Fire Lily (A Dangerous Hearts Romance)

by Deborah Camp

  He didn’t let her finish. Keeping hold of one of her hands, Griffon swung into the saddle of a prancing horse and pulled Lily up behind him. She adjusted the hood of the cloak and had a moment to wrap her arms about his waist before he shouted the nervous steed into a jolting gallop. Griffon pressed his heels to the horse’s sides, and the stallion burst into a breakneck race with its own moon-shadow.

  The clatter of hooves against the brick street was deafening in the dark night. The cloak flew out behind her, but Griffon’s body heat kept her warm. She buried her wet face between his shoulder blades. Would they ride all the way to Boston? She hoped not, for her body was already complaining about the jarring ride. The rain abated as they reached the edge of town. Clouds overhead thinned to reveal a heaven full of stars. Peeking around Griffon’s shoulder, she spotted her travel bag, its handle looped around the saddle horn. Her gaze traveled up to Griffon’s handsome profile. Diamond drops sparkled in his dark hair, and rivulets marked his lean cheeks. His earring winked at her.

  Happiness curled through her like a bright ribbon. Her sensitive fingertips detected in him elation and iron-ribbed determination. How could she ever have doubted that he and his life were meant for her? Maybe it was habit, she reasoned, this tendency to do whatever would please her father. Her father made her doubt her decisions and caused her to hide from herself. But Griffon wasn’t blameless, she reminded herself, sitting forward until her lips brushed his ear.

  “You could have just told me you loved me and saved us both a lot of trouble!” she shouted above the pounding of hooves and the rattle of harness.

  His response was to veer the horse before a lighted inn. The stallion pranced to a stop, and Griffon helped Lily slip from the saddle before joining her. He tied the horse to the hitching post.

  “We’re stopping here for the night? I trust you will engage two rooms.”

  His slashing glance called her every kind of fool. He grasped her hand and pulled her along behind him inside the rustic inn. A rotund woman spun around behind the registration desk and clasped her hands under her chin in a seizure of joy.

  “Finally!” She turned and shouted into the other room, “Leopold, they’re here! Bring Albert and your Bible!” She motioned frantically. “This way, this way. We’ll do it in the parlor.”

  “Do what?” Lily asked Griffon, stumbling along as they followed the woman. “Griffon, what’s going on here?”

  “I’m only doing what I should have done back in Van Buren, instead of letting you sashay out of my life and leave me heartbroken.”

  Lily found herself in a cheery parlor. The chubby woman stood beside the fireplace, an expectant expression bathing her face. Lily pulled the cloak tighter around her, knowing her nightdress was soaked and transparent by now. The hood had kept most of her hair dry, but tendrils curled near her face, dripping wet.

  “How’s this?” the woman asked.

  “Perfect, Hanna.” Griffon stood before the woman, tall and erect. “Hanna Morgenstern, this is Lily Meeker.”

  “So happy to make your acquaintance,” Hanna said in heavily accented English. She shook Lily’s cold, damp hand. “This is all so exciting! Oh, there you two are,” she said, addressing the two others who had entered the parlor. “Miss Meeker, this is my husband, Leopold, and my son Albert.”

  Lily nodded at them, too confused to speak. White-bearded Leopold took his place beside Hanna, and the couple’s gangly, cowlicked son stood off to one side. Leopold opened a Bible and smiled.

  “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here—”

  “Hold on just a minute,” Lily interrupted, shifting her gaze frantically from Leopold to Griffon. “Is this man marrying us?”

  “Yes, if you’ll cease the interruptions.” Griffon ran a hand over his wet hair and flung raindrops off the tips of his fingers. His black shirt clung to his wide chest and muscled arms. His black boots were splashed with mud. “Go ahead, Leopold.”

  “No!” Lily snatched her hand from Griffon’s. “You haven’t even asked me to marry you! How dare you! This is the most important decision in a woman’s life. I won’t take it lightly. The kidnapping was one thing, but this … this is … is …”

  “Lily, I love you.”

  Her breath whistled down her throat. “Wh-what?”

  His eyes bored into hers, and she felt his love coat her like honey, seep into her pores like sunlight, nestle in her heart like it belonged. Lily drew in a trembling breath, and everything in her world was set right.

  “I love you, too,” she whispered.

  Marry me, Lily. Make me the happiest man on God’s green earth by marrying this arrogant Gypsy goat.

  The words rang clearly in her mind, and she smiled. Fortunately for you, I love arrogant Gypsy goats.

  He laughed, and she knew he’d heard her mind and heart speaking to him.

  Lily faced the whiskered man holding the Bible. Her eyes filled with happy tears. “Marry us, please.”

  The ceremony was as simple as truth and as sacred as a blessing. Lily and Griffon vowed their love and devotion, and Griffon slipped a gold band on Lily’s finger. Their first kiss as husband and wife sent longing surging through Lily’s veins, and she offered no resistance when Griffon carried her upstairs to their room in the inn.

  “I like being a robber’s bride,” she confessed as he set her on her feet and closed the door behind them. The room was small but inviting. Red-orange lilies sat in a crystal vase on the bedside table, filling the air with their delicate perfume. “You’ve thought of everything, I see.”

  “So you aren’t angry that I snatched you from your father’s home?”

  “No, but Father will be livid.” She giggled and shrugged out of the heavy cloak.

  “I know you told him about me.”

  Lily nodded. “He disapproved.”

  “What about the rest of your family? Did you tell them you love me?”

  “Yes. I even told Uncle Howard and Aunt Nan about my trances. I explained to them that I sensed things. They were very understanding, although they don’t grasp the concept of ‘tactile memory,’ as you called it.” She frowned and edged away from his intense, blue gaze.

  “You’re still a little frightened of yourself.”

  Lily wandered to the vase of lilies. She stroked a velvety petal. “There is so much about me that I don’t understand.”

  “You will, Lily. I’ll be your lantern. I’ll shine my light on all the darkness and chase away the shadows.”

  She turned at his approach and laid her hand along the side of his face, loving him so much it hurt. Her wedding band glinted richly. “I believe you, Griffon. Oh, it’s taken so long for me to completely trust you, but I do. With all my heart and soul, I do.” A loose piece of puzzle floated into her mind. “Griffon, how did you know I was at my father’s home?”

  He smiled in answer.

  “Oh, you!” She swatted his shoulder playfully, and he took her into his arms. “I’ll never be able to keep secrets from you.”

  “You can turn the tables and read my thoughts.” He nuzzled the side of her neck. “You sensed me coming for you in the caverns, remember?”

  Lily nodded, recalling how she’d thought he’d called out to her. Only in retrospect had she realized that his speaking had been only in her mind, and that she’d called out to him in the same fashion. His arms tightened possessively.

  “What about your father? Can you be happy with me if he never accepts our marriage?”

  “I have spent most of my life trying to be someone my father could love, but no more.” She shook her head, and her hair spread over her shoulders, some strands still damp from their midnight ride. “When I realized it was you standing on that balcony tonight, I knew such a supreme happiness. Everything was suddenly as clear and bright as the north star. You love me. The real, unadorned, unvarnished, ungilded Lily. Oh, what a relief to be loved by you. What a relief and what a blessing.” She lifted her face to his swooping mouth.

  Hi
s kisses knew no restraint. His stroking hands peeled the nightgown off her shoulders, down her hips and legs. She stood naked to his lambent gaze. Trembling with desire, Lily unbuttoned his damp shirt and discarded it. She stroked his wide shoulders and silky-haired chest. Her mouth loved him, leaving moist circles on his skin until he, too, trembled. He was so many things to her: her mentor, her lover, her