Ride the Wind: Touch the Wind Book Two

by Erinn Ellender Quinn

  She opened the front door for him and locked it right up, so they could enjoy their dinner in a measure of peace. They relived the afternoon with the wild strawberries and when he looked at her stomach, which he had not seen since Lucy’s murder, she could tell he was trying to decide how to ask.

  The bairn had turned, or grown, or both, and now there was a bump where none had been before today. She stood and pulled the pins from the top of her linsey-woolsey apron and reached behind to undo the ties. Draping it on the back of her chair, she offered him a soft smile and a silhouette, and he whispered her name like the starving man he was, as though they hadn’t just eaten.

  Too long. He’d stayed downstairs to keep her safe, from whatever threat was outside and from anything still clinging to him, taking a bath with holy water added. Her mother had been glad to supply it; if she hadn’t known he was the right man for her daughter before, she knew it then, that he understood her nature that well, and that he would do everything in his power to protect her, even if it was from himself.

  But it was the dark of the moon, time for release work, and Beth told him that tonight, she was set on freeing Lucy Knowles. As was oft the case with sudden deaths, she didn’t know that she was dead. Beth knew what he had vaguely sensed (having had no encounters with it)—that, since the equinox, The Oaks had had a third ghost stuck this side of the Veil.

  In the downstairs central hall, she cast a sacred circle but kept on her dress, in deference to the deceased. She prayed that the good of Lucy’s faith would come to see her cross over—Jesus Christ and heaven’s angels and those she had loved who’d passed on, spiritual helpers that she would trust and accept, who would make her understand that it was her time to return home, and help her go into the Light. As if on cue in a Stratford-on-Avon play, a white mist came through the bolted back door, coalescing into form as it drifted toward Beth where she stood. While Philip stayed silent, and a dead Frenchman watched, a pillar of Light opened up on the stairs, resplendent with the promise of peace. Drawn to it, Lucy Knowles went where no other ghost in the house could go, climbing the stairs and entering the Light, never looking behind, then she was gone.

  Ian had never seen anything like it.

  And he had a sneaking suspicion that he’d helped to make it happen.

  “Aye,” said Beth, eavesdropping again. “I didnae think ye’d mind, but it needed tae feel natural, nae forced. She had tae trust me enough tae help her.”

  Which explained why she’d sent him to check on the Knowles children today, with a promise to give her regards to Miss Denning. The moment he’d said Beth’s name, the twins had been on him like leeches.

  “She followed them, though she stayed by the door until ye started playing the fiddle. She had a peek and left when she saw they were happy, and safe.”

  “Is she at peace, then?” He’d watched from the library with Édouard. Somehow he’d hoped that the Frenchie might follow her cue, when he heard what Beth planned. But another atlas page turned behind him, and he realized that although it might have been Lucy’s time, Édouard’s was not yet here.

  “Aye.”

  Beth finished her ritual, dissolved the circle, and put her ceremonial tools back in their bundle. She surprised him, then, when she shook her hair and took off her clothes and set them by the back door, intending to wash them clean tomorrow.

  She didn’t want to take any tainted energy upstairs to bed with them.

  Ah, Red.

  It seemed like a lifetime since he’d held her like he wanted. Her pomegranate breasts had ripened, and she was beginning to show. He hadn’t told her his news; he wanted to surprise her, but it seemed like as good a time as any, so she would know what she was getting herself into.

  “My solicitor sent word today,” he said, lifting her into his arms and carrying her up the stairs. It was showing off, he knew, but he wasn’t a man to ignore the smallest details of a seduction.

  Beth tightened her arms around his neck and bit his ear. Unlike many sailors, he’d never had them pierced, and the entire lobe was hers for the nibbling.

  “I’ll be going to town tomorrow to do the paperwork. Ian O’Manion is going, and Ian O’Malley is coming home to stay. Finally, good news—and on a Tuesday. Would you believe it?”

  “Aye,” she purred, and flicked her tongue into his ear.

  Vixen.

