At the Queen's Summons (28 page)

Ah, she did make it simple. She, who had never belonged to anyone, now belonged in his heart. And he, who had never been loved, now looked into her eyes and saw that she adored him.

So why was he still afraid?

As he lay beside her and felt the glorious length of her curl against him, the answer flashed like a spark through his mind.

He knew the truth about her past; he knew the answers she craved. Yet he dared not give Pippa her heart's desire for fear of losing her sooner than he had to.

Then she draped her slim arms around his neck, and the spark died, and he knew only the need to bring her joy. And ah, she made it easy. Slim and supple and warm, she was like a tender sapling in springtime, drawn to him, basking in his touch as if he were the sun.

He braced himself on one elbow and settled his mouth over hers. His hand skimmed downward, circling her breasts and belly, outlining the curve of a hip and then the smoothness of her inner thigh. At his gentle pressure, her legs parted slightly, shyly, and he stifled a gasp at the excitement that singed him.

Something about her coaxed tenderness from him. Long after most men would have flung her down and plunged in, he loved her with his mouth and hands and
endearments whispered in Gaelic. His tongue wrote love words on her skin, until she gasped with pleasure or cried out with a burst of joy.

“Ah, sweetheart,” he said, “I want to touch you so deeply. But I don't want to hurt you.”

“It's the wanting that hurts,” she said, “not the touching.”

He covered her with the whole hard length of his body. “How deliciously naive you are,” he whispered, nipping at her earlobe. In Gaelic he added, “And I mean to take shameless advantage of that.”

“But you are such a good teacher,” she said, and then, also in Gaelic, “And I am a fast learner.”

For a moment he was too stunned to react, and then he laughed softly into her ear. “Wench. How long have you spoken Gaelic?”

She lowered her head and licked a ridge of scars on his chest. Her mouth and tongue seared him, and he gasped with the pleasure of it. “I'll let you wonder.”

“Then I'll leave you to wonder…” He lapsed back into Irish, and using terms she could not possibly know, he described in explicit, loving detail exactly what he wanted to do to her.

“I haven't a clue what you said,” she admitted, her hands drifting down, lingering over his hips, “but I wish you would hurry.”

“Nay, I'll not hurry. We have all night.”

“But—”

“Hush. Trust me.”

“I only meant—”

He pressed his fingers to her lips. “You talked all the way through our first kiss and nearly ruined it. And wasn't it so much better once you fell silent?”

Her mouth gaped beneath her fingers. “I cannot believe you remember our first kiss.”

“How could I not? It changed my life.”

With a choked cry, she flung her arms around his neck. “Mine, too. Ah, Aidan, I do love you so much.”

He felt no surprise to hear her say it at last. He had known for a long time that she loved him, but he had also understood why she had resisted telling him. She feared abandonment. The fact that she would confess her love now could mean only one thing. She believed that he would never leave her. And he never would, not willingly.

But there were some things he could not control.

Pushing away the thought, he indulged his every urge to kiss and caress her, preparing her so thoroughly to receive his love that a flush swept her entire body. She lifted herself against him and rocked her hips in an unconscious, impatient rhythm.

Nearly mindless with desire, he knew he could not hold himself in check much longer. He tested her with a gentle, questing hand, loving the warm velvet smoothness of her, the flower-petal softness of her untried flesh, and the rush of damp heat that told him she was as ready as he.

He settled himself over her, stirred to near madness by the brush of her breasts against his chest and the wholly natural way her legs opened and then enclosed him as if their two bodies were parts designed to fit perfectly to form one whole. He lifted himself and paused, gazing down into a face that looked more beautiful to him than the sun, and then he kissed her softly, letting his tongue show her what their bodies would do. She whimpered and clasped him with her legs, drawing him closer. The need and the heat lit his soul with fire.

“More,” she whispered between kisses, and then she sucked on his tongue, nearly causing him to lose control. “More,” she murmured. “All of it.
Now.
”

He drew closer still, yet hesitated, so reluctant to cause her pain that he nearly shook with the effort. He felt an almost blasphemous urge to worship her. Whatever he had expected of her, it was not this absolute and unquestioning generosity, nor this frank and compelling passion. Yet she gave him this and more with a selflessness that left him speechless with wonder. She had sparked a fire in the dark night of his soul, and every move he made, every touch and kiss, was designed to show her what she meant to him.

For a moment longer he held off, drawing back to look at her one last time in innocence.

Finally he buried himself in her giving warmth, and she cried out and surrounded him. When her maidenhead broke, her eyes opened wide, and her unsteady sigh was one not of pain, but of welcome, as if she understood that the moment bound their hearts forever.

He began moving with slow strokes that took him to the very limit of his control. She tilted herself with an instinct driven by love and desire, and his hand drifted down to help her, for he knew what she was reaching for even if she did not.

