them with the sackcloth apron. “I’ve never felt this way before. Beth, you consume me, waking or sleeping. Promise me you will never, ever regret loving me!”

Don’t ask for promises I may not be able to keep, John.She smiled into his eyes and offered her lips for his kiss. As she became aware of her surroundings, she reached for her undergarments and saw him double up with laughter. “What?”

“Her Highness has eaten our bloody rabbit legs while we were otherwise engaged!” He couldn’t stop laughing. “She slaked her appetite while we were doing the same.”

Elizabeth was relieved that he was in no mood to punish Queenie, and she joined in his laughter. Then she saw that Thistle had peed on the expensive Oriental carpet and it too struck her as being funny. So much for Hamilton’s priceless possessions!

“I should take the donkey to the stables. There’s plenty of hay for him there. My horse will keep him company.”

“Thistle is just a baby . . . his mother is still suckling him.”

Elizabeth immediately thought of her own baby and knew she must get back to the castle. “I must go back to Cadzow, John.”

“That’s impossible tonight.”

“I have to get back to my child. I’ve been gone all day.”

He took her hand and almost dragged her to the door, then he flung it open and allowed her to both see and feel the blizzard. “You cannot leave tonight . . . perhaps tomorrow.”

“I’d rather go tonight,” she said stubbornly.

“The decision is mine, Elizabeth,” he said quietly.

“Why should it be yours?” she challenged.

“Because I am the man, you the woman.”

She lowered her lashes to mask her resentment, but she did not dare defy his towering male authority. Even naked—especially naked—he is every inch the dominant military major!

“We’ll have to eat what’s left of the rabbit stew and some hot bread. I have to feed and water Demon. I’ll take Thistle to the stable and bed him down in some straw. I set some snares—perhaps I’ll be lucky again. Can you warm up our food while I’m gone, or do your hands hurt too much?”

“I can manage.” I’ll have to postpone leaving until he sleeps.

John quickly pulled on his clothes and picked up the donkey. When she opened the door for him, he bade her close it tightly after him. Though the stable was only a hundred yards distance from the living quarters of the lodge, he had to struggle against the biting wind and ice pellets. He kept close to the stone walls of the building, realizing that out in the open the blizzard would defeat even the strongest of men.

When John reached the stable he made a bed of straw for the little donkey and piled the stall with hay. Baby or no, it would soon learn to feed itself. He talked to Demon as he fed him, then filled buckets with snow and brought them inside where they would melt for drinking water. When he checked the snares, he found wolf tracks and blood and knew they had carried off whatever he had caught. With a ripe curse he went back into the stable for oats—they’d have to make do with porridge for breakfast.

While he was gone Elizabeth spoke to Queenie. “He never even offered to help me get back to the castle. He has a soldier’s courage and strength, to say nothing of a horse. Surely he could at least try to get me back to my baby!”

Queenie gave a defiant bark.

“You are supposed to be my friend. Why are you on his side?”

Her bandages impeded her dexterity and, frustrated, she removed the one from her left hand. The raw patches stung, and she found that she couldn’t touch the heated iron pot without pain, so she left her right hand bandaged. She felt her woolen dress, found it was dry and quickly pulled it over her head before John returned.

When he came in, he took the oats to the kitchen then filled a couple of large iron kettles with snow so that they would have water. He filled a bowl for Queenie. “Here, girl. No doubt the rabbit legs made you thirsty.” He eyed Elizabeth as he removed his boots and jacket and hid a smile as he began to take off his breeches. “Your clothes might be dry, but mine are soaked again.” He had sent his baggage to England with his men, and though he did have a dry change of clothes in his saddlebags, he had more sense than to let Elizabeth know.

Once again they shared a bowl and he fed her with the spoon, although he did allow her to hold her own bread. He watched her dip it in the gravy and relish the taste of it in her mouth. “You enthrall me, Beth. You are the only lady of my acquaintance who would not turn up her nose and disdain to eat rabbit.”

“That’s because I am not a lady,” she said lightly.

“No,” he agreed, “you are more woman than any female I know.” He arose and filled two small goblets with whiskey, brought them back to the fire, then put one in her hand.

Spurred by his praise, she confided, “I’m not afraid of my mother any longer. I finally took my courage in my hands and asserted myself. She didn’t exactly collapse like tissue paper, but she did defer to my authority.” She began to sip the whiskey.

“I’m glad you are no longer afraid. What about Hamilton?”

She lowered her lashes. She had vowed to tell no one about her unhappiness. She’d told John she hated being a duchess, but she could not tell him how much she hated Hamilton. There was already too much dangerous rivalry between the pair of Scots.

Her masked eyes gave him his answer. He knew what Hamilton was; how could she not be afraid of him? Concern for her knotted his gut. “You regret marrying him.”

“Sometimes,” she admitted, “but the one thing I can never regret is having my son, Jamie. Nor do I regret that he will be the Duke of Hamilton some day. Being a mother fills me with happiness.”

“As it should, my beauty.” He drained his goblet and stretched his arms over his head in a subtle hint that it was time for bed.

She glimpsed the black mole in his armpit and turned her head away quickly, denying the evidence that was never far from her private thoughts. It was too frightening for her to contemplate. She heard him put logs on the fire, banking it for the night. Butterflies fluttered in her belly. He was about to carry her to the other chamber and sleep with her in the big bed. “John . . . no.”

