Love A Rebel...Love A Rogue (Blackthorne Trilogy)

by Henke, Shirl

  Late-morning sunlight poured in the window, covering Madelyne and turning her skin to gold and her hair to rich, red mahogany. Quint set a pot of fragrant chicory coffee and two cups on the bedside table, then leaned over his sleeping wife and gently touched the bruises on her throat and shoulders. She awakened and smiled up at him with sleepy amber eyes.

  Neither had gotten much rest the preceding night. James was cosseted and put back to sleep after his room was cleaned up. When a British patrol had come to search the house for the fugitive, Quint had hidden Andrew's body and himself in a secret chamber in the cellar while Madelyne convinced the enraged Monty Caruthers that the last place to which her husband would ever return was Blackthorne Hill. After searching unsuccessfully, he had departed in high dudgeon.

  Once Obediah returned with Gulliver, the dog was loosed to patrol for any more British soldiers. Delphine had prepared a feast to celebrate the master's deliverance, which everyone took part in. Quint and Madelyne had collapsed in exhaustion at first light, content merely to sleep wrapped in the security of each other's arms.

  “What time is it?” Madelyne asked, rubbing her eyes and sitting up as Quint poured her a cup of steaming coffee.

  “High noon and past time you were up preparing for our picnic. I thought we might go to the pond.” He paused and studied her over the rim of his cup. “It does hold certain memories.”

  Recalling their impassioned lovemaking there, she felt the heat scorching her cheeks. “Yes, Quint, it does.” Her lashes fluttered down, and she sipped her coffee. He took her chin in one hand and raised her head. “I've made you feel ashamed of your warm, wonderful instincts. I'm sorry, my love, so very sorry for that. I've been such a fool.” He took her cup and set it on the bedside table, then enfolded her hands in his. ”I always thought I wanted a plain, meek woman to bear my children, one so prim and cold she'd hate her marital duties and never enter into a dalliance with another man.”

  “As you were told your mother did,” she said softly.

  His face revealed his anguish as he squeezed her hands. “She was innocent...all these years I hated her, cursed her name for crimes she never committed. And I mistrusted all women, especially beautiful ones,” he added, brushing her lips softly with his. ”I read the diary this morning, Madelyne. Even if I did not already love you, I would love you for finding it and unlocking her tragic secret.”

  Madelyne smiled radiantly. She cupped his face between her hands and returned his gentle kiss, murmuring, “That is the first declaration of love you've ever made to me, Quintin Blackthorne.”

  “Believe me, it won't be the last.”

  James's cries interrupted the interlude. “Let me fetch our son, then we can discuss that picnic,” he said as he rose from the bed.

  In a moment he returned with James in his arms, but before he reached their bed, he knelt down with the boy and stood him on his sturdy little legs. “Now, let's do again what we did earlier this morning,” he coaxed.

  To Madelyne's delight, their son walked a somewhat erratic but unbroken path from his father's arms to the bed, where he stood, pulling on the covers and beaming up at her as she squealed her praise and lifted him into her arms. “Oh, you little rascal, all these months of one or two steps and then, boom! You show off for your father!”

  “I taught him how to do it,” Quint said smugly.

  Madelyne's expression told him what she thought of that opinion. “Come join us in our morning romp.” She took James by his hands and began to bounce him up and down on the bed. He shrieked with delight as both his parents joined in the game.

  After seeing to James's feeding, while Quintin watched with another sort of hunger in his eyes, Madelyne tucked the exhausted little boy in his bed. Placing his arms about his wife's waist, Quint whispered in her ear, “Now that you've assuaged my son, you must attend to his father.”

  She raised one eyebrow. “Must I indeed?”

  “Saucy wench!” He nuzzled her ear and turned her into his embrace. She went willingly.

  The afternoon was hot, but the water was cool and inviting down at the pond, shaded as it was by bald cypress trees. They laid Delphine's feast of honey-fried chicken and sweet spiced peaches out on a blanket. While Quint poured two glasses of cool ale, Madelyne cut up a loaf of crusty bread and spread it with butter, then heaped two plates with all the largess of the imperious old cook's kitchens.

