With This Kiss: A First-In Series Romance Collection

by Kerrigan Byrne

  "Don't forget the pommel," Meggie cautioned.

  "It's in the barn with the tack," Jesse assured her. "When I ride out the door, I'll be covered and dry as a terrapin in the high grass."

  With that he was gone and hurrying to the barn. Roe and Meggie both watched him. When he disappeared into the broad clapboard door of the barn, Roe turned back to his shingles. Meggie hesitated at the doorway.

  "I'm sure he'll be all right," she said.

  "Of course he will," Roe assured her. "Jesse knows every inch of this mountain and he's a pretty good hand at taking care of himself."

  Meggie nodded. "I know that he is, but I guess I still worry."

  Roe smiled. "It's good to have a sister to worry about you," he said.

  Meggie turned to glance at him. She gave him a long curious look. "You don't have any sisters." It was a statement, not a question. "You don't talk about your family much."

  "There isn't anyone to talk about," he said. "My parents died when I was young. I hardly know the other people I'm related to."

  "It seems strange, not having any kin."

  Meggie's observation was disconcerting and the following silence between them was long and extremely uncomfortable, broken finally by a holler from Jesse as he left the barn. Meggie waved to him and watched until he was out of sight. Roe continued with his work.

  "I suppose I should get back to the house," she said.

  Roe looked up at her and then glanced out into the yard beyond. "It doesn't seem likely to let up any," he said. "It's too bad you don't have your own pommel slicker."

  Laughing at the idea of a woman having her own slicker, Meggie shook out her apron and placed it around her shoulders. "This works well enough to get me between the house and the yard," she explained.

  The smile that Roe had missed was there upon her face. Her cheeks were flushed a pretty pink and her blue-gray eyes seemed darker and deeper than he'd ever noticed before. The sight of her warmed him deep inside and from his heart, and deep within his chest the lines of a song burst forth in a full broad baritone.

  "She had her apron wrapped about her

  And he took her for a swan."

  Meggie was astonished at the clear, pure sound of his voice. She realized that she'd never heard him sing before. With a curious sense of camaraderie she offered the next stanza in her slightly nasal soprano.

  "Ah, but alas it was me

  Polly Vaughn."

  He smiled at her. She smiled back.

  "Is that one of the songs from across the sea that you're collecting?"

  Roe nodded. "Yes, it's old English," he answered. "Murder ballads were very popular in olden times. I think it may have been a way of teaching people about the consequences of crime."

  Meggie was thoughtful. "Our people still sing them."

  "And they have made up their own," Roe said. "Have you heard 'Poor Omy Wise'?"

  "Oh, yes," she answered. "It's such a sad story."

  "It's not just a story," Roe said. "It's actually based on the murder of Naomi Wise in Deep River, North Carolina, in 1808."

  "He told her to meet him at Adams's spring.

  He said he'd bring money and a weddin' ring.

  So fool-like she met him down at the spring.

  But he'd brought not money, nor a weddin' ring."

  Meggie listened to Roe sing the words and joined in with him.

  " 'Have mercy on my baby and spare me my life.

  I'll go home a beggar and never be your wife.'

  He kissed her, he hugged her and turned her around

  And pushed her in deep water, where he knew

  That she would drown."

  "You mean it's all true?"

  "I don't know if it's all true, but she was murdered. And her sweetheart, Jonathan Lewis, was hanged for the crime.

  Meggie shook her head sadly. "It's hard to believe a man would kill a woman who was carrying his child. A decent man would want to marry her."

  "Of course, he would," Roe agreed. "But maybe she wouldn't marry him."

  She almost disagreed with him, as little Omy's desire for marriage was made clear in the song. But when Meggie looked up, she realized that Roe was no longer talking about two long-dead lovers in a far-off place.

  She swallowed nervously. "I'm not carrying a child," she said finally.

  "Good," Roe said, then realized the minute the word left his mouth that he didn't feel "good." He felt confused and relieved, disappointed and grateful. Truthfully, he didn’t know what he felt, but it wasn't good.