He touched her in a place that made her gasp and shudder, and then she dug her fingers into his back while long, silky spasms closed around him. Her abandon and pleasure would have coaxed a response from a stone, and Aidan, being flesh and blood, was far less resistant. He cupped her churning hips with his big hands and pressed himself home, indulging the need that had scalded him. His rush of pleasure was so intense and prolonged that it felt a bit as he imagined ascending to heaven would be—he saw naught but a blinding brilliance behind his eyes, and the entire universe seemed to shrink until it was encompassed by the small, passionate
woman beneath him, who clasped him as if she would never let go.

He relaxed and settled over her and waited for his pulse and breathing to return to normal. Instead, he felt as hot and driven as ever.

“Ah,” he said, nuzzling aside a sweat-damp lock of her hair so that he could whisper in her ear. “Are you all right, my love?”

“No,” she said in a small, frightened voice.

He raised his head and stared down at her. “You're hurt? Do you need your maids, or—”

“Aidan, calm yourself.” She brushed his cheek with a trembling hand. “All I need is you.”

Worried that he had damaged her in some way, he lay beside her carefully and drew up the covers. He smoothed the wild, tumbled hair from her face to find that her cheeks were wet with tears, her eyes wide and haunted.

“My love, talk to me, please.”

She gave him a wobbly smile. “I never thought I would hear you beg me to speak.”

“I love to hear you talk. I always have. I even like your singing.”

She sighed. “You are so good to me. So good. Please don't let my tears upset you. It's all so overwhelming. I'm not sad and I don't hurt. It's just that I never realized, never imagined, how sweet it could be for a man and woman to make love.”

He pressed his lips to her temple. “You give me much relief.”

She tangled her fingers in his long hair. “If I had known it would be like this, I would have worked harder to seduce you long ago.”

“Ah. Then we shall have to make up for lost time.”

“I agree completely, Your Eminence.”

Ah, she was a joy to him in this dark time. Thus far, he had succeeded in avoiding thoughts of the future. What he had done was best for her. She would understand that when the time came.

She stroked him boldly with her hand, and his instantaneous reaction took his breath away.

“Again?” His whisper was a harsh, disbelieving rasp. “Now?”

“Yes,” she said. “Show me that the first time was not a mischance, Aidan. Show me that it will always be like this for us.”

“But it won't,
a stor.”

Her face fell. “It won't?”

“Nay.” His hand coasted down the length of her body, discovering softness, dampness, readiness. “I shall find as many ways to love you as there are stars in the sky.”

And while the harper played in the hall below, Aidan blew out the candles and made good on his promise.

A
nd may the Almighty King of Heaven strike me entirely cold and eternally dead if I have done wrong.

I have known Aidan O Donoghue since the moment he took his first living breath, holding him in my grateful hands and weeping like a maiden aunt while the birth blood still clung to him.

When I dared, when Ronan O Donoghue was looking the other way, I gave the lad the father's love Ronan denied him. Never has it been my wont to question this, but I have always felt responsible for the boy's happiness.

Some would say I overstep my bounds, that I should sit back with a distant chronicler's eye and let the events of his life unfold. Ah, meddlesome knave that I am, I lost my objectivity decades ago.

So they are married. So they will snatch a little joy from the hard troubles that await them. Is that such a bad and wicked crime?

—Revelin of Innisfallen

P
ippa became superstitious about counting the days or even the hours of her life with Aidan at Ross Castle. Some apprehensive, small part of her said not to tempt fate by examining her contentment too closely or questioning her worthiness of it.

She refused to look to the future, to dwell on the fact that Richard de Lacey's forces had withdrawn to Killarney town, obviously to regroup and await reinforcements.

Like a dreamer borne on a cloud, she drifted through each day, singing until the other residents cringed. She learned, with clumsy earnestness, her duties as Lady of Castleross.

Hands that could juggle anything from pears to dead fish could not seem to master the intricacies of spinning and sewing. Finally Sibheal took pity on her and told her the household would be better served if she would simply supervise the work. Preferably from a great distance.

The comments were made in high good humor, and Pippa flung her arms wide while Sibheal and the others laughed in relief.

Aidan found them thus one morning after breakfast.
His booted steps rang ominously on the stone floor of the hall. “What is this?” he shouted.

The women froze and gaped at him. Without warning, he grabbed Pippa around the waist. “I never thought to hear ladies' laughter in my hall ever again,” he said.

The women dissolved into giggles and whispers. Pippa's heart seemed to fill her chest, expanding with rampant happiness.

“My lord, Sibheal was just commenting on my skill at spinning.”

“If it is anything like your skill at singing, she has my sympathy.”

Forcing herself to scowl, she pushed away from him. “You're a bad and cruel husband, Aidan O Donoghue,” she said, imitating his brogue.