  He kicked open the bedroom door and followed her down on his bed as soon as he’d lit a brace of candles. She was naked as and he still had all his clothes, but he was hoping that situation would change, once she heard what he had to say.

  “Barry got them to absolve me of desertion,” he told her, keeping his hands to the crowning glory of her hair. “They’ve agreed to forget all about breaking out of prison if I’m willing to forget about the torture. Seems the English don’t want the bad press, wrongful arrest and being held without trial and all. The pirate raid, with new witnesses come forth, has been proved done by another, so I’m clear on that one, too. He only managed a dishonorable discharge from the merchant marine, but I’m happy enough with the rest of it, I think I can live with the other. So,” he said more slowly, “what I’m asking, Red Beth, is, can you?”

  “Mmmm.” She reached and felt the black stubble on his chin. “Weel, if tha’s the best he can do, then I’m happy. A dishonorable discharge might sore limit the number of invitations during the social season, but I hae no problem with that.”

  “Sweet girl,” he said, pressing a tender kiss against her lips. “What on God’s earth did I ever do to deserve you?”

  She pressed her hand to his face and looked him in the eye, and when she did not flinch at anything she saw, he bent his head and kissed her again.

  Downstairs, the fiddle played, its phantom notes drifting upward as his breath quickened; she caught and held hers in clouded wonder when he kissed her sensitive breasts and measured the slight increase in her waist. Spreading his hand, he placed his calloused palm over her abdomen where their baby still grew, despite Herne, despite everything that had happened. He leaned over and kissed her belly, then urged her knees apart and moved between her legs. He took her pretty feet in hand, one at a time, and kissed the shapely turn of her ankles, and the tempting curves of her calves, and the sensitive places behind her knees, and the thighs shaped by her labors.

  Beth, who slept with foxes and talked to bees and was willing to take him on, sorry sod that he was.

  “Nay,” Beth whispered, when the Captain would have kissed her like a Frenchman. Feeling the old hurt, sensing where pieces of him had come loose that needed put back into place, she winnowed her fingers in his thick black hair and pulled him up to lie beside her. She took off his clothes and laid her naked body against his. Placing her hand over his heart, she touched her forehead to his and shared his breaths for long, long minutes, just as she had the night of another new moon nearly fourth months gone, when he’d thought that he wanted to die and she would have done anything to keep him here.

  And he lay there and let her, sensing the magick she wove, knowing she would never hurt him with it.

  When she was done, she kissed him softly and took his hand and put it on her stomach. “I’m glad ye stayed. I would hae missed ye. Missed this,” she admitted. “And puir wee Bess or Brendan would hae stayed in the ether, begging tae be given form.”

  He rubbed a counterclockwise circle on her belly, as if he knew that’s how to give to her. The man had his own set of skills that he hadn’t yet realized.

  She let him love her, then, sinking back into the mattress that had missed him, exulting in the feel of his hands moving languorously on her body, exploring her curves, adoring her in a way that made her feel treasured and loved. She sensed some lingering disappointment that he would not have an honorable discharge, but she was trusting that there was a reason for it, that somehow, in some way yet unknown, the Universe would more than make it up to him.

  With no moonlight, the only light in the bedroom came from the two cand
les that burned on the fireplace mantle, gilding the room and casting golden highlights on the Irish captain who could not lose at cards. Even scarred, he was a fine specimen of manhood. His generous mouth was quick with a smile, and his green glass eyes were the most beautiful she had ever seen. He had a village of bondservants dependent on his good fortune, and soon he would make her a gentleman farmer’s wife.

  Elsbeth Ambrosia O’Malley.

  He went still. She felt him smile against her breast.

  Aye. There it is.

  Braw Irishman that he was, he set about pleasuring her, wrapping his lips around her nipple and suckling, taking the sensitive tip between his teeth and teasing it with his tongue. He tasted her other breast just as thoroughly, then settled his weight between her legs. Rising on his elbows, he smoothed her wild red curls, pressed a kiss to her forehead, and joined himself to her.

  Ah, Red.

