Heath’s stallion whickered a greeting as Aubree approached, but she saw no sign of Heath until she had carried her basket through the thicket of late-summer blackberries and past overhanging willows. He sprawled along a grassy area at a point where the stream’s trickling waters had backed up behind a jam of logs and tree roots to form a quiet pool. In the summer, it would be ideal for swimming, but her husband appeared to be contemplating the whirring of insects over the pool’s surface.
He glanced up in surprise as a twig broke beneath Aubree’s foot, and he leapt to his feet to help her over the stepping-stones. She could not decipher the look in his eyes, but she was glad she had come.
He spread the blanket over the grass and set her basket of food beside it. Suddenly shy, Aubree gazed up to his tall figure and her insides inexplicably lurched. His untrimmed hair hung in tangled chestnut curls over his collar. He had evidently thrown water over himself to cool the heat of the day, and his linen shirt clung to broad shoulders and wide chest. She did not dare look beyond his trim waist and narrow hips. She was already too aware of his masculinity for modesty’s sake.
Careful of his stiff knee, he lowered himself to the blanket beside her. Lifting the towel covering the basket, Heath inspected its contents. “You won’t mind sharing, will you?”
Relieved, Aubree laughed. “No. I packed all that to feed the fish, and I am certain they won’t mind.”
He broke off a crust of bread and flung it toward the pond. “There, they are fed. Now it is my turn. I had no idea I was so ravenous.”
She watched with amusement as he helped himself to slabs of bread and ham and a jug of cider. “I send food out to the fields when the men are too far to return home. Do you not eat any of it?”
He finished chewing his mouthful before replying. “My timing was wrong today. I left the fields before the food arrived, but knew I did not have time to return to the house to dine with you. How did you find me?”
“Talent and instinct. And John,” she added honestly. She accepted the cider he poured in her glass.
“I think it more likely I have spoiled a lover’s tryst. Which of your suitors has an appetite ravenous enough to consume all this?” he inquired jestingly.
An impish grin twitched at her lips. “Ahhh, you have caught me out. I’ll not give his name, but he is dark-haired and handsome and a wily rogue. I have seen him consume more than his share of dessert many a time.”
Since she had just raised a fuss the night before over his sneaking into the last of a plum cake she had intended for Michael, he grinned. “Rogues like that are not to be trusted. Beware he does not steal more than you wish to lose.”
She stuck her tongue out at him. “Rogues like that will be fat ones if they continue to eat like starving pigs. Now leave that tart alone and finish up the ham. It won’t keep until teatime but the cherries will.”
Heath mumbled something decidedly wicked but set the tart aside while rummaging for the last slice of ham. He tore it in two and placed one piece between a buttery roll and handed it to Aubree. “Let us grow fat together.”
She accepted the offering and contentedly munched while he finished off the remainders of lunch. Another glass of cider was called for, and he poured a generous amount into her tumbler before gulping the dregs.
Even in the shade, the sun felt deliciously warm, and Aubree lay back against the blanket to watch the dancing motes of light through the leaves. The cider warmed her and stirred bubbles of well-being in her blood. A breeze blew off the water to cool her brow, and she sighed in contentment. Days like this were too rare to waste.
Her husband settled beside her, holding the cherry tart above her head where she could not reach and plucking one of the fruits from its center. He held it above her lips, blue eyes laughing.
Like a baby bird, Aubree parted her lips, and he dropped the succulent fruit between. While she savored the sweet, he helped himself to the tart.
“Austin Atwood, you greedy gudgeon, that was for tea,” she complained as he sprinkled crumbs of pastry over her. “The least you could do is share it.”
Since he had just swallowed the last mouthful, he considered this admonition, then with a wicked gleam, he bent over her recumbent figure and laid his lips to hers.
The taste of cherries was still sweet upon his breath, but the jolt of electricity that shot through her at this playful contact swept away all thought of stolen desserts. Instead of simply teasing at her lips, Heath deepened the kiss.
Bound together by this electrifying current, Aubree arms tentatively grasped Heath’s shoulders. She wrapped her fingers in the hair on his collar as his kiss pressed her back into the grass-cushioned blanket. With uncertain touch, he traced the line of her cheeks, trailing his fingers along her jaw as she parted her lips.
Their breaths mingled and Heath’s heavy weight moved over her, pressing her to the ground. She felt a momentary frisson of fear. But he touched her with such gentleness that she could not help but give in to her body’s natural responses. She eagerly returned his kiss and arched into his embrace as his hand cupped her breast.
Unaware of the direction of this innocent passion, Aubree knew only the electricity of his kisses. She craved the touch of his hand. When he loosened the drawstrings of her gown and chemise and the breeze blew over her bare flesh, she gasped at the sensation. His hand explored where no other man had been, and it seemed only a natural extension of their kisses. She reveled in sheer delight.
But another, less innocent excitement built within her as Heath’s kisses grew more urgent and his fingers plied her breasts to aching, sensitive peaks. The pressure of his hard body along the length of hers stirred smoldering embers into licking flames. Aubree became fully aware of the danger only when he tore his lips from hers and gazed down on her with a burning question in his eyes.
