"You need your rest,” she reminded him. “When you lay down for your afternoon nap, I'll go visiting with Larson."
He squeezed her hand, released it, and then took up his utensils to dig into the large plate of food Seannie put before him. He looked across the table to his cousin. “Are you feeling poorly, Jules?"
"His tonsils are bothering him again,” Guy spoke for his brother.
"He's flushed,” Dek said. “Mayhap you should retire to your cabin, Jules."
Jules frowned. “I've a bitch of a headache,” he stated then gave Maire a steady look. “You got something for that, too, wench?"
"Stop calling her wench,” Dek said in a firm tone that drew Jules’ immediate attention. “I mean it. She's not a gods-be-damned wench and one day, she will be your Baroness."
Jules flicked his gaze back to Maire. “Do you have something for the headache, milady?” he asked through clenched teeth.
"I do,” Maire said.
"Then if you wouldn't mind providing it, I would be grateful. I'll be in my cabin. Just send it to me by my boy,” he said, rising.
"I'll bring it and the poultice to you personally, Jules,” she replied.
"No need to go to any bother,” he grumbled.
"It is never a bother to help a friend,” she told him. “You would do the same for me, wouldn't you, Jules?"
He pushed his chair forward and stood there with his huge, meaty hands curled over the back. “Aye, milady. I would,” he said. He shot Dek an irritated glance then left.
"You're winning him over, lass,” Guy said. “It's taking tooth and nail, but winning him over just the same.” He wiped his hands on his napkin then stood. “I'll be up top if you need me, Dek.” He hooked an arm around Seannie's neck. “Why don't you come along with me, little nephew?"
With everyone else gone, Dek looked around at his lady. “How did you like revisiting the waterfall, tarrishagh?” he inquired.
Maire shook her head. “You are an evil man."
"I think you've labeled me such before, haven't you?” he asked.
"How do you send such vivid dreams, milord?"
He gave her a cocky grin. “Who says they are dreams?” He put a large forkful of omelet in his mouth and chewed with that grin still in place.
Maire tucked her bottom lip between her teeth, worry showing on her pretty face. She chewed on her lip for a moment then asked him what he meant.
Dek locked gazes with her. “Didn't you feel my hand on your breast, milady?” he asked in a silky voice. “Didn't you feel my body against yours?"
"You know I did,” she said, heat warming her face.
"And when I slid my hand between your legs? Did you not....?"
"Please tell me it was only a dream,” she pleaded. “If I thought for one moment it was real...."
"As much as I would love to have you beside me, under me, your body to mine, it will have to do that I can experience that only in my mind for now and place the sensation of it in yours,” he interrupted her. He put a hand to her neck and drew her toward him, their faces close. “But make no mistake about it, Maire. The day will come when we will sleep side by side in our own bed and there will be no dreaming involved."
Maire's womb clenched as he touched his lips to hers, covered her mouth with his, and thrust his tongue gently inside. His kiss was heady, causing sensations to wander at will through her entire body to befuddle her mind. The sweet warmth of his mouth, the depth of the passion seeping into her soul from his, the raging desire to have him take her then and there was more than she could take, and she pulled away, putting a trembling hand to her lips.
"Milord, you have no idea what you are doing to me,” she whispered. “We should not be engaging in such activity. You belong to another.” She shook her head. “It isn't right."
Dek reluctantly straightened in his chair, removing his hand from the back of her neck. “Forgive me, tarrishagh,” he said. “I let my feelings run away with me."
Her heart was pounding against her ribcage, her breath coming in shallow gasps. Her entire body was alive with a tingling that made her blood race, but she pushed the building ardor aside.
"One day,” she heard him say. “One day I won't stop."
She nodded for she could do nothing else. She was trembling with her need for him and knew if she was a different woman, she would not have stopped him. She would not be suffering the heavy ache that had settled between her legs. She would have opened her arms and allowed him to do with her as he pleased.
