“Ye know the Dacres?” Archibald seemed startled.
“Very well indeed. Lord Dacre's son, Christopher, is a particular friend of mine.”
The new Earl of Angus clamped his lips together as if he had said too much, and allowed his hands to wander down Raven's back. Heath Kennedy's tall figure loomed beside them. “This is a galliard, I believe. The lady promised the dance to me.”
“Och, aye, take the lass. I'll have at yer sister.”
Heath very much doubted that Ram would trust Archie to lift his wife into the air for the galliard, but left the matter in the capable hands of his brother-in-law.
“I promised you no dance,” Raven challenged.
“Ah, but you did,” Heath insisted, enfolding her in his arms. “Dancing is part of wooing … and wooing is a mating dance.” He murmured intimately, “The male and the female move their bodies together in the same rhythm, imitating what they really want. Their long, drawn-out eye contact is a copulation look.” The music quickened to double tempo and Heath lifted her in a high arc.
Raven's jade-green petticoat and black silk stockings became visible for all to see, and suddenly she didn't care. The rapid beat of the music had entered her blood, and she wanted to be more alluring to Heath Kennedy than any other woman in the great hall. She laughed down into his warm brown eyes, and when he set her feet to the floor and pulled her close, she felt him quicken against her. At the feel of him, threads of desire ran from her navel to her woman's core, vibrating and rippling, until she became dizzy and breathless and aroused.
Raven looked up at him as he towered above her. Beneath heavy brows his dark eyes caressed her and made love to her, and promised he would soon possess her. His long black hair had lost the leather thong that tied it back, and it fell to the shoulders of his black doublet, making him the very image of a predator that had marked his prey. Raven had never felt more beautiful or more powerful in her life. When the tempo of the music changed to triple time, and Heath again lifted her high in the air, she wanted to scream from excitement.
As he held her almost upside down, her breasts threatened to spill from her bodice. When she intercepted his hot, appreciative glance, Raven winked down at him. She saw his white teeth flash in a grin and was almost overcome with the need to feel his mouth upon hers. He read her mind, and as the dance ended, he lowered her feet to the floor and lowered his lips to hers. She clung to him to keep her balance, and because it made her feel small and deliciously feminine.
The music changed dramatically to a Scottish reel, and a whoop of appreciation came from all the Douglases in attendance. There seemed to be miles of dark green plaid in the hall as partners were chosen. Raven should have welcomed the separation, but rather, she felt deprived. After the reels came “The Gay Gordons” and “Strip the Willow,” country dances that were familiar to both the English and Scots who were celebrating. Raven found herself longing for the moment when Heath would become her partner again, even though it would be only briefly. As the music accelerated, the sweat dripped and the kilts flipped. The raucous laughter and shouting grew apace with the accidental falls, interspersed with a few deliberate trips. The company grew so bawdy, it sounded like a brawl or a rape, and threatened to degenerate into one or both any minute.
Though the hour was relatively early, Ramsay and Valentina sought the newlyweds to bid them good night. Archibald, drunk as a proverbial lord, encouraged them to stay for the bedding. Ram cocked an amused brow. “Ye've done it so often, I'm sure ye'll get it right without me.”
Raven had been thoroughly enjoying herself, and Tina saw she looked reluctant to leave. “The night is young; trust me,” she murmured low, then used the excuse of the twins to Margaret. “I brought us warm cloaks so we don't have to change our gowns for the ride back.” Tina handed one to Heath, who quickly wrapped it about Raven and led her into the bailey, where their moss-troopers awaited them with their saddled mounts.
As they rode from Hawick the fires of the Gypsy camp lit up the sky. “Are you game?” Tina asked her brother.
“Careful how ye answer her; she'll tell ye tae stick a feather up yer arse and start crowing!” Ram jested.
Heath grinned. “I'm game.”
As they galloped toward the camp they could hear the Gypsy fiddles and tambourines mixed with merry laughter, and Raven's pulse quickened with anticipation as Heath tethered Blackadder beneath an elm and turned to lift her from Sully. He slid her slowly down his hard body until her feet touched the ground. Momentarily, the world receded until there was only the two of them. “Sweetheart,” he murmured, and brushed his lips against hers. Then they clasped hands and ran toward the fire.
