Black Falcon's Lady

  He braced his arms on either side of her head, his face whip-taut. "Maura, open yourself for me, my love."

  Maryssa's hips arched up, seeking the rigid proof of his maleness, her fingers digging deep into the steely muscles of his buttocks. She felt him probe the entrance to her womanhood, heard his primal growl of pleasure mingled with an odd reluctance. “’Ryssa, you're so—so tiny. I don't want to hurt you."

  “It is all right, Tade. Please. I love you so much. I want—want to feel you inside me." She felt his fists knot in the sable curls that pooled upon the coverlet, his eyes darkening with passion. His mouth pressed down on hers in a fierce, wild kiss, his hips driving forward in one mighty thrust.

  There was a sharp twinge of pain as the delicate membrane tore, but the stinging sensation was lost in rippling wonder as the proud heat of him filled her, touching her very womb. A sob tore from Maryssa's throat as the expression on his face seared itself into her memory—the magnificently carved planes and hollows now contorted in joy. He lay there motionless for long minutes, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his lips kissing away the tears that clung to her lashes.

  "Maura." His fingertips brushed a wayward curl from her forehead. His voice was choked with emotion. “It is so very precious, what you have given me." He tore his eyes away from hers, their emerald hue mysteriously bright as he buried his face in her tumbled hair. "Did I hurt you?"

  "Nay." Maryssa raised her hands to trace with her fingertips the arrogant curves of his cheekbones, the tangled waves at the nape of his neck. “It is more beautiful than I'd ever hoped or dreamed," she breathed, searching desperately for words to describe the splendor that she felt. “It is as if I can touch your soul. Carry it with me always."

  “It is yours, Maura. I'd cast it into hell and welcome in exchange for just this moment. I love you, Maryssa Wylder, I vow, until I die." Tade's rasped pledge made Maryssa's heart ache with a joy too great to hold. And as he started to move within her, her heart burst, showering her in a rainbow of rose petals, kisses, and laughter, such sweet laughter.

  With infinite slowness he held the curves of her hips, molding her against him, guiding her as he buried himself deep inside her again and again. Maryssa's hands clutched at his shoulders and chest, the sensation of his satiny hardness throbbing inside her turning her wild with need. Her mouth pressed fiery kisses on his shoulders and neck, her teeth nipping at hard flesh, sharp with the tang of sweat as she fought to bring to him a taste of the magic his hands and body were weaving about her. Her hips writhed against his, meeting each white-hot stroke with her own primal need.

  She raked at his back with her fingers, her head thrashing as he drove himself into her body faster, harder. She was the ocean, breaking in waves upon jagged cliffs, a bird soaring toward the sun. Her teeth sank into her lip as she was propelled toward the blazing fire of his passion, wanting to warm herself near its raging heat. She dug her fingers deep into Tade's hard buttocks, clinging to her tormentor and savior as the torrent of feeling he had loosed inside her hurled her higher, higher, until suddenly the earth and sky exploded into a million jewel-hued fragments of sensation.

  Maryssa's heart soared at the splendor of it, the joy of it as Tade's body went rigid atop hers. He cried out, a cry of triumph, wonder, as he buried himself deep inside her. Then he collapsed against her naked breasts, the tremors of their loving still coursing through them both.

  “Maura.” He raised his head, his green eyes dark with a longing she had not seen there before. "If I could, I would make you my wife before another dawn. Take you into my life, my bed, forever—fill your arms with my babes." His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. "If I could."

  Tears flowed free upon Maryssa's cheeks as she stroked his face, his hair, and she was stunned to find the hot wetness born of her joy and sorrow mingling with Tade's own tears.

  Chapter 12

  Maryssa nuzzled closer into the warmth of Tade's body and fought to shade her sleep-blurred eyes from the increasingly insistent rays of sunshine. With a soft grumble, she burrowed beneath the coverlet Tade had pulled over their naked bodies after their last loving, reveling again in the spicy scent of his skin, the tenderness with which he held her, as though, even in sleep, he sought to treasure her. This was so new, so special, this sensation of being safe and loved, that tears prickled again at Maryssa's eyelids.