"I imagine we will reach Tarryn by nightfall,” he said, picking up his fork again. “I had hoped you would be able to see your cottage as we sailed past."
"That would have been nice,” she said. Needing to put some distance between them, for her body was on fire with an awareness that was sending tremors through her hands, she told him she needed to see to making Jules’ poultice and tea.
Dek made no move to stop her when she got up and skirted the table. He sent her a gentle smile as she looked back before going out, sighed as the door closed behind her, and then finished his meal without much enthusiasm now that the light had gone out of the room. He felt worse than he had let on and was now longing for the soft comfort of his bed. The wound in his chest was throbbing, itching as it healed. As soon as he crammed the last piece of toast into his mouth, he was ready for his pillow and blanket.
* * * *
Maire was not surprised that Dek had gone back to his cabin. She'd been given the information by the ship's cook, who had stopped by in order to see if the table had been cleared. Surprised to find his overlaird struggling to get to his feet, the man had hurried to help him, ushering the Baron back to his cabin with as much speed as the wounded man could handle.
"He was a mite feverish if you ask me, milady,” the cook said. “You might want to look in on him seeing as how you're his lady and all."
Thanking the man for his concern, Maire had, indeed, checked on Dek. Opening the door, his deep snore gave her all the information she needed to quietly close the portal again. Going back to the dining cabin to fetch her great cape, she headed for the upper deck.
There was more hustle and bustle now that it was full light and the deckhands were busy with their routine jobs. She was delighted to see the prisoners—although restrained with shackles that laced them together—were being allowed the blessing of fresh air instead of being stuck in the hole all the way to Tarryn. The men gave her hard looks then pointedly turned away, leaving no doubt in her mind how they felt about her fraternizing with the enemy.
Going back to the rail at which she'd stood earlier that morning, she leaned her elbows on the teak rail and looked down at the waves flowing past the keel of the ship. The air was warmer the further south the ship sailed and the wind had calmed to a bluster instead of the brisk icy snap it had been the first time she'd come atop. Above her the sun was trying to peek through scudding clouds, and she turned her face to its warmth, closing her eyes to feel the play of the wind across her cheeks. A slight spray of water shot up from the waves to surprise her. She flinched then a very vivid memory of the dream she'd had just before she'd risen came back to haunt her and make her body ache once more with need. She turned her head toward the companionway and wondered if perhaps Dek was dreaming, broadcasting his dream for her to share.
"Not only evil but insidiously so,” she whispered but turned back to stare out across the heaving ocean, letting her thoughts center on the dream.
He had been no gentle lover this time but a demanding, insatiable one. His hands had roamed eagerly at her breast, between her legs. His hard body had entered hers on a firm, power-filled thrust that had her writhing beneath him, locking him to her with her legs and arms tightly clamped around him. He had ridden her hard and given her more pleasure than any woman had the right to know, all the while calling her his love, his lady, his tarrishagh. They had climaxed together with wild cries of abandon then lain depleted in each other's arms.
"I will
come to you every night,” he told her. “Every night in our dreams until the day comes when it will be as it should be with us."
Opening her eyes, Maire no longer saw the undulating rise and fall of the ocean over which the ship was passing. She did not smell the salt air or hear the raucous cries of the sailors as they worked. Her mind's eye was on that underground grotto behind the jungle waterfall where the scent of gardenia was thick on the humid air, on the soft sand where she had lain with her phantom lover, and on the promises he had made to her as he'd fused his body and soul with hers and knew she'd never be the same again.
"I am falling in love with him,” she said and that thought filled her with anxiety. After all, he was the infamous Black Baron, the scourge of her people, the man responsible for the agonized deaths of many of her countrymen. Even so, he was also the man who had taken her maidenhead and who now claimed her for his own, who promised her a new life in a new land. There was but one major obstacle and that was the woman to whom he was legally married.
