This Fierce Splendor: A Loveswept Classic Romance

by Iris Johansen

  “It was a snake,” Dominic said. “It’s dead now. Stop hitting it, Elspeth.”

  “No, it will come back. I have to …”

  “God!” He tore the stick away from her hand and threw it aside. He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. “Listen to me. It won’t come back. It’s dead, Elspeth, you killed it.” Rain was running down his face, plastering his dark curls to his head. “Everything is all right now, Elspeth.”

  “No, the snake …”

  Dominic stepped back, releasing her. “I’ll get rid of the snake. Stay here, don’t move.”

  He was bending and picking up something. He had that horror in his hands!

  “Don’t do it! You’ll—”

  “Hush, Elspeth.” His voice was soothing. “It won’t hurt me.” Then he was striding off into the darkness. He was back almost immediately. “There. It’s gone. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  The snake couldn’t hurt Dominic. A harsh sob broke from her throat. It hurt. She hurt. She fell to her knees on the muddy ground, hugging herself, barely conscious of the rain driving ceaselessly against her body.

  “Elspeth, no …” Dominic was kneeling in front of her. He sounded as if he were hurting, too, she thought numbly. She wanted to help him, but she couldn’t seem to move. “Elspeth, love, don’t do this to me. God, don’t cry!”

  She couldn’t seem to stop. The sobs kept coming, hurting.

  Dominic’s hands were cradling her face and he was looking down into her eyes. “Why didn’t you just call me? You didn’t have to do it yourself.”

  She shook her head. “I had to do it myself. Daddy said I mustn’t be afraid. I mustn’t be a coward.”

  “You’re not a coward, you’re very brave.” Dominic’s voice was urgent. “You have to believe that.” His fingers gently brushed back a damp strand of hair from her cheek. “Why did your father say you were a coward?”

  “The cobra. I didn’t drink my milk that night and a cobra crawled through the window of my room.” The words were tumbling out. “I woke up and it was on the table beside my bed, where I’d left the milk. Milk attracts snakes, you know.”

  “No, I didn’t know.”

  “I screamed and screamed. My father was working in another room and came in to see what was wrong. He sent one of the boys to kill it. He was very angry with me. He had warned me about leaving my milk, but I forgot. I forgot. I didn’t mean to do it.”

  “I know you didn’t.” Her cheek was suddenly against his breast. She could feel the warmth of his skin through the damp material of his shirt. His fingers tangled in her wet hair as he rocked her. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “I didn’t want him to leave me. I was so afraid. He said I was a coward to be so frightened. He said—”

  “I don’t want to hear what he said,” Dominic interrupted harshly. “It was all lies spoken by a cruel little bastard who deserved to be drawn and quartered.” His arms tightened around her. “Do you hear me? It doesn’t matter what he said. None of it was true. You would have been stupid not to have been afraid. You’re a very brave woman.”

  “Not as brave as Silver.” Her words were muffled in his shirt.

  “Yes.” His chin was nuzzling back and forth across the top of her head. “Just as brave. It takes a different kind of courage to face up to what we fear the most. You did that tonight. You went after that snake like a little tiger.”

  “I’m not a coward?” she whispered.

  “No.” His voice was choked. “God, no.”

  Relief was sweeping over her. Dominic said she had no reason to be ashamed. She was not a coward. No matter how many times she had defended herself to her father, she knew now she had never really been sure he wasn’t right. She had desperately needed someone to say these words. The sobs lessened and then faded into tiny hiccoughs. “Thank you.”

  “For telling the truth?”

  “For making me believe it was the truth.”

  He pushed her away from him to look down into her face. “Are you all right now?”

  She nodded and then promptly gave another hiccough to belie the affirmation. She gave a husky laugh. “You’re wet. I’m sorry that I seem to have destroyed your splendid lean-to.”

  “I’ve been wet before.” His hands cupped her cheeks caressingly. “And you’re not only wet, you’re muddy.”

  “I rolled out of the lean-to into the mud.” She hoped he wouldn’t take his hands away, they felt so warm and loving. She wanted to turn her lips to touch his palm. “What do we do now?”

  “We get you clean and dry. Lord knows how.” His hands dropped away from her cheeks. Emptiness. Loneliness.