  The sting of salt in eyes already tender chased the velvety haze of drowsiness from her, but she gave it up gladly, pressing her lips against the dark hair roughening Tade's chest. It would be folly, she thought, to waste even a moment of the time fate had granted them to remain hidden here, away from the world that waited to pull them apart. She wanted to savor every breath of mountain air, every rose, every expression that graced Tade's face. Wanted to hold each perfect moment like a pearl in her hand and string them into a chain of memories to wear around her heart forever.

  For even as Tade had swept her again and again into heaven during the long hours they had laughed and loved within the rose-draped bower, his face had held the shadow of parting, a desperation and hopelessness that had made each brush of his hands and lips a blending of wonder and torment.

  And before he had at last fallen into an exhausted sleep, he had drawn her against him, holding her as if he would never let her go. Maryssa swallowed the sudden tightness in her throat, her eyes fluttering open in the dimness beneath the coverlet. She nudged the soft folds away from her face, blinking sleepily against Tade's shoulder as her eyes grew accustomed to the light.

  Tade's low, sated sigh at the brush of her lashes against his skin drew Maryssa's gaze to his face, but the bronze planes still lay in soft lines of slumber beneath the golden rays of the waning sun, the rosewood waves of his loose hair tangling about his face.

  She shifted away from him a little, loving the contrast of his hard muscles against the downy coverlets, his bronzed skin against the soft ivory of hers. It was pretty—her hand against the sinews that rippled across Tade's chest. Aye, pretty. And the dark tresses that had always made her feel hideous in her father's presence curled now in seductive waves over Tade's arm, the hip-length strands as soft as silk.

  A shiver of delight, of newness, trickled over Maryssa's skin as she slipped carefully from the circle of Tade's arms, drawing the coverlet over her breasts and curling her legs beneath her as she had when she was a child. Tade had promised her in their lovemaking a joy such as she'd never known. And he had given it to her. Given her so much that she would never again be the lonely, awkward, frightened girl who had endured Celeste Ladonne's insults in the coach so long ago.

  She reached over to break a chunk from the half-eaten spice cake, grinning at the memory of how Tade had sprinkled rich crumbs of it on her skin, then cleaned them away with teasing nips and tickling sweeps of his tongue. She had laughed—laughed and laughed—squirming beneath him, learning to play lightsome games that led to a passion as consuming as the fire in Tade's eyes. Never before could she remember having laughed aloud, not even as a child at Carradown. But in Tade's arms she had already learned so many things. Laughter, aye, and the sweetness of his loving teasing, but most of all . . . Maryssa touched her fingers to her cheeks, feeling, for the first time, that they were soft, feeling that she was pretty, aye, pretty, because she was pretty in Tade's eyes.

  She smoothed the coverlet over his broad chest, the words he had said drifting back to her on the wind: If I could, I would make you my wife before another dawn. . . Maryssa tasted bitterness and longing. It was unjust. Unjust that the world, which had offered her nothing but scorn, should rob her of this one pure joy, snatch from her this man who had wooed her away from despair and made her feel richer than any of the court belles who had looked upon her with such disdain.

  She reached out, her fingers whispering breath-soft across the thick, spiky lashes that lay in rich crescents on Tade's cheekbones. He had wept when he had first come into her body. She had tasted the salt of his tears, felt his trembling as deeply as
she had felt her own. He loved her. And in that loving he risked as much as any rogue riding the High Toby. For if Bainbridge Wylder ever discovered that she had lain with Tade his vengeance would be terrible indeed.

  She shuddered, remembering Kane Kilcannon's face twisted in rage as he bit out his warning on the hurling field, remembering the hate in Quentin Rath's slack features as he spat out his loathing of the Kilcannons. Justice in Ireland was clasped in the fists of the landlords and the soldiers. No court of justice would interfere if the powerful Bainbridge Wylder chose to dispose of one of the "papist vermin" infesting the land. And no Englishman, laborer or gentry, would fault her father for drawing the blood of the "lowly Irish scum" who had dared despoil his daughter.

  Even Christabel and Reeve feared for them. Maryssa sensed it, though neither had ever spoken of their concerns. And yet, to release Tade, to hurl away the love he had given her was unthinkable. A knot tightened in Maryssa's stomach.

