Undone - Virginia Henley

by Virginia Henley

  "Hello, where the devil did you come from? Smart girl! You smelled the chimney smoke and knew there was someone here." When the Border collie bounded inside, he quickly shut the door. John was puzzled that the dog did not make itself at home but, instead, began barking and bounded back to the closed door. "Leaving so soon, lass? We're having rabbit stew for dinner."

  The dog stared into his eyes and barked insistently, communicating her message the only way she could.

  It was obvious to John that the Border collie wanted to take him out into the storm to show him something or someone the dog had left behind but refused to abandon. He shrugged into his coat. "Okay, lass, show me what's so bloody important." He pulled the lodge door tight against the wind and followed the dog, who was now out of sight. He caught a glimpse of her as she circled back then battled his way through the blizzard again. Defeat was not in Campbell's nature. When she reached the tall firs, he cautioned himself about forest wolves and cursed because he'd left his knife behind in the kitchen. Then he saw the downed limb and, by the way the dog was acting, knew there was something or someone beneath it.

  At first he saw nothing. The eight-foot limb's evergreen branches were encased in thick ice and snow, and it took all his strength to lift it and throw it aside. When he saw the body, he realized it was a woman. The dark sable fur was white with snow, and he pulled aside the hood to see if she was alive. "Mother of God!" Elizabeth's eyes were closed, her lashes encrusted with snowflakes. Then, weak with relief, he saw that her shallow breaths were visible in the freezing air.

  The dog tried to distract him, barking and digging frantically. John took a second glance and saw the head of a small colt like creature whose body was buried in the deep snowdrift. "First things first," he muttered as he knelt down and lifted Elizabeth into his arms. With his precious burden clutched tightly, he struggled to stand, then slowly, resolutely, battling to put one foot in front of the other, he fought his way through the blizzard to the haven of the lodge.

  John laid Elizabeth down before the fire. He removed the sodden fur then ran to the bedchamber for an eiderdown. He covered her ice-cold body and tried to revive her by patting her cheeks and calling her name. She opened her eyes, gave him a ghost of a smile, then closed them. The dog was driving him mad with her distracted barking. He knew what the collie wanted, but the dilemma almost tore him in half. "All right, damn you!" He ran to the kitchen for his knife. The animal in the snow was wolf bait, so he might need a weapon; if it was injured, he would put it out of its misery.

  The dog struggled alongside him, clearly near exhaustion herself. The collie pinpointed the spot, then John, down on his knees, dug the snow away from the small animal with his bare hands. Deeper in the woods he glimpsed a dark shadow slinking through the trees. The thought of Elizabeth at the mercy of wolves knotted his gut and almost froze his heart. As he lifted the wooly creature it gave a pathetic little bray and he realized it was a baby donkey. When he saw no sign of blood, he hoisted it up in his arms and staggered to his feet. It took grim determination to carry it through the deep snow and biting wind back to the lodge.

  Without ceremony he deposited the donkey on the floor by the hearth, and the dog dropped down beside it, tongue lolling out, panting as if she was ready to expire from shortness of breath. Immediately they ceased to exist for John as he flung off his coat and boots and turned his full attention upon Elizabeth. Her eyes were still closed and her body limp, though she was breathing evenly.

  The fur cape had prevented her clothing from becoming soaked, but her garments were damp and cold. He removed her boots and found her small feet icy. As he took off her gown he noticed her hands. "Judas, your hands are raw ... perhaps even frostbitten!" He hurried to the bedchamber and from his saddlebags took a small pot of ointment, made from alkanet and hops grown on his Kent estate. He removed her petticoat and tore it into strips. Then he coated her hands with the healing ointment and bandaged them.

  Without opening her eyes, Elizabeth began to murmur. The only word he could understand was _thistle_. He assumed she was telling him what had taken the skin from her fingers. "Why the devil would you be picking thistles? They have few medicinal properties." He peeled off her damp stockings and vigorously rubbed her icy feet to restore their circulation. Then he lifted the eiderdown from her and removed her busk and drawers. Her icy skin was as pale as alabaster. As he gazed down at her naked form he could hardly believe that less than four months ago she had given birth. She had the same lovely, delicate, tantalizing figure as before.

