Bertrice Small

by Unconquered

  “No,” said Miranda, the tears rolling down her beautiful face. “Be happy for him. I am, for in death, Lucas is no longer a slave.” She felt Jared take her icy hand in his, and then he said, “Let us go home, wildcat.”

  “To Wyndsong?” she asked.

  “Yes, my love,” he answered. “To Wyndsong.”

  Epilogue

  DREAM WITCH PLOWED THROUGH THE GENTLE SEAS, HER SLEEK keel cutting the dark waves like a knife. Above her, bright stars silvered the night sky. Toward the southeast in the constellation Scorpius, Red Antares glowed fiery. In the west and close to setting, the star Regulus slid down the Sickle of Leo into the sea, while blue-white Venus twinkled at midheaven. All was silent but for the gentle hiss of the waves, and the steady breeze that filled the ship’s sails. In the bow the watchman hummed tunelessly to himself while the helmsman in the stern watched his course, thinking of the wife he hadn’t seen in two years.

  In the master’s cabin Jared Dunham was caressing his wife’s beautiful body. Naked, she lay like a nymph, her warm, silken skin vibrating beneath his skilled touch.

  Miranda reveled in passion. She pushed him back, and mounted him. Taking his face in her hands, she slowly kissed his quivering, closed eyelids, his forehead, his high sculpted cheekbones, the cleft in his chin. Her slender hands tangled in his dark hair.

  Sitting up, she reached back and began to fondle him, her hand moving with slow, sensuous strokes at first, her tempo increasing as he grew hard with her touch. Watching her through half-closed eyes, he saw her half-smile of triumph. The little bitch, he thought, amused, remembering his shy bride of three years before. It was time she remembered who was the master.

  He swiftly slid his hands beneath her adorable bottom and moved her forward. His fingers dug into her backside and his tongue found its home, flickering rapidly back and forth as she whimpered. Her sex grew stiff as her excitement increased, and when she thought she could bear no more he stopped and pushed her down onto her back, spreading her legs wide, teasing her further by rubbing the ruby head of his manhood against her throbbing womanhood.

  “Bastard!” she hissed at him through clenched teeth, and he laughed.

  “I love you, you impossible bitch,” he said, “but if you try to drive me, you must accept the consequences of your own provocative actions.” He turned her over and, laying his body along the length of hers, pushed her gilt hair aside and began licking the side of her neck. Miranda shivered with delight, and began to make little murmuring noises as his tongue moved across her shoulders and then followed her spine, ending with a sweep around each rounded satiny buttock.

  She squirmed out from under him, and pushed him down, beginning her own taunting tongue play, around and around his tender nipples. Then suddenly her tongue began to follow the provocative line of his dark hair down his belly. Lower and lower her head moved until he pulled her back with, “Enough, you witch! The time for play is over!”

  Quickly she was beneath him, and he was filling her. Slowly, slowly, he pushed into her, feeling her yield as he moved deeper and deeper inside of her. When he could go no further, he lay still for a moment. Then he felt her initiate the sweet rhythm between them, pushing her slim hips, goading him. “Ah, wildcat,” he murmured against her ear, “you are ever impatient.” He thrust hard and fast into her.

  Miranda gave herself to him entirely as she had never given herself to anyone else. Their passion was like a comet flashing across the dark heavens, trailing gold stars to burn as brightly as their love. At last their fulfillment washed over them, leaving them helpless yet safe within the comfort of each other’s arms. Exhausted, they slept, the fingers of her right hand and his left intertwined.

  She awakened and listened to the wonderful sound of his breathing. She was safe. She was loved. She was with Jared. And tomorrow they would be home on Wyndsong.

  The Dunhams and the Swynfords had stayed at Swynford Hall for four days before Miranda and Jared left for Welland Beach, where Dream Witch awaited them. To their delight, Martin and Perky, as well as Jared’s valet, Mitchum, had decided to come with them. Jared had promised the three servants that if they didn’t like America he would see them safely returned to England after a year. But he doubted that they would want to come back.

  Miranda and Amanda had spent much of those four days in each other’s company, joining the men only at meals and at bedtime. It would be a long while before they met again, and there was so much to talk about in the little time left. On their last day together, Amanda had run into the dining room laughing and brandishing a gazette.

  “You won’t believe this, twin! Darius Edmund, Belinda de Winter’s suitor, is engaged to Georgeanne! How’s that for a happy ending?”

  Miranda smiled at her sister. It was a deep smile, a wistful smile that ached at their parting.

