She helped him to the bench and knelt to pull off the heavy, wet boots. His eyes were so hollow, she feared for him. She helped him to remove his damp clothes, fighting a battle with her modesty as her hands came into contact with his bare flesh and the hair that matted him from chin to groin. She pulled the blanket up around his shoulders and mixed the boiling water into the brandy. He reached for it gratefully, one corner of his mouth lifting with the ghost of a scornful smile. "My ministering angel," he whispered hoarsely, his voice almost gone from shouting orders above the wind. She firmly ignored the taunt and busied herself spreading his clothes to dry.
A knock upon the cabin door sent her scurrying to open it. David brought in a tray holding two bowls of steaming stew, thickened with barley, and some coarse chunks of wheat bread.
"Oh, that smells like heaven, David. Thank you." She looked at the young man's haggard face with concern. "Can't you get some rest now?"
"I'm fine, ma'am." He blushed vividly. "The captain made me sleep last night. It's his turn now."
Paris moved across the room, wrapping the blanket around his nakedness. "I'll eat in bed," he decided, and as the boy left the cabin, Paris looked at her with glittering eyes and demanded, "Is there no end to your conquests, madam?"
She whirled to the bed furiously, stung, and retorted, "Are you accusing me of flirting with the boy?" But she saw that he was fast asleep, the brandy glass drained, the stew forgotten upon the tray. She put his bowl beside the brazier to keep it warm, then sat and devoured hers greedily. Never had she tasted anything to equal it. She eyed the second bowl hungrily, telling herself he would likely sleep around the clock, but her conscience would not let her eat his portion. At whatever hour he woke, it would be ready for him. She knew she and every other soul aboard owed their lives to this man.
Soon it was night, but Paris never stirred from his heavy sleep. She removed her gown but kept on her underclothes and stockings. Gently, so she would not disturb him, she crawled beneath the covers and lay still. Gradually, the warmth from his body radiated over her, and she was thankful for his presence in the bed.
In the morning, when David brought them breakfast, Paris still slept. She took the tray from him and noticed his wet clothes. "Has the storm begun again?" she asked fearfully.
"Nay, it's just raining heavily. We catch the rainwater in barrels, ma'am. Would you like some?"
"Oh, yes, Lord Cockburn and I both need a bath."
David blushed vividly at her words, and her own cheeks flamed as she realized that David thought she meant they would bathe together. When she closed the door and turned toward the bed; Paris sat propped on his pillows, the light back in his emerald eyes.
She was amazed at his renewed vigor. His step was eager as he rose from the bed and donned the fresh clothes she had laid out the night before. He wolfed down the food David had just brought, as well as the stew from last night, and went up on deck to assess the damage the storm had done and set everything to rights.
When the evening meal came, it was for one, and she ate alone; then David and another man knocked on the cabin door. They had heated water in wooden buckets. She dragged out the small slipper-shaped bathtub from the bathing cabinet and watched happily as the men filled it. Her joy left her quickly as Paris returned to the cabin, apparently for the night.
He winked at David. "Thanks, lads, we won't be needing anything else. Be good enough to see we are not disturbed tonight."
When they were alone, she turned on him, "You wretch, why did you let them think we were going to bathe together?"
His eyes opened wide in mock amazement, "Are we not, madam?"
"Oh, you... you—"
"Don't let that word slip out unless you want me to take you across my knee."
She stabbed him with her eyes, then turned her back upon him.
"Since I am a gentleman," he drawled, "I will allow you to use the bathwater first."
"I shall when you leave," she stated flatly.
"Madam, I am here for the night. I've spent enough hours this day on that freezing deck."
"You surely don't expect me to undress and bathe in front of you while you stand about gaping at me, do you?' she demanded.
"Madam, must I remind you that I own those breasts, belly and buttocks you are so loathe to display before me?" he reminded her arrogantly.
"Own?" She gasped. "You may own this ship, you may own a castle, but you most certainly do not own me, sir!"
He lifted a dark brow. "Shall I prove it to you?" he asked casually, then added in a harsher tone, "The water grows cool; if you are not in it in two minutes, I will be, and you can go without a bath!"
