"A honey cream," she said. "Want a taste?"
He arched his other knee over hers then stretched out so he lay between her legs.
"I am all a'quiver for a taste of ye, wench," he said and he lowered his head.
Reaching up to take hold of the spindles on the head post, Celeste crooked her knees to give her man better access to the sweetness between her thighs. His lips were suckling her, his tongue thrusting into her channel, and as he slowly, firmly wedged the thumb of his right hand into her anus, she groaned.
The fingers of his right hand were splayed under her rump and he began to rhythmically move his thumb in and out of her, the friction of his knuckle grazing the puckered rim of her anus making her moan with pleasure.
Suckling her, probing her, one hand reaching up to tweak her nipple, Sierran quickly brought her to one, two, three orgasms before he pushed himself up in the bed and impaled her firmly on his cock.
Her legs came up, wrapped around his waist, and she met him thrust for thrust until they both came with a hard release that made the bed tremble beneath them.
“I could eat that dessert every night,” he said with a sigh as he rolled over and pulled her atop him.
“I’ll see what I can do, milord,” she agreed.
When they fell asleep, it was with her lying on her husband, his arms wrapped securely around her.
* * *
The day started out bright and warmer than usual. The wind had died down and the sky was crisp and clear with nary a cloud in sight. It wasn't too chill nor did the sea bring dampness inland. It seemed as good a day as any to see the sights of Zykanthos Island.
For the women's comfort, Seth had loaded two small metal boxes with perforated holes on a thick sheet of metal which he laid over the floorboard of the coach. Inside the metal boxes were hot coals that gave off cheery warmth. Leather roll-down curtains sat above the brougham coach's glass windows—one to each side and two sliding ones: on the curved front and on the flat panel rear of the cab. Over the curtains cold be placed quilted canvas liners should it be necessary to block out drafts from the cold. Little brass catches at the bottom of the window would keep the liners taut against the coach walls but that day the windows were unobstructed and the view beyond open. The cook had provided jugs of hot, mulled cider and a basket of sandwiches for the trip. Driving the brougham, Seth was insulated in thick clothing and gloves with a brazier at his booted feet.
"Comfy, isn't it?" Jillian asked excitedly as she settled on the plush leather seat beside Celeste.
"I suppose so," Celeste said. She had no desire to ride along the coastline so Jillian could see the island but would in order to keep peace between brother and sister.
"I am most anxious to meet the hermit," Jillian said, tugging her gloves.
Celeste winced. "He is not a hermit, Jillian," she said. "He simply prefers to keep to himself."
"Whatever," Jillian said airily. She was looking out the window as the brougham started forward.
Thankful Jillian didn't need to keep up a running commentary as they toured the coastal road, Celeste allowed her sister-in-law to view the surroundings in peace, speaking only when Jillian asked for clarification on something she spied. As they passed village huts close to the shoreline, Jillian seemed to be very interested in the fishermen, though she had no questions to ask about the men. Nearing the lawgiver's estate on the north shore of the island, Jillian became very animated.
"What is he like?" she asked Celeste.
"Brenton is a gentleman," Celeste said. "Being a lawgiver, he is well read. I am told he has a vast library of books."
Jillian looked at Celeste. "Didn’t you say you've never been to his home?"
Celeste nodded. "We don't wish to intrude. On occasion, we invite Brent to dine with us but he is as likely to decline as he is to accept." She smiled. "With him, you never know."
"So, he minds his own affairs," Jillian remarked.
"Aye, he does."
Just before rounding a large finger of land that jutted out nearly to the waterline and blocked sight of the lawgiver's property, they passed a rugged lean-to that had been constructed far away from the beach and close to the overhang of the land. A burly man dressed in many layers of clothing was taking a long string of fish into the lean-to. He looked up at them as they passed, appearing to glare at them with annoyance, then ducked into the lean-to with his catch. Beached beside the lean-to was a large fishing boat.
"He must be a hardy soul to be out and about catching fish this time of year," Jillian mumbled, casting Celeste a quick look.
