The Fairy Tale Bride

by Kelly McClymer

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  As she scanned the distant tableau, her heart skipped a beat. There were only two men standing. The other two were dark lumps on the scuffed-up ground. For a moment she wasn't certain, and then she was. That shining blond head had to be Simon's.

  He and Valentine had overpowered their attackers. And now they were standing, with pistols in hand, waiting for Grimthorpe. She sagged with relief, at the same time as a sunlight glinted from something in the mounted madman's hand. His pistol.

  Before she could scream, uselessly or not, she saw Valentine's arm raise and buck. There was a sharp report. Grimthorpe fell from his still-running mount and lay still.

  She bent over, burying her face in the cool grass and wept, for Juliet, for Arthur, for Simon and Valentine. For herself.

  She could not stop when Simon reached her and took her into his arms. And he did not ask her to, holding her tight, rocking her against his chest as if she were a baby.

  After a moment, she realized he was not just repeating soothing noises, but actual words. "Juliet's safe. Juliet's alive."

  She broke away from his grip so that she could look into his eyes. "How could she be alive? I saw the carriage —"

  He interrupted her with a kiss and a grim smile.

  "My cousin Arthur has more Watterly in him than I ever believed possible. He suspected something was wrong when the men who were to take him to see an interesting rare book seemed so disreputable."

  "But what could they do?" Miranda thought of her wild ride with Grimthorpe. She had been unable to stop him. How had her sister and Arthur escaped a speeding carriage unharmed?

  His lips tightened in suppressed amusement. "At the inn, when the carriage was forced to stop to change horses, they both recognized their chance to escape. As soon as the carriage started up, they jumped free without being observed by their abductors."

  Miranda blanched. "They could have been killed."

  The absurdity of her statement struck her as soon as the words were uttered. They almost had been — all of them, by a cunning and devious madman who wanted the dukedom that was now Peter's. How ironic that both Peter and Simon would have gladly let it go. She looked up then. The affection in Simon's eyes jolted her for a moment. And then she remembered that he had dropped the barricade to his heart. She laid her head against his chest, content to hear the beating within, no longer afraid that the sound heralded coming death.

  "Where is Valentine?"

  Simon looked down at her resting against him so trustingly and could not swallow for the sudden fearful realization that he had almost lost her just when he could claim her. He touched her cheek softly. "He has gone back to the inn, where we met up with Arthur, to notify the authorities about Grimthorpe. We should join them there." He turned her face to his so that he could reassure himself that she was alive and well. His fairytale bride.

  Her tone was scolding, but her eyes brimmed with tears. "And so you and Valentine were prepared for a trap, then? I needn't have worried at all watching those two huge bullies trying to trounce you and toss you over after the carriage?"

  "Of course not. You had nothing to fear. And you never will again. You're married to me." He kept his reply bland, but his arms tightened around her and he lowered his lips to hers for a long kiss.

  He did not break apart from her until she began to shudder in his arms. No matter that she was enjoying the kiss, she had still been kidnapped and watched a runaway carriage dash off a cliff, believing her sister to be inside. He wrapped his cloak around her and drew her to her feet. "Let's get you to the inn and cleaned up."

  She laughed, a trifle breathlessly he was pleased to note, as she looked down at her torn and dirty gown. "And you, as well."

  His eyes lit with warmth. "A bath for two. I think that can be arranged."

  With a sigh, he watched as Miranda surrendered to the feelings that were quickly replacing the grief, fear, and despair of minutes ago. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips against his eyes, his cheek, his ear, his mouth. Soft, warm kisses of love and hope and desire.

  As if murder and treachery and danger were an aphrodisiac, he realized that she had no wish to wait for their room at the inn to reaffirm their love and the simple joyous fact that they lived.

  She did not even seem to realize that she was sobbing despite the smile that lit her face between kisses, until his lips caressed her cheeks and his tongue tasted her tears. He had been given a gift this morning, which he had refused. That she offered him this chance again was a blessing he did not have any intention of refusing.

  He felt the crushing need and translated it into a lingering exploration of her body. The torture was no less than it had been when he found her in his bed and had had to drive her away. This time, however, there would be no worry about a child to keep him from completing their joining.

  For all he cared, they could have a hundred, a thousand. He was no longer a duke. He was only a man who wanted his wife. He lay her back, spreading his cloak on the grass and allowed his lips to play with her ear before moving to her mouth to swallow her sigh. She turned her head and met his lips with her own, impatiently. They kissed — not briefly, but possessively. Forever.

  Miranda caught fire within as she undid the fastening of his shirt and rubbed her sensitized palms against his firmly muscled ribs. She surrendered thought, listening only to the demands of her body and the soft sounds of pleasure — hers or Simon's she could not tell and did not care.

  His hands had found their way under her skirts, as if he sought to assure himself that she was whole and real, not a fairy ghost, by touching her, reaching for the heart of her passion and helping it to burst through the pain and sorrow that had held them apart for so very long.

  Still sensitive from their encounter in the morning, Miranda was shocked at the wanton way her body burned for him. When he pressed into her, she welcomed him, waiting for the pain and finding only pleasure that washed away any last doubt that she and Simon were made for each other as perfectly as any couple in her fairytales.

  When he groaned against her skin and drove deeper, she wrapped her arms and legs around him, helping him closer, where he belonged, until there was no more two, only a long shuddering cry sounding the triumphant music of one shared soul.