Reluctantly, she took off her dress and, turning her back to him, took off her drawers and petticoat. She slipped off her stockings and stepped into the water. It felt wonderful on her skin, and she closed her eyes and luxuriated in its warmth. He stretched out on the bed to watch her. He viewed the smooth shoulders and the full curve of her breast each time she lifted her arm to sponge the water over her. His breath caught in his throat as the lamplight fired her curls. He wanted to make love to her. Immediately. He shifted his position to ease the tightness in his breeches and cursed himself for a fool. Why had he promised her he'd leave her alone? He must have been mad. It was impossible to see her and not desire her; inconceivable to desire her and not take her.
She did not wish to be greedy and stay in the water until it was too cool for him to enjoy his bath, so she stepped quickly from the tub and wrapped herself in a towel. She cast a quick glance in his direction and saw clearly the hungry look that lingered there. She averted her eyes quickly and slipped her petticoat over her head. Then, as he arose from the bed to remove his garments, she lay down and pulled the covers over her head so she would not see his nakedness. She did not trust him and held her breath when she felt his weight dip the side of the bed. She waited tensely as the minutes stretched out, then, when he made no move toward her, she let out a long sigh of relief. Then came his maddening, infuriating drawl. "Disappointed?"
"You damned devil," she muttered under her breath, and she heard him chuckle with amusement as she moved to the farthest edge of the bed.
It took another week to reach Scotland, and the newlyweds were only saved from each other by the amount of time Paris had to spend away from the cabin. When they came together, he was like a match that ignited her temper, sending it smoldering, then blazing into hot, fiery outbursts.
One evening he spent time in the cabin going over sea charts. She came close, showing a curiosity over the map. Her nearness affected him as it always did, and as he was about to reach out a hand to caress her, he saw that her finger traced the outline of the Orkney Islands. A black, blinding jealousy seized him, and he could have struck her. He closed his eyes to gain control of his savage emotions. He reminded himself that he had questioned Jasper and learned she had not been alone with Patrick Stewart for more than a few moments. Then he admitted to himself it was her thoughts he was jealous of. She filled his head and heart so that there was no room for thoughts of another, and he longed for it to be the same with her. He said scornfully, "You would have hated the Orkneys, it's so bleak and cold. It's like living in Iceland." She raised startled eyes to him, wondering what she had done to invite his anger.
That night he waited until she slept before he joined her in the wide, low bed.
The day they arrived home sent a warm happiness flooding through Tabrizia. She couldn't wait to see the family— it was the one great consolation of this dreadful marriage. She admitted to herself that she was indeed thankful to be coming home, rather than going to the far-off Orkneys.
Paris sent David along to the cabin to take her belongings up on deck before lowering them into the small boat. She smiled at him. "Thank you for looking after me. I may need a friend at the castle. Will you be that friend, David?"
"Lord Cockburn has all my loyalty, ma'am, and now that naturally extends to you," he pledged.
Sh
e smiled in spite of her thoughts. "Sweet David, that is not what I had in mind, but I do thank you for your loyalty."
She put on her sable cloak and went up on deck. It was only a moment before the tall figure of her husband towered over her, helping her down into the boat with sure, strong hands. She gave him a questioning glance that he was coming ashore with her, and she felt his possessive arm around her waist as he announced grimly, "I want you at my side when we tell them."
CHAPTER 15
Tabrizia could see a red-haired girl waving from the turrets as the boat was rowed closer to shore. By the time the boat was beached, she knew the word of their arrival would have spread through the castle like wildfire, and the whole family would be gathered to greet them by the time they reached the courtyard. Paris helped her ascend the path up the cliff, and she was vividly reminded of the last time he brought her up. She hoped he had forgotten the incident, but when he grinned at her and said, "I hope they have your chains ready," she could have died from chagrin.
The family was gathered in the entrance hall to await their coming. Tabrizia came forward hesitantly, her husband's possessive hand at the small of her back.