  It was Tuesday, but the Captain loved her like he would have into Sunday. He gathered her up and gave her his best moves, urging her to wrap her legs around him, only to have her take his suggestion and run with it. She slid her legs up his calves and past his knees, drawing them over the backs of his thighs to wrap around his hips. She kissed his chest and took his teat between her teeth, then she reached and grabbed two handfuls of his backside and refused to let go until he’d taken her to the edge and back again. And when she bit his chest and could not catch her breath and begged him to finish it, he thrust his arms beneath her. The change in position was all it took to send her over and take him with her. The first waves of her orgasm gripped his length, milking it, as he burst inside her. He pumped once more, reaching deep, until she’d wrung the last jet of emission from him and he collapsed heavily on the bed beside her.

  He turned his head on the pillow and smiled at her. In his mind, she heard how much he loved the way that she looked, with candlelight painting her with golden highlights and casting shadows in the valley of her pomegranate breasts, reflecting in eyes that were the color of Aruba. And when she blew out softly, and smiled back at him, she felt like a woman well loved.

  He traced the velvet of her cheek with his finger and smoothed the sweat from her brow. “God, that was good.” Even if he said so himself.

  Still eavesdropping, Beth rolled her eyes and laughed. “Aye,” she murmured, “it was.”

  “I didn’t know if you’d be up for it. You had a big day today, with the twins and their mother and all.”

  “Mmm.” She pressed a kiss to his chest and started tracing lines. One day he would sense that they were more than random figures, but for now he was content just to have her touch him with loving kindness.

  “A big day. A good day.” She finished one pattern and started another, just two of the many magickal Celtic knot designs that she’d learned in her youth.

  “About tomorrow.”

  “Aye?”

  “It’s paperwork, and a ton of it, with the banker there for some of it, since there are assets involved. I had a taste of name-changing when I invented Ian O’Manion, but nothing like this. And I’m taking George,” he added, in case she had not fathomed it already. “We’re to fetch Emily as soon as the Deirdre docks. A preacher is supposed to meet us, and if the ship’s not delayed, he’ll be home with his bride Thursday night. Jason said he’d help Israel until George gets back.”

  His little village, pulling together to see things through. “Anyway, that’s the long and short of it. Given all that’s happened, I think it best that you come with us. I don’t like the idea of leaving you here. Your cottage is too removed, and you can’t stay with your mother; she’ll drive you to distraction now that the bairn’s poked out. And here, well, Philip and Édouard won’t do if you be needing help.”

  She drew another knot, binding him more closely to her.

  He smiled and kissed the tip of her nose. “Just say yes, and it’s settled, then.”

  “Yes, and it’s settled then,” she parroted.

  Red Beth, his pi-rette.

  Cheeky girl.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  George Knowles was an ass. A tight-lipped, priggish ass who refused to meet Beth’s eyes and would not look at the Captain at all, after everything he’d done for him.

  She dearly hoped that Emily Reynolds knew what she was getting herself into.

  Judge not, lest ye be judged.

  All right.

  Beth conceded that George might not always be this way. Perhaps it was wedding nerves making him exceedingly unsociable. He could just be anxious about meeting Emily. He’d been through a lot, with six children and a joyless marriage and his wife’s horrific end. A man like that could benefit from some genuine compassion and a tender touch.

  Aye, George might improve. This new wife might just soften him, especially if she liked sex.

  If not, they’d plant more cherry trees and make certain Emily had Lucy’s receipt.

  They checked into a different hotel, three rooms this time, one for Beth, one for the Captain, and one for George and Emily once they wed. The Captain spent most of the day at the law office, doing all that was needed to resurrect himself, transferring titles and assets from Jean Delacorte as well. By the end of the day, George and Emily were married, and Ian Cormac Padraig O’Malley was reborn.

  With George and Emily to consider, Ian declined an invitation to dine with the Atwoods, much as he would have enjoyed an evening with good company. The new Mrs. Knowles was young and fresh and as cheerful as her elder sister had been dour, and gave them every hope that Emily was just the ray of sunshine that George and the children needed. When the four of them returned from dinner, Ian saw Beth safely to her room and retired to the one in the middle he’d taken to spare Beth the noises of the marital bed next door.