  If they were careful, shielding their lovemaking in the branches of this tree, confining their meetings to the dark garden walks during the hours before dawn and after nightfall surely they could escape notice. Her fingers dug fiercely into the coverlet. They had so little time to taste of each other, so little time. Surely her father's God would not be so cruel as to snatch away these brief moments of happiness before he condemned her to the hell of being Ascot Dallywoulde's wife. For Satan himself could devise no worse torture than forcing her to feel those cold white hands on the flesh Tade Kilcannon had made beautiful. Still, she would endure the marriage, in exchange for these days of Tade's loving.

  "Maura-love?" The sound of his voice made her gaze dart down to meet eyes unsettlingly clear of sleep, their green depths allowing no veils or deceptions. "Maura, what is amiss?"

  "Amiss?" Maryssa struggled to soften the clenching of her jaw, loosen the fingers clutching at the coverlet's downy folds. "I but awoke and was hungry.”

  "You have the look of someone about to face the gallows." Tade levered himself to a sitting position and let the snowy white coverlet slip down the taut plane of his chest to pool between his thighs. Doubt twisted the corner of his mouth. "Maura, did I hurt you somehow or do something to bring the sorrow back to your eyes?" His hand reached out, his fingers curving beneath her chin, tipping her face up to meet his worried gaze.

  Maryssa closed her eyes against him, her lips quivering. "Nay, Tade. It is none of your doing. It is my own idiocy that—"

  "Is it regret that tears at you?" he asked, his voice laced with a sadness of his own as he pulled her gently into his arms. "Regret that you gave yourself to naught but a landless Irish—"

  "I could never regret making love with you," Maryssa said fiercely, her eyes wide, blazing into Tade's. "Never. But I want you forever, and I know I can never have you." A sob escaped from her throat, but Tade crushed it against his chest as he pulled her, coverlets and all, into the strong warmth of his embrace.

  "Maura. Oh, Maura," he breathed against her wet cheek. His arms tightened about her as he murmured sweet Gaelic love-words, stroking her hair, rocking her as though she were a babe. She could hear the threads of torment in Tade's voice, feel it in the way he clasped her to him. His sorrow seemed only to feed her own aching emptiness as his fingers delved into her hair, pressing her gently into the sleek muscles of his chest.

  "Listen to me, mo chroi. If I could have you forever, what would the future hold for you? A daub-and-wattle cottage on some barren mountainside? A patch of dirt to grub in for the rest of your life so that our babes wouldn't starve? And a husband two steps away from the hoodman's hands?"

  Maryssa raised her damp face from his chest, dread twisting inside her at Tade's words. His mouth was curled in bitterness, his gaze, fixed on the distant horizon as if on some specter he alone could see.

  "The hoodman? Tade—"

  His eyes snapped back to her face, the lines carved about his mouth deepening Maryssa's dread, but before he could speak, the faintest of sounds penetrated the hushed glen. She could feel Tade stiffen as his eyes swept the valley, his mouth compressing into a grim line.

  "Tade, what is it?"

  "Quiet."

  Maryssa flinched at the sharpness in his tone, coils of fear unfurling in her belly. Heedless of his nakedness, Tade sprang up from the coverlets, crouching at the edge of the platform to peer through the foliage. “It is a horseman," he hissed, "riding like his mount's tail is afire."

  Maryssa's eyes widened, horrible visions of her father and Rath flashing through her mind. "But you said no one knew of this valley or of this tree castle. Whoever it is will ride past."

  "Maybe. But there is nothing else for miles on this mountain, and a man would have no reason to brave the wilds at that pace, unless something was wrong.” He turned to snatch up Maryssa's clothes and thrust them into her hands. "We daren't take any chances, Maura, what with Curran tied in full view. Blast it, I should've known better. But I thought—damnation!"

  With a spate of oaths, Tade grabbed up his breeches and jammed his legs into the soft leather. But his hands had barely closed the fastenings when the approaching rider crested the rim of the valley, drawing rein with a haste that nearly set his mount onto its haunches.

  Panic boiled up inside Maryssa, her fingers tangling in the laces of the corset as she struggled to draw them tight. And the shout from the horseman as he swung down from the gray fairly made her leap from her skin.

  "Tade!"