Troy, grinning from ear to ear, exclaimed, "Look what the tide dragged in!"
Shannon, more beautiful than ever, tossed her lovely hair, looked from Paris to Tabrizia and back to Paris again. "Is everything all right again between you two?"
Paris replied smoothly, "I should hope so, we were married in London."
Damascus burst out breathlessly. "Oh, Tabrizia, how romantic!"
Paris said, "It hasn't been at all romantic for her, I'm afraid. We had a bitch of a storm. She must be exhausted."
Troy grinned. "I'll bet she's exhausted; married to a ram like you, brother."
Damascus put her delicate nose in the air at her brother's lewd remark. Paris brought his wife's hand to his lips and murmured, "My sweet, I apologize for the coarseness of my family, but I know you forgive them because you love them."
Tabrizia's eyes searched his face. These were the first gentle words he'd uttered since they wed. Paris startled her again by acting completely out of character. He picked up Alexandria and threw her into the air in a display of brotherly affection. Her serious little face radiated joy that he had taken her advice.
Shannon laughed. "Well, it's the happiest news we've had around here in a long time."
"When the baggage arrives, send it up to our chamber. We need food and a bath and privacy." His possessive arm was again holding his bride. His eyes mocked her with their green brilliance. "Newlyweds need a lot of privacy."
Alexander, who had stood back from the others, came forward now He looked closely at Tabrizia and said low, "Are you happy?"
Paris's arm tightened about her, threatening to crush her ribs in his warning. She smiled faintly. "What a silly question."
When she was alone with Paris in his bedchamber, the chamber they would share as man and wife, she felt extremely shy and tongue-tied. The mere sight of the massive, curtained bed with its luxurious wolf pelts set her cheeks flaming and her pulses racing with fear. To busy her hands, she picked up his cloak where he'd negligently tossed it, and took it to the wardrobe.
He said cruelly, "You needn't overdo the dutiful wife role, now that we are in private, and for God's sake don't start turning into an efficient chatelaine, either. I prefer you as a decoration."
Almost stung to tears, she whirled away from him and ran up the short staircase to her old bedchamber. Her breasts rose and fell rapidly with her agitation, and before her breathing calmed and she gained control of her feelings, she heard the door slam below, as he left the chamber. Paris joined his brothers and sisters for dinner and made arrangements for a servant to take a tray up to Tabrizia. "I'm sorry you had to shoulder the burden of Anne's death while I was away."
Troy reassured, "We managed fine. There was no one at the funeral, except for us."
"I'II travel up to Cardell tomorrow and take the news to her father. It is the only decent thing I can do. I'd better have a talk with Mrs. Sinclair after dinner," he decided.
Shannon spoke up. "She isn't here. Margaret took her back to Tantallon."
He raised a brow but kept his own counsel. When the meal was finished, he glanced around the table and explained, "I know it seems indecent of me to have wed in such haste; but Tabrizia was betrothed and halfway to the altar. I snatched her away like a thief in the night again. I felt I had to grab what happiness I could. I don't know why I'm telling you all this"— he mocked himself—"I had to have her."
Shannon faced him, hands on hips, and laughed." Of course you had to have her. Who else would put up with you?"
He shook his head. "Perhaps she won't. Perhaps this time I've gone too far."
By the time Paris went up to bed, Tabrizia had had plenty of time to herself to rest and regain her composure. She'd had time to eat and bathe, and she had even washed her hair and now sat before the fire, for its final stage of drying. Paris undressed and stretched out his great length, grateful to be in his own bed again. He didn't bait her tonight. It was enough just to watch her. She pleasured all his senses. Watching her graceful movements and listening to her hum were by far the safest senses to indulge. Once she was close enough for her scent to fill his nostrils, his mind reeled. When he touched her body, his blood coursed through his veins like rich red wine, making him drunk with desire, and when he tasted her— my God, it drove him to madness.