She felt no shyness of her near nakedness. She would gladly have unclothed had he asked. She wanted his desire as she wanted him, and she would pay any price to attain her goals. As he read her answer in the quiet joy of her expression, he bent to drink of her lips once again.
Aubree cried out in wonder and delight as his lips fastened on the sensitive crest of her breast. The flames of fire licked higher and she writhed beneath him, wanting more than he was giving. He obliged by sliding his hand along her thigh, raising the frail muslin above her hips.
This baring of her flesh was almost Aubree’s undoing, but Heath calmed her with his kisses and taught her to welcome his touch with the warm caresses. Aubree succumbed to the lesson, rejoicing in the tenderness of her husband’s touch even as the flames licked roadways through her lungs and stomach and found a harbor in the place where his fingers played urgent games.
As she arched against him, pulling him closer so she could spread hungry kisses across his cheek, Heath groaned her name and covered her fully with his weight. Her skirts rode up about her waist, but his clothing still separated her from his flesh.
She did not cry in vain. Heath unfastened the flap of his breeches and the hampering fabric fell away. His kiss smothered Aubree’s gasp of surprise at the heated hardness pressing against the coolness of her thighs. He waited until she relaxed again before teasing his fingers against her.
Aubree moaned and her hips rose to meet his exploring hand. When he met her with his own need, she opened willingly to his thrust. She cried out at the pain of penetration, but he had done his job well. When he hesitated, she arched against him again, seeking the satisfaction he promised.
Heath took her as gently as their equal hungers would allow. He moaned his satisfaction once he was seated fully but he moved slowly, until his rhythm built within her, and she followed him to the promised relief.
She clutched the linen of his shirt as he plunged deep within her and claimed her with his seed. She trembled at the hurricane forces of their passion. Tears trickled down her cheeks as he collapsed against her, and she understood how fully they had become one. She could feel him stirring within her eve
n now, and excitement prickled along her belly.
Austin took her in his arms and rolled over so that she pressed against his side. He caressed her buttocks as she buried her face against his shoulder and sobbed. He waited silently, comforting her within the circle of his arms.
Finally, Aubree rested quietly, her tears drying on his worn shirt. He had smoothed her skirt down below her hips and covered his own nakedness; now he slid the bodice of her chemise and gown into place.
Once her sobs subsided, he carried her to the pool’s edge and dipped his handkerchief in the cool water. He mopped the tearstains from her cheeks, rubbing the dust from beneath her eyelashes as she watched him wonderingly. Then he slid her rumpled skirt above her stockings and applied the damp cloth to her thighs. Aubree gasped at this intimate ablution, but after a brief struggle, she gave in to the pleasure.
“Little hedonist,” he murmured as he spread the cloth out on the grass to dry, and she curled up in the shelter of his arms.
“Ummm,” she purred, not daring to look him in the face yet but enjoying her newfound status. “Why did you not tell me before what I was missing?”
Heath choked back a roar of laughter that nearly brought tears to his eyes. Guilt had built up inside him until he had nearly burst from the effort of guarding it, and this little brat wanted more!
He swallowed his laughter, but his mirth was evident. “You still do not know what you are missing, little goose. Like everything good, lovemaking takes practice, but I will admit, you show a natural aptitude for it.”
At this, Aubree dared to peek up at him, and her heart missed a beat at the sight of the laughing man gazing down on her. The hard years had faded from his face, and he was a boy again, a boy with an engaging grin and a blatant look of admiration in his eyes.
“Is that good?” she asked dubiously, uncertain of the reason for his laughter.
“Not if you wish to be a nun,” Heath answered with a straight face, “but for someone bent on having a dozen children, it is a very convenient talent, indeed.”
Aubree blushed and buried her face in his shoulder again. “Does this mean I will have a baby now?” she asked.
Heath sobered a little and wrapped his fingers in a long, golden curl. “No, I do not think so. It very seldom happens on the first try. But if your monthly courses do not begin when they should, I want you to tell me immediately. Do you understand?”
At his grave tone, Aubree understood she had touched upon a serious subject, but the idea of a child made her happy, not solemn. She nodded silently.
“Good. Then I had better take you back to the house or we will find ourselves rolling in the grass again.”
Aubree peeped up at him through one eyelash. “Would that be so bad?”
Mixed exasperation and amusement tinted his reply. “The next time I make love to you, halfling, it will be in a proper bed like any wedding night. And in the meantime, you will do well to learn not to lie down with men anywhere unless you wish to end up as you have done this day.”
Aubree straightened her skirts and disentangled herself from his hold, turning her back on him as she fastened the strings of her gown. “I see nothing wrong with what we have done this day,” she replied defensively.
Heath stood behind her, not daring to touch her. “As man and wife, we did nothing wrong, but we both know those were not the terms of our agreement. I cannot afford a wife, and you are not yet ready for a husband. We should never have started down this path.”
Aubree swung on him in a gust of fury. “Speak for yourself, milord. I have done nothing I regret, and if you are not ready for a wife, I am most certainly ready for a husband. If you will not be him, then I shall find another.”
