My Cursed Highlander
Page 35
Viviana debated on whether or not to tell him Meghan and Cora-Rose had already dabbled in the dipple. It was all part of the plan. “And how is it they even know about the process?”
Taveon heated almond scented oil between his palms and massaged a generous portion into her womanhood. “I might have boasted a time or two.”
Viviana closed her eyes and reveled in the feel of his callous hands stroking her smooth skin. He was playing with her now, sneaking his fingers between her petal-soft folds, drawing forth a desire that never seemed to wane. How was she ever going to deny him? “I should order your tongue removed for speaking so openly about such intimate details.”
Taveon twirled said tongue around Viviana’s hard nipple through the thin gauze of her wrapper, making her gasp. “Can ye honestly lie here and pretend ye havenae talked about my performance in our wedding bed?”
The man’s ears would turn to ash if he knew what the kinswomen had discussed over sup just yestereve. S’truth, it wasn’t a discussion as much as a plot to torture the men in a most delicious way upon their return.
Viviana hid a knowing grin and wove her fingers into his hair as he trailed his lips over the curve of her rounded belly. She almost pitied the men. Almost.
“I suspected as much,” he deemed when she remained silent and set the creams, oils, and metal nippers on a side table. He finished off Viviana’s wine in one gulp and removed his plaid and tunic in one swift pull.
Viviana bolted upright from the settee. “What are you about, husband?”
“I should think my intentions are obvious.” He glanced at his erection and wiggled his brows.
Viviana’s inside did a little dance, but she couldn’t break the pact she’d made with the women. She tweaked his nipples and squeezed passed him. “I fear there will be no merry-making this eve.” She raced through a set of double doors into a chamber even Taveon considered her private sanctuary.
“No merry-making? Are ye wowf?” He chased her passed an easel strewn with garments, and caught her at the edge of a massive mahogany desk.
She squealed when he propped her atop the surface and kissed her wildly. Her toes curled, and her hands roamed freely over his taut backside, squeezing, massaging, flushing the side of his erection to her aching mons. Mayhap she could—
No! she interrupted her own debauched thoughts, pulled her mouth from his, and forced his hips back.
“Ye cannae mean to deny me,” he whispered into her ear, then drew her lobe between his teeth.
Gooseflesh spread over her arms. That familiar hum vibrated through her body and set her spine into a quiver. Oh, she wanted to let him have his way with her.
His wet lips played over the pulse point beneath her ear. “Behave,” he insisted and cupped her full breast, making resistance nigh impossible.
“I cannot. I’ve made a pact with your kinswomen.”
Taveon’s forehead fell into the crook of her neck. His heated breath shot between her breasts. “What are ye speaking of? What kind of pact?”
“The kinswomen have agreed to deny the men any form of pleasure until Monroe takes Sela to wife.”
Taveon’s head snapped up. “Is she with child?”
“No, but she is hopeful she will be soon. She is eight and twenty and fears if she continues to wait for Monroe, she will never marry nor bear children.”
Taveon rubbed his eyes and groaned. “Why in the name of Zeus would ye allow such a ridiculous plan to grow to fruition? The men have been in the wood for nigh three sennights. This alliance of abstinence will cause great upset. Have ye any idea what ‘tis like for a mon to refrain from conjugal activities? These are married men we are speaking of, not monks. ‘Tis like a poison that starts in your—”
Viviana pressed her finger against his lips to end his rant. “In the years I resided in the Medici Palace, I learned to respect Lorenzo for his ability to unite a body of people. As the lady of Ravenhurst, I want that same harmony for our people. They have been divided for decades in fear. There are still those who remain distant, but all your kinswomen are fond of Sela. When she came to me for advice, I saw it as a way to unite the clan.”
“At Monroe’s expense?” Taveon pushed away from the desk and plucked a skirt off the floor.
“Does he no longer want her?”
“Oh, he wants her. She is all he talked about in the wood.” Taveon set the folded garment aside and hung a wrinkled cloak on a peg in the wall. “‘Sela hasn’t aged in six years. Sela makes the finest bayberry jam. Sela made me a green sash for patching the roof of her cot-house.’ Monroe speaks of little else. The mon is smitten with her, but he fears no woman would want him because of his scar.”
“Then drag him to the kirk and all this talk of abstinence will be naught but prattle.” Viviana hopped to her feet when Taveon pulled on a piece of parchment beneath her buttocks. He contemplated her request while he arranged the coal sticks in a row beside an oil lamp, then proceeded to stack her drawings one atop the other according to size. His bluster seemed to lessen as he studied the charcoal renderings—a detail of an ear, a hand, an eye.
“Consider it done, but do refrain from making such pacts in the future. ‘Tis difficult enough for the men to please the women.” Taveon’s interest in the subject seemed to lessen as he pondered over a sketch of a man and a woman holding hands in a meadow. “Did ye draw these?”
“They are not for your eyes.” Self-conscious about her artistic ability, Viviana rushed passed the corner of the desk and attempted to yank the drawing from his hand, but he was far quicker than she.
