Wild Bells to the Wild Sky

by Laurie McBain

  Lily was speechless with embarrassment. He was going to fast, presuming too much, she told herself in growing confusion as she met his ardent gaze. He loved her?

  "Kiss me, Lily," he said softly, his lips just a breath away from hers. "Kiss me like you did at the fair . . . No?" he murmured, his tongue lightly touching her lips when she remained unresponsive.

  Lily felt a dryness in her throat and parted her lips, prepared to speak, but his tongue touched hers, and her mouth opened wider under the pressure of his. She remembered the pleasurable touching of their mouths once before and found herself responding to the pressure, her tongue licking against his now as the kiss deepened in intensity.

  His hands moved along her back, sending a tingling sensation along her spine. They moved around to touch her breasts, gently and slowly until they swelled in his hands, the nipples rising taut beneath the thin linen of her chemise.

  Her lips were still caught by his, his tongue moving against hers, savoring the warm softness of the entwining. His hands moved lower to encompass her small waist, then slide over the curve of her hips and the firm roundness of her buttocks. His hand moved down to her thighs, caressing their slender length, then surprising her when one of them lifted up her petticoat and slid between her thighs to move along the soft inner flesh to where she had begun to feel a slow quivering deep inside. Lily sucked in her breath when she felt his finger touching her so intimately, causing her breath to quicken.

  Sensing her confusion at his boldness, and the sensations she'd never experienced before, he stopped, his hand moving away and leaving her feeling oddly empty and longing for those tingling sensations again.

  He had never stopped kissing her, and when he finally lifted his mouth from hers, her lips felt numb. "Lily?" he questioned. "You and I belong together. You belong to me now, Lily. I did not realize it at the time, but you have been mine since I first saw you here on this isle. And when I saw you riding along the riverbank, you belonged to me then. Only then I didn't realize the truth. And, Lily, I belong to you. You are my love, my only love. I intend that you shall be mine completely, Lily Francisca. I will not lose you again, not now that I have found you. It only seems right that we should come to know one another as lovers here on this isle. We are already friends, aren't we, my dear? Now I wish to become your lover," he said, his voice low and husky and very seductive.

  He was bending over her, his thumb moving along the delicate line of her jaw, his mouth so close to taking hers again. The turquoise eyes were bright beneath the heavy lids that half-masked their expression.

  Valentine Whitelaw stared down into her pale face, her lips reddened from his kisses, her breath shallow and coming quickly, her pale green eyes glowing mysteriously as she met his gaze openly. He could see the love in them and he thrilled to that knowledge.

  Lily stretched her arms up to entwine them around his neck and pull his head down to hers, their lips meeting in a long kiss that sealed the promise of their newfound love. "The isle has not lost its enchantment," she murmured, losing herself in Valentine Whitelaw's embrace, melding herself to him, drawing from his warmth and strength. And something told her that her mother and father and Basil would have been pleased by the choice she had made this day.

  Valentine's hands moved quickly, surprising her by his deftness as he removed her petticoat and chemise, leaving her body bared to his gaze. He stared down at her ivory-tinted flesh, at the soft womanly curves that beckoned for a man's touch. Her breasts were high and firm, the pink nipples hardening under his gaze, but she continued to lie there, not trying to cover herself when his eyes wandered lower to where she had yet to know the full passion of his lovemaking and truly become a woman. His hand reached out to caress her, sliding over her smooth belly to feel the softness nestled between her thighs and letting her experience the growing pleasure his touch would bring her.

  He removed his shirt and breeches, his hose pulled off with little care to turning them rightside out. He felt her eyes upon him and allowed her to gaze at him. He stood tall before her, his chest broad and covered with fine black hairs. Lean-waisted, with narrow hips and long muscular thighs, he now gave her the pleasure she had afforded him moments before by letting him gaze so boldly upon her. Smiling, he took her hand and guided it to him, startling her by the vibrancy of him.

  He spread out the discarded petticoat, then lifted her up and placed her on it; then he was beside her, pulling her into his arms, his hands sliding over her, caressing her flesh, learning about her body with an intimacy that even she'd been ignorant of.