She stormed off, leaving him to gather their blanket and lunch basket. To her humiliation, she could not mount her horse without a mounting block. She had begun to lead Dancing Star across the field when he caught up with her and lifted her into the saddle.
Keeping his hands on her waist, he said angrily, “Right now, milady, I am your husband, and you’d damned well better remember it.”
Aubree gave no answer but spurred her horse into a furious gallop.
Chapter 21
Heath didn’t return for dinner, and Aubree dined alone in her chambers. She recalled every minute, every word that had passed between them. She could still taste the cider and cherries, smell the warm musk of her husband’s skin, feel the way he cleaved to her as if he would never let go. She would not change a second of that for all the coins in the world, though it may have cost her more than she could afford.
She dropped into the lonely comfort of her bed and rewrote their conversation afterward a thousand times. She could have said so many things, but would any of them have changed his heart? If she had told him she loved him, told him she wanted him for husband and no other, would he have been any less adamant about sending her away?
She feared not, and it was this thought above all others that kept her from sleep, kept the tears spilling down her cheeks long into the wee hours of the morning. He had taught her the meaning of love, but he did not love her.
Heath not only did not want a wife, he did not want her for wife. Just as her father had rejected her, so did her husband. She could not bear the awful pain of it, and her muffled sobs filled the pillow until she had no strength left for more.
In the dark hours before dawn, noises rose from the stable yard, but she had reached a state beyond consciousness and could not rouse herself to investigate. She could not remember if she had heard Heath return home. How many times had he not returned home, times spent in another woman’s arms, making love to someone like Blanche in the same way he had made love to her today? The fickleness of a man’s affections caused her to bury her head beneath the pillow.
But by dawn, her painful thoughts had worried her into a frenzy. She donned her riding habit and slipped through the gray mist to the stables.
To her surprise, there was evidence that most of the field and stable hands were already up and about. Burned-out candles sat upon the table and straw littered the entrance. None of the work horses or mules remained in the paddock, and she found neither Jamie nor John to help her saddle her horse. Heath’s stallion, too, seemed to be missing.
Worried, Aubree saddled her horse herself. She had done it often enough, when she had wanted to go riding but had been forbidden the stables. Checking the cinch, she led Dancing Star to the mounting block and gained her seat. She took the open paddock gate that led down the path toward the sheep pen. Since the “accidents,” Heath had set men to guarding the fields and patrolling the grounds at night. The paddock gate should have been padlocked. The gates to the sheep pen should have been checked at intervals throughout the night. But both stood open as she crossed the field from one to the other.
Uneasily, Aubree noted the trampled path through dew-wet grass in the direction of the rock quarry. The original stones for the abbey had been mined from that pit centuries ago. Heavy undergrowth hid the ugly scar, but animals and curiosity-seekers had beaten paths through the weeds. Heath had fenced it off after his wife’s death, but fences seldom held back the persistent.
As she drew closer, she could hear the low murmur of voices, and she urged her mount into a canter. From here, she should be able to see the flock. She heard an occasional distant bleat, but none of the familiar gray-matted beasts came into sight.
The back fence lay in dismantled pieces in the thick grass as Dancing Star picked her way over them. A thick grove of ash trees hid the quarry, but the trampled weeds and grass and muddy ground from the pen to the wooded undergrowth spoke volumes. Sick with fear, Aubree forced herself on.
Her mare whickered and danced reluctantly at the shady entrance to the ash grove, and in almost instant response, John appeared on his pony. He looked alarmed at Aubree’s appearance and gestured for her to halt.
“No, milady. Don’t go in there. Go back to the house,” he pleaded.
“Is my husband in t
here?” Aubree demanded.
“His lordship said to keep everyone out. Please, milady, it is no place. . .”
Aubree ignored his plea and rode past him down the trampled path. Forced from the pen, the sheep could have gone no other direction, though they would have trampled themselves in trying to do so. Hanks of matted wool littered thorny branches, but the underbrush had given away beneath hundreds of sharp hooves. The path was clear as she followed it to the opening ahead.
The stink reached her first. Nausea rose in her throat as the odor seeped through the damp air. Worse than rotting logs, it permeated the small forest, reeking of death. The bleats she had heard earlier were few and far between now. Sheep were not known for their survival instincts.
Even though she had mentally prepared herself, Aubree retched as she came out upon the ledge overlooking the quarry. John grabbed for her reins, but Aubree gathered them up again.
The rocks below were littered by the broken bodies of hundreds of sheep. Once over the edge, there was literally nowhere else to go but down. Even those who fell only to the first level of boulders were crushed by the remainder of the herd, which either piled up at this level or bounced and slid and tumbled to the bottom depths far below. Men scrambled through the grassy hillocks on the cliff’s edge, searching for signs of life around the top of the ravine, with little luck.
A pen had been erected of saplings in a nearby hollow, and the few surviving members of the flock had been herded in there. The occasional bleats came from injured animals below.
Sick with grief, Aubree slid from her mount and stood at the cliffs edge. She saw no sign of Heath, but the men obviously had avoided the quarry in order to search the safer grounds of the woods. Heath would not lead his men into the dangerous boundaries of the sheep-strewn quarry.
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