"A man has to feed his family and his belly," Celeste replied. "There must be good fishing up here from the looks of his catch."
Jillian shuddered. "But out on the water in this weather?" She took up her reticle and dug around inside it. "Pray ask the driver to stop, Celeste."
"Why?"
"I would like to give that man a little something."
Surprised that her sister-in-law would be concerned with the locals plight Celeste nevertheless leaned forward and called out to Seth, asking him to halt the horses.
"Don't you think a golden will get the man a good day's supply of food?" Jillian asked, pulling out a coin.
Celeste agreed that it would. When Seth got down and came to the door to open it, his young face was filled with surprise.
"Lady Jillian wishes to give the fisherman some money," Celeste told him.
Seth frowned. "Milady, I don't know that that's a good idea," he said. "Men around here tend to be rather self-reliant. I don't know that he would appreciate the offering of charity." He glanced up at the lean-to. "And I don't know these men. They look to be poachers, if truth be told."
"Oh, poppycock, lad!" Jillian said. "Run along and ask the man with the fish to come down and see me. I'll give him the coin. If there is more than one man, I'll give two but no more."
"I can take the coins up to him, milady," Seth said, uneasy with the whole thing.
Jillian raised her chin. "Do as I say, boy!"
Celeste smiled at Seth. "Please?" she asked nicely.
Seemingly against his better judgment, Seth shut the door to the brougham and started up to the lean-to. When a thick tarpaulin was flung aside, the man with the fish came out, looking to the coach when Seth flung an arm that way. The man nodded and jerked a thumb over his shoulder, indicating Seth was to go inside.
"Oh, look!" Jillian said, pointing out to sea to draw Celeste's attention from the lean-to. "Is that a humpback whale?"
Celeste turned her head but she saw nothing. "Where?"
"There!" Jillian said excitedly. "It's a whale! I just know it is!"
Celeste saw nothing that even remotely resembled a whale out on the rolling waters. She shook her head. "You must be seeing things, Jillian. All I see are the waves."
Jillian sighed dramatically. "I thought sure that was a whale!" she said.
The door to the coach was jerked open and the man from the lean-to poked his head inside. "You got money for me?" he asked in a harsh tone.
"Aye," Jillian said and extended the coin toward the man.
The man snatched the coin and put it between his teeth to test it. He grunted and his heavy brow twitched as his gaze slid to Celeste. "There be two of us," he growled.
Celeste felt the first stirring of unease as the man's leer swung to her. She turned her head to search for Seth but did not see him. Her unease escalated to fear but before she could react, the man had pulled himself up into the coach and was crowding her, pulling something from his pocket to slap over her face.
Though she clawed at the rough, fish-smelling hand that covered her nose and mouth, Celeste felt herself slipping into darkness and as she did, she heard the unmistakable sound of Jillian's pleased laughter.
* * *
Brenton LeMoyne took his cup of hot spiced tea to the window and stared out at the rolling sea as he took a sip from the fragrant brew. He had been anxious ever since arising that morning, his
nerves on edge. Whatever was causing him such apprehension kept drawing him to the spectacular view that swept up from the harbor all the way to his secluded beach where he kept his little 15-foot sailing boat. Catching sight only of the two men who had been fishing off the coast for the past few weeks, he could find nothing that should concern him. The men were down-on-their-luck fishermen and had been respectful and polite when he'd gone down to speak with them right after they'd built their lean-to. They'd explained that they had ventured a ways from their home grounds for the fishing had become scarce of late. It was a good explanation as far as he was concerned. He'd found nothing to set off any warning bells in his mind but he'd been keeping a wary eye on them just the same. They never went further than right where they were and had caused him no trouble. He had all but forgotten about them.
As he stood at his window, he saw the boat the men used to fish heading out to sea, into the deeper waters, well past where they dropped anchor to fish each day. He watched them for a moment, figured they were finally headed home—wherever that was for he'd not cared enough to ask—and were leaving Zykanthos Island. He didn't give them or the bulky tarpaulin covering what he surmised was their weeks' worth of catch another thought.