Raven was in a reckless mood. She had made up her mind to abandon herself to pleasure for just one night. She turned a deaf ear to the inner voice that whispered caution, for every female instinct told her that if she did not seize this moment, she would regret it for the rest of her life.
She was surprised at the easy camaraderie that Tina, Ram, and Heath had with the Gypsies, then realized that they must be familiar with each other. She watched Ram exchange coins for two wineskins and hand one to Heath, who immediately squeezed an arc of wine into the air and caught it in his mouth. Heath's glance moved from hers down to her mouth, then back up to her eyes. “I don't suppose I could tempt you?”
Tonight everything about the dark Borderer tempted Raven. She flashed him a smile, unable to resist his challenge, and opened her mouth. She did a credible job of catching the stream of wine, but then she began to laugh and sprayed it everywhere. “No more,” she said, gasping. “We'll ruin Tina's lovely gown.”
“I'll show you how to drink without spilling a drop,” Heath offered as he squeezed the wineskin and filled his mouth. His arm shot out and drew her close, then he set his mouth to hers and fed her the wine.
Raven licked her lips. “I believe it's more potent that way.”
His heart soared at the seductive quality he detected in her voice. Was it possible that desire was awakening deep inside her? He slipped his arm about her and hugged her to his side, then he drew her toward the music. Heath felt his hot blood throb and pulse wildly in his throat. Then the rhythmic beat of the music seemed to enter his bloodstream and his cock lengthened and hardened as he became fully aroused. Heath curbed some of his sexual hunger, knowing that if he let it rage out of control, he would be in an agony of need.
Heath's dark beauty was so magnetic and compelling it drew Raven like a lodestone. Tonight his maleness was blatant, primal. His unleashed energy was tangible as he dominated the space around them. As well as the heat from the fire, Raven imagined she could feel the heat from his body and smell his male-scented skin, which was acting like an aphrodisiac upon her. She licked her lips with a provocative tongue and began to slowly undulate to the music. She let the cloak slide from her shoulders as she moved her hips to the dark, erotic rhythm of the Gypsy music.
Heath followed her movements in the dance, and she suddenly realized he had been speaking the truth when he said that the male and female move their bodies in the same rhythm, imitating what they really want. Her movements became sensual, as did his, then as the tempo of the music quickened, they became overtly sexual. It was a mating dance in every sense of the word, teasing and taunting, advancing and retreating, inviting and withdrawing. Luring on, then moving away, yet gradually they drew closer and closer until they were almost touching, as their bodies swayed and swelled and yearned for each other. The male must dominate, the female must submit; it was the law of nature.
From the corner of her eye, Raven saw Ramsay and Valentina withdraw from the circle of dancers toward the meadow that was carpeted with wild hyacinths. Her heart skipped a beat, knowing it was too romantic for them to resist, but she knew she must not be lured into following their example. She danced away from Heath, moving around the fire. When he followed, she danced away before he could draw close. Suddenly all eyes were upon them, and the other dancers began to clap and stam
p their feet in rhythm to the music. As the tempo accelerated, going faster and faster, rising in a crescendo, Heath leaped across the flames and caught her before she could retreat. Cheers and applause erupted from the Gypsy dancers as he took her in his arms and bent her backward in a triumphant kiss. Then, playing to his audience, he took a bow. Raven decided she too could play-act and deliberately turned her back upon him. She immediately realized it was a tactical mistake when two Gypsy girls rushed to take her place as Heath's partner.
Raven watched him dance with both, leaping back and forth between them, across the fire, and when the music came to a climax, it was they who kissed him, in blatant invitation. It was a game Raven decided to win. With hands on hips she sauntered up to the females, pushed them aside, and claimed her prize. A great shout of approval rose up from the Gypsy men, and they laid claim to their females by dragging them from Heath's side.
Raven laughed up at him. “You've done this before.”
“Many times,” he admitted, “but never with a prize like you at stake, my beauty.”