  His mouth was against her breasts, his tongue moving around the pink crest and taut nipple while his hands fondled her. His mouth moved over her body, leaving no part of her free of his touch. When she felt his hands spread her thighs, holding them wide for his entry, her nails were digging into his back, her hips already beginning to move sensuously against him. Her lips clung to his as he kissed her deeply, then she felt his hardness entering her, moving slowly inside of her, until she gasped with the sharp pain of his intrusion against the tender softness, untouched until now.

  He paused, allowing her to learn the feel of him, of the throbbing that would soon turn to delight when he moved against her with increasing passion.

  He felt her hands spreading against his back, moving lower to hold him closer against her as she began to feel the passion of his embrace increasing, and when she began to move her hips against him, he responded, carrying her with him as he felt her tightness holding him to her, caressing him in a way that left him unable to stop until he'd felt the climax of their lovemaking. He felt her thighs wrapped around him, then heard her moan of pleasure as her hips moved with his, and never before had a woman seemed so perfect for him, for his desires. They came together at the same time, her eyes so green with surprised pleasure that he felt the full measure of love by having pleased her as well as having received the ultimate gift from her body.

  Their passion spent, Valentine continued to hold Lily close in his arms, his hands fondling her gently while they lay there, unwilling to break the contact between them. Lily drew a deep breath, her breasts pressing against his chest. She moved closer, molding her body to his trustingly, and with her head against his shoulder and the sound of the sea surrounding them, they drifted into sleep knowing a shared contentment that came of their love.

  Lily awoke to find the cave empty. She sat up, glancing around nervously. She felt the coolness of the air against her bare skin and realized that she had been there lying naked. The shirt Valentine had placed over her had fallen off. Shivering, Lily struggled into her chemise and petticoat. Her breasts were sore from Valentine's caress, and she felt a tenderness between her thighs. But as she thought of the love they had found, she welcomed the pain of that first coupling.

  Hurrying to the cave entrance, she carefully left the concealing darkness, blinking when the brightness of the sun struck her eyes. She stood on the path staring out to sea.

  The Spanish galleon had gone. Her gaze searched the gentle curve of beach. Suddenly she saw his tall, lean figure walking along the sands, pausing now and again as he stared out to sea.

  She stood for a moment watching him, remembering, and she felt her heart miss a beat as she stared down at him, knowing he was her lover.

  "Lily!"

  Lily waved back, hurrying down the path to the beach below. She followed the wandering trail of his footsteps across the sands, stopping once to pick a couple of fragrant, lush blossoms from the forest.

  By the time she returned to the beach, he had come most of the distance and was standing watching her. Her arms were raised above her head, drawing her chemise tight across the firm, rounded breasts he'd suckled the night before. The breeze molded her petticoat to her hips and thighs, leaving little to the imagination, which he no longer needed, for he had tasted of her body, become a part of her, and, perhaps, he had even planted his seed deep inside that nurturing place.

  "The galleon, it is gone, Valentine!
"

  "I know. I thought she would be. There was no reason for them to stay any longer, thinking we'd drowned in the cove."

  "If . . . we ever return to England--" Lily began, twirling around and around as she flirted with the waves, suddenly feeling shy with him as she caught that ardent glint in his eye.

  "When we return to England," Valentine corrected her, his arms pulling her into his embrace. Her hair was fragrant with the exotic, deep red blossoms she'd woven into the long strands, and her skin smelled of the sea; he kissed her shoulder and wasn't surprised that it tasted of salt. "There is a cove, very sheltered, beneath the cliffs at Ravindzara. There is a sandy beach and the waters are as clear and warm as these. The winds are gentle, blowing in from the sea. You and I will go there often, Lily Francisca. And at sunset, when the sky is aflame, we will lie on a silken rug and make love throughout the night. No one will disturb us, for they will know that the master of Ravindzara and his beautiful bride, who may indeed be from the sea, are wrapped in each other's arms, lost to the world and--"

  "Valentine, please, you must listen," Lily protested.

  "I do not want to listen," he said, his mouth finding hers and silencing her protest, and despite her intentions she found herself responding wildly to his caresses.