“Am I, now?” His brows lifted over eyes bluer than Lough Leane. “That is a sad pity, then, my lady, for I suppose it means I cannot show you your surprise.”

She clutched the front of his tunic. “Surprise! Ah, what a quick, sharp tongue I have. I am your adoring wife, and you are the grandest of husbands.”

He thumbed his nose at her flattery. The maids who understood English all but fell off their stools with mirth. Aidan caught her against him. “See them smile on us, my love. Now that you are here, it is like the spring again after a long, bleak winter.”

His words touched her like a caress. Her mirth disappeared, for she understood that his winter was his marriage to Felicity. “Come, my lord.” She drew him toward the steps leading out of the hall. “You promised me a surprise.”

“So I did,” he said.

His presence was like an invisible buoy beneath her, lifting her up and sweeping her along, filling her with a warmth she had never felt before.

She did not know it was possible to feel all the things she was feeling. It was like discovering a new color in a rainbow or seeing a falling star—unanticipated, utterly thrilling.

As they crossed the bawn together, waving to Sorley Boy Curran and his brother, she squeezed his hand and said, “In sooth I don't need surprises, Aidan. I can think of nothing that could make me happier than I am now—Oh!”

She stopped and stared. There, in front of the stone and thatch stables, stood a boy holding the reins of a horse, saddled and ready to ride.

“It's a mare from Connemara, my love,” said Aidan. “She is yours.”

Pippa took a step toward the horse. She was magnificent, dun colored with shadowy black furnishings.

“Well?” he asked with endearing eagerness. “What think you?”

“She is the most beautiful horse I've ever seen. But you know what a poor rider I am.”

“Not a poor rider.” He walked her to the horse and placed his hands at her waist. “Just inexperienced.”

Before she knew what was happening, he lifted her up and placed her in the lady's saddle. After she had hooked her leg around the bow, the seat felt as comfortable as a chair in a dining hall.

As always, the great height took her aback, and she clutched at the mare's mane. A groom brought out another horse, and Aidan mounted and smiled across at her. “Shelagh was bred and trained to be a lady's mount. I think you'll be pleased.”

“Where are we going?”

He didn't answer, but the brief, smoldering look he gave her provided a hint. He had an uncanny ability to
speak through his eyes alone; she could look at him and hear him telling her without words that she was beautiful, that he desired to please her and that she made him happy.

Only occasionally did she notice secretive shadows in his eyes, and she dared not speak of them. For the first time in her life, she was truly happy, and though she knew it was selfish, she wanted nothing to disrupt the delicate balance of their lives.

She refused to see the English forces camped outside Killarney, refused to acknowledge the worried looks Revelin had shot her last time she had visited him at Innisfallen.

With a guilty start, she thought of the letter that had been delivered from Dublin the day before. O Mahoney had looked so grave and hopeless when he had handed it to her, explaining that the lord deputy had learned that a thief was diverting Crown revenues from Kerry. No doubt they would hold Aidan responsible for that as well.

She would worry about that later, she vowed. But not now. Not when he was gazing at her with such sweet promise in his eyes. She wanted their idyll to last forever.

No,
admitted a little voice inside her head.
It is not as simple as that.
She wanted an answer to the one question she was afraid to ask: Did Aidan truly love her?

Part of her had to believe that he did, for she felt protected and cherished when she was with him. But another part, a small, cold, dark place inside her, whispered doubts through her mind. What did she know of love? No one had ever loved her; how could she possibly know what it was?

That same evil whisper planted another doubt. All her life, she had been abandoned by every friend she had found. How could she be certain Aidan was different?

She couldn't.

Let the marriage bond be enough for now, she scolded herself. Let it be enough.

They rode across the causeway and along the shores of Lough Leane. It was high summer, and the woods were canopied and carpeted by leaf and moss and fern and lichen in a vivid, glowing green. The rich, earthy smell of the forest filled the air. The lake was as blue and deep as a sapphire jewel.

“So much beauty,” she said. “It almost overwhelms the senses.”

“Aye,” he said, and he was looking not at the lake, but at her.

They headed up a twisting, sloping path, and after a while it seemed they were the only people on earth, so remote were they. She heard the
churr
of a pheasant and a rustle of leaves as some small animal scuttled for cover, but other than the thump of hooves and the occasional snort of a horse, the forest was silent.

They followed a stream over a bed of rocks, and after a time she detected a low, distant roar. Intrigued, she craned her neck to look ahead. Aidan reined his horse and motioned for her to ride on.

The change was so dramatic that it took her breath away. On either side of the path, trees clad in emerald moss soared like pillars. The high branches formed a vault overhead, where sunlight filtered through and filled the air with hazy warmth. Then, farther up the path, the branches opened up to the summer sky, and she saw a surging cataract. It sprang from a great cleft in the mountain and hurled outward with such force that the stream was pure white, spraying and tumbling down from the heights. On the rocks below, a fine mist filled the air and made rainbows in the great bars of sunlight.

