“Aly?”
There was no response. She looked unbelievably fragile, her clean profile illuminated by the fire, wispy tendrils framing her drawn face. Tray experienced a deluge of shame and embarrassment for the shock, disgust and pain he had caused Alyssa.
“Aly, look at me. Please…” His voice cracked and his hand inched toward hers, their fingers almost touching. But she wouldn’t want to be touched by him, Tray thought bitterly. All he wanted was to sweep her into his arms and confess how sorry he was, sorry for the way she had to discover that he was a flawed man.
She slowly raised her head, her lifting lashes revealing green eyes fraught with silent agony. She held his wavering gaze, realizing with poignancy that the glimmer of her tears was reflected in his charcoal gray eyes. A soft cry escaped her lips and she reached out, her fingers grazing his cheek.
“Tray? What is it? Are you in pain again?”
His gray eyes grew dark with agony. “Me? No, I thought…my leg,” he forced out in a low voice. “I’m sorry, Aly. I know it’s ugly and…disgusting….”
She tilted her head, bewildered. “I don’t understand.” The tears she saw in his eyes reached to the very core of her heart, her own pain forgotten. “Is your leg hurting you again? Do you want me to rub it like I did before?”
He stared at her for a long moment, digesting her questions. Tray tried to think clearly. “You—took my boots off?”
“Yes. Your left leg was cramping, Tray. That’s what was causing all your problems. You passed out from the pain.”
His heart beat with a slow, dread-filled pound as he ruthlessly searched her face. Where was the disgust, the revulsion he had seen so many times before in other women’s faces? “But—”
She managed a broken smile. “What’s wrong with you? I treated your leg like I would a horse’s sprained ligament. I took some mutton grease and began to rub the knots out.” She pointed to Rasheed’s blanket, which was drying again by the hearth. “And then I wrapped your leg in that to provide moist heat to the muscles. Why are you looking at me so oddly? I didn’t do anything wrong, Tray. That’s how you treat a cramp!”
Color flooded back to her cheeks and Tray couldn’t believe what she was saying. This mere slip of a child-woman kneeling beside him, her hands primly folded in her lap, looking at him with complete bewilderment, shattered him. Tray knew that his deformity hadn’t sickened her, and a fierce rush of joy surged through him. It was all he could do to stop himself from crying out with happiness. Several more minutes passed before he trusted his voice to speak to her. He reached over, gently cradling her work-worn hands between his own.
“I’m not questioning your care of me, little one. All the women who have ever seen that deformed left leg have been upset by it.”
Aly managed a sheepish smile. “It surprised me, too, when I got that boot off.”
Tray looked at her solemnly. “It’s ugly.”
She shrugged. “But the rest of you isn’t.”
His hands tightened around hers and he shut his eyes. “My God, Aly, do you know how rare you are?” he rasped.
“W-were you worried that if I knew you had a clubfoot, I would have nothing more to do with you?” she asked in an achingly soft voice, her eyes luminous. “After what you’ve done for Sean? For me? You’ve saved our lives. How can I be upset over such a small thing? In Ireland, there’s an old saying about babies born with a clubfoot.”
“There is?”
Alyssa gave him a tender look. “It’s said that if a pregnant mother visits a graveyard and she accidentally twists her ankle on a grave, her child would be born with a cam reilge or clubfoot. Your mother must have done that, Tray. In Ireland, I’ve seen clubfooted girls, as well.” She shrugged, giving him a warming look charged with compassion. “Do you think your clubfoot makes you less of a man, Tray? What can any man with two good feet do better than you? Taffy and his men didn’t work as long or as hard as you did, and you were the one robbed of two sound feet. You ride as if you were part of the horse. You till your fields beside your men. You feed, clothe and protect those who work for you at Shadowhawk. In my eyes, you are better than any ten men put together as one.”
Tray released her hands, framing her fragile face between his strong fingers. “Sweet, sweet Aly with a heart so large that she lays to rest my worst fears,” he whispered, drawing her forward.