  He looked into her eyes for a long moment and she turned away.

  "I'd best get back to the house," she said.

  "Stay." It was whispered, but she heard it.

  At first he thought she would leave anyway, but she draped her apron across her arm and turned back to the room.

  She wandered aimlessly for a couple of minutes, looking at things that were familiar, not looking at him, before making a seat for herself on the crossbar of a sawbuck.

  The silence between them was uncomfortable and Roe had the fleeting wish that he hadn't spoken. But the sight of her lifted his spirits somehow and if she went away the day would get that much grayer.

  "I've never heard you sing before," she said.

  Roe looked up and shrugged modestly. "There is so much good music around me and I love to hear it."

  "You have a wonderful voice."

  "Untrained," he answered. "I usually only sing when I'm all alone."

  "I guess that's what most of us do," Meggie said.

  Roe glanced at her curiously. "Is it?" He moved over to her and took a seat on a nearby planing bench. "I don't actually know very many people well enough to know what they do when they are by themselves. When I was a boy and scared and alone," he admitted with a self-deprecating grin, "I used to sing to myself to keep away the goblins or the bogeyman or whatever."

  She smiled back at him, the tension between them lightening. "Lots of bogeymen in the Bay State, are there?"

  "More than enough," he assured her.

  "Did ye run to your mama's bed to ask her to chase the bad dreams away?"

  "No." He shook his head thoughtfully. "I can't even recall my mother's face. I remember being in her room, but I don't remember her."

  Roe heard the wistfulness in his own voice and cleared his throat before he continued. "I was only five when my father sent me off to school. I was by far the youngest boy in attendance. Even the most rigid of parents usually kept their boys at home until age eight."

  Meggie's brow furrowed. "You must have been awfully smart to need schooling so early."

  "It wasn't my need for schooling, it was his need to get me out from underfoot." He glanced over at Meggie, but couldn't bear the look of concern in her eyes, so he dropped his gaze and focused instead on her long, narrow bare feet, damp and muddy from her run across the yard. Suddenly, he wanted to tell her, to tell her everything.

  "My mother was sick," he said. "She never truly recovered from my birth. My father wasn't much for children and I was undoubtedly loud and rambunctious." Roe was smiling, but there was no pleasure in it. "Truly, I hardly recall those days. My earliest memories are being at school."

  "Where you sang songs to keep away the bogeymen."

  "Yes."

  "I'm sorry," she said. "You must have been very lonely at the time."

  "Oh, I got used to it," he assured her. "I guess I've always been lonely, my whole life until—"

  He didn't finish the statement. Somehow he didn't have to. Both of them knew, suddenly, unquestionably, what he was going to say.

  Roe stared out the open doorway, then glanced back at Meggie. Her expression was understanding. As if she knew what his confession had cost him. As if she was happy that it was her family and her community that had kept Monroe Farley from being alone again. He smiled at her.

  She grinned back.

  They sat there, sharing the moment as the rain continued to pour down, running along the edge
of the single slope roof and spattering loudly onto the already soaked ground. Once more the silence lay between them, but there was no uneasiness about it.

  To Roe's surprise, Meggie took a deep breath and began to sing. Roe listened to her for a couple of moments deciding that her unusual voice was not as bad as he'd first thought, before blending his own with hers.

  They discovered that between the two of them they knew nine verses to "Polly Vaughn." It was warm and pleasurable singing together, their very disparate singing tones joined in such unexpected harmony. After "Polly Vaughn" they sang "Silver Dagger." To better combine their voices, Roe sat at her feet in the dirt by the sawbuck. He loved being close to her, and the sheer pleasure of sharing the simple music was like a burst of sunshine on the dark, rainy day.

  Song after song they sang together. She taught him “Taney County Bad Companions." He taught her "The Old Man Who Came Over the Moor."

  "Do you know this one?" she asked him.

  "Come all you pretty fair maids

  Who flourish in your prime,

  Be sure to keep your garden clean,

  Let no one take your thyme."