“They are remarkable.” He held her at bay and plucked out a portrait of Makayla and Lily. The proportions were exaggerated, showing Viviana’s lack of skill, but she’d captured their emotions with expertise—Makayla, always the leader, was posed at the forefront with her fists on her little hips, and Lily stood behind hiding a shy smile.
“How does our Lily fair?” Taveon asked in a tone filled with concern.
“She progresses a bit more each day. She has shown an interest in birds. Falcons to be more precise. The falconer was letting her assist him, until she tried to set one of the birds free.” Viviana suspected Lily’s intentions stemmed from years of repression, but the falconer wasn’t so forgiving.
“‘Tis good she is healing, aye?”
Viviana nodded. “She lays foxtails on Sister De Rosa’s grave everyday and talks to her about the sister she is getting.” Viviana curved her palm over her round stomach, wanting to reflect on happier times.
“Sister?” Taveon bellowed, making her giggle.
“She and Makayla have named the babe, Bess. They refuse to accept Cora-Rose’s prediction as truth.”
Taveon laughed outright and spread the drawings out to take them in as a whole. There were detailed sketches of him in the flesh, in God-like poses inspired by the sculptures at the Medici Palace, but the drawing he focused on was one she’d been working on for quite some time—Taveon, dressed in his country’s garb, embraced her with both arms. Makayla and Lily danced at their feet beside Miocchi and the pups the bloodhound had delivered in November. His forbearers watched over them from Heaven; Margret, Morgan, Lorna, Katerina, Janetta, Elise and Kael peeked through the clouds at God’s right hand, and to His left was a woman Viviana had drawn in only recently.
Taveon traced the curve of Viviana’s bare calf in the rendering, then his shifted to study the women in the clouds. She waited for him to count them, knowing his next question before he asked it. “Who is she?”
“My sister.”
Taveon’s questioning look only made her smile wider. Eager to show him the missive from Italy, Viviana opened a drawer and retrieved a scroll, the red seal of the Medici crest already broken. “Angelo replied. It arrived on the Sabbath.”
“Well, what does it say?” Taveon held her in front of him, one hand caressing her belly, and waited for her to translate Angelo’s words:
“Mistress Viviana,
I was e
ver delighted to receive your missive and find you fairing well. Per your request, I visited Santa Reparata on Wednesday past and sat in the pew that always smelled of soap and bitter soda. I hope it pleases you to know the odor is no longer present. The area now smells as musty and old as the rest of the Duomo.”
“Why would ye make such a request?” Taveon peeked around her hair, his brows stitched in the middle.
“Fioretta’s spirit was trapped in the Duomo much like the women had been trapped in the burial ground. She always smelled of cleaning agents because of the years she worked in the laundry. I smelled her scent the day we were wed, and—”
“Now ‘tis no more because she has passed into the other world,” Taveon finished for her and kissed her hair. “‘Tis good news, sweetling.”
“Sì.” Viviana wiped a tear from her eye, believing wholeheartedly that Fioretta had found her way home the same as all the others who’d been bound by Gillian’s curse.
“Is Angelo getting along without ye?”
Viviana nodded, excited to tell Taveon about Angelo’s progress. She skimmed the missive:
“It will be months or mayhap even years before I can finish, but Messer Lorenzo has granted me permission to work on your sculpture.”
“The one ye decapitated?”
Viviana chuckled, remembering the day she’d taken a mallet to the marble. “I was angry.”
“Angry? ‘Twas more like—”
“Do you want to know Angelo’s intentions or not?”
“Forgive me, love.” He popped a quick kiss atop her shoulder and continued to tickle the curve of her abdomen. “Do go on.”
She continued:
“I had the marble moved to Ghirlandaio’s workshop where it awaits me and have plans to cut the stone into a statue of David, for he was the bravest of all warriors. He reigned the victor over Goliath and was rewarded for his bravery. It is my greatest hope that it is the same for you.
Your devoted friend,
Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni”
Viviana set the scroll atop the desk and turned in Taveon’s arms. She smoothed the hair at his temples, eager to make her request. “I want to name the babe David.”
“For our son is the reward for your bravery?” He kissed her forehead.
“I have been blessed with many rewards, but none of them greater than love.”
The End
Award-winning author, Kimberly Killion, has been hailed by Romantic Times Magazine as an author who writes “captivating romance with excellent pacing and characters who are honorable, intelligent and full of humanity.” Her debut book, Her One Desire, was nominated for the romance-publishing industry’s highest award of distinction, the RITA® Award. Her One Desire won the 2009 Booksellers Best Award for both Long Historical and Best First Book. In addition, Kimberly was recognized in the 2009 National Readers’ Choice Awards, the 2009 Golden Quill Awards, and the 2009 & 2010 HOLT Medallion. Romantic Times Magazine awarded Kimberly’s second Scottish-set novel, Highland Dragon, with the K.I.S.S. Award and said this is “a tale to cherish.”
You can visit Kim’s website at www.kimberlykillion.com
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Kimberly Killion
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Table of Contents
Cover
The Curse
Part I
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Part II
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Meet the Author