* * *
Jillian was fuming as she lay huddled beneath the stink of the tarpaulin. She had already gotten sick twice from the putrid smell wafting around her and her beautiful gown was ruined from coming into contact with the water in the bottom of the boat, her gloves and muff spoiled beyond redemption.
"Just a mite further, milady," one of the fishermen laughed, "and you can get out from under the tarp."
"Go to hell!" Jillian snapped. She was staring at her unconscious sister-in-law and thinking Celeste had the better part of the deal by being unaware of this cold, odorous journey on the high seas. Shivering uncontrollably, she kicked out at Celeste with the toe of her fashionable boot.
By the time the men had rowed the boat out to the rendezvous point with Peyton's sloop, the Argyle, Jillian's lips were blue and she was beyond being able to curse the men who manhandled up onto her brother's ship. Her teeth were clicking together and she smelled worse than any dockside floozy.
"I'll get her a bath drawn. She's like ice," Peyton's first mate suggested as he put a hand to Celeste's cheek. He nodded to the Guernsey fishermen who carried Celeste toward the companionway.
"M-me…t-too!" Jillian managed to hiss as she stood there trembling with her arms wrapped around her.
"Of course, little sister," Peyton said, his nose wrinkled from the stench as she passed him. He turned to his men. "Weigh anchor and get us the hell out of here before Sierran finds them missing!"
* * *
Half an hour later in the lean-to, Seth tried to sit up and found himself trussed like a feast goose with his arms and legs tied behind him with heavy hemp. With a gag thrust between his teeth, he knew no one would be able to hear him if he tried calling out.
Not knowing how much time had passed, he figured it would be at least a couple of hours before anyone came looking for him. Though the bump on the back of his head hurt something fierce, it was his manly pride that plagued him the most. He knew Sierran was going to be livid and he wasn't looking forward to the fist he reckoned would be his reward for having lost the commander's woman.
* * *
Sierran paced the solarium as the sun dipped lower on the horizon. By his calculations, Seth should have returned the women by now. He was not pleased that they had taken this long and even less pleased that a storm was showing on the horizon where the day had been clear and sunny.
"If you don't like the weather on Zykanthos, just wait," Vargas said and received a glare from the commander for his trouble. He tugged at his chin. "You want me to go after 'em?"
With his hands thrust deep into his pockets to keep from striking out at Vargas, Sierran merely nodded, unable to trust himself not to curse the man.
Vargas turned and left the room without another word. He'd known the younger man long enough to know when Sierran Morgan had just about reached the limit of his tether.
"You think something's happened?" Mac inquired as he fell into step beside Vargas.
"I hope not!" Vargas replied. They walked hurriedly out to the stables.
It took less time than normal for the two men to saddle their mounts and they were trotting across the drawbridge as the chill winds began to pick up from off the seas. Huddled down in their thick wool coats, they took the coastal road that Seth had chosen earlier that day, kicking their mounts into a fast gallop to retrace the brougham's route.
* * *
When Celeste's eyelids flickered open, she found herself staring into a face that bore a remarkable resemblance to that of her husband. The man hovering over her was a bit older with fine wrinkles at the corners of his smiling eyes—a smile that did not quite reach his full lips.
"Good evening, sleepy head," he greeted her. "I am your brother-in-law, Peyton."
It didn't take Celeste but a heartbeat to realize she was no longer on Zykanthosian soil but rather at sea and in the midst of turbulence.
"Where am I?" she asked.
"About twenty miles from home," Peyton replied. "My home, that is." He folded his arms over his chest. "Seamlas to be exact."
"On Argonne," she said.
"On Argonne," he agreed with a nod.
She knew her husband would come after her. He had been given no other choice. His family would be waiting for him—along with the woman with whom he would be expected to consummate his proxy Joining.