This time, Alyssa needed little encouragement to ease those last few inches and feel the pleasant, warming touch of Tray’s mouth as it slid across her lips. Since undressing him hours ago, she had had time to think about many things. The lower part of any man’s body could cause her pain, of that she was certain. But Tray’s kiss had brought to her only wonderful, womanly feelings, not the shame and humiliation of Vaughn’s violent assault. Now, as his mouth slanted hungrily across hers, Alyssa felt a flush of cleanness and purity. His kiss blotted out her fears, and a soft moan rose in her throat. He worshiped her as if she were a priceless crystal glass that would break beneath the slightest pressure. Her nostrils flared, inhaling deeply of his scent, dizziness sweeping through her as he placed small, delicate kisses at each corner of her parted lips. His tongue slid into her mouth, sending a current of liquid pleasure racing through her, making her limbs weak with need.
“Trust me, Aly,” he breathed hoarsely against her lips. “Give yourself to me…I won’t hurt you, only give you pleasure. Kiss me, feel what you give to me in return….”
Unconsciously, Aly raised her arms, sliding them artlessly around his broad shoulders, her fingers tangling in the curls at the nape of his powerful neck. Shyly, she began to explore him as he had her. His mouth was strong, yielding to her, giving back to her. She felt her nipples growing hard beneath the cotton of the shirt she wore, her breasts swelling and a hot, melting sensation spreading through her lower body, leaving her trembling as Tray gently drew her to him.
“Yes, yes, sweet Aly, you’re so soft, so giving,” he crooned in a gritty voice. “Open your mouth, let me taste you. All of you, Arhiannon….”
Fire uncoiled within her and she shattered beneath the caress of his tongue as he tasted her. Her nipples grew taut and she moaned, pressing herself against the hardness of his chest, wanting to somehow ease the ache within her. His hands moved up her rib cage, fingers caressing the outer curve of her breasts. A small cry tore from her lips and her knees buckled beneath her.
“It’s all right, little one,” he gritted against her wet, moist lips. “I won’t hurt you. I only want to give you pleasure. A man can love a woman in many ways. You’ve suffered only pain. Let me show you that a man can give to you and not take. Let me touch you….” he begged huskily.
Her heart pounding heavily, Alyssa arched herself shamelessly into his large, waiting hands, which easily held her taut, aching breasts. Her head was thrown back, exposing the slender expanse of her throat as he unbuttoned her shirt. As Tray pulled the rough cotton material away, the fabric dragged across her already sensitive breasts.
“Trust me,” he whispered, his breath caressing her soft skin. Her nipples were a delicate rose pink and Tray pulled one into the liquid heat of his mouth. He heard Alyssa cry out, her body shuddering with need. It wasn’t a cry of alarm, but a beautiful animal moan, which sent a jagged bolt of heat straight to his lower body. “Honey,” he rasped raggedly. “God, you taste like honey….” He gently sucked each of her nipples in turn, lost in the primal need to give her as much joy as he was experiencing, the need to worship her lovely, sensitive body.
Blood pounded through Tray as he brought Alyssa into his arms. She arched urgently to him, her fingers digging convulsively into his powerful shoulders as he teethed her responsive nipples. Her total response overwhelmed him; he could feel her shaking like a newly born lamb within his arms and realized in some part of his mind that she had given herself to him, without reservation, without the fear the rape had instilled in her. He wanted her, all of her. And he loved her with an overwhelming fierceness. The past two
months had been miraculous for him. Aly had taught him to feel again, to desire and to live again. Tray cupped her small breast, placing a kiss on the hardened nipple. He felt her press her body urgently to his, mindless and begging for what she did not understand. Slowly, Tray’s mind grappled successfully with his passion. He pulled her shirt closed and buried his head next to hers, inhaling the silken scent of her abundant hair.
His mind raced as he absorbed the completeness of his love for Alyssa. He wouldn’t shame her further by taking her as if she were his mistress. He raised his head, seeking and finding her full lips, now swollen with the stamp of his mouth. Marriage. He would offer her marriage and then they would consummate their love for each other. As he felt her shy response to his mouth, his arms tightened around her loving body, drawing her hard against his naked chest. He gloried in the sensation of their flesh meeting, galvanizing like heated metal one to the other. The rape would make her fearful of consummating the love he held for her. But they had at least another week in the mountains for Tray to show Aly through his kisses and touches that she need not fear him as a man, that coupling was something to look forward to and not shrink from.