As her arms stretched high to brush her tresses, the firelight silhouetted the beauty of her body through the silken gown and lit her hair like a waterfall of liquid fire that flowed to her waist. His breath caught in his throat as she laid aside the brush and approached the bed: Her heavy lashes brushed her cheeks as she turned back the covers and gently slid under them. He raised up on an elbow to look down at her. Tiny tendrils of curls escaped the heavy, silken mass. He wanted to crush her to him, to feel her tremble in his arms. She raised pleading eyes to his, silently begging him not to hurt her. The look only brought forth his anger. "Christ, you look at me like a wounded fawn. I'm not a brute that gives you the back of my hand, so why do you flinch from me?" he demanded.
When she did not answer, he added scornfully, "You'll be rid of me for two days. I'm going to Cardell tomorrow!"
She felt contrite. Taking the news to Anne's father was an unpleasant duty that must be attended to. She felt guilty over accusing him of having a hand in her death, but the news had come as such a shock, she had voiced her suspicions unthinkingly.
He was so close, she could feel the heat from his body. Her senses were enveloped in the smell of sandalwood that lingered on him and in his bed and throughout the chamber. An ache began imperceptibly in her breasts and gradually spread down her body. A groan of dismay escaped her lips as she realized his mere presence could affect her to the point where her own body betrayed her. If only he would take her gently into his arms and tell her he loved her, she would go to him willingly, eagerly. He was her heart's desire, deny it though she would, yet still she feared him.
Paris's absence gave her the luxury of total freedom. She was home at last. She would enjoy! At the breakfast table, they all talked and laughed so much between mouthfuls, they were still sitting there two hours later. She told them all about the King's and Queen's Courts in London. The scandals, the gossip, the fashions and the extravagance fascinated them. They came back to her chamber to examine her low-cut gowns and her furs. They told her Venetia was already expecting a child, and Lennox was over the moon. Before the day was out, two of them asked her to use her influence with Paris. First, Damascus waited until she was alone; then her face took on such a woebegone expression, Tabrizia could hardly keep her face straight.
"Oh, Tabby, it is so unfair. Paris gave his permission for Venetia to marry, but when Robert asked for me, Paris snarled at him and said he forbade the marriage. Everybody is a bride but me," she pouted. "Next thing you know, Shannon will have accepted Lord Logan just to
beat me to the altar. It is all your fault, really, so you are the one who should put it right."
"My fault?" asked Tabrizia, at a loss.
"Your running away from Paris put him in a black temper. No one could approach him. You will make him sweet-tempered again. All you have-to do is wait until he's being particularly tender with you and then tell him he should let me get married."
"Is that all?" asked Tabrizia faintly.
Damascus smiled happily again. "You must have him eating out of your hand by now. A really good time will be after he's been away from you for two days— he'll be able to refuse you nothing!"
Alexander came up to her and swung her into the air. "It is so wonderful to have you back. Perhaps Paris will be fit to live with again. Oh, Tab, while he was away I had the most marvelous time in Edinburgh. I took a tour of the university. That's what I want to do, Tab. I've decided to go to the university. My only problem is Paris, and, of course, you can persuade him for me!"
"Alexander, your timing is impossible. I know it is very important to you, but we will have to talk about it some other time."
He looked hurt. "But he's besotted with you. He will refuse you nothing."
"That's the second time today I've heard those words. Sometimes I don't think we are talking about the same man! It is your brother Paris we're discussing, isn't it?"
"Tabby, he's so far gone in love. He eats you with his .eyes."
Tabrizia sat up late talking with Alexandria. She was on the point of confiding how Paris had forced her in the chapel and how things were between them when she reconsidered and decided to say nothing. She remembered how often Alexandria had gotten her into scrapes in the past and, though she loved her dearly, decided against telling her anything. It was only partly because Paris had forbidden her; her own pride did not want them to know that Paris did not love her.
That night she pulled the curtains all the way around Paris's great bed and snuggled down in the luxurious privacy. She must make the best of things. After all ,she was Lady Cockburn. Her position gave her the right to a good life. She would not live in his shadow, forever cowering when he so much as looked at her. He had been right when he pointed out that he had never struck her, and if his tongue was cruel, then be damned to him, he would get as good as he gave.
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