  Roe's eyes widened in shock, then, grinning, he listened to the sweet sound of her voice.

  "My thyme it is all gone away,

  I cannot plant anew,

  And in the place where my thyme stood

  It's all grown up in rue."

  She sang the song sweetly as if it were but a children's tune like "Mary Contrary" or "Cat in the Fiddle." But Roe knew the old English ballad and his thoughts flew from its pretty words to the archaic meaning in its symbols. A meaning obviously unknown to Meggie Best. The sprig of thyme represented virginity, while the bitter leaves of rue construed remorse and sorrow for the unsanctioned pleasures of the flesh. The sweet garden song she sang was a warning to young women in the less sheltered times of the past not to trust the false hearts of men who asked for their bodies before they asked to marry.

  "The pink it is a pretty flower

  But it will bud too soon,

  I have a posy of mine own

  I am sure 'twill wait 'til June."

  Roe looked up to the young woman who had given her thyme to him and for whom the plucked flower would never live long enough to see the wedding day. Still, as he watched her face and heard her voice, he couldn't regret the tenderness that she had given so freely and had asked him no price. But he couldn't help but worry that one day she would feel regret.

  "In June comes in the primrose flower

  But it is not for me,

  I will pull up my primrose flower

  And plant a willow tree."

  As the last sweet note faded, Roe reached to clasp her hand in his own. Her eyes widened as she stared at him. He rose to his knees and brought her long, work-callused fingers to his lips.

  "Marry me, Meggie," he whispered.

  "Roe, I told you I—"

  "I know what you told me. In my heart I've heard you tell me over and over. But that's not the answer that I want to hear."

  He pulled her closer and pressed his fingers to her lips.

  "Roe, you can't possibly think that—"

  "When you're this close to me, Meggie, I can't possibly think at all."

  He reached for her and she knelt beside him. His hands caressed her cheeks, her brow. He traced the line of her jaw, smoothing one damp curling strand of hair out of her face.

  "I think of nothing but you, Meggie, nothing at all. I ache for you," he whispered against her ear.

  Roe heard the catch in her breath. Gently, he eased apart the long plait of hair that hung down her back. He raked his hands through her hair as if it were a treasure of pure gold. Then he twisted the strands in his fist and used them to pull her closer. Closer. He pulled her closer until her lips were a hairsbreadth from his own. And he trembled.

  He fought the desire to pull her against him and kiss her again as he had in the sweet bed of clover they had known before. He had been hurried then, maybe too rough. He wanted to be sweet for his Meggie. He wanted to be tender and patient and husbandly. This time he wanted it to be perfect. This time he would let neither the effects of strong drink nor his passion control him.

  Her little nervous breath felt warm against his own skin. He bent forward only slightly, just to touch his lips against hers.

  "Marry me, Meggie," he whispered an instant before their mouths met in a gentle kiss, as genteel as it was unsatisfactory.

  Roe swallowed determinedly and tried to pull away from her to wait patiently for her answer. But it didn't come in words.

  With a tiny cry of desire, Meggie wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her body against his own.

  "Kiss me, kiss me, Roe."

  Meggie pressed the sweet soft warmth of her bosom against him. She had tried so hard not to want him, not to need him. But the invitation of his arms was more than she could refuse. The hard points of her nipples, swelled with eagerness for his touch, and the tender, innocent kiss that they had started quickly became an achy, clenching need to possess.

  Roe drew a sharp gasp of breath through his nose; to Meggie it looked like a stallion catching the scent. She felt him clasp her around the waist. With more instinct than calculation, her hands skimmed the long, muscled length of his back to bury themselves in the wild strands of his thick black hair.

  She felt the movement of Roe's hands upon her. While his right hand continued to knead and tease her breast, his left slid down the round curve of her buttocks, pressing her body close against him.