  "Whiskey! Any place Hamilton owns must have liquor." He glanced about and saw a carved oak cabinet against the wall. He hurried over and found it well stocked with Scotch whiskey. He took a flacon back to the fire and knelt beside her inert body.

  John took a quick swallow then trickled some on her belly, thighs, and breasts. With long, smooth strokes he rubbed warmth back into her icy-cold flesh. He tried to rid his mind of lustful thoughts as his powerful hands circled her breasts and belly, massaging in a steady rhythm. Then he rolled her over and, after pouring some of the fiery liquor on her back and buttocks, set to work stroking firmly down her back and down her long, slim legs.

  Soon he could tell by the feel of her skin that her body temperature was returning to normal. He propped her up with one muscled arm about her back and lifted the whiskey to her lips. She gasped and coughed as a few sips went down, and she opened her eyes. •

  She smiled sleepily. "Not real... just a dream." Before the whisper left her lips, her heavy eyelids descended.

  John picked up Elizabeth and the eiderdown and carried her to the bed he had slept in. He tucked her in, tenderly brushing back the tousled curls from her brow. "Just a dream. Go back to sleep."

  With difficulty he forced himself to leave her side and went back into the other room. His amused glance swept over the odd pair of animals stretched out side by side, sound asleep. He stirred the rabbit stew, poured in some whiskey, and covered it with an iron lid. He removed the pot from the direct heat, set it on the hearth where it would slowly simmer, then banked the fire with logs.

  John removed his own wet garments and set them by the hearth to dry. He shook out Elizabeth's wool gown, hung it over a chair along with her hose and drawers and moved the chair closer to the fire.

  Naked, he stretched his arms wide, then rubbed his aching shoulder muscles. "Thank God, I don't have to carry many donkeys."

  He was tired, but he felt joy in the very blood that was singing through his veins. Despite the threat of war, despite the blizzard, he admitted that there was nowhere on earth he would rather be than snowed in with his beloved at Chatelherault Hunting Lodge.

  Elizabeth drew him like a lodestone, and he saw no reason on earth to resist her magnetic pull. He padded into the bedchamber and stood gazing down at her for long drawn-out moments. He felt as if they were still attached by an invisible golden thread that had never been severed. No matter how many separations they endured, the power of their attraction for each other was so compelling that he believed their lives would touch again and again. Why else had the Fates delivered her up to him? Finally, he drew back the covers and slipped in beside her.

  John lay against her back, one arm across her waist, her head tucked beneath his chin. He felt her sigh of contentment. In spite of the fact that she was another man's wife, lying in bed together with his body curved about hers felt _right_. She was his woman. Always had been. Always would be.

  *Chapter Twenty-Nine*

  "Oh, my God! John Campbell, you have kidnapped me!" Elizabeth sat up in the bed, her violet eyes wide. "You have bound my hands so I cannot fight you. And you are _naked_!" she accused with alarm.

  He gazed at her, bemused. "Beth, I _rescued_ you. I _tended_ your hurt hands. And you too are _naked_," he teased lightly, immensely relieved that she was awake and feeling feisty. "I found you in the blizzard, knocked unconscious by a fallen tree limb. It's a miracle that you didn't freeze to death." His words suddenly tu
rned harsh. "I should take my belt to you, you reckless little bitch--risking your life over a donkey!"

  She drew up the eiderdown as if it would protect her from him. "I remember now. Thistle got out of the stable, and I feared wolves would eat him. Queenie and I found him buried beneath the snow."

  "I take it Queenie is the Border collie and Thistle is the donkey?" The fallen bedcover had revealed much of her high-thrusting breasts, and he found it difficult to reprimand her.

  "You found them?" Her eyes shone with hope.

  "Queenie found _me_ and insisted I follow her. I brought you to Chatelherault first, then went back for the bloody donkey. I left them both in there, asleep by the fire."

  "Chatelherault is where we are? How long have I... have we..."

  "Been sleeping together?" He grinned. "About two hours."

  "How dare you dishonor Hamilton hospitality, sir? Get out of my bed immediately! And get that lecherous grin off your face."