A shudder ran through Maire. If she was to believe Dek, there was no love lost between him and his wife and Guy had said the same thing. It had not been a marriage either of them had wanted and both had been trapped in a loveless, childless union that supposedly made them both miserable. But was that true? Did Ynez Yn Baase hate her husband as Dek had said or was she the type of woman who would fight to hold onto him when she learned he had found someone he loved?
"What if she won't let him go?” she whispered. “Out of spite or pride?"
The thought didn't bear entertaining for her whole life was being wrapped up in the stuff of Deklyn Yn Baase's dreams. Not that she believed he would allow anyone to hurt her but if after these nighttime excursions into wild passion, she had nothing to look forward to....
Another shudder wracked her and she turned from the rail, wrapping her arms around her to hold at bay the chill that had suddenly descended upon her, leaning against it to watch the sailors going about their duties. Anything was better than allowing her mind to dwell on the what-ifs that were suddenly plaguing her.
"You ready to try your hand at sailing her?” Larson called out to her, drawing her attention sternward.
Maire forced a smile she did not feel to her lips and headed toward him, speaking softly to deckhands who greeted her with a tapping of their index fingers to their foreheads in salute.
* * * *
Ynez Yn Baase, the Baroness of Drogh-gheay, was in one of the foulest moods her staff had seen in many a day. Broken vases, overturned furniture, ripped curtains, and the feathers from pillows that had torn apart by the Baroness’ own hand littered Her Grace's bedchamber. The air was redolent of perfume that had spilled from bottles that had been smashed against the expensively papered moiré walls. A steady stream of unladylike language bombarded the hapless servants who stood with heads bowed, hands clenched and mouths clamped tightly shut. To so much as glance at the rampaging woman brandishing the sennett whip was to ask for the punitive instrument—eighteen inches of braided rope that had been dipped in tar to harden it—upon their backs.
"I'll not have it!” Ynez shouted, snapping the whip over her head before shooting it forward to take the head off a statuette. “I will not!"
Tramping upon the new gowns that had been delivered just that morning the Baroness of Evil as her servants called her behind her back, kicked one lovely concoction aside. She snapped the whip again to lay open the tufted back of a delicate velvet upholstered chair before lifting her leg and kicking it over.
The older woman, who had been Ynez's governess since the Baroness’ third birthday stood watching her with crossed arms, pursed lips and an arched brow. She, alone among the staff held any sway over the impetuous, spoiled chatelaine of Drogh-gheay, but considering the rage being vented this day, Miriam Brazwellington voiced no opinions during the tantrum.
"By the goddess, I loathe that man!” Ynez hissed and with a careless flick of her wrist struck one of the trembling maids across the bosom with the sennett, ignoring the young girl's cry of pain. “Why could he not have died alongside that bastard friend of his?"
"If he had,” Miriam said in a reasonable voice, “you would have been none the better off for it, Your Grace. His father would have handed you into the keeping of some highly placed warrior who might not have been as lenient as the younger Baron."
Ynez whipped around to point the whip at Miriam. “Do not speak to me of that monstrous old prick! I am glad he is moldering in his grave these last three years!"
"As are we all, Your Grace,” Miriam agreed. “And remember: there are less than two years left on the marriage contract, and then you will be free of Deklyn Yn Baase."
"The end will not come soon enough for me,” Ynez snarled then tossed the whip aside, ordering the servants to clean up the mess as she strode haughtily from the room.
Miriam clapped her hands smartly three times. “Be quick about it,” she demanded. “Her Grace will want a nap after the noon meal, and I want this room spotless by the time she returns to it!” Tossing her head, she followed her mistress from the room.
"How dare he survive still another attempt on his life!” Ynez snarled as she waited at the top of the stairs for Miriam to come abreast of her. “How dare he?"
"The man has the lives of a cat,” Miriam drawled.
"I would like to take a cat o'nine to him,” Ynez said, eyes narrowed. “I would cut his back to shreds, laughing the entire time!"
Miriam smiled. “I would pay money to see that, Nezzie,” she said softly, reaching out to gently cup the Baroness’ cheek.