  It was a wild kiss, hurried and incendiary. His mouth opened over hers and he begged to taste her. Meggie's own lips parted and she was jubilant as she slipped her tongue inside his mouth. He tasted as exotic as cinnamon and as homey as apples. She inhaled the fragrance of him and was lost.

  Tighter and tighter she pressed herself against him. She wrapped her legs around him and could feel the stiffness of his erection against her now. They were near enough for joining, but yet unjoined. It was exhilarating. It was enticing. With a sound near pain he moaned against her ear and buried his face into the soft sanctuary of her hair. She felt beautiful and powerful, and she felt on fire.

  Desperately she squirmed beneath him, trying to ease the throbbing ache of desire that plagued her. She meant to get closer, she needed to be closer and she spread her legs even wider before him to make that happen.

  "Oh, Meggie! I only meant to kiss you," he confessed in her ear with hoarse, hard-won words. She smoothed her hands up and down his back, urging him against her, begging him to make love to her.

  "But kissing is not enough," she cried plaintively. "I need you inside me, Roe. I need you now."

  He made no protest, but laid her on her back on the damp dirt floor, following her down. In one hasty movement, he jerked the long, cotton homespun skirt that covered her up to her waist. The soft, oft-washed cotton of her flower sack drawers offered the last impediment to her nakedness. With eager, fumbling fingers she undid the ties at her waist and helped him skim them down her legs.

  He was staring at her nakedness in the gray light of afternoon, the rain beating now as fierce a tempo as her heart.

  "You are so beautiful, Meggie," he whispered.

  It was with pride as well as desire that she opened her legs for him and urged him astride her.

  Roe wedged his knee high between her thighs. She gasped. He used the thick strong muscles of his thigh to begin a strong seductive rhythm of caress and pleasure.

  Meggie's eyes opened with desire and tiny cries of pleasure from the back of her throat. She stared up at him and saw in his face the mixture of control and pleasure that so taunted and enflamed her need.

  "Roe, yes, Roe," she called his name as she squirmed beneath him. "Please, I need you. I need all of you. I'm begging," she cried as she fanned the flames that were already nearly out of control.

  She heard him moaning, as if the man were in pain, and realized he was voicing his own need to h
er, Meggie Best, the woman in his arms.

  "God help me, Meggie, I can't stop."

  "Don't stop!" she pleaded.

  To ensure that he didn't, she pulled his galluses from his shoulders and jerked at his shirt.

  Any good sense or right thinking that either might have possessed was blinded by the haze of red-rimmed passion that glittered between them. The need to mate, to join, to unite as man and woman prevailed.

  Their movements together were almost rough now and desperate. He had to be inside her. She had to have him inside her now.

  She tugged at the buttons on his butternut duckings. He offered the help of his own fingers for only a minute before Meggie managed to unfasten his trousers. There was no gentleness or ease as she dragged them off his hips. He was naked beneath them, and Meggie had to touch his nakedness. She had to touch it now, she had no patience for finesse.

  Her hands on the bare flesh and caressing his buttocks nearly sent him over the edge. Roe, too, sought the secrets of her private flesh.

  "Meggie, I can't wait. I can't wait."

  Her answer was a joyous cry as once more she wrapped her legs around his waist. Shaking with desire and clasping his flesh in her hands, she eased him inside her.

  He was hot and hard and filling and her body clinched him with need.

  He swore with delight and ground his teeth against the need to spill himself inside her then and there.

  "You're so good. You feel so good," he told her.

  Meggie's reply was an inarticulate gasp of pleasure.

  With labored effort, he held himself rigid and quivering on the brink until he'd revived a semblance of his control. Meggie continued to squirm beneath him, too impatient to wait. When he began a slow, steady thrusting, she rocked and moaned beneath him.

  He cried aloud at the pleasure of it.

  "I can't be slow," he told her. "I can't be careful."

  "Love me, Roe," she begged. "Love me hard, love me now. I can't wait!"

  And he didn't. Planting his elbows firmly in the unyielding ground, he began pounding her body with quick, deep strokes, the resulting fire of which startled them both.