Page 83 of Wild Hearts

"Ah, well, the King's business, ye ken. Two signatures on a document— simple enough, wouldn't ye think?"

"I hope so, for your sake, Francis. I'll be pleased to sign. After Huntly. Best not slight the old earl by having him sign second, eh?" said Paris smoothly.

Bothwell's heavily lidded eyes hooded their shrewdness. He hadn't really expected Rogue Cockburn to sign first, if at all, but it was worth a try. Bothwell grinned. "I hear the Black Douglas has snatched your beautiful sister."

"You hear correctly, my friend," confirmed Paris.

Bothwell shook a finger at him. "Allying yerself with power on every side. Watch out ye do not become too strong, my young cockerel."

"I am only taking a page out of your book, Francis." Paris grinned.

"Just so. When I have Huntly's signature on this paper, I will summon you, and be warned I'll brook no more humbuggery!"

Paris made his way from the castle to the north side of the Cannongate, where the Cockburn ladies had turned the dressmaking establishment into a shambles. Tirelessly, the modiste had pulled out every bolt of cloth she possessed for their critical inspection. She was fully aware that the order for this wedding alone would provide her with more than enough luxuries for a year. It finally dawned on the woman after two hours of helpful suggestions that Damascus Cockburn had a mind of her own and automatically rejected every shred of advice.

"My mind is made up. The whole wedding party will be silver and white," decided Damascus.

Paris had allowed them ample time when he entered the establishment to escort them home. They were still in the process of having their measurements taken. "Lord God, are ye not finished? All this frivol is enough to make a man tear his hair."

Damascus said sweetly, "Count your blessings,brother. If Shannon was here to argue with us, it would take three days, not three hours."

He looked at Tabrizia and teased. "You are all conceited little bitches."

"When you strut about like a peacock, it's pride. When we do it, it's conceit," she complained.

"That's very true," he agreed.

"Oh, you are a damned rogue." She laughed.

He leered at her clad in her petticoat; a predator waiting for the moment they could be alone together. She shivered deliciously.

"This won't do," he decided. "The answer is for the dressmaker and her assistants to come and stay at Cockburnspath."

Damascus agreed submissively to Paris's suggestion, and all was decided. April and May were given over entirely to preparations for what was to be the wedding of the decade. The wedding clothes were finally finished, and the weary seamstresses packed up and returned to Edinburgh.

In their chamber, Paris lifted Tabrizia's hair and put his lips to the nape of her neck. "Thank God all those women are gone. I never seemed to have you to myself!' Tabrizia quickly slipped her petticoat from her body, and it lay upon the rug. She reached her arms up behind his neck to fit her body more closely to his, and he lifted her against his heart. Desire flared up in Tabrizia, until she began to tremble against him. Paris was dizzy with the heady knowledge that she desired him with a passion that matched his own. He cupped her breast and dipped his head so his lips could kiss the silken flesh. She moaned softly. His lips moved lower across her navel and down to the triangle between her legs. His tongue traced the delicate folds until she thought she would go mad with the sensations he was arousing. She entwined her fingers in his hair to force him to stop. "Paris, please don't play with me anymore," she gasped.

As he carried her to the bed, he laughed deep in his throat. "I've only just begun!"

She lay in his arms in a surfeit of happiness, intoxicated by the magic of his nearness. He gazed at the beautiful picture she made against the pillows, her sable red hair falling over her white shoulders in a great cloud. When his mouth touched hers, she felt as if they floated off into a secret, private world of their own. His embrace tightened until their hearts beat against each other. His kisses stopped giving and started to take. He meant to be gentle, but he forgot all that in his driving desire for her. She cried out with pleasure-pain as his savagely impatient lovemaking brought her to peak after peak of exquisite sensations. Long after they were spent, he lay with his body still possessively straddling her.

A week before the wedding, Damascus insisted upon having a full dress rehearsal. With a sigh of resignation, Paris agreed to "walk her up the aisle" just as he would in the chapel, The girls had set up an altar in the solarium and everyone was ready except Alexandria.

"There you are, you wretched girl. Do you realize how long we have been standing here? Why aren't you wearing your gown?" demanded Damascus impatiently.

"It won't fit," said Alexandria.

"What nonsense, of course it will fit. It looked wonderful on you, I saw it with my own eyes:"

"That was then," claimed Alexandria stubbornly.

"You are just doing this to be awkward! Fetch the gown, and we'll see what all this is about."

"Are you calling me a liar?" demanded Alexandria aggressively.

Troy, utterly fed up with standing about dressed in finery, exploded, "For God's sake, Alexandria, I want to go hunting before the light fails."

Alex, alarmed at his twin's obvious distress said, "Let's leave her alone. She's been vomiting for days. You know she hasn't been herself lately."

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