  “Delphine's cooked almost continuously since you returned home last night, so you'd best eat every morsel,” she chided.

  ”I did my duty in the middle of the night—to keep from ‘fair wastin' away’. Now it's your turn.”

  They ate in silence for a few moments, sipping the pungent ale and licking bits of grease from their fingers as they finished the chicken. Then Madelyne felt Quint's eyes on her.

  “I think you need a bath to clean off all that chicken grease. Allow me to assist you.” He reached out and took her hands in his, teasing her palms with his tongue, then sucking on her fingers. With efficiency, he unlaced her bodice and pulled it off, then untied the tapes of her lightweight muslin petticoats. She helped him by pulling them down and kicking them aside. He pulled off her slippers and peeled down one sheer cotton stocking, letting his tongue trace a teasing pattern over the curves of her calf.

  ”Mmm, no chicken grease there. Let's check the other leg.” She giggled as he followed through with his leisurely seduction. Then he reached for her chemise and untied the neckline. When he pulled it free, he again saw the darkening bruises Andrew had left on her perfect little body. His mood immediately shifted. “How close I came to losing you, Madelyne. While that greedy madman stalked you, all I did was accuse you of his crimes.”

  She rose to her knees and enfolded him in her arms, raining kisses on his face and neck. ”I, too, was a fool, Quint. Barbara always told me not to trust him, but I fell under his spell like a bird charmed by a snake. The more you spoke against Andrew, the more I defended him.”

  “You always were a stubborn, willful woman, but I'd have no other.”

  “Not meek, submissive, and dutiful?” She sat back with her sleek little buttocks resting on her heels, preening like a cat under his heated gaze.

  “Meek—never. But submissive and willing to do your wifely duty—with enthusiasm—now that's quite another matter.”

  He groaned when she reached out and began to unfasten his shirt, sliding it from his shoulders. When she turned her perfectly curved derriere to him and tugged at his boots, he whispered raggedly, “Why did I ever imagine I wanted a plain, frigid woman? Beautiful, passionate ones are much to be preferred.”

  Madelyne completed her task of removing his boots, then turned to unbuckle his belt. He took the opportunity to cup a breast in each hand, hefting their weight, then teasing the sensitive nipples with his thumbs. “You've been feeding my son for over a year...” He flicked his tongue across one and she let out a small, incoherent cry.

  “James is almost weaned,” she gasped.

  “Then by all means, allow me to examine the way he has been feasting,” he whispered harshly, lowering his head to circle one rosy-pink nipple with his tongue, then suckle on her breasts, moving from one to the other. She arched against his voracious mouth, and her fingers dug into his shoulders as she clung to him. “My son is very lucky,” he said as he nibbled wet kisses up across her collarbone and throat, then met her mouth.

  Their lips brushed and caressed,their tongues dueled and tasted as they fell to the ground and rolled back and forth on the soft, springy moss. When her soft mouth left his, it moved down to his chest, where she buried her face in the thick black hair. When she licked and nibbled at his hard male nipples, he groaned. “Woman, what are you doing?”

  “Checking you for chicken grease,” she replied as she sat up and began tugging at his pants. She wriggled lower and unbuttoned his fly,then began to pull down the tight pants, pausing to stroke his swollen phallus when it sprang free of its confinement.

  He rais
ed one eyebrow wickedly. “Well, aren't you going to check there for chicken grease?”

  Taking the dare, she tasted of him with several long, darting licks, then took his pulsing staff in her mouth until his hips arched and he gasped.

  “Madelyne—oh, my darling Madelyne, yes, yes.”

  When he could withstand the exquisite torture no more without spilling his seed, he pulled her up and kicked off his pants, then lifted her in his arms and walked into the sparkling water of the pool. ”I need to cool off.”

  “Spoilsport,” she said as he lowered her into the pool. Then, as their slicked bodies glided against each other, she wrapped her arms and legs around him, but he did not plunge into her. Instead, he rolled back into the water, letting her recline on his chest as he propelled them across the pond.

  “Let's go slowly and savor this,” he whispered.

  “Like the first time,” she murmured in his ear. “That was so beautiful for me, Quint.”