"Once the deed is done, he will be free to take you and return to Zykanthos," Peyton said as though reading her thoughts. "We've no desire to have him underfoot, wench." He cocked his head to one side. "Though to have you about would not be a burden by any stretch of the imagination. Our little brother chose well for his brideling."
She turned her face away from the smug look on Peyton Morgan's face. Outside the cabin where she lay—wrists and ankles bound to the bunk, she could hear Jillian berating someone in a harsh tone. What a fool she thought herself to be for having allowed Sierran's sister to trick her this way.
"If it's any consolation, we would have gotten to him come hell or high water, lass," Peyton said, moving to the door. "It was but a matter of time."
A single tear slid barely noticed down Celeste's cold cheek.
Chapter Fifteen
"They had a ship," Vargas said. "Had to have."
"And rowed out to it," Mac said. "Beyond where we could see them from any station on the island."
Brent LeMoyne shook his head. "I am so sorry, Sierran. I never thought those men were up to no good."
"You couldn't be expected to think of something so evil," Sierran said wearily. From the moment Vargas and Mac had ridden out, he knew something was wrong and he figured he knew what had happened. "I was a fool for trusting Jillian."
The men huddled around Sierran looked at one another. There was nothing to say. Each of them knew the man sitting beside the fireplace with his head down, his hands clenched, would go after his woman. It was a given.
"I would like to go with you," Brent said. "If only I'd come down and told you about the fishermen…"
"They would have passed muster, Milord," Mac suggested. "From Seth's description, they were Guernsey men and from time to time such do come to fish off our coast. We'd have thought nothing of it."
"Don't blame yourself for this, Brent," Sierran said. "There's no one to blame but me." He glanced up at Vargas. "How is Seth?"
"He's got a rock-hard head, Commander," Vargas reported. "Got a knot on it but otherwise he's all right. Mad as hell but all right."
"They'll expect me to come right after them," Sierran said, getting to his feet. "The sooner, the better."
"Are you sure?" Vargas inquired. "Maybe we could find out where they took her and…"
"Whose ship was it, Vargas?" Sierran asked. "Peyton's or Fallon's or Dyllon's? Was it Vaughn's or my father's or one of
my sisters' husbands? How would we know? Do we have any idea where Peyton or Fallon live? Dyllon or any of my sisters?" He shook his head. "She could be anywhere on Argonne but if I go to Eagle Grove, they'll bring her there."
"Will they try to keep you?" Brent asked, afraid that might be the case.
"They don't want me there anymore than I want to be there," Sierran replied. "Once I screw the widow Summerall and sign over Patterly to my father, they'll let us leave. That's all they want any way."
"I hope that's all they want," Brent said.
"It is," Sierran said. "Trust me. I know. Get the Akinos ready and tell Kynth I want her armed."
Vargas blinked. "Armed?" he repeated. "Armed as in cannons?"
"Cannons and musket and plenty of shot," Sierran said with a nod. "I want every sailor going with us armed with pistol, sword, and dagger. No family men, just warriors this time out."
"You are expecting treachery?" Brent inquired.
"No, but if it comes, I'll be ready for it," Sierran replied with a grim face. He gave the lawgiver a stern look. "Unless you're ready to kill if need be, I suggest you stay here."
Something dark flitted across the Brent's face then vanished as quickly as it appeared. "I can take a life if I need to," he told Sierran. "Give me half an hour to get my weapons and I'll meet you at the quay."
"Before you go," Sierran said. "May I have a word with you in private?"
Brent nodded and waited until they were alone before he cocked an inquisitive brow to Sierran.
"You sent word to the Federation of Lord Charles' passing," Sierran said.
"Aye," the lawgiver replied.
"Who did you send?"
A frown developed between Brent's brows. "One of my trusted men," he replied. "I am your lawyer, Sierran, and time was of the essence in regard to Dragonmoor."
"Why?" The one word was like a rapier cut.
"Surely you know why," Brent said.
"If I did, I wouldn't be asking," Sierran snapped.
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