Page 37 of Wild Hearts

Paris, wearing his sheepskin vest beneath his cloak, didn't seem to notice the chill in the air. As he helped Tabrizia up into the saddle, his hands lingered on her waist, and she looked down into his dark eyes and happily noted his admiration plainly written in them. She knew she was wicked, but she felt happy to be with him.

They rode swiftly from the castle yard and down the hill, then headed up the sea road through Dunbar. Now, as they climbed ever higher, the fog rolled about them, drenching them with its heavy wetness. Total darkness fell in spite of the early hour, and Tabrizia became alarmed as she lost sight of his horse up ahead. She spurred ahead, making her hood fall back. The wet fog made a shambles of her neat curls. Her fingers were numb where she clutched the reins; her feet in the small riding boots were stinging from the cold, and all in all she was experiencing the most miserable ride of her life.

Suddenly, Paris was riding beside her. "Are you warm enough?"

"Yes, thank you," she lied miserably, then asked hopefully, "Can't we go back?"

"'Tis not much farther, just down the mountain. Are you sure you are warm enough?" he insisted.

"Yes... no, I'm freezing;" she confessed.

"I'll take you up before me." He stopped and fastened her mare's reins to the packhorse, then, with one swift movement, lifted her from the saddle and set her in front of him. The top of her head only reached to his chin. He felt very protective of her as he reached down to wrap her cloak about her more securely and pull the hood about her heart-shaped face. His lips brushed a gentle kiss across her temple, and as she raised her softening eyes to his, their gazes met and held until his mouth was drawn slowly to hers. For once, she did not pull away but allowed his lips to fuse with her own until they burned. As he spurred the horse forward, her heart began to sing. She was mad in love with him; she could deny it no longer. She felt warm and secure now that she was here against him. This was where she belonged. The fierce wind came from behind, but his shoulders were so wide, she was totally sheltered.

A wild strand of her hair blew across his cheek. It gave him such a pleasurable sensation, he promised himself he would bury his hands and face in her hair before the night was over. He must guard against his accursed temper. He had her gentled now and knew it would be a simple matter to woo her; she knew nothing of men. He put his warm mouth close to her ear. "If you move back against my body, my cloak will be able to go around both of us," he tempted.

Blushing, she moved back against him and felt the hard muscles of his thighs on either side of her.

He drew in his breath sharply as she moved guilelessly between his legs, snuggling against him. He enfolded her with his cloak and allowed his hand to brush against the full curve of her breast. Her breath caught, as his had, and desire ran along all the nerves of her body as it became aroused for the first time. Her senses swam with the nearness of him, then she heard him speak low.

"'Tis such a bad night, there will likely be no party. People won't come out in weather like this. You're not sorry you came, are you?"

She tried to look up at him. She couldn't see his face clearly in the darkness, but she could feel his strong arms about her and hear the steady thud of his heart against her cheek. In spite of the fact that her clothes were drenched and her feet quite numb with cold, she was not sorry she had come with him. She was in love. She would rather be here under his heart than anywhere else on earth.

Tantallon's entrance consisted of two gates and two bridges, but Tabrizia was only dimly aware of her surroundings in the darkness. Paris knew exactly where he was going. His man, whom he had sent ahead earlier in the day, was waiting for him at the entrance to the courtyard. Paris dismounted quickly and handed his man the reins.

"Everything is prepared, yer lordship."

"Good lad. I'll use the outside stairs. See to the horses for me." Paris reached up and lifted Tabrizia into his arms. Effortlessly, he mounted the stone stairs that led up to his chambers. He set her on her feet while he unlocked the door, then drew her inside quickly. "Come and be warm, love."

The room was so inviting. The blazing fire reflected in the red Spanish leather upon the walls. Tabrizia came into the chamber slowly. She could see the table laid for two with candles and wine in goblets. She spoke slowly. "There never was a dinner party, was there?"

He looked down at her from his great height. "Only for the two of us. Sweetheart, I wanted you to myself for a while."

She blushed deeply at the intimacy of the situation. Her heart beat so rapidly, her breasts rose and fell quickly with heightened awareness. When his hands took off her wet cloak, she trembled when his fingers brushed her shoulders. He sat her in a great armchair and knelt down to remove her boots. He rubbed her feet briskly.

"You are frozen. Let me take off your wet stockings," he said, reaching up her leg.

"I'll do it," she said shyly, her lashes sweeping down to her cheeks. All her skirts were soaking about the hem.

"This won't do; you'll have to take off your wet clothes. I'll get you a robe. Your things will soon dry."

She put her hand on his arm and realized his doublet was also soaked. You are wetter than I," she commented shyly.

"I'll get two robes." He smiled. He came back with soft, white woolen robes and held one out to her. "Through that alcove is my bedroom. Go and put this on and fetch your clothes back to dry."

The bed, set on a dais, was a massive four-poster with velvet hangings, the kind she had always imagined a king would sleep in. Her silk underclothes were quite dry, so she slipped the robe over them and carried her gown and petticoat back to the fire. The woolen robe was far too large; she had to hold up the hem so she wouldn't trip over it.

He insisted she have the spacious chair before the fire once again. He had donned the other robe, and his doublet lay across an oak chest, along with his other clothing. He wrapped her feet snugly in the excess length of the robe and turned back the enormous sleeves until he found her hands, which he raised one at a time to his lips.

Tabrizia was at a loss for words. She had never really been alone with a man before. She marveled how at ease Paris seemed, as if it were natural for them to be here alone this night, already half-undressed. He was so handsome, her heart turned over in her breast. His dark red hair curled damply against his neck. The white robe, negligently knotted about the middle, lay open to the waist, revealing the broad, muscled chest, covered by the mat of dark red hair. Even though she felt shy, her eyes were drawn again and again to the darkly attractive face and the wide shoulders.

He went over to the table and brought the goblets of wine over to the fire. "This will warm you, but just sip it or you will fall asleep after being out in the cold so long." He stretched his great length on the rug before the fire and gazed up at her.

Self-consciously, she put her hand up to her damp tresses. "My hair must look a mess, and after all Mrs. Hall's work, too."

"It's in such wild disarray, my heart skips a beat every time I look at you." He chuckled.

"These rooms are very beautiful. It's no wonder you like to visit Tantallon," she marveled.

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