“This is Torc Falls,” he said, dismounting and then helping her down. “Some will tell you it's a place of powerful magic.”

As her feet touched the loamy mat of leaves and moss, she smiled up at him. “I do not doubt that in the least.”

He chuckled as he tethered the horses to a branch, where they could browse in the tender shoots beside the roaring stream. “A Sassenach who believes in Irish magic?”

“Absolutely.” She ran and hugged him, loving the solid feel of him against her. He was her gentle protector, everything she had always thought a man should be and everything she had never dared to dream a husband could be.

She lifted her face to his. “Is this not powerful magic?”

“It is.” He kissed her tenderly, his big hands holding her as if she were a treasure. “And aye, my lady, you have become my favorite form of enchantment.”

“Aidan!” She lifted herself on tiptoe to kiss him. “I do love you beyond words.”

“Ah. I've never seen you lack for words. And aren't you the saucy wench who said she did not love me?”

She sniffed. “If that is what you prefer, then no. I do not love you.” She pushed her hands inside his mantle and splayed them across his chest. “Is that clear, my lord?”

He took in a sharp breath. “Aye, that it is. You have a very powerful way of not loving me.”

“Wait till you see what I can do when I
do
love you.”

She removed his cloak and then her own, spreading them on the springy ground in a golden green haze of sunlight. “Come here, and I'll show you more.”

Intoxicated by the rarefied air, she felt brazen and unfettered, as free as a bird soaring from a cliff. Item by item, she removed his clothes, laughing at his astonishment and then soliciting his help in disrobing.

There was something pagan and delightful and, aye, magical about standing naked in the open forest, with sunlight and mist swirling about them. She had an uncanny feeling of rightness, as if heathen powers had ordained their union, as if the very elements themselves sanctioned their love.

They stood facing each other, and she could see that he, too, felt the extraordinary invisible forces pulsing around them. Perhaps aeons ago, when the world was young, two different lovers had come together in this silent, mist-filled sanctuary.

“Aidan,” she said, the single word heavy with emotion. She put her hands upon his chest and feathered her fingers over the thick, long-healed scars there. “You have never told me about these.”

He lifted one side of his mouth in a half smile. “I thought Iago would. He tells you everything else.”

“He has the same pattern of scars.”

“It's part of a manhood rite performed by the people of his mother's tribe. I was at a very impressionable age when I first met him. I found his scars most interesting.”

She brushed her fingers over him and felt a surge of wanting. “I think I understand.”

Low laughter rumbled from him. “To make a long story short, my own scars are the result of a boring sea voyage, a large flask of poteen and an excess of male pride.”

She took a step closer. “It must have hurt terribly.”

“Not half so much as the hiding my father gave me when he saw what I had done.”

He spoke lightly, but she heard the undertone of resentment in his voice.

“You're much like me,” she said. “You were abandoned, too, in a way.”

“Only the one who abandoned me stayed near, so that I felt his displeasure every day of my life.”

“It is a wonder we even know how to love,” she said.

“You make it easy.”

She leaned forward and pressed her lips to the ridge of scars that ran along the broadest part of his chest. She flicked her tongue out, and he gasped and went rigid. The idea that her touch could hold him filled her with a heady sense of mastery. The feeling of liberation drove her to boldness, and she swirled her hands around and over him, her caress an eloquent statement of her love. Lower she went, eliciting a delicious gasp from him as her hands and then her lips found him. Unfettered by timidity, she loved him with a boldness she had never thought herself capable of. She carried on until he loosed a hoarse sound—a cry of pleasure, a cry for mercy. He pulled her up and kissed her hungrily, and then they lay back upon the spread-out cloaks and she impaled herself upon him. She found the rhythm he had taught her, and while his hands traced her breasts and shoulders, she lifted and rode, controlling the pace until at last it controlled her, possessed her, and she could do no more than ride the crest.

She poured her love out to him, and she was like the great cataract surging from the heart of the mountain, exploding outward and splintering into a rainbow-hued mist.

When he pulsed into her moments later, she collapsed onto his chest and lay still, listening to the thud of his heart and feeling dazed.

Finally, with the gentleness she had loved about him from the start, he brought her to lie beside him, cradling her in the circle of his arms.

“You are,” he said at last, “quite remarkable.”

She gave a shaky laugh. “I am acting by instinct alone. Thank God you are a patient man.” She smiled as latent pulses of pleasure coursed softly through her. She felt the warmth and passion all through her, at its deepest where her heart was. Out of her dazed contentment came a stunning thought, and she lifted her head to look at him.