His words made her feel special, yet it was brought home to her that Heath had probably made love to some of these females. She envied them their freedom to take a man they desired, for in her world such a thing was highly immoral. For the first time, Raven became aware of just how tempting the forbidden really was, as she admitted to herself that she longed to know what it would be like to have Heath Kennedy make love to her and teach her about passion.
When Valentina and Ramsay returned, the Gypsy men pressed Heath and Ram to join them in a knife-throwing contest, but both laughingly declined, pleading the lateness of the hour. With reluctance the two couples bade their hosts good night and made their way to where their mounts were tethered. The moss-troopers had been fed and entertained by Gypsy girls, and before they departed, Ram paid them for their hospitality with gold. He addressed his moss-troopers quietly, directing two of them to stay in Hawick to report on Archibald Douglas's activities, and ordering two more to Bewcastle to keep an eye on Thomas Dacre. Then he mounted and took Tina before him in the saddle, secure in the knowledge that his moss-troopers would tend her horse.
Heath did not ask Raven if she would ride with him, for he knew she would likely demur. He gave her no choice in the matter, but lifted her before him on Blackadder. When Raven opened her mouth to protest, Heath silenced her with a kiss and tucked her cloak about her. “Hush, sweetheart, I want to keep you warm.”
Raven was acutely aware of his desire. She also was aware of her own. She felt an unbelievable physical attraction for the dark, dominant devil. She had tried to build a wall against him, but knew deep down that the edge was crumbling, for tonight she found him absolutely irresistible. She leaned back against his hard, well-muscled chest, looked up at him, and sighed. In the darkness his face was in shadow, but when he looked down, his white teeth flashed in a smile. His male scent made her nostrils flare, and she nestled against him listening to the strong, steady beat of his heart. She was honest enough to admit to herself that tonight there was nowhere else on earth she would rather be than galloping through the velvet darkness of the Borders in Heath Kennedy's powerful, possessive arms.
As Raven nestled against his body, he became aware of how small she was. Desire pulsed at his groin with a savage ache that was almost unendurable. Resting between his thighs he could feel the warmth of her body mingling with his. Her delicate scent aroused him further, and he shifted in the saddle to ease the pressure of his swollen cock and the tightness of his balls. His arm brushed against her breast, and he knew he had reached his limits of restraint. He took a firm grip on Blackadder's reins with one hand and slipped the other beneath Raven's cloak. His knowing fingers found their way inside her bodice, and he cupped her bare breast with the palm of his hand and stroked over her nipple with his rough thumb.
She gasped as a frisson of purest pleasure shot from her nipple, spiraling down through her belly to her woman's core. As he continued to fondle and caress her, the rippling sensations of pleasure increased. The fiery touch of his fingers on her naked flesh almost burned her. She shuddered and suddenly fire turned to ice and she shivered uncontrollably until ice turned back to fire.
“Almost there,” he murmured against her ear, and the ache his words evoked became an unbearable, sweet torture.
CHAPTER 17
When they arrived at Eskdale Castle, Heath jumped from the saddle and lifted Raven to the flagstones of the bailey. A moss-trooper stepped forward to take Heath's horse, while another took Ramsay's. As the two couples walked to the castle, Raven broke the silence. “Thank you for a lovely day, Tina. I wouldn't have missed it for anything.”
“It isn't over yet.” Tina winked at her. “We made it home well before midnight.”
“Stop meddling, Vixen.” Ram picked her up, carried her to the Master Tower, and chided her again. “I know ye want tae aid and abet him, but Heath can lift the lass's skirts without your help.”
Raven and Heath paused at the bottom of the stairs that led to their tower. Their eyes met and held for long minutes; hers were shy, his directly bold. She lowered her lashes and without a word they clasped hands and ascended the steps. Anticipation of what was to come made Raven breathless and weak at the knees. Inside, her excitement built with every step she climbed. One heartbeat after he closed their tower door, Heath had her in his arms. His lips told her of his raw desire, and his dark glance promised her forbidden delights and tempted her to recklessness.