“Elizabeth, yes!” He swooped upon her from behind, lifted her high, and carried her to the bed. Her ear brushed against his chest. “Can you hear the wild hammer of my heart?”

She met his dark eyes with a shy smile as he undressed her for bed. His long-starved passion flared high again as he gazed down at her exquisite beauty. When he put her in bed and slipped in beside her, she cast aside all her reserve. This man is worth any risk! For a whole hour they lost themselves in the bliss of slow, melting kisses. Then, with his mouth pressed against the sensitive skin of her breast, he whispered love words that told her how she made him feel and what he was going to do to her in his loveplay.

John Campbell intoxicated her. He was far more potent than the whiskey. Finally, their arousal was so intense that he mounted her and took them on a ride they would never forget. A scream gathered in her throat, and her nails dug into the powerful muscles of his shoulders. This time there was no holding back, and they climaxed together then held absolutely still to savor every last shudder of their primal mating.

After the loving he held her possessively, and they drifted to the edge of sleep. Elizabeth drowsed as she waited for his breathing to tell her he was fast in the arms of Morpheus. Though she felt boneless, she softly edged away from his body and slipped from the warm bed. She gathered her scattered clothes and dressed in the other chamber by the fire. Noiselessly, she put on her boots and sable cape then bade Queenie to be quiet as she silently opened the door and slipped outside. The impact of the icy blizzard almost felled her. She clung to the stone wall doggedly and began to make her way toward the stable.

She had gone less than fifty yards when the door of Chatelherault was flung open. She heard it crash against the wall and saw the yellow lamplight illuminate the snow, then she heard Queenie’s barks over the howl of the wind. She crouched against the wall hoping to escape discovery, but it was in vain. A naked John Campbell swooped down upon her and caught her in his talons. He had the look of a raptor who had just captured its prey. She stared into the hard, dark face, rigid with anger. Ungently, he dragged her back and shoved her through the door.

She stood pretending defiance. “I would be a poor mother if . . .”

“Not another bloody word.” His voice was like the crack of a whip as he strode to the fire to warm his freezing flesh.

Her wet fur slid from her shoulders and lay where it fell.

“You actually intended to steal my horse. If Queenie hadn’t barked, you could both have died. There is a hungry wolf pack out there. You’d be a poor mother if your deliberate recklessness got you killed! Take off those wet clothes and get to bed.”

Elizabeth obeyed him without demur. She had been in the wrong; she had known it the moment she went outside. In a few minutes he came into the room and climbed into bed. He enfolded her in his arms so that what body heat they had left mingled to warm them.

His towering anger at her disappeared as quickly as it had arrived and was replaced by apprehension. He was going off to war and after tonight could not be there for her. Nor could he protect her from Hamilton, because she was the other man’s wife. He stroked her hair and spoke softly. “Beth, I’ve had word that the king will shortly declare war. I’ll be sent to France, and I’m filled with disquiet.”

She stiffened. “Dear God, no wonder you are worried!”

“I’m not worried about me!”

She gazed up at him. “That’s what frightens me, John.” Her arms tightened about him. “Just don’t die. Don’t you dare die!”

He tucked her head beneath his chin. “Get some rest. Tomorrow might be a trying day.”

They awoke late and realized that some time in the night the fierce wind had dropped. They both went to the kitchen and laughed at the domestic picture they made, cooking porridge then trying to eat it without benefit of cream or sugar. They shared it with the dog to get rid of it and couldn’t stop laughing at the woebegone face she made while eating it, as if she were being punished.

John took Queenie and was gone an hour seeing to the animals in the stable. When he returned, he removed his doublet and the dog shook herself. “The temperature must be rising. The snow is turning to rain. It won’t take long before it will all be slush. Much as I hate to part with you, my love, I think I will be able to get you back to Cadzow Castle today.”

“My God, John, I mustn’t be seen with you. The servants report everything to Hamilton. It’s only two miles distance.”

He refrained from arguing with her, and they went to the kitchen to tidy it, then they went into the bedchamber to change the linen and remake the bed. She suddenly looked sad and serious, and he wanted to make her laugh. He launched himself across the freshly made bed and pulled her down into his arms. They rolled about like children, laughing and playing as if they hadn’t a care. Neither of them heard the front door open and someone enter.

Elizabeth suddenly glanced up and froze. “Mr. Burke.”

“Your Grace, thank God you took shelter at the hunting lodge. It was our only hope.” He quickly stepped from the room so they could compose themselves.

Elizabeth’s face was white with shock, and she began to tremble. “I am disgraced,” she whispered. “The scandal will be horrendous.”

“Mr. Burke is my man, Beth. I sent him to watch over you.”

She stared at him in disbelief, then a wave of relief washed over her turning her knees to wet linen.

John stuffed the soiled sheets under the bed. “I’ll have him take care of these.” He winked when she blushed scarlet.

When she emerged from the bedroom, shyly following John, Mr. Burke said, “I’m sorry to be derelict in my duty, my lord. I’m afraid I did a poor job of watching over her.”

John grinned. “She’s a willful little bitch, Mr. Burke. Almost got away from me in the night. I shall leave her in your capable hands. Er . . . there’s also a baby donkey in the stables that will need your assistance.”

When they stepped outside the sun emerged, producing a rainbow.

John kissed her hand. “It touches the earth in just two places . . . where you are, and where I am. Ne obliviscaris, Beth.”