"Never," he growled.
She felt the grind of his hips against hers, circling, pressing, faster and faster until she was out of control before she shattered exquisitely.
She lay in his arms for a time, until her heart stopped slamming against her chest and her breathing returned to normal. She still had that strange feeling. "There is something about this place," she said. "Did you feel it?"
"Aye, like we were in a place of timelessness and joined to the past."
She rolled over onto her elbows and looked down into his face. "Yes, that's how it felt...as if coupling was the one unchanging thread that connected us to the past, that would connect us to the future. They were lovers, and so are we, and those who come after us. It remains constant." She smiled and kissed him full upon the mouth. "Do you think it would have been the same if I had made love to primitive man in a wolf pelt?"
"Och! I hope not."
Something about the almost petulant way he said that struck her as hilarious and she began to laugh:
He rolled on top of her and pinned her arms down on each side of her head. "If it's primitive ye want, lass, I dinna mind granting yer wish."
And he did.
Jamie Graham, she learned, was a man of his word.
Later, when she opened her eyes and saw him standing over her, she asked, "Where did you find the strength to stand?"
"It takes practice."
"Practice?" She grabbed a clump of grass and threw it at him. "Boastful braggart."
She watched him fasten his clothing, and when he finished, she stood, and found she felt as wobbly as a colt. He smiled down at her and held out his hand. "Come, lass."
She placed her hand in his and felt the warmth as his leather gauntlet closed around it and he drew her into his arms. "Are you sure you want to leave this place, or do you want to go for a third time?"
"I don't think I could bear it if you had any more practice. I ache all over."
"I will give you a nice warm bath when we are home."
She smiled and thumped him on the arm. "'Unarm, Eros!'" she said, wondering if he read Shakespeare.
"'The long day's task is done, and we must sleep,'" he said, finishing the quote, and she knew he had not only read Shakespeare at some time in his life, but he knew it well enough to recite it.
"I always discover something new about you that I did not know before," she said. "I had no idea you could quote Shakespeare."
"I have a lot of secrets you do not know about. And you? Do you harbor secrets in that heart so pure, sweet Sophie?"
Even before he said those words her heart was beating erratically, for she had come a hair's breadth away from saying, "I, too, have secrets." Yet, she did not make that declaration when she answered him, but simply blanketed it with a generality. "I suppose everyone has a secret or two. It is part of being human, I think.. .to hold back a little part of ourselves, lest we become as transparent as glass and harmed by those who would use it against us."
"Is that what you fear? That someone will do you harm?"
' T was simply caught up in one of my clouds of conviction," she replied, "nothing more."
The horses had wandered off as they grazed so arm in arm, Sophie and Jamie walked up the rocky hillside together to follow them.
When they reached them at last, he lifted her into the saddle, and she looked down upon the handsome features of the man who had become such a part of her life in a very short period. She fought the urge to lean forward and kiss him, and to tell him the words that burned in her heart:
Je t'aime... I love you...
He put his hand on her thigh and let it rest there for a moment, unaware that it burned a memory of this day into her flesh.
As they rode away she turned back, to look one last time upon this place where the ancients once roamed, and thought that one day they, like this moment, will slip away, quiet as a vapor.
Arabella was waiting for them when they arrived. "I wanted to warn you," she whispered. "Gillian is here. She has been waiting for you the better part of the afternoon. She is up to something, for she looks as smug as the cat what ate the cream and got away with it. She said she wanted to see you the moment you returned. She said it was urgent."
Sophie started up the stairs, but Jamie caught her by the arm. ' 'Come with me. I want you with me."
"No. You go alone. She did not come here to speak with me."
"Whatever she has to say, she can say to both of us." He took her by the hand and pulled her along with him.
She went because she did not have a choice, but her step was not as light as his was because she had a multitude of apprehensions gathering around her.
Nineteen
For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night. —William Shakespeare (1564-1616), English poet and playwright. Sonnet 147
If
Gillian was surprised to see Sophie with Jamie she did not let on, remaining serene and unruffled in her chair by the low-burning fire in the library. She closed the book she had been reading, held it out in front of her and, without taking her gaze from Sophie's face, she said, "I am reading an interesting book on the Bourbon kings. Have you read it?"
Jamie knew by the look in Gillian's eyes that she had tasted the aromatic wine of vengeance, and she was here to wreak some sort of havoc, but what she was up to was not clear at this point.
The impending chaos lacked definite shape, as a shadow is indistinct. He only saw a foggy outline, indistinct and not fully understood. What was clear was Gillian would choose whatever way she could, henceforth to cause most offence.
What he did understand was that she did not address him, but Sophie, and that is what prompted him to turn to Sophie with a quizzical look. "Do you know what this is about? Is there something you want to tell me, Sophie?"
Sophie, lovely Sophie with the angel's face and the downcast eyes. His heart had questions and no answers, and she would not look at him. Why so shy, my lovely lass? he wanted to ask her. What are you hiding, love?