  “Until I ruined everything the next morning.

  This time I promise I’ll make everything perfect, Madelyne.”

  “Everything is perfect now, Quint,” she said as she nuzzled his ear and rubbed her body against his in a most enticing manner.

  He speeded up their swim around the pool. She chuckled and continued her seduction until he reached the shallows and swept her into his arms. Walking out of the water, he knelt and laid her on the blanket. His hands traced the trails of glistening droplets, lovingly curving around her breasts, belly, and hips.

  “You are so perfectly formed, so exquisitely beautiful...I love you.”

  “And I love you,” she echoed, pulling him down to share a deep, sealing kiss.

  Quint tore his mouth from hers at last, moving his lips in suckling, brushing caresses down her body as if laving her dry after her bath in the pool. He paused at her breasts and feasted, then moved to her navel and twirled his tongue in it until she writhed and ran her nails up and down his back. When he spread her thighs and moved his head lower, he could feel her stiffen in anticipation, but as soon as his mouth found the velvety wet heat at the core of her body, she arched in uncontrollable passion.

  “Slowly, gently, my love,” he murmured against her flesh, then continued the delicate torturous ministrations that had her head rolling from side to side as she moaned with pleasure.

  I'm drowning, drowning in a whirlpool of such unbelievable... All thought fled as she reached the achingly sweet, subtle peak and hung suspended there, held in thrall by his deft caresses.

  When Quint felt her body begin to spin out of control and heard her cry out his name in the throes of release, he raised his head and moved up to cover her body with his, thrusting into the sheath of fiery glory that contracted and enveloped him.

  Gritting his teeth, he held back from joining her climax, then continued to stroke deeply inside her, long, slow,slick plunges that left them both breathless. As he felt her again ascending to another, even higher plane of release, he let go of all control and gave in to her urging, moving harder and faster until they were both sweat-sheened and panting.

  Madelyne felt the ultimate swelling of his staff as he teetered on the brink of release and went tumbling into the vortex of blind ecstasy once more, this time, taking him with her. He raised himself with his arms on each side of her body and watched her face, then rasped out hoarsely, “Look at me, Madelyne.”

  She opened her eyes and locked them with his as he spilled his seed deeply within her body, then slowly sank atop her, where he lay, breathing harshly while she ran her hands up and down the muscles of his back and shoulders.

  When he took her in his arms and rolled over to place her on top of his body, she nuzzled his chest. “Now we both need to bathe again.” She paused and licked a droplet of perspiration from the small hollow of his Adam's apple, then chuckled. “We could eat more of Delphine's chicken first. I always did like salty things.”

  He roared with laughter, then pulled her closer for a long, thorough kiss. “Don't ever change, Madelyne. Be you, for me.”

  “Bareback riding? Swimming naked? Working in the dairy?” She challenged him.

  “Plant rice or barter with the Muskogee for pelts—I don't care. Only forgive me for my cruelties and never stop loving me.”

  “We were both victims, Quint, but the past is past. Now there's only the future. The war's over and we can build our life in peace.”

  A small smile played about his lips. “The Americans have won. Does that mean you'll change your politics?”

  “When it conies to loving you, Quintin Blackthorne, I have no politics.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  July, Western Georgia

  Dev paused by the edge of the stream to let Firebrand drink. He dismounted, knelt down, and ducked his head in the cooling water. Several of the Muskogee with him, dressed sparely in breechclouts, plunged in and splashed about.

  “He crossed here less than a day ago,” Pig Sticker said to Dev. Rising and shaking the water from his hair, he followed his cousin to a narrow curve in the course of the twisting little creek. “See the hoofprints.”

  “Shod horses and pack mules. It's McGilvey.” He knelt and examined the soft earth where the crossing had been made. “We'll catch up to him tomorrow.”

  Pig Sticker nodded. “The whiskey and guns are heavy. We travel light. Before the sun reaches the top of the sky, we will see these men.”

