Mary Reed McCall (23 page)

“I want to be one with you,” she said between kisses, “One in truth—now. I need to feel you inside me, with me…”

“I want you too, love. All of you.” He cupped her face, brushing his lips over her forehead, her cheeks, the crescents of her eyelids with their feathery lashes before nibbling again at the honeyed fullness of her mouth. “But I want to savor you too. Every inch of you, as I’ve dreamed of doing every night since our first together.”

She moaned softly, stroking his arms as he lifted the hem of her chemise; he tugged it off over her head, gliding his hand up the warm length of her thighs. His fingers nestled in the silken curls at their juncture, gently stroking the slick folds there; he reveled in her slippery heat and in the way she spread her thighs to open herself further to his
touch. Little jolts of feeling shot from his fingertips up to the rest of his body, darts of sweet, hot pleasure into his groin and the iron-hard stiffness straining against his breeches there.

“’Tis heaven,” he whispered, closing his eyes and suppressing a groan at the incredible sensation of touching her so. She was like an exotic flower opening to him. He wanted to lose himself in her, to breathe in the delicate perfume of her arousal and luxuriate in the lush, wet feel of her forever. Being with her like this was driving him to the edge of ecstasy, to a place of fractured thought and pure feeling.

He continued to stroke her as she moaned again, brushing his thumb over the tiny bud nestled in her folds, until she began to twist beneath him and press into his hand. He shifted, then, tracing a heated path with his kisses; when he reached her most intimate place, he tasted of her, swirling his tongue and lips over that sensitive spot.

She gasped, but he held her firm, relentless in his tender assault. He cupped his hands under her, lifting her, gently spreading, until the swollen silk of her was opened to him. He groaned with the beauty of it, the incredible gift of her, tasting her again and again, hot and tangy sweet, like honeyed apples to his tongue.

Too soon, it seemed, he saw the flat of her belly begin to ripple, tiny shudders that made her thighs tense; then she stiffened, crying his name and clutching his shoulders as her body pulsated with a powerful release.

After a few moments, he lifted himself up to hold her, and she turned her face into his neck while the last delicious shudders of her fulfillment eased away.

“You’re crying,” he murmured, brushing a tear from her cheek with the tip of his finger. “Are you all right? Did I upset you by doing that?”

“Nay,” she said, looking at him. Her lashes clumped in adorable spikes, framing those wide, beautiful eyes that were fixed on him now in wonder. “’Tis just that I never—well, I never knew that such things could be done.”

“Aye. There are many ways to give and receive pleasure.”

Her cheeks bloomed with color, and she lowered her lashes. “Did you learn how to do that when you lived in London, with any of those women who…” Her voice trailed off.

“Women who did such things for a living?” he finished for her. “Nay, Catherine, I never touched a woman like that before. I never wanted to. Not until you.”

She blushed again. “’Twas wonderful,” she whispered, stroking her hand across his bare chest. Then she smiled and leaned up on her elbow to gaze at him, almost stilling his breath when she added softly, “And ’tis even better knowing that turnabout is fair play.”

It was his turn to groan when she reached down to caress the straining, rigid length of him through his breeches. He felt her loosening the laces, her nimble fingers working swiftly; in an instant his
erection sprang from its confinement, and she grasped him, caressing him with both hands.

He lost all sense of time and place when she bent her head to him, kissing him gently before taking him into her mouth. In moments he was arching with pleasure just as she had, only he pulled away at the last instant for fear of releasing too early.

“Did I do something wrong?” she murmured, frowning as she sat up to look at him. He tried not to laugh his denial. For a widow with two children, Catherine was more an innocent than most virgins.

Her tumbled hair shone lustrous in the firelight, the pink tips of her nipples just peeking through the silky tendrils. But when she nibbled her lower lip in distress, Gray feared that he might spill onto the floor like a green lad; her succulent mouth was full and rosy, her lips still moist from her ministrations on him. God help him, but the woman could set a stone statue ablaze with desire and she didn’t even know it.