Raven opened her lips and yielded the hot, sweet cave of her mouth to him. She tasted wine on his tongue and became intoxicated. She clung to him, loving the taste, the smell, and the feel of him as she pressed her soft curves against the hard length of his body. Raven loved his strength and his power; it made her feel small and feminine, and took all the responsibility for what he did to her out of her hands.
Heath swept her up in his arms, carried her through to the inner chamber, and sat her down upon the wide bed. He removed her cloak, then dropped to his knees and removed her riding boots. His hands slid up her legs beneath her petticoat to take off her stockings, then he changed his mind. He had imagined those silk stockings since he'd urged her to choose black at Carlisle Fair. So instead, he removed her white cotton drawers. Then he took her small foot in his hand and kissed her instep. A savage impatience to bed her had ridden him all the way from Hawick, but now he found that he wanted to savor every second of the loving he would give her.
Heath drew her to her feet, unfastened her gown, and slipped it from her shoulders. Then he traced her collarbone with one fingertip and anointed it with tiny, quick kisses. The pale green gown pooled on the floor, leaving her clad in the jade petticoat and busk. His fingers unfastened the ribbons at the waist of the petticoat, and it too pooled at her feet, revealing her slim legs clad in the black silk stockings. The tops of her thighs were naked, her creamy flesh contrasting with the black curls on her mons. As she stepped from her undergarments, Heath removed the busk, and his mouth went dry at the sight of her luscious, upthrust breasts, crowned with delicate pink crests. He kissed his fingertip and touched it to each nipple, watching them tighten into hard little buds. Then he touched his lips to them and tasted her with his tongue.
As he undressed her, Raven felt like she was in a warm, delicious trance, but the moment his mouth touched her breasts, she almost came out of her skin. She arched against his tongue sensually, and when he took her nipple inside his mouth and sucked, she cried out her pleasure. Raven had a wild desire to do the same thing to him, and her fingers sought to open his doublet. She knew he read her every thought when he stripped off his doublet, then his linen shirt, and lifted her back into his arms. The coarse hair on his chest abraded the sensitive tips of her breasts, and she dug her nails into his shoulders, reeling from the delicious roughness. He let her slide down his body until her feet touched the carpet, and she felt her cheek brush across his male nipple. Her tongue snaked out to lick and taste and tease, th
en, in a little frenzy of passion, she took it between her teeth and bit down.
Heath watched her closely, enjoying her arousal and the sensual look it brought to her face. His hand covered her breast and gently squeezed, then he stroked his palm down across her belly and cupped her hot mons. He was rewarded by her cry of pleasure, and watched her eyes turn smoky with feral need as she arched her hot center into his hand. His fingers felt her wetness start, and he knew he could wait no longer to taste her.
Heath picked her up and laid her back on the bed. He spread her glorious black hair across the pillows and his eyes dilated at the beautiful picture she made. He opened her legs and traced his fingers up the black silk stockings to where they ended on the inside of her creamy thighs. Then he moved his head between her legs and tasted her.
“No!” she cried, shocked at what he did.
He raised his head and looked into her eyes with an intensity she'd never seen before. “Raven, don't deny me all I hunger for. Don't deny yourself.” He kissed her mons reverently, then blew gently on the triangle of black curls and inhaled her scent. Very deliberately he touched the tip of his tongue to her tiny pink bud and felt her quiver at the strange, new sensations he evoked. When she made no further protest, he slowly thrust inside and, with a tantalizing rhythm, began to stroke her with his rough tongue.
Raven thought she must be dreaming, for surely it was impossible that she was yielding herself to Heath Kennedy and allowing him to make love to her with his mouth. The exquisite pleasure she felt was far too real for a dream, and she threaded her fingers into his hair to make sure it was really happening. She felt his thumbs open her wider, then felt him thrust deeper. She began to writhe, wanting to enjoy this arousal to the full, wishing the dark erotic sensations could go on forever. She began to pant with need, then heard him moan; it took more than a moment for Raven to realize the moan came from her throat. She held his dark head to her hot center, then the pleasure became too intense to bear, and she arched up off the bed and cried out his name, “Heath, Heath!”
The Border Hostage Page 19