  She suddenly chuckled as she turned to see the destruction she had wrought. The lean-to was now only a large heap of sticks.

  “You find our situation amusing?” Dominic asked.

  “I’m sorry. I was just regretting that I was too busy killing that horrible reptile to see your expression when the lean-to fell around your ears. You must have looked like Samson after he had destroyed the temple.”

  “The comparison isn’t quite accurate.” Dominic began to shift the ocotillo into some semblance of an orderly pile. “Though in both cases it was a woman who caused the destruction.”

  “Should you be doing that? What if that snake had brothers or sisters?”

  “After that crash and screaming, there won’t be a snake within five miles of here.”

  “What can I do?”

  “Find a way to get dry.” He had finally uncovered the saddlebags from beneath the rubble. “Do you have anything in your saddlebags that might help?”

  “I don’t think so. You told me not to bring anything that wasn’t necessary and—” She stopped. “There’s my plaid.”

  “Your plaid?”

  “My family tartan.” She knelt beside her saddlebag and unfastened the thong. “The MacGregor plaid.”

  “And you regarded this tartan as necessary?”

  She didn’t look up as she rummaged in the saddlebag. “Surely you must see I couldn’t leave my plaid?”

  Dominic watched her kneeling in the rain, muddied, soaked to the skin, her expression solemn. The tenderness he felt was almost unbearable. “Yes, I can see that.”

  “Ah, here it is.” She drew out the folded red and black plaid and stood up. “I’ll go see if I can get rid of this mud.”

  “And I’ll see if I can rebuild the lean-to. Will you need the lantern?”

  She shivered as she had a vision of a multitude of writhing snakes waiting in the darkness. But Dominic had said there would be no snakes, and he needed the lantern more than she did. “No.” She turned away and walked down the incline toward the trees where she had tethered the animals.

  The simplest way to remove the mud was to shed her clothes, take down her hair, and stand in the rain, letting the water cleanse her. It was a strangely sensual experience, standing naked in the forest as some primitive ancestress might have done.

  She was almost sorry to have to step back under the tree. She brought her damp hair over her shoulder and wrung it out as best she could. She wrapped the large red and black plaid around her, draping it over her head and then folding it at her breasts. She drew on her brown leather boots and found the ensemble reasonably modest. The plaid was large enough to meet the tops of her knee-high boots and, as long as she kept a firm hold on the material at her breast, it was like being enveloped in a blanket. The thick wool was soft, cozy, and blessedly dry.

  The rain had lessened to a fine mist by the time Elspeth walked back up the hill to where Dominic was reconstructing the lean-to. She was pleasantly surprised to find the task completed and Dominic building a small fire within the lean-to. “You’ve been very quick.”

  “I had a goad. I don’t like being wet.” The kindling finally caught but the fire immediately went out. Dominic muttered a disgusted curse. “It’s no use. The wood is damp. Everything is damp. The blankets are dry because they were buried beneath the wood when
the roof collapsed but …” He trailed off as he looked up and saw her. The red and black of the plaid tartan was a vivid patch of color in the lantern light, beautifully framing her face, lending color to her cheeks. Her eyes were a shimmering deep emerald and she looked as exotic as a brilliantly plumed parrot. “I like your family tartan.” He cleared his throat and lowered his eyes to begin working on the fire again. “Come under here before you get soaked through again.”

  It was another ten minutes before a small if smoky blaze was started. Though the heat was not needed for warmth, it still felt wonderful to ward off the dampness that clung to their clothing, hair, and skin.

  “That should do it,” Dominic said as he reached into his saddlebag and pulled out a length of cotton cloth with which to wipe his face and neck.

  “You’re very wet. You’d best change.”

  “In a minute.” He sat down near the fire and held out his hands to the flames. He closed his eyes as the heat began to soak into him, an expression of sensual pleasure tautening his features. “I must be half cat. Lord, I hate to be wet.”

  Her gaze was on his face and she trembled. He had the same expression she had seen when he looked down at her in the big bed at Killara.

  “I remember once when I was a kid out on a trail drive, a big storm blew up and we had to ride herd for three solid days in a steady downpour. I got so tired of mud and boots that squished and—” He broke off as he looked directly at Elspeth. He inhaled sharply. “Oh, no, don’t do this to me. Not now, Elspeth.”