  He knelt in the sand, pulling her down on top of him, his mouth never leaving hers while he kissed her, his hands moving over her rounded hips, holding her to him until she became aware of his intentions through the thin petticoat.

  "Valentine, not here."

  "Yes, here. There is no one to see, and I want you, my love," he warned.

  "I have to speak with you. We shouldn't be doing this. What happened last night..." she began uncomfortably. "You don't have to feel you must marry me. I would understand. I'm not the kind of woman a man would wish for his wife. You should marry someone like--like Honoria. She would make a far better wife than I ever could. She has all of the graces. I am not a proper person, Valentine. My life had been very unusual. I do not always act in a civilized manner, despite what Basil tried to teach me."

  "I would be bored with anyone else, my love, my only love," Valentine murmured against her lips, laughing softly. "Always thinking of others rather than yourself. But I am astounded that you would sacrifice me for what you mistakenly think is right and proper. You will become my wife, Lily. Accept that fact, my dear. Indeed, you are already my lover and, to my mind, my wife. When you allowed me to become your lover, 'twas no dalliance between us. You and I will be lovers forever. Never doubt that. But to make certain you never leave me, we will say our vows for the world to hear. And the church bells shall ring in celebration of our marriage vows. No one will ever take you from me. I hold what is mine, Lily Francisca Christian. Love me now, Lily," he said, his lips devouring hers until she had no breath lift in a body that was no longer hers, for he had claimed it as his prize.

  "You seem so very certain that we will return to England," she managed to say faintly when his lips parted from hers for an instant so she could draw breath. "I wish I had your faith, Valentine. The Madrigal is gone. She-she may have been . . ." Lily paused, unwilling even to think such a thought, especially since Simon was aboard Valentine's ship.

  "Faith? Yes, I have faith, faith in my men," he said with a smile, his narrowed gaze searching the horizon almost impatiently until he felt Lily's hands caressing him boldly and realized that he would have her to himself in this paradise for a little while longer.

  It wasn't until early the following day that his faith seemed justified and his search proved worthwhile, for just beyond the reefs, flying the red cross of St. George, was the Madrigal, her cannon firing a salute to her captain on shore.

  He was a gentleman on whom I built

  An absolute trust.

  SHAKESPEARE

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  THE MADRIGAL’S SAILS had seemed to sing, catching the wind and billowing with a thundering song. The curving sheets of canvas had been burnished by the sun from dawn till dusk, while shimmering sea had stretched as far as the eye could see.

  Under press of canvas, all her sails set and drawing well, the Madrigal had held steady to her course with the westerlies keeping her sails rapping full. Leaving the warm waters of the Gulf Stream that had carried her north, she turned toward home with the wind off her quarter, the gilded figurehead of the sea maid riding the waves as the trim ship gave easily to the motion of sea and wind.

  In the Madrigal's wake, each trying for the weather gage, were several of her sister ships, their captains crowding on in a friendly but competitive race. But the Madrigal remained apart, forging ahead, her captain setting every stitch of canvas as he raced with the wind, scattering the white horses cresting in foaming waves before her bow.

  More than the others, he had reason to reach the shores of England.

  The Madrigal made the crossing in less than a month, almost beating the twenty-three days it had taken Drake ten years earlier to cross the Atlantic after his successful raid on Nombre de Dios.

  She was anchored now just below Greenwich, where her captain had gone ashore for a private audience with Elizabeth. Lord Burghley had received the news of her docking immediately upon the Madrigal's arrival and, on the strength of his own suspicions, had already alerted a troop of guardsmen to stand ready.

  Valentine Whitelaw had been escorted into the palace through a back entrance, along a darkened corridor empty of courtiers or servants, with only the yeomen of the guard in full livery to guide him along its narrow length.

  The captain of the guard allowed him entrance into the privy chamber. Elizabeth, as was often her custom, had dined alone. The wide assortment of dishes that had been offered for her selection had been tested for poisoning by her yeomen before being served to her. It was a ceremony Valentine had witnessed once before, when a lady-in-waiting had given a spoonful of the dish each yeoman had carried to that man to taste, lest he have been tempted to poison it along its route from the royal kitchens. The gilt plate was now being removed while stacks of correspondence and treatises which needed Elizabeth's perusal and response were being placed across the table in order of importance.