Ynez leaned into the touch, closing her eyes to the soft feel of the warm hand upon her flesh. She reached up to press it tighter to her jaw. “You know how to calm me, do you not, old friend?” she asked.
"I should after all these years."
The Baroness opened her eyes then jerked back, swinging her head from side to side to see if they were being observed, satisfied they weren't, she hiked up her skirts and started down the long, winding staircase. Miriam followed her down the steps.
"How old were you again when you first came to Sasana?” Ynez asked, referring to the Baroness’ childhood home.
"Sixteen,” Miriam said. “A very innocent sixteen."
"Your innocence didn't last long, though, did it?” Ynez tossed over her shoulder.
"I prefer not to think of that dark time,” Miriam replied in a hollow voice.
"I would think not. My father was almost as much of an ogre as the elder Baron of Drogh-gheay and perhaps even more of a satyr if the stories are true."
"Viscount Arabach was a reprobate of the highest order,” Miriam stated.
"But of higher rank than my future father-in-law,” Ynez smirked. “Why he handed me into the keeping of a family beneath us in the peerage is beyond my comprehension."
"Alas, because the war has dragged on for so long, the peerage is no more so it is a moot point, Nezzie,” Miriam reminded the younger woman. “The king, his dukes and marquises, earls and viscounts are long gone on to their just rewards at the hands of assassins or upon the field of battle. Among the peerage, only the Black Baron remains, and he is, in essence, the ruling head of Tarryn now."
"I shall never think of him in that light,” Ynez sniffed, swishing her skirt in vexation. “He deserves no such honor."
"Nevertheless he is the ruling head of Tarryn, the heart of the country, and you are his wife, dearly loved by the populace."
Ynez threw back her head and laughed with as much unladylike disdain as she had cursed. “Bah! The people hate my guts, and well you know it, Miri!” She wrapped her hands around the older woman's arms as they strolled into the library. “There is only one person who loves me, and we know who that is, don't we?"
Seeing they were alone in the library, Miriam detached herself from Ynez's light hold and closed the library door, twisting the lock into place before turning. She smiled, opened her arms to embrace the younger woman. She stroked th
e dark silk of the Baroness’ hair as Ynez laid her head to Miriam's ample bosom.
"Why couldn't he have died, Miri?” Ynez asked. “Why must he return to Drogh-gheay to do his mending? I've not seen the bastard in two years. Why must I ever see him again until the day our marriage is annulled?"
"Only the goddess knows why She has put this misfortune in your path, my love,” Miriam said. “Ours is not to question Her."
"I hate him."
"As do I, but we will make the best of it while he is here—which I am sure will not be long. He never stays long when he comes, and I would venture to say this time will be no different. If you stay out of his way, he will stay out of yours."
"What if...?” Ynez shuddered before she continued. “What if he wants to do it while he's here?"
"He will,” Miriam said with a frown. “You know he will insist upon it, and that you must oblige him, dear. You have no other choice."
Ynez stamped her foot. “Why, oh why, can the man not keep a mistress as any sensible male would? She could bear the weight of his ugly, heavy body, and I would not be forced to!"
"Whether or not he has a mistress is of no matter. You must service him, Nezzie. You know that all too well."
"But why must I endure his disgusting rutting?"
Miriam sighed for it was a question she had heard a thousand times before and was tired of answering. She simply continued to stroke Ynez's hair until the younger woman lifted her head and looked into Miriam's eyes.
Then she lowered her lips to Ynez's.
* * * *
Hair escaping the braid flung over her shoulder, her cheeks rosy from the wind and the sun that had finally melted away the clouds as the Céirseach entered the balmy waters of the Cape of Annwn, Maire lifted her skirts and skipped lightly down the steps of the companionway. Without the heavy imprisonment of the great coat, she had long since discarded as the weather turned tropical, she felt young and carefree as she rapped smartly on Dek's door.
"There is no one here,” she heard him say and laughed, opening the door to find him sitting up in bed with a book.
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