Gently, Tray broke the spell of their heated kiss, his eyes a turbulent gray as he stared down at her with naked intensity. He saw her nipples clearly outlined against the material of her shirt. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were wide with pleasure. A euphoric feeling swept through him as he combed his fingers gently through her hair, a pleasant warmth building between them in the aftermath of their exploration of each other.
“I think you wanted to be kissed,” he rumbled.
Alyssa sighed, resting her hand against his magnificent chest. “Now I understand why those girls who were being courted looked forward to stolen moments with their man,” she whispered, her partly open lashes revealing hazy emerald eyes as she looked up at him. Just the soothing effect of his fingers gently combing through her hair, lightly massaging her scalp, sent wonderful new sensations washing through her.
“And did you enjoy what we shared, Aly?”
A soft sigh escaped her lips. “Yes….” Her lashes lifted further, her eyes becoming more focused as she relaxed within his arms, wildly aware of his strong, vibrant body against her own. “Wh-when I had to pull those wet clothes off you, I began getting scared, Tray.”
He brushed the gathering frown from her brow. “Why, little one?”
“Because—” She took in a deep, broken breath, her words tumbling out with embarrassment. “I’d never seen a man fully naked before. A-and when I saw you…” She swallowed, lowering her lashes, unable to hold his gaze. “All I could remember was the terrible pain of his shaft ripping into me. And it hurt. It hurt so much…and yet, you give me pleasure. And happiness.” She braved a glance up at Tray and found his gray eyes wet with tears. “I thought perhaps that from the waist up, a man was able to give a woman pleasure. But from the waist down…” She shuddered, burying her head against his chest.
A lump grew in his throat and Tray could find no words. Instead, he held her, rocked her and occasionally pressed a kiss to her temple. Finally, after a long time, he was able to clear his throat and speak in an unsteady voice. “A man who loves his woman can give her pleasure above and below the waist, little one. Trust me on that. You were a virgin until you were captured by the English. I can tell by the way you kiss that you’ve had little practice in the art of being a woman.” He caressed her cheek with his knuckles. “I can’t undo what’s been done, Aly,” he told her in a low, roughened voice, “but I can show you the opposite.”
Her expression grew pained. “What do you mean?”
“Have the kisses we shared or—” he allowed his hand to slide down and gently cup her breast “—my touching your body hurt you? Have you felt any fear?”
She blushed becomingly as his hand remained against her breast. A feeling of belonging to Tray engulfed Alyssa, and she felt desired and protected. “No,” she answered, her voice husky with simmering passion, “only delight and—”
His gaze caressed her upturned, flushed features. “And?”
A tremulous smile came to her lips. “You make me feel so clean inside, Tray. As if I’m not tainted. Every time you touch me, I feel the shame being carried away.”
A knowing glint danced in his gray eyes. “Ever since I found you in the hold of that ship, I knew you were special, Aly,” he began softly, his hand leaving her breast and coming to rest on her hair. “At first, I thought you were just a girl. When Sorche and I had to strip you out of those foul-smelling rags, I knew you were a woman, older than your lovely face revealed. We washed you each day, little one. I cleansed the blood and mud from your long, beautiful hair.” He lifted a strand of her hair to his lips, kissing it. His voice became deeper, more coaxing. “When I awoke just now and you came to me willingly, I knew that I loved you.”
Alyssa drew in a sharp breath, her eyes widening with hope and fear. “Y-you love me?”
“Yes.”
“But I’m soiled, Tray!” She scrambled up, her shirt falling open, revealing the shadowed cleft of her young breasts as she stared at him in bewildered confusion. “I’m nothing! I’m the daughter of a man who was once a farmer and is now sitting in Newgate prison waiting to be hanged.” Her voice became hauntingly soft as she stared down at her tightly clasped hands, her auburn hair framing her drawn features. “Don’t love me, Tray, please.”
He sat for a moment, digesting her anguished plea. “But I do love you, little one.”