  “I’m not doing anything,” she whispered. On the contrary, something was being done to her, for her bones were surely melting and she was dizzy and disoriented. “I’m just listening to you.”

  “You’re doing something all right.” His gaze clung to her face. “And you’ve got to stop it. I can’t do this by myself; you have to help me.”

  “Help you do what?” Her tone was soft, edged with dreams. The beauty of his lips held her spellbound. She wanted to reach out and touch his lower lip, trace it to the corners where the smile began. She couldn’t remember ever wanting to touch anyone before. Perhaps years ago, when she was a child, before her father had taught her that touching others was to be discouraged and suppressed.

  “Elspeth …” He reached out impulsively to touch her, and then stopped. His hand fell to his side and clenched into a fist. “Don’t do this to me. I’m trying like hell to keep my promise.” His light eyes were glittering. “I’m trying, dammit.”

  It was the time for them to be together. She knew it in some mystical fashion that sprang from within her like a seedling searching for the sun. But to make it happen she must be bold, she must have the bravery Dominic claimed she possessed. “I’ve been thinking quite a bit lately.” She lowered her eyes to the fire. “I believe I would like to have a child. After all, the life of a scholar can sometimes be lonely, and I doubt if I shall ever marry again. Perhaps this will be my last chance to—”

  He stiffened as if struck by a bullet. “What the hell are you saying to me?”

  The soft color stole into her cheeks. “I think I’m making myself reasonably clear.”

  “Oh, you’re clear enough, but there’s nothing reasonable about it, neither in your words nor in your thinking.” He was suddenly kneeling beside her. He was pale, a muscle jerking in his cheek, and his gaze held hers with an emotion close to anger. “For God’s sake, be honest with me, you don’t want my child. Shall I tell you what you want? You want me. You want me touching you, moving in you. You want me to unwrap you from that MacGregor tartan you’re so proud of and lay you down and move over you. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” She lifted her head and looked at him. “I do want everything you’ve mentioned, but I would also like your child.”

  “Why?” he asked blankly. “Why me?”

  “I told you, I don’t think I will have the opportunity—” She stopped. She would not lie to him. She drew a deep breath and said simply. “I love you. I believe I always will, Dominic Delaney.”

  “My God,” Dominic said softly.

  “Naturally, I wouldn’t want you to feel obligated, but if it would please you to … You said all women were similar. I would try to—”

  “Shut up!” The hoarse words were wrenched from him. “Lord, love, please shut up.”

  “I can’t.” She looked at him, her green eyes shimmering with tears. “It’s too important to me. You didn’t seem to find me distasteful before and I would try my best to please you. I learn quickly. Even a hetaera must begin at the beginning, and from the murals on the walls of the temples, it appears some of them weren’t attractive either. One of the ladies had quite a monstrous hooked nose and—”

  His fingers touched her lips. “Shhh, you’re tearing me apart. I can’t take any more of this. I don’t know how I’ve held on to my sanity for as long as I have.”

  She swallowed. “Then you will … do it.”

  “I’m very much afraid I will,” he said regretfully. His fingers moved to caress her cheekbone. “For a while I thought I was going to turn into a gentleman after all. I guess I should have known I’d never make it.” He pushed the plaid from her head and let it fall to her shoulders. “Your hair is still damp.” He buried his hands in her long tresses, slowly letting the locks flow between his fingers. “Cool,” he said thickly, “and slick.”

  She found she was holding her breath. The slight tugging was setting off tiny sparks in her scalp. “You like it?”

  “I like all of you,” he murmured. “Oh, Azuquita, where are you now that I need you?”

  “What?”

  “Never mind, it’s too late anyway.” One hand left her hair to cover her hand clutching the plaid at her breast. He carefully unclasped her fingers and slowly pushed aside the edges of the tartan to reveal the nakedness beneath the wool. He froze, looking at her, the pulse in his throat hammering. “Oh, yes, much too late.”

  She closed her eyes, her cheeks ablaze with color. Shyness. Excitement. And a passionate desire for reassurance. “Why?” she whispered. “Why are you doing this? It isn’t pity?”

  “Pity? How little you understand.” He carefully pushed the tartan from her shoulders and it fell to the ground behind her.