  Knowing that Beth was on the other side of the wall made for his own special hell. His hand was a poor substitute, and he was grateful to get the newlyweds off in the morning so he could finally have Beth to himself.

  They broke their fast and started the day with a visit to the jewelers. He’d had them hold the ring he’d chosen last visit to the shop, and the time had finally come to take it. The gold band was set with smaller diamonds and a large topaz to bring out the blue in her eyes. “Say yes,” he said. “Then we’ll talk about how we want to do it.”

  George had been granted dispensation because of his circumstances; Protestants that they were, they’d been allowed to forego the three weeks of posting bans and their hasty vows had been sanctioned by the laws of God and man. But Catholics were not allowed to practice their faith in public, and Beth was a lapsed one at best. They could finally get on with a marriage, now that Ian had his name back, but their options were limited. Because he was Catholic, and English law ordained marriages in the church, with Protestant being the official one in Maryland, he’d been refused a special license, even when he’d finally pleaded her belly. He’d have gladly paid the Ƚ50 and hauled her before a Protestant minister to be done with it; his choices had come down to posting traditional bans and having the baby kicking at a Protestant altar, or they could try talking the priest at the Carroll’s private chapel into performing the blessed sacrament.

  And they both knew what that would mean.

  In the end, a desperate plea, an hour of confessions, and a sizeable donation to the Jesuits at White March were made, and the deed was done, with Jannet Gordon present, Barry Atwood standing witness, and Elsbeth Ambrosia Gordon O’Malley looking every inch the beautiful bride.

  She wore a gown of embroidered ivory silk that turned her skin golden and set off the red of her hair. He’d had the seamstress make the waist a bit too generous, not knowing how long it would take to clear his name, or how soon she would switch to a maternity corset or forsake it altogether. One look at Beth in her new finery, and even Jane Atwood was in raptures.

  There would be more paperwork, to update her name in his will, but nothing that wouldn’t wait. For now, they were married on the promise of penance. Because it w
as Friday, the sixth of October, Ian intended to spend the night loving his new wife.

  He had one more thing to give her, a wedding present he’d saved for last, that he hoped she would accept, feeling the love and care he’d put into its choosing. He gave it to her, tucked in a silk brocade bag, and watched as she pulled it out.

  Holding it to her heart, she looked at him and smiled. “Thank ye,” she whispered, admiring the rosary he’d had made and blessed for her, coral Ave beads and silver filigree Paternosters, with a filigree wedding ribbon above the crucifix and below it, a medal of St. Blaise. He trusted that she would feel the power of it when she used it for her penance, and would carry it to have if ever she needed it.

  She did not recognize the patron he’d chosen for her bridal rosary. “St. Blaise was a physician,” he said. “A healer, like you. And he commanded wild beasts, made a wolf drop a poor woman’s pig. I thought…”

  She knew what he’d thought, but it was their wedding night, and she refused to share it with Herne. Setting the rosary aside, she knelt at her husband’s feet and made him forget about aught else but her lush mouth, and her clever hands, and the joys to be found in the garden of her body.

  Jannet Gordon, fetched from The Oaks, could have stayed the night. The hotel was not at full occupancy and one of the rooms they’d vacated could have easily been secured. Jane Atwood had offered to take her in, and not just because of her good graces. Jannet Gordon was an herbalist-midwife, and Jane was expecting a baby.

  But Jannet knew she would miss her own bed and the weather was such, she could make it home well ahead of dark. And so it was that she bid her daughter and son-in-law adieu and set out for The Oaks, thinking that she’d see them both soon.

  Captain and Mrs. O’Malley had their wedding night, emerging for dinner, then settling back in for the marathon session that Ian had always wanted to give Beth. She might not have known him in his salad days, but he was happy to say, he still had what it took and his bride, being an earth worshipper, was just as hungry as he when it came to delights of the flesh.