Splendor

by Catherine Hart

  Devlin groaned. “As often as I have prayed for this advent, the cure now seems worse than the ailment”

  “Not the cure,” she corrected solemnly. “The proof of it.”

  She took another crunchy bite of radish on buttered bread, and Devlin caught a whiff of the pungent aroma from across the bedroom. As his eyes began to water, he waved a hand to disperse the fumes. “You win, duchess. We’ll give it a three-day trial. If I become invisible before then, home I come. If not, you have that space of time in which to stuff yourself with radishes, to your burning heart’s content. If God is kind, your odd obsession with the obnoxious root will be adequately satisfied by then, and I will no longer hesitate to share the same air as my lovely, fire-breathing bride.”

  For the next three days, Devlin avoided the house. With the Mirage on another shipping run, he slept in the warehouse office, as Eden had suggested, and took to carrying a small mirror with him so that he could readily check the state of his visibility. Afraid of doing anything which might send his body back into revolt, he minced about as if he were walking on eggshells.

  He was irritable as all hell at being forced into “exile from Eden.” Once he had thought of it in those exact terms, he found a small dose of dour humor in his current situation, and developed a good deal of sympathy for Adam and Eve into the bargain. He might have told them that true temptation came not in the form of an apple. For him, temptation was a tall, sweetly curved lady with sparkling turquoise eyes, a lilting laugh, and a tart demeanor. One who had quickly become a habit he didn’t want to break, an addiction he adored.

  It was one thing to be away from her on business, to be separated by miles of sea. It was quite another to know that she was mere minutes removed from his touch, warm and waiting and eager, yet completely forbidden to him, all by their own design. It was a unique torture.

  Eden was equally miserable. She tried to keep busy to counter it. But in the wee hours of the night, when their bed seemed to have grown to twice its actual size, she missed Devlin terribly. Now, at long last, she was experiencing but a meager measure of what her mother had felt after her husband had died. Eden couldn’t imagine how dreadful it must be to know that one’s husband was forever gone, never to return again. At least she could anticipate having Devlin back in her arms in no more than three days, and if it took all that time, it would mean he was well and truly restored to his normal self. For this she would endure almost anything. She’d even give up radishes!

  Like Devlin, she could scarcely bear having him so close at hand, yet so completely inaccessible. At every turn, she found herself tempted to rush over to the warehouse and see how he was faring. Alone in their room, she paced for hours. She curled up on the bed and snuggled her face into his pillow, breathing in the lingering scent of him. She dreamed of him at night, and fantasized about him all day, until she was certain she’d go mad.

  By the appointed hour of his return, Eden was as edgy as a rusted razor. When Devlin finally walked through the door, she raced for his arms. “I hope you are cured, my love,” she told him as she threw herself into his welcoming embrace, “because I never want to be separated from you like this again. I have even decided that if you choose sailing as your trade, I and our child will voyage with you.”

  Laughing, he hugged her to him. “Oh, you will, will you? Don’t I get anything to say about it?”

  “Nay. ’Tis decided. Now, tell me that all is well.”

  “Aye, sweetling. At least for now. Hopefully, for always.”

  As he at last set her on her feet, she pulled him toward the bottom of the hall stairs, the twinkle in her eyes telling him she was scheming some sort of delightful mischief. “Come,” she urged, tugging at his hand. “We simply must celebrate this grand and glorious event.”

  “Upstairs?” he questioned, mocking her with a raised brow.

  She nodded.

  “Mayhap in our bedroom?”

  “Aye, dunce. Now do hurry, will you?”

  “My, what a lusty wench you are, to have missed my loving so much,” he teased, deliberately dragging his steps.

  “You don’t know the half of it,” she claimed boldly. “Now, unless you want me to undress you where you stand, and have my wicked way with you right here on the stairs, kindly move your bloomin’ bum a bit faster.”

  He was sorely tempted to call her bluff, but resisted—just barely. “Aye, aye, duchess!” he replied with a smart salute. The two of them ran hand-in-hand up the stairs and scarcely shut the bedroom door behind them before they began tearing at each other’s clothes.