  “Then why?”

  He bent his head and laid his lips on the pulse pounding in the hollow of her throat. “Any number of reasons.”

  “Give me one.”

  “You don’t have a monstrous hooked nose.” He pushed her back on the tartan and shifted back to take off her boots.

  “Oh.” She tried to think of something else to say, but she was finding it increasingly difficult to form either words or thoughts in a mind overflowing with the physical imagery of Dominic. The sight of bronze skin, translucent gray-blue eyes, and a smile brimming with tenderness was causing her to gaze up at him in wonder. Then he kissed her, and thought disappeared entirely. When he lifted his head and would have moved away from her, she reached up to stop him. “No,” she whispered. “Stay.”

  “I’ll be back.” He sat back on his heels and his fingers went to the buttons of his shirt, his gaze on Elspeth lying naked before him, her hair spread like a glowing tawny escutcheon on the red plaid of the tartan. If he lived to be a hundred, he knew he would remember this moment and the gifts she was offering him. Beauty, love, and courage—precious gifts, every one. He stripped off his shirt, peeling the wet material from his skin and tossing it aside.

  Her shyness was gone, she realized with surprise. She was experiencing desire, anticipation, uncertainty, but no shyness. There was something so inexplicably tender in his manner that prohibited any feeling of discomfort. Would he think her bold? But surely the women he was accustomed to weren’t shy either and he … She lost her train of thought as her gaze wandered lovingly over him. How beautiful he was. The soft dark thatch of hair on his chest was irresistibly inviting, and she sat up on one elbow to reach out her hand to touch it. He glanced up from unfastening his belt to
look at her.

  She felt the color sting her cheeks, not so bold after all. “This feels different from the hair on your head. Rougher.” Her fingers tangled in the springy thatch. “You don’t mind my doing this?”

  “I like you to touch me.” He took her hand and placed her palm flat against his chest. He held her gaze as he slowly rubbed her hand up and down over his flesh, letting her feel the textures of him, the smooth, warm skin over supple muscles, the faint prickle of wiry hair, the hard pounding of his heart vibrating through his body and into her own through the sensitive flesh of her palm.

  She was suddenly trembling, her heart beating as erratically as Dominic’s. Her hand slipped down over his torso, tracing the line of dark hair to where it disappeared into the waistband of his trousers.

  He shuddered. She could feel the muscles of his stomach bunch and tauten beneath her hand. “I like it too much. You’d better stop. I can’t hurry this time.”

  “Why not?”

  He took her hand from his stomach and smiled down at her with an expression she had never seen before on his face. A glowing tenderness, almost a sweetness, that set oddly on his usually cynical features. “I told you once I wasn’t a welcher. Last time you gave me more than I gave you. I was so damn drunk, all I could think about was how much I needed you. I should have been gentler. I should have taken more time.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the palm. His lips were warm, teasing her flesh. “I was rough as hell. It’s a wonder you don’t hate me.”

  “I don’t remember you being rough.” She remembered nothing but heat and possession and Dominic within her body. “It seemed entirely … adequate.”

  He flinched. “Adequate. What a puling word.” A sudden flicker of humor touched his lips. “I guess I’ll just have to work on changing your opinion. Stay right where you are, love.” He moved out of the lean-to and rapidly discarded the rest of his clothing. Then he was kneeling beside her, his face alight with the same smile that had shaken her before. His bronze flesh was burnished by the firelight and his voice was velvet soft as he gathered her close. “Now, let me see what I can do about banishing that word from your mind. Part your legs, love.” His fingers ran down her body, delicate and loving as a sculptor creating a work of art. Everywhere he touched was blessed with fire—her breasts, her throat, her belly. His hands nudged her legs apart and he moved between them, stroking the nest of curls surrounding her womanhood, his fingers splaying out to tangle and play. “You’re different here too. Not rough, just different.” His head bent and he slowly rubbed his cheek back and forth on her belly. The faint abrasion of the stubble on his chin was wildly exciting. “Soft and yet strong …” His teeth nipped gently at that softness, and then his tongue followed to soothe and tease. She could feel his warm breath on her flesh, then his moist tongue moving lazily. The muscles of her belly tautened in response.