“Nay, Catherine, you did nothing wrong,” he managed to choke when he could command himself to breathe again. “’Twas only too good to bear for longer without…well without—”

Her eyes went wide with comprehension. “Oh.” A moment later, she beamed. “In that case…” Leaning down, she kissed him playfully, and he growled, nipping at her shoulder as he rolled her beneath him. Her surprised shriek quickly faded to a moan of surrender when he pressed himself, hot
and hard, between her legs. She arched up to meet him, lifting her knees and pulling him in to stroke deeply inside her slick heat.

Stars danced before his eyes with the pleasure of their rhythmic movements; his hands clenched the fur on either side of her head, even as her fingers tightened on his buttocks, and she began to pulsate around him with another swift climax. She screamed aloud, and Gray groaned with each soft cry that echoed her fulfillment.

“Catherine, I love you,” he said against her cheek when she’d quieted. He lifted himself on his arms to gaze at her, still rocking gently in and out of her. “With all that I am, I love you. Now until I die.”

“And I you, Gray,” she whispered, tears of happiness gathered in her eyes. “Forever.” She gazed up at him, her face glowing with that seductive, angelic beauty that had captivated him from the very first time he looked at her.

He bent his head down to capture her mouth, lost in the erotic and ancient pulse of their hips and tongues, delving deeper, tantalizing, stroking in perfect time. Words of promise and redemption spilled from him, returned by her in soft, throaty whispers. He breathed in her scent, tasted her sweetness, felt her soft, writhing heat cradling each thrust of his hips.

Through heavy-lidded eyes, Gray watched Catherine arch back into the pillows, grasping his arms and sliding her hands up as he stroked deeper. Her fingers clenched his shoulders when their
tempo increased once more. She kept murmuring his name, her moans becoming louder as she lifted her hips to his again and again.

But when she wrapped her long, beautiful legs around his waist, he lost control. She cried out again as they peaked together, and he found himself spiraling into bliss so intense that his mind shattered into a million colored stars. The love he felt for her washed over him, then, a shower of beautiful, perfect light that soothed him, healed him, made him whole…

And banished his painful past forever.

Gray still held Catherine nestled close to him several hours later. She was sleeping peacefully, but he couldn’t rest. His brain kept churning, kept reliving every agonizing detail of what she’d told him about Montford’s evil. Even now his skin crawled with disgust and anger over what the bastard had done, not only to Catherine, but to the real Elise as well.

He tightened his arm around her protectively, and she sighed, shifting and nuzzling closer to his chest. Damn Eduard de Montford to hell. He’d pay, by God. Montford would live to regret every moment of pain Catherine and her children had suffered at his hands. This Gray vowed in the silent darkness.

But first little Ian and Isabel needed to be rescued from Faegerliegh Keep.

Studying the ebbing moon patterns that shifted
along the wall, Gray reviewed the plan in his mind again. At first light, he’d rouse Alban and gather a contingent of men to prepare a siege on Montford’s estate. He already knew that Eduard had taken his best knights with him to journey with King Henry. Gray’s forces could overcome those left behind in Somerset without too much difficulty.

It should be simple, really. Once they’d subdued Faegerleigh’s guards, Catherine could lead them through the intricate passages of the keep to find her children. They would scoop up the twins, ride out, and be back at Ravenslock before sunset the next day.

He’d already prepared a dispatch to send to the king, explaining their situation. With any luck, Henry’s sense of justice would override the anger he’d feel at Gray’s thwarting his sanctions again.

And if not…

Gray closed his eyes and breathed deep, determined to put it out of his mind for now. It was a moot point. Even if King Henry chose to exert his full power as sovereign and follow through on his threat to remove Gray’s titles and estates as punishment for defying him, Gray knew it would make no difference.

A sweet rush of emotion flooded him at the irony of this sudden turn of events. It was almost as if he’d been given another chance. An opportunity to right a great wrong in a way that he’d never been able to do for Gillian.

And he wouldn’t fail Catherine or her children. On his life, he swore he’d not falter. Never again.

This time, vengeance would be his.

“Milady!”

Catherine rolled over, pulling the coverlet over her ears at the buzzing sound. A fly, perhaps? In a foggy corner of her brain, she decided to speak to Gray about having someone come up to the chamber to search out the pest. It—

The fly suddenly sprouted arms and began to clutch her shoulder.

“Milady, you must awaken!”