  He threw back the cover and, naked, stepped from the bed. "The first order I can obey. The second is impossible." His grin widened. He held up his hand, "No, Your Grace, I insist no thanks are necessary. I enjoy carrying damsels and donkeys about. But of the trio, the bitch in the other room has the most intelligence."

  Her eyes flashed their warning. "Bring me my gown."

  "It's woolen. It will still be soggy."

  "Then bring me my petticoat!" she ordered imperiously.

  "Sorry, Duchess. You don't have a petticoat. I used it to bandage your hands."

  Elizabeth held up her hands helplessly, trying to muster her defiance, and burst into angry tears. "Don't call me Duchess! You must know how much I hate, loathe, and detest being a duchess."

  He was beside her in two strides and gathered her into his arms. "Don't cry, Beth." He raised her face and wiped her tears away with gentle fingertips. "You'll feel better once you have some food inside you, I promise."

  She pulled away and nodded, angry with herself for weeping.

  In a very short time, John returned with a big bowl. He indicated her bandages. "I'll have to feed you. I gave Queenie her own bowl, but we'll share."

  "It smells wonderful. I'm so hungry! Oh, what about Thistle?"

  "I gave the donkey oats I brought from the stable for porridge." He lifted the spoon to her lips and took delight in watching her.

  "Mmm, I haven't tasted rabbit stew since I left Ireland."

  The word _Ireland_ evoked memories for both of them. Each wished they could turn back the clock to that carefree, unfettered time.

  Elizabeth blushed. Sitting here naked, sharing warm food, was far too intimate, especially with the attractive devil's dark eyes devouring her. She watched his hands as he fed her. They were beautiful, sensual, disturbing. Her memory caught the thread of something they had done to her earlier. It eluded her for a moment, then she remembered the feel of those hands, massaging her from head to foot, front and back, above and below. His hands coupled with his nakedness were too wickedly tempting. She opened her mouth for the last spoonful but lowered her lashes. "Aren't you cold?" she asked pointedly.

  "You know I'm not... this close you can feel my fire, Elizabeth." He ran his finger round the empty bowl and raised it to her lips.

  She could not resist licking it, though she knew it was provocative. Her blush deepened. If she were truthful, she'd admit she could resist nothing about him. "Please, get my undergarments. I want to come out by the fire. I want to see the animals."

  John returned with her busk and drawers, but when she donned them she suddenly realized how inappropriate they were. She tossed back her hair with a defiant little gesture and walked with the haughty pride of a duchess wearing an elaborate ball gown.

  Her pretension vanished the moment she saw the dog. "Queenie! Careful, don't knock me over. Yes, Queenie, I love you too." When the dog's tail swished against her bare legs, she laughed with delight and scratched the collie's ears, one white, the other black.

  John left her to enjoy the animals while he repaired to the kitchen. He returned with the rabbit legs spitted for roasting and a pan of kneaded dough. He was wearing a sackcloth apron tied about his middle, but when he bent to put the flat bread on the fire to bake, she saw his exposed bare buttocks and laughed merrily.

  "You think your drawers don't make you a figure of fun?" he asked in mock offense. "Here"--he placed a long iron spit in her bandaged hand--"make yourself useful."

  As they sat side by side, roasting meat over the fire like boon companions, Elizabeth mourned what might have been, and her honesty bubbled to the surface. "I wish I'd said yes when you asked me to come and live with you at Sundridge. You were right, John. I'm not suited to being a titled lady of the _ton_. I prefer the country to London... detest Court functions ... loathe being a duchess."

  "Regrets are a waste of time, love. Pretend you are not the Duchess of Hamilton. You are a born actress--you can be Elizabeth, or Titania, or my lady in gray--" His fingers stroked her cheek.

  "No, John. I am married to another man. I am not yours."

  "Shall I show you that you are?" He took the spit from her and set it on the hearth beside his. He knelt before her and cupped her face in his hands, gazing down at her reverently, intensely, possessively. His lips touched hers. "Mine now and forevermore."