  “Oh, Mandy,” she teased, her old self again. “You always were one for happy endings!” And their husbands joined in the laughter.

  Beside her, Jared stirred. “Are you awake?” he asked.

  “Yes, Wyndsong is near. I smell it.” She chuckled. “I remember coming home from England four years ago, and Mandy and I rose early to see the island first, but Papa was right behind us. It began as a wonderful day, and ended so tragically. Yet I sometimes wonder, if it had not ended that way, whether you and I would have married.”

  “It was what Cousin Tom seemed to have in mind all along,” he said quietly.

  “Yes, Papa was always full of plans,” she sighed. “Let’s get dressed, and go on deck. I want to see Wyndsong!”

  “I’m afraid I will have to join you,” he teased, “lest you leap overboard in an effort to get there before the ship.”

  Laughing, they dressed in their elegant London fashions. She refused to bind up her long hair. Her Bavaria pelisse robe was an immensely flattering shade of jade green with gold trim.

  “I hope you won’t mind if I leave off these magnificent clothes once we are home,” he said. “I do not see myself going around Wyndsong in a morning coat, with my cravat tied in some precious fashion like ‘Dormant Waterfall.’ Mitchum is, I fear, going to become discouraged with me.”

  “We shall have to give a lot of parties, so we may wear our clothes and please Mitchum and Perky.”

  “I thought you hated parties,” he teased. “It seems to me that I remember a girl who hated parties.”

  “The girl became a woman,” she said.

  “Indeed she did,” he agreed, admiration in his voice, as he kissed her.

  They went up on deck, where the watch bid them a smiling good morning. “See anything yet, Nathan?” asked Jared.

  “Oh, we’re right atop it, Master Jared. Fog should lift in a few minutes, and you’ll see we’re smack in the middle of Gardiner’s Bay.”

  “I told you I could smell it,” teased Miranda.

  “Mama! Papa!” Little Tom, his cat clutched in his arms, came running forward, Perky and Martin behind him. “Are we home, Mama? Are we?”

  “Almost, my darling.” Miranda smiled at him, and Jared picked the boy and his cat up in his arms so the child could get a good view. “Keep watching, Tom,” she said. “The mists will lift in a few minutes, and you’ll see your home. Be patient.”

  Behind them the sun was an iridescent rainbow of color, the sea about them flat and smooth. Then suddenly a small breeze sprang up, and the fog swirled about them, the light wind catching streamers of it, and drawing it away. The sun rose full, now spreading a wash of gold and mauve, rose and scarlet onto the water. The sky turned a bright blue. Ahead of them was the lowing of cattle, the warm smell of earth. Above them a gull hunting his breakfast circled and whirled.

  Then suddenly the fog was lifted away by the wind and ahead of them Wyndsong Island rose from the waters of the bay, green and beautiful.

  “Look, Mama! Look, Papa!” Little Tom cried, excited. He pointed a chubby finger. “I have come home,” the little boy said almost to himself. “I have come home.”

&nb
sp; Miranda reached out and tucked her hand through Jared’s arm. He smiled at her over Tom’s head, and while his rapt gaze rested on her beautiful face, she turned toward the island, scanning the coast to make sure it was everything she remembered. It was. She had come home to Wyndsong.

  She lightly brushed the top of Tom’s head and, her voice breaking, cried, “Yes, my darling, we have come home!”

  About the Author

  Bertrice Small is the bestselling author of The Kadin, Love Wild and Fair, Adora, Skye O’Malley, Unconquered, Beloved and All The Sweet Tomorrows. She lives in the oldest English settlement in the state of New York, a small village on the eastern end of Long Island. She is called “Sunny” by her friends, and “Lust’s Leading Lady” by her fans; but her son insists that to him, she’s just plain “Mom.”

  Mrs. Small works at an antique desk in a light-filled, pink, green and white studio overlooking her old-fashioned rose and flower garden. It is furnished in what she describes as a mixture of office modern and Turkish harem. Mrs. Small’s companions as she works to create her handsome rogues, dashing renegades and beautiful vixens are her new electronic typewriter, Betsy (the faithful Rebecca having retired after many years of service), Checquers, now a large black and white cat, whose ears are still pink to match his collar, and her overworked secretary, Judy Walker.

  Bertrice Small enjoys hearing from her readers, so, if you have enjoyed Unconquered you may write her at P.O. Box 765, Southold, New York 11971. Rest assured, she answers all her mail.

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