Catherine sat up, heart pounding, to face Mariah, who bent over the bed, obviously distraught from her attempts to rouse her mistress. “What is it?” she mumbled, wiping her eyes and looking around her as she blinked away sleep.

She was in her chamber. The early morning sun glinted through the scores of tiny, glazed panes, lighting triangular patches of gold all over the walls and floor. But the room was empty, save herself and Mariah. Gray must have carried her up to bed, then, and gone to find Alban and set their plan into motion; if all went well, they would depart before noon to rescue Ian and Isabel. Then she would hold them close and smother their little faces with kisses as she explained away the nightmare of these past three months.

Happy anticipation swept over her in a torrent, making her bound out of bed in her hurry to prepare.
She was so excited that she almost missed the import of what Mariah was saying to her. But as she padded to the washstand, the servant’s voice harped so persistently that it cut through her joyful daze.

“Milady, did you hear me? The reason I awakened you is that a missive has come. The messenger awaits you in the hall, and he’s refused to leave until he himself places it in your hands alone.”

“That’s strange.” Catherine frowned, pausing as she poured water into the washbowl. “Do you know who it is?”

“Nay, milady. ’Tis why I thought it meet to rouse you,” Mariah explained. “But you were sleeping as sound as if you’d not closed your eyes in weeks.”

“Not weeks, though I’d warrant ’twas most of the night,” Catherine murmured to herself, smiling as she remembered the voluptuous pleasure of making love with Gray on the furred skin in his solar. And on the table. And sitting in the chair before the fire…

“The night was peaceful, then, for you, lady?” Mariah’s silvery brow lifted, and Catherine could have sworn that she saw a softer look than usual in the maidservant’s eyes.

She smiled deeper. “I wouldn’t call it peaceful, but…”

“I had feared some trouble,” the maid continued, shaking out the coverlet, “when Lord Camville came home last night in such a fury, ordering us all inside and the gates barred.” She paused and looked at Catherine, before clearing her throat self-
consciously and looking away. “In truth, milady, I was worried about you.”

Catherine stilled. Color suffused Mariah’s cheeks. If she wasn’t mistaken, the maidservant was trying to be nice. Clearing her own throat, Catherine said, “Thank you, Mariah. But there is naught to fear. All is well.”

Mariah glanced at her again, looking more unsure than Catherine had ever seen her. “’Tis glad I am to hear it, milady,” she nodded brusquely, her chin wobbling, “Because I know that I’ve a few sharp edges, and I’ve not always made it easier for you here. By my soul, I’m not ashamed to say I’ve always tried to protect Lord Camville from any I think might mean to harm him—but in these weeks, I’ve come to see that you’re not that sort. In truth, I like you right well, milady, and I wouldn’t want any hurt comin’ to ye either.”

She shook her head emphatically again; then, without waiting for a response, she walked into the garment chamber to fetch Catherine’s gown.

Catherine gaped after her in silence. ’Twas the most she’d ever heard Mariah say at one time, but she was glad to have been given the gift of it. ’Twas a boon indeed to discover that the older woman cared for her, and that her previous coldness had not stemmed from the fact that she was a spy for Eduard, but that she was simply a loyal and protective servant to Gray.

Mariah returned with the gown, helping her to dress in the now companionable silence that weighed soft between them. Soon, Catherine was
ready, and she descended to the hall with Mariah in search of the messenger. They found him sitting at the great fireplace, sipping a cup of ale and breaking his fast with some bread and cold pork from the castle larder.

He sprang to his feet at Catherine’s approach, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. She’d never seen the man before; he was finely dressed, though gaunt and pale, and she couldn’t help but notice how his gaze darted around as if he expected something terrible to happen at any moment.

“Lady Camville,” he said, bowing low. When he straightened he held out a sealed parchment. “I present this missive to your hand alone, according to instruction given me by the most esteemed Lord Montford.”

Catherine’s stomach heaved, and she thought her knees might give way. With a trembling hand she took the parchment. But as she read its contents her heart pounded harder, nausea rising up to choke her. She grasped the edge of the table for support, vaguely hearing the messenger’s gasp as he leaped solicitously to her side; one of the hall servants quickly poured a goblet of wine and pressed it into her hand.