  "Your Majesty." Valentine Whitelaw knelt on one knee before her, his head downbent.

  "Rise, my captain."

  Valentine Whitelaw rose before his queen. Elizabeth stood before her throne in royal splendor; her satin gown was of a brilliant shade of marigold and embroidered with brightly colored silks and encrusted with sparkling jewels; her red-gold curls were crowned by what appeared to be a sunburst of gold tipped with rubies and pearls; a high-standing ruff of the finest lace framed her head and shoulders, while the delicate layers of a lace collarette were starched to unfold like the petals of the flowers she loved to surround herself with. A fragrant rose was pinned to her breast and the scent of lavender floated from the silken folds of her gown when she gracefully took her seat, but she sat rigidly, despite the tall-backed support of her throne, and she ignored the sable rug that might have warmed her knees.

  "Away! Leave us!" she said, gesturing impatiently for her maids of honor, ladies-in-waiting, and various officials flocking around to leave.

  Valentine Whitelaw continued to stand alone before Elizabeth, oblivious of the rustling of silken skirts and petticoats and the curious glances being sent his way by those insulted officials not important enough to remain during his audience with Elizabeth. He felt her dark eyes on him and finally met her speculative gaze.

  "You need say nothing. I can see form the graveness of your expression, Master Mariner, that your voyage has been successful," she spoke harshly, her long, slender fingers straying to the heavy ropes of pearls that dangled from her neck. Her ringed fingers moved nervously along the gleaming coils and were the only indication of her growing unease.

  "Indeed, ma'am, although there is much sadness and little victory in finding that we have been betrayed by those we have placed an absolute trust in," Valentine spoke softly, his turquoise eyes sha
dowed by that betrayal.

  The door to the chamber opened to allow Lord Burghley's dark-clad figure to enter, then it closed behind him, shutting off the sounds of laughter and music drifting from the great hall.

  Valentine Whitelaw reached inside his doublet, where the leather-bound journal had been safely hidden from all eyes, and withdrew the book. He stepped forward and held it out to Elizabeth.

  "My brother's journal."

  By her wish, Lord Burghley carefully took the book, half expecting it to crumble to dust in his hand. "You have read it? It proves our suspicions?"

  Valentine Whitelaw nodded. "Basil did a fine job. He left detailed descriptions of everything he saw and heard. Names, dates, places, his impressions of the people he met, the gossip he was privy to. It was while at the home of Don Rodrigo, Magdalena Christian's father, that Basil saw to Englishmen he knew well. They were traveling in the company of a priest and Don Pedro Villasandro, captain of the Estrella D'Alba. They had just arrived from Spain aboard his ship.

  "He was, of course, suspicious of their presence in Santo Domingo. By bribing a fisherman, Basil managed to get aboard the Estrella D'Alba. From his vantage point on the balcony outside the captain's cabin, he overheard Sir Raymond Valchamps plotting an assassination-his queen's."

  "And the other gentleman?" Elizabeth asked.

  Lord Burghley had been quickly thumbing through the book, noting with some surprise the information revealed in Basil Whitelaw's neat hand. Now he held the journal open for his queen to read the name printed therein.

  "I will have the warrants for their arrest drawn up immediately. As of the last report I received, Sir Raymond Valchamps had not yet left his townhouse. We may be able to apprehend him before he leaves the city and learns of Captain Whitelaw's return. Even should he try to flee to the coast, we have him in our grasp now," Lord Burghley stated. "We have said nothing of our suspicions of him. Of course, he knew you would have spoken to us concerning his attempted murder of Mistress Christian, but he would have known we had little proof; no more than her word against his. He has behaved as he always has-as if innocent of any wrongdoing. Indeed, I would have been surprised had he tried to flee the country. He would have wished to protect his good name had you not returned. And fleeing to France would have made him look very guilty indeed. However, I had thought him uncommonly calm considering the predicament he finds himself in. I realize now that he had every reason to believe that you would never return to England. He and his friends have been a step ahead of you since the beginning. You have my admiration, Captain, for having managed to escape the trap they surely set for you," Lord Burghley complimented him, a curious expression in his eye.