  The vaguely familiar voice was laced with urgency, and through the shielding of leaves, Maryssa glimpsed a simple brown cloak, its hood pulled close over features she could not see.

  "What the devil?” Tade bolted upright, one fist tearing back the branches that hid the platform. The expression on his face chilled Maryssa's soul. “Bloody hell," he roared at the figure rushing toward the oak. "What is it? Rath? Are the hounds—"

  His cry was cut short by the rider's reply. "Calm yourself!" the man called up. “It is nothing to do with me. It is but a message I bear from Neylan and the others."

  "A message? By God's feet—" Tade's broad shoulders sagged with relief, but eyes as green as a hidden glen snapped with irritation. “Couldn't it have waited?"

  "For you to come to confession?" The exasperation in the sweet tenor was discernible even to Maryssa's ears. "Or maybe, with the entertaining you're about up there, we'd best pass the confession and get you straight to your knees."

  "C-confession?"Maryssa quavered, drawing farther into the shadows, visions of thumbscrews and floggings whirling in her head. "Tade, who is it?”

  He turned, his mouth pale, thinned with tension, but as his gaze fell on her ashen face, his eyes softened. “It is but Devin come to torment me," he said, the rueful smile he forced his lips into etched with an unnerving shading of grimness. "Catching me here as he has, he'll most like keep me at my Hail Marys till next Whitsuntide."

  Maryssa's cheeks flamed. "D-Devin." She clutched the billows of soft blue satin against her, certain, unreasonably, that the solemn holy man could pierce the veils of leaves with his eyes. She caught her lower lip between her teeth, astonished at how much Devin Kilcannon's good opinion of her meant and sure that she would lose it. "But how did he know we were here?"

  “I bloody well didn't tell him, if that's what you're thinking," Tade snapped, thrusting his arms into his shirtsleeves. Then he turned to her, his smile thawing from its icy grimness. "I vow the wretch has more eyes than Cerberus when I want to avoid him. But don't fear. I'll take his blasted message, then tell him to hie himself off somewhere. He'll never suspect it is you here."

  The words were meant to comfort her, but Maryssa felt something wilt inside her. "Who?" she managed with a sick little laugh. "Who would he suspect?"

  "Maryssa, I—" His gaze flashed from her face to Devin below. "Just stay quiet." He brushed her lips with a kiss before he swung down through the tree's branches.

  Maryssa stared after him as he dropped lightly to the ground and closed on Devin wh
ile the slender man strode through the rocky outcroppings toward the tree.

  The hood that had concealed Devin's features had fallen back against his shoulders as he walked, and, even from a distance she could see that the usually gentle, solemn features were sharp with the same sparks of temper she had often seen in his brother.

  She pressed her knuckles to her lips as an angry rumbling drifted up to her, the words unintelligible but the tone unmistakable. Unconsciously she drew into the farthest corner of the platform, wishing she could melt into the garlands of fading roses. But even huddled into the pools of darkness, she was not spared the sound of voices from below.

  "Damn it!" Maryssa made out Tade's curse. "I told the cursed fools never to come to the cottage . . . endanger Rachel and the babes."

  "Where were they to seek you?" Devin shouted back. ". . . will hang in two weeks . . . take time to find a way into—"

  "Hold, curse you," Tade cut him off. "I know how blasted long it takes to break into a jail." From her hiding place Maryssa saw Tade turn, driving his fingers back through the tumbled waves of his hair. His eyes flashed up toward the tree where she lay hidden, and Maryssa could see the anger and frustration in his granite-hard jaw, could see him battle to leash his temper.

  He lowered his voice, and his words were again muffled when he turned back to Devin. The holy man's gaze shifted up to the tree. Pale blue eyes seemed to lock upon her bare arms and legs, the curve of her breasts swelling above the cloth clenched in her fingers. She flinched as Devin's hand shot out, gripping Tade by the arm. Her nails dug deep into her palms as Tade dashed the hand away from his open shirt, leveling a murderous glare at Devin.

  For an instant she feared Tade would strike Devin or that Devin would raise his hand against Tade, but the priest's fingers fell limply to his side, the slender shoulders sagging beneath the coarse cloak. A second passed, two, but although the brothers' exchanges were now hushed, Maryssa could see the rift between the two widen.