  He needed a bath, and he needed her, and it seemed his bride was well prepared to give him both—at the same time! She’d shielded a large section of the bedroom floor with an oilcloth tarp, over which she’d spread several blankets. In the center stood the copper tub, half-filled with bathwater.

  “Mama would have fits if we flooded the floor and brought down the dining-room ceiling,” she explained with a giddy grin.

  In her eagerness to jerk his shirt over his head, she nearly strangled him. Then she tried to remove his breeches before his boots, and he almost broke a leg in his efforts to untangle himself. Likewise, he ripped the sleeve of her gown in his haste to undress her, and completely forgot to peel her stockings off before tumbling her into the tub.

  The protective covering for the floor proved prudent, for by the time their raging passions had finally been slaked, there was more water outside the tub than in it.

  “Good God, how I missed you!” Devlin growled into her wet ear.

  “I’m glad,” she murmured, lazily lathering soap into swirls on his chest. “As much as I suffered, I was hoping you were, too.”

  He chuckled and squeezed her close. “Ah, Eden! Our biggest problems are behind us now, duchess. After six long months, I am completely normal at last. The businesses are coming along well. We’ll soon have a new house and a new child. And Swift and Finster will bedevil us no more.”

  She raised her head to smile at him and licked a drop of water from his chin. “You can bedevil me as often as you wish, my love.”

  His black eyes glittered with ardent promise. “I intend to, my sweet. Very often indeed.”

  Though Eden and Devlin had spent the better part of the night reveling in their reunion, they were rudely awakened at first light by a loud chorus of the most cacophonous squawking Eden had ever hoped to hear. It wasn’t hard to guess that the ear-piercing noise was coming from the parlor, where Zeus and Rum Pot had been tethered to their perches. Devlin grabbed for his britches, while Eden yanked on her night rail. In tandem, they rushed down the stairs.

  Eden skidded to a halt just inside the room, her eyes wide in disbelief. “Gadzooks, Devlin!” she swore breathlessly. “I always supposed Zeus was big, but I had no idea how large until now!”

  “You can see him?”

  “I most certainly can,” Eden replied, glowering. “And I must say, he is looking extremely proud of himself. I also fancy I know the reason why.” She pointed a finger at Rum Pot, who was weaving to and fro on her perch, looking dazed and ruffled. A scattering of bright plumes littered the floor.

  Devlin gave a muffled laugh. “I’ll be switched! That snooty bird of yours has finally gotten her comeuppance!”

  Eden jabbed him sharply in the ribs. “That heathen pile of feathers you call a hawk has finally gotten his claws into my parrot!”

  “More than his claws, from the look of it,” Devlin countered with a chuckle. “Lord only knows what sort of odd chicks will hatch, should their curious union produce eggs.”

  “One might ask the same of our offspring,” Eden reminded him sourly.

  Not at all put off by her surly mood, and freshly inspired by Zeus’s success with Rum Pot, Devlin carted Eden back to bed for another lusty romp in the sheets. By the time they came up for air, Eden had long since gotten over her pique at the hawk. If the two birds were destined for each other, who was she to gainsay their union?

  For
now, it was Devlin’s turn to question matters. “I wonder what has caused Zeus to reappear now,” he mused. “Do you suppose the effects of the Saint Elmo’s fire merely wore off gradually, rendering the two of us whole again?”

  “Possibly,” she allowed. “Then again, when you regained your visibility, Nate suggested it might have been the good deeds you had performed, for after each incident your visibility returned a bit, until you were completely cured.”

  She recounted the three separate times. “After you saved those unfortunate prisoners from Blackbeard’s clutches, when you rescued that young woman Stede Bonnet had held prisoner, and after you helped to free the two men Swift held in bondage. All admirably selfless acts.”

  ‘True, I did improve after each, but what of Zeus?’’ Devlin asked.

  “He performed his own heroic feat when he swooped down on Swift and his men, providing a much-needed distraction, which no doubt saved both your life and Nate’s. A deed for which I will be eternally grateful.”