  That night, Dev lay on his bedroll, listening to the hum of insects and the soothing ripple of the creek. The guttural conversation and occasional bursts of laughter from his companions did not disturb his reverie. He could see Barbara's face etched in the night sky. Her beauty burned brighter than all the stars of the heavens. Again the pain of losing her sank into him with razor-sharp talons. But, as he reminded himself, he had never had her to lose. She was always destined for Weymouth or someone like him.

  Yet she seemed so desperately unhappy at the prospect of wedding the viscount and had agreed to the betrothal only under the duress of saving her brother's honor and Quintin's life. “Well, I can do nothing about Monty's gaming debts, but I have saved Quint's life,” he murmured to himself, sitting up restlessly to skip a pebble across the stream.

  He wondered if Monty had convinced her to go through with the marriage in spite of Quint's escape. Madelyne had been convinced she would not. It makes no difference. She will be gone when you return. Accept it. Yet the thought of some soft, pallid English nobleman touching his beautiful Barbara filled him with bitter loathing.

  Yer yellow-haired woman, McGilvey had called her. And he had been right. She would always be his woman, even though an ocean separated them.

  “Your thoughts are deep,” Tall Crane said quietly as he squatted on his haunches beside Devon. His nephew grunted a monosyllabic agreement. “You think of her. The English noblewoman.” Knowing the answer to his rhetorical question, Tall Crane continued, ”I see how you hurt and it troubles me.”

  Dev grinned. “Not half so much as it troubles me. But it'll pass. She's going home.”

  “The British soldiers are going home... I have been thinking.”

  “Back when I was a boy in your village, Uncle, that used to mean I was in trouble.”

  Tall Crane chuckled. “Perhaps you will yet think you are in trouble. Your brother is dead. You will be your father's heir.”

  Dev raised his hand. “Quint has already mentioned that fact, but Andrew was out to kill my cousin to inherit his estates. He'd already run through everything Father left him.”

  “The trading company will still be yours. If you worked hard at it, I think you could prosper well enough to take an English wife.”

  “She's gone—or she will be as soon as her brother and his men receive orders to evacuate Savannah. She may even be married. There was talk of a betrothal between her and a colonel, a viscount. I don't know what will happen to her, but it won't include me, whatever it is. I'd rather not talk about it, Tall Crane.”

  “
I understand, Golden Eagle.” The Muskogee clasped Devon's shoulder, then rose and walked off, leaving the troubled younger man alone, staring at the night sky.

  * * **

  Early the following morning, Pig Sticker tracked the marauders with their pack train of stolen trade goods to a campsite near a sluggish stream. Five men were breaking camp in a haphazard fashion, obviously the worse for a night spent overindulging in the contents of one of the rum casks. A big brute sporting a livid red scar on his chin seemed to be in command, cursing and ordering the others to hurry with the reloading of the mules.

  “They have no sentries posted,” Pig Sticker said contemptuously to Devon as they crouched in the marsh grasses, observing the scene across the stream.

  “I don't see McGilvey. Only five of his men. It seems unlikely he'd take the dawn watch.”

  “The Big Fire Hair is not with them. I have moved around the whole of their encampment,” Pig Sticker replied with finality.

  Devon cursed. Was McGilvey always to slip from his grasp? He gave the signal for the Muskogee to disperse, ringing the camp in a semicircle while the thieves struggled with tying heavy casks onto recalcitrant mules.

  “Try not to shoot the rum barrels and waste good liquor,” Dev whispered to Pig Sticker. He stood up and yelled for the marauders to surrender.

  As he expected, they dove for their muskets and reached for their knives, but the fight was an uneven contest. Dev and his seven battle-hardened Muskogee warriors made short work of five rum-soaked marauders. “Take at least one alive,” he yelled as he deflected the blade of a small, squirrel-faced man who snarled as he pulled free and tried again to carve up his prey.

  As they circled, knives gleaming evilly in the bright morning light, Dev asked, “Where's your boss? I want McGilvey.”

  Squirrel Face cursed, and the red veins in his temples stood out as he lunged for Blackthorne. Dev spun wide and grabbed a fistful of greasy hair at the same time that his knife slashed his foe's arm. The smaller man's knife dropped from his hand as he screeched in pain and fell to his knees clutching his bleeding arm.