  Elizabeth sighed, and her mouth clung to his. The kisses were gentle at first but gradually turned fierce. "Your kisses are like snowflakes--no two are alike." Just for this moment she had decided to be Elizabeth, Titania, _and_ his lady in gray. It wasn't real, it was only pretend, and what did it hurt? She felt his lips trail kisses along her cheekbone and her throat. His warm breath on her skin sent delicious shivers all the way down to her lush breasts and sensitive nipples.

  John removed his apron then unfastened the busk and lifted her naked breasts to his lips. He ran his tongue across one pink crest and heard her moan deep in her throat. "You taste like whiskey," he whispered huskily. His dark eyes held hers, and he saw her response to him flare up like a flame. Her eyes told him she knew that he had marked her as his; it was impossible to hide it from him. With possessive hands he removed her drawers and gazed at her with adoration. The fireshine turned her hair to red-gilt, her pale flesh to golden honey. She was truly an achingly beautiful woman to be cherished. He gently pushed her down on the thick rug, captured her wrists, and lifted her arms above her head as he moved his body over hers. "Wrap your legs high about my back."

  She remembered how she loved his weight and his fullness inside her and yielded eagerly, arching up to meet his downward plunge. Until he was inside her, she'd had no idea how much she wanted him, or how long she had hungered to have him make love to her again. She wanted the feel of him, the smell of him, the taste of him to engulf her senses. She kissed his throat then licked it, and as he began to thrust, she bit him in a little sensual frenzy. The first time there had been pain mingled with the pleasure; now there was no pain whatsoever, only deeply thrilling enjoyment.

  Her sheath felt like hot silk as she tightened passionately around his shaft, joining him in the tantalizing rhythm that was so achingly perfect. He yearned to watch her shiver and shudder as he brought her to climax, so he unleashed some of the fierce desire that had been goading him for months. She arched up with a cry and tightened on him, sending fire snaking through his loins. He felt the pulsebeat in his cock, felt his seed start, and, coming to his senses with a low groan, withdrew before he spent. He took his weight from her but held her close and rolled until they lay together on their sides.

  She buried her face against his chest, and as he feathered kisses along her brow into her hair, she could hear the strong, steady thunder of his heart. As they lay embraced, she felt replete, happy, and cherished. Joy sang in her blood; love almost melted her very bones.

  When at last they could bear to separate, John wiped his pearly ejaculate from them with the sackcloth apron. "I've never felt this way before. Beth, you consume me, waking or sleeping. Promise me you
will never, ever regret loving me!"

  _Don't ask for promises I may not be able to keep, John_. She smiled into his eyes and offered her lips for his kiss. As she became aware of her surroundings, she reached for her undergarments and saw him double up with laughter. "What?"

  "Her Highness has eaten our bloody rabbit legs while we were otherwise engaged!" He couldn't stop laughing. "She slaked her appetite while we were doing the same."

  Elizabeth was relieved that he was in no mood to punish Queenie, and she joined in his laughter. Then she saw that Thistle had peed on the expensive Oriental carpet and it too struck her as being funny. _So much for Hamilton's priceless possessions_!

  "I should take the donkey to the stables. There's plenty of hay for him there. My horse will keep him company."

  "Thistle is just a baby ... his mother is still suckling him."

  Elizabeth immediately thought of her own baby and knew she must get back to the castle. "I must go back to Cadzow, John."

  "That's impossible tonight."

  "I have to get back to my child. I've been gone all day."

  He took her hand and almost dragged her to the door, then he flung it open and allowed her to both see and feel the blizzard. "You cannot leave tonight... perhaps tomorrow."

  "I'd rather go tonight," she said stubbornly.

  "The decision is mine, Elizabeth," he said quietly.

  "Why should it be yours?" she challenged.

  "Because I am the man, you the woman."

  She lowered her lashes to mask her resentment, but she did not dare defy his towering male authority. _Even naked_ -- _especially naked_ -- _he is every inch the dominant military major_!

  "We'll have to eat what's left of the rabbit stew and some hot bread. I have to feed and water Demon. I'll take Thistle to the stable and bed him down in some straw. I set some snares-- perhaps I'll be lucky again. Can you warm up our food while I'm gone, or do your hands hurt too much?"