Page 86 of Wild Hearts

He managed to reply, "There is no jealousy in me, Margaret."

Her laughter rippled over him. "What an outrageous lie! Do you mean to tell me you have never hunted for her love letters?" asked Margaret, planting her poisonous seeds of discord.

"Excuse me, Margaret, I am neglecting my duties as host." That was enough to stir his emotions, and he went straight to his bedchamber, jealousy already eating at him. He went through Tabrizia's personal belongings until he found the jewel casket containing Patrick Stewart's letters. He would demand that she swear an oath that she had never lain with him! Suddenly, he realized what a damned fool he was being. How could he jeopardize the happiness they shared? If she found him searching here, he would destroy that rare; priceless thing they shared. Quickly, he put the letters back, unopened. He knew now, where there was no trust, there was no love.

There were so many guests that the wedding day passed in a blur, and Tabrizia found her face ached from keeping a smile upon it. So many clans present— how did they keep track? Each clan in some way related to another, usually through marriage, and now all related to her. Her mind gave up trying to sort them into any kind of logical order.

In the evening when the dancing began, she was whirled off her feet by a never-ending stream of men who had heard of Rogue Cockburn's beauteous wife. They knew this would be the closest they would ever be allowed to get to her, so they took full advantage. As she was catching her breath between partners, she scanned the hall for a familiar face. She was pulled unceremoniously behind an arras and was vastly relieved to find herself in Paris's arms. He kissed her hungrily and whispered, "Surrender or scream."

"You usually make me do both." She laughed breathlessly.

"Come with me."

"Where?" she asked.

"Just follow me, don't ask questions."

"Paris!" she protested, thinking he was about to take her to bed.

"Trust me!" he bade her. "Can't you simply trust me and come when I ask you?"

"Of course I don't trust you, but I shall come with you. I would do anything you asked, you know that."

"Mmm, that's a promise I'll hold you to." He laughed suggestively as he led her from the hall and through the castle yard to the path that led down the cliffs, down the sandstone steps that led to the seashore. He broke the silence. "I'm so sick and tired of my family and their everlasting problems. I want to get away. Just the two of us."

She waited for him to explain further.

"Family"— he laughed, mirthlessly—"sometimes I think they belong to another species, not my own flesh and blood."

She squeezed his hand to dispel his darklings.

"Thou shalt not covet," he intoned. "Well, by God, I do covet a little peace and privacy. I want to give you a honeymoon." They came upon a small rowboat, and he bade her step in while he pushed them from shore. She could make out the lights on the Sea Witch as the outgoing tide swept them rapidly toward the ship.

What was happening seemed so unreal, she asked herself if this could be a dream, but the salt spray that brushed her cheek was real enough. She thought of the expensive gown she wore. and how it was being ruined beyond repair but bit her lip so she would not spoil his adventure. A huge wave almost tipped them, but she laughed recklessly, beginning to enjoy herself.

Paris bellowed, "Ahoy, ahoy!" His men had been watching for him and already had the rope ladder over the side. Eager hands reached down for her as Paris lifted her to his shoulder and boosted her aloft. Then he was on deck beside her, his arm securely about her shoulders, propelling her along to that cabin of opulent luxury, which had left her speechless with shyness the first time she had glimpsed it. It was just as she remembered. She blushed as she remembered what had taken place in the bed the first night they were wed. The air was warm and fragrant from the braziers and incense burners. Even the wall panels were made of scented sandalwood, which was disturbing to the senses. Piles of soft cushions and pillows lay everywhere, to beckon and tempt.

Paris turned her face up to his and kissed her until all her breath was gone; then he sighed a deep, satisfying sigh and said, "I have to weigh anchor and attend to a thousand things to get us under way, but once we are on course, I'll join you. I may be a while, love, so amuse yourself. No storms this time, my darling, I promise you."

She gazed about her, thoroughly bemused. It was as if she were still dreaming, though now the dream had turned into gossamer make-believe. She caught sight of herself in a silvered mirror and was shocked to see how disheveled she looked. She stripped off the wilted gown, which had been such a pretty confection only hours ago, and in her corselette went into the bathing cabinet to wash.

Lovely scented soap suds refreshed her from head to toe. She couldn't put her stockings back on, as they were wet and dirtied from the bottom of the rowboat. Whatever would she wear? He had brought her away on a whim without thought of daily necessities. On impulse, she opened his wardrobe crammed with his beautifully tailored, expensive clothes. She might be forced to wear his fine lawn shirts. She fingered his velvet robe, lavishly embroidered, and wished he were not such a giant. She closed the wardrobe and glanced around the room. She opened one of the many trunks that lined the wall and gasped with delight at the brilliantly colored materials inside.

She held up the cloth, which was so sheer, it was almost invisible. It was some kind of veiling, woven with a magic thread that made it glimmer with a sheen of its own. She found a small casket filled with gold chains so finely wrought, they looked as if they would break upon being touched. There was a colored drawing of a woman in some sort of strange, exotic costume. She studied it and tried not to blush. The breasts were held up and out by a clever device that cupped them but revealed, all at the same time. She glanced into the chest and discovered such a contraption lying beneath another wisp of veiling. It dawned on her that the chest contained a costume like the woman wore in the picture: Its lure was irresistible.

She quickly divested herself of her corset and stood naked before the mirror. She clasped the device about her breasts, fastening it behind her, and stared in amazement as her reflection revealed the twin, thrusting spheres, enlarged beyond belief. She fastened the veiling about her waist. It fell in folds to her ankles, but she giggled as she looked into the mirror and saw that it totally revealed her bare legs and red, curly triangle of pubic hair. She looked in the trunk for some kind of pantaloons but found nothing. She looked at the drawing again and saw that the woman indeed wore nothing under the veiling, save gold chains. She lifted the skirt and fastened a double link of gold chains around her hips, then added more to wrists and ankles. She explored further and found an ornate ivory casket that opened to reveal exotic kohl and lip paint. Vials of oil and musky scents stood alongside pots of silvery and gold gloss that smelled deliciously of lemon and almond. Tentatively, she began to experiment. So absorbed in her task of tip-tilting the corners of her eyes with kohl, she failed to hear the door open and close.

"Tabrizia."

She stood to face him, and his eyes traveled from her face, lingered on her breasts, widened at her veiled thighs, then dipped to her ankles and slowly traveled back up her body. "How the name suits you," he breathed.

She was flushed with the excitement of him seeing her thus. As he advanced slowly, deep-dark promises smoldering in his eyes, she backed away with a cry of delicious fear. He simply reached out and took her. As his mouth slanted across hers hungrily, his fingers deftly undid the brassiere and lifted off the veiled skirt.

"Walk around for me," he asked. "Let me look at you."

She moved slowly across the cabin, then turned to look at him. The look in his eyes made her feel lovely, special, desired beyond all other women.. She brought her arms up beneath the red mass of hair, lifted it high, then slowly let it fan out and ripple down in a silken waterfall across her bared shoulders. She walked slowly forward and stood on tiptoe to press a light, teasing kiss to his lips, then she wound her arms around his sturdy neck. He lifted her against him, and she could feel his heart thudding against her bare breast.

"Whenever I'm near you, I'm like a man starving. Your touch and caress are my food and drink. Prepare, my love, I am about to devour you."

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