  “Then you agree with Nate, that these acts of valor redeemed our bodies?”

  “Not entirely.” Eden’s smile grew wide as she gazed at him with adoring eyes. “Nate has his theory, but I have one of my own. I believe love cured both of you—that only when you had fully surrendered your hearts and received a matching measure of devotion and passion in return did all fall right with your world again. I also suspect that is why I could view you when no one else could, and why Rum Pot could apparently see Zeus. We were your God-chosen mates, you see, specially selected to love and aid you. Some might claim it magical or mystical. I say ’tis the power of love.”

  Devlin simply declared it wondrous, and prayed that the splendor of it would shine brightly all through their lives, and beyond.

  Epilogue

  Eden and Devlin stood on the veranda of their hilltop home and looked out over the magnificent view of the harbor spread out below them. At the sound of childish laughter, they each turned, smiling, to watch two toddlers, one blond and one dark-haired, chasing clumsily after a butterfly in the lawn. The youngsters were healthy, happy, and as mischievous as puppies. They were also the light of their parents’ lives.

  Nathan Rogers Hancock, named after his father and the man who had granted Nate his pardon, had arrived two and a half years ago in April, just as Jane had predicted. A month later, James Devlin Kane had made his grand appearance, and Eden had cried grateful tears when Devlin had suggested having Jamie carry on her beloved father’s name.

  The children were constant companions, and it was odd to think of them as uncle and nephew to each other, for they were more like twin brothers, with the exception of their looks. Eden had wanted a son with Devlin’s sun-kissed locks, and she’d gotten her wish. However, as if to please both parents, the Fates had seen fit to endow their child with Eden’s turquoise gaze. At the moment of his birth, Eden would not have cared if Jamie had been born with twelve toes, so thankful was she that he had arrived beautifully visible to one and all.

  For three years now, Devlin had also remained discernible, as had Zeus. The queer romance between the falcon and the parrot had yet to bear offspring, but the birds were still enamored of each other, so that eventuality yet remained. After all, stranger things had happened, as Eden and Devlin well knew.

  Eden stooped low to catch her small son as he came tumbling up the porch steps and launched himself at her skirts. Laughing, she picked him up and settled him atop her right hip. “Whoa there, little lad! You’re going to pitch yourself onto your head, trying to run so fast on those chubby legs of yours.”

  Devlin awarded her a mock glare. “Jamie’s legs are perfect,” he claimed. “Just right for a growing boy.”

  “If you say so,” Eden answered, trying unsuccessfully to stifle a snicker at Devlin’s proud paternal attitude. “Still and all, ’twill not be long before he is too heavy for me to lift.”

  “Aye, he’s growing fast and tall, this one.”

  “Well, I hope the next one remains petite and darling,” Eden told him with a sly gleam in her eyes.

  “The next one?” Devlin echoed suspiciously, bending to scoop little Nathan into his arms as the child came dashing at him. “Eden, are you trying to tell me you’re breeding again?”

  She nodded. “I’m surprised you haven’t noticed. But then, you’ve been so wrapped up in your adorable son that you scarcely take any notice of me these days,” she teased.

  “If that be the case, how is it that you are with child?” he countered.

  She shrugged playfully. “It must have happened when I laundered your breeches, I suppose.”

  “Nay, minx,” he said, laughing and tweaking her nose, then Jamie’s and Nathan’s in turn. “We both know full well how it happened. Most likely, ’twas the night you performed that ridiculous harem dance for me.

  She grinned in remembrance. “As I recall, you didn’t think it was so ludicrous at the time. Nonetheless, I do imagine you are correct in assuming that our daughter was conceived that night.”

  He cocked a blond brow at her, his son immediately imitating the familiar gesture. “What makes you so sure this one will be a lass?”

  “The lemons.”

  “Lemons?”

  “Aye, Devlin. Surely you’ve noticed that I have developed a passion for lemons. I thought you’d be grateful ’tis not radishes this time round.”

  “I am, duchess. Believe me. Anything is an improvement over those noxious roots.”