Huge tears formed in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. “I—I couldn’t stand the thought of being a mistress, Tray. There’s already so much dishonor linked with the Kyle name. Both my brothers will be hunted down like dogs by the English. My father will be dead soon….” She raised her head, shame in her eyes. “If my brothers ever knew I was lying in your bed, they’d hate me. They’d call me a traitor. I couldn’t bear that, Tray. I could never be your mistress.”
He reached out, taking her cool, damp fingers into the warmth of his cradling hands. “I love you. I want you to be my wife, not my mistress. Do you think I care if you’re the daughter of an Irish farmer? I love the soil and animals as much as your family does. And the only reason your father is considered a felon is because he and your courageous brothers have fought for the freedom of Ireland from England. I don’t hold that against them. If I were Irish, I’d be at their side.”
Tray held her shocked stare as the color drained from her face. He pressed on, gently rubbing the backs of her hands with his thumbs. “I’m not ashamed that my future wife comes to me without her virginity. There are reasons for that, Aly, that neither of us could control. To me, you are still a virgin, still pure by the very way you come to me. Your kisses are sweet and untrained. Your response to me is willing and eager, and I ache to teach you the many ways of love.” He lifted her hands, watching joy replace shock in her wide, honest eyes. “Talk to me,” he coaxed. “Tell me what is in your heart, Aly.”
Her lips parted in awe. “My heart—my heart swells with such a fierce sweetness whenever I’m with you that I fear I will faint from the joy it holds.”
A smile curved Tray’s sensuous mouth. “There’s another word for that, Aly. Love. That’s what real love feels like.”
“Oh, Tray,” she sobbed, throwing herself into his waiting arms. She hugged him as tightly as she could, burying her head against his neck. The strength of his arms coming about her slender body gave her respite from the fear lurking deep within her. “I’m so frightened.”
He ran his hand down the delicate line of her strong, beautifully formed back. “I know you are.”
She clung to him, her eyes tightly shut. “I don’t even know if I can give you children now,” she cried softly.
“Shh, little one, let’s take this one day at a time. I need you, not children.” He ran his hands down her narrow, almost boyish hips, a snaking fear crawling through him. Shelby had been built similarly, and she had died b
ecause the baby had been unable to pass through her small hips. And the baby, when finally pulled out of her by Dr. Birch, had a clubfoot. That thought haunted Tray. He had killed his own mother with his deformed foot, and he had killed Shelby and his son with his rotten seed. He held Alyssa close, praying to God that he would not kill her as he had Shelby. He couldn’t stand another loss. Not a second time. Not Aly. “Sean is like a son to me already. I need no other children. I need you…your sweetness, your kindness and your love. Just your love….”
Alyssa gripped Tray with all her strength, tears falling against his cheek. “But I love children so much…and I want to feel your life within me, Tray. Your children. Sean loves you like the father he lost, and I’m grateful that you love him.” She eased back, encased within his arms, searching his gray eyes. Gently, she caressed his thick black hair with trembling fingers. “I love you, Tristan. Your name may mean sorrow in Welsh, but you have showered me only with happiness. You’ve brought joy to my heart and laughter to my lips when I’ve experienced neither in so many years. If this is love, then I can never want for more. If God wills it, I will have your children. Children fashioned out of our love.”
He gently gathered Alyssa back into his arms, simply holding her, feeling the beat of her heart.
“Sometimes,” Tray began, “I think you’re a vision I’ve had all my life come true. And sometimes, when I’m with you, I think my heart’s going to break with joy.”
A tremulous smile of understanding touched her lips. “I know, I feel it here,” she admitted, touching her heart with her hand.
Tray smiled wryly. “You like those feelings, little one?”
“Very much.”
“And have you ever experienced them before?”
“Perhaps once,” she admitted, frowning.
He smoothed her brow with his hand. “What do you mean?”
“Well, my mare gave birth to my foal, Cassie. I sat there beside this dark little baby, helping the mare dry her off, and I felt then a little bit like I do right now, as if my heart would break.” Alyssa gazed up at him gravely. “Does that count, too?”
Lord of Shadowhawk Page 17