Suddenly, he did not need to ask those questions for he knew he had been deceived by the one he trusted above even his own instinct. He recalled something...yes, what was it she said when they were riding?
' I
suppose everyone has a secret or two. It is part of being human, I think... to hold back a little part of ourselves, lest we become as transparent as glass and harmed by those who would use it against us.''
Deception, that fatal poison to truth.
He glanced back at Gillian with a questioning look. What game did she play? he wondered.
Did she use vengeance, a woman's weapon, or was she here to oil the lethal wheels of gossip?
Her smile was like a knife hidden in the sleeve. A sickness of heart gripped him, for he knew now that in some way Gillian would use whatever truth she had come upon to entrap and destroy.
And through it all, sweet Sophie said nothing.
Gillian, gaining strength and confidence from Sophie's silence, said, "Well then, perhaps you are not familiar with the family."
Jamie's head snapped around. He spoke irritably. "I doubt you rode all the way over here and waited for us for over two hours to play guessing games. What is your point, Gillian?"
She rose and tossed the book on the table. "My point, dearest James, is this. Sophie d'Alembert is the name she traveled under when she fled France on the
Aegir,
but that is not her real name. It was your mother's maiden name...d'Alembert...was it not?"
Sophie still did not speak.
"Shall I go on?" Gillian asked, not waiting for a reply. "Her true name is Sophie Victoire de Bourbon. She is the daughter of Louis-Alexandre de Bourbon, Comte de Toulouse, duc de Danville, duc de Penthievre, duc de CMteau-villain, duc de Rambouillet. Her father was made an Admiral of France at the age of five, and later he became the Grand Admiral of France. You must be thinking, as I did, that this all sounds rather far-fetched—but it really is not, you see— not when he was the third son of the King of France. And that would make Sophie the granddaughter of Louis XIV, the King of France, otherwise known as the Sun King. Of course, her excellent bloodline is tainted somewhat by the fact that her father was an illegitimate son of the king, by his mistress Francoise-Athenaise de Rochechouart-Mortemart. However, I would not wish to be accused of being unjust, so with all fairness, I will say he was later legitimized by his father, the king."
He turned to Sophie, wanting...needing her to say it was not true, that his faith and trust in her had not been misplaced. Sophie, so good at what she did. She had cut his throat and he had not even noticed.
Sophie wanted to banish the look on his face from her memory, for she knew it would haunt her for the rest of her days. She did not think he could have looked so wounded had she taken his sword and run him through.
And then, before her eyes, the look of stunned hurt changed to one of intense, seething fury. "Tell me now, lass, that you have no knowledge of the facts she reported. Tell me now that she lies, and I will believe you...but it had better be the truth. Does she lie?" he shouted.
He knew the answer already, for it was written on her face, and the tears of abject sorrow bore witness.
She had deceived him. But to what gain?
Gillian, he thought, so fair and so foul. With nothing more than a cold glance in her direction he let the intensity of his fury come down upon her. "Get out. Leave here now, and do not darken this door again."
"I did it for you, Jamie. I didn't want her to play you for the fool any longer."
"You did it for yourself, out of malice, or a jealous rage, because I ended things between us."
Gillian tossed her head back. "Hardly jealousy, since Vilain has proved to be such a satisfactory lover."
Silence descended upon the room and settled on those in it...betrothed, betrayer and betrayed.
Footsteps sounded outside the door as someone approached.
The door opened and Calum stepped into the room. His face registered surprise. "Oh, I beg pardon, I did not know anyone was in here."
"Get her out of here, Calum. Now!"
Calum looked from Jamie to Sophie to Gillian in confusion, until Gillian said, ' T was leaving, anyway. I have finished what I came here to do."
Calum, obviously still puzzled by all of this, was wise to recognize it was not the time to ask questions and, with a nod, he took Gillian by the arm.
Jamie followed them to the door. "Find someone to guard this door," he said, "and tell him no one enters this room for any reason."
Jamie closed the door, turned the key and turned back to Sophie. She could have been a marble statue. Sophie...as tempting as a saint, as black-hearted as the devil, and even now, after learning the truth, he still wanted her.
"I'm sorry," she said so softly he almost did not hear her. "You cannot possibly know just how sorry I am."
"The time for apology is as lost as the time for telling the truth. I do not want your apologies. It's too late, and this goes much deeper than that."
"Please listen to me, to what I have to say:" He waved his hand to silence her, and let her
know her honesty would give him no comfort.
"I have begged you for the truth for weeks and
you coldly refused. Why should I listen to more of your lies now?"
"I never meant for it to go this far, Jamie. Truly, I did not. I had hoped to find a place to start my life over before the French or the English found me, or before you discovered my identity. I never intended to hurt you or to play you false. I never meant to place you and your family in jeopardy, or ruin the future you had planned."
"Words...nothing but words. I want to know why," he said, his own words hollow and broken. "Why did you pretend you did not know who you were?"
"I was afraid."
"Afraid? By God's teeth, woman, what were you afraid of? Me? Have I done anything but try to help you?"