  “Then you’re pleased with my news?”

  He pulled her to him, both children crushed happily between them. “More than pleased, Eden. Thrilled. Elated. Overjoyed at the prospect of a daughter—-and the blessed absence of radishes!”

  Catherine Hart is a native of Ohio, wife, mother of three, and proud grandmother. She has authored twenty books, eighteen full novels and two novellas, many of which have won awards. Reading and writing have been her passion for most of her life, and she credits her love of books and learning to her parents, who introduced her to reading at an early age, and to extraordinary teachers who furthered her search for knowledge. She also enjoys puzzles of all sorts—sudoku, crosswords, and jigsaw puzzles—and traveling, having visited all but a few of the U.S. states, including Alaska. These days, she most enjoys watching sunsets from her lakeview home with her beloved husband of 47 years.

  Titles by Catherine Hart

  Native American series

  Silken Savage

  Summer Storm

  Night Flame

  Frontier series

  Forever Gold

  Fallen Angel

  Single Titles

  Fire and Ice

  Ashes and Ecstasy

  Satin and Steel

  Sweet Fury

  Tempest

  Temptation

  Splendor

  Irresistible

  Dazzled

  Mischief

  Charmed

  Horizons

  Impulsive

  Continue reading to enjoy an excerpt from Fire and Ice by Catherine Hart.

  Fire and Ice

  Chapter 1

  KATHLEEN stood alone on the crest of the hill. A breeze tugged at the skirt of her black silk dress, and her long red-gold hair whipped across her face. That face, lovely enough to start any man’s heart racing, was filled with sorrow. Her large emerald eyes reflected the color of the Irish sea into which she tearfully stared. She was an arresting sight even in her mourning dress, with her beautiful young figure outlined in silhouette as the wind molded her dress against her thighs and firm, high breasts. Arms clutched tightly at her waist, she valiantly blinked away the tears that clung to her long, dark eyelashes and traced a path silently down her cheeks. A shudder ran through her slim frame as she tried to quell the sobs which threatened to start anew.

  “Mistress Kathleen, ’tis time to go. The carriage is loaded and waiting. Mrs. Dunley sent me to fetch ye.”

  The girl turned to nod sadly to the elderly man climbing the hill
toward her. “Thank you, George. I’m coming, though Lord knows why I have to go anywhere at all when I have a perfectly fine home and friends here.” She sighed. “But, no! They are determined to send me halfway across the world to a wilderness full of Indians and crude backwoodsmen, and relatives I’ve never laid eyes on. It doesn’t make a tinker’s lot of sense to me!” She stopped her descent to stamp her small booted foot for emphasis, then continued, “And that’s another burr under my saddle! Why is it just because I’m seventeen and a female, everyone thinks I haven’t the brains to manage this estate by myself? Papa left it to me in his will. He knew I could manage it. For years now I have handled the books for the estate. I’ll wager I know more about rents and sales of grains and stocks than most boys my age.”

  “I’d bet on that, Miss,” George agreed, nodding. “Besides, ye did a fine job of runnin’ the house, too, since your poor dear mother took sick of the fever and passed away four years back. She was a fine Irish lady, she was. O’ course, yer pa was a fine gentleman, too, even if he was English. No disrespect meant, Miss.”

  “None taken, George. To be sure, I’ll miss him dearly. I’ll never understand how his horse stumbled and threw him. Midnight was always so sure footed and Papa was a superb horseman.” A fresh sob broke through as she recalled both horse and rider found three days before with their necks broken.

  The neighbors had all been very kind. Nearly everyone in the county had attended the funeral the day before. Edward Haley had been well thought of by all who knew him. He had come to Ireland twenty years before, fallen in love with a beautiful red-haired lass named Ann O’Reilly, and married her. Lord Edward did not endorse the harsh way England ruled Ireland and her people, but there was little more he could do than treat his tenant farmers and servants fairly. He fell in love with the country and would never consent to becoming an absentee landlord as many Englishmen did. Thus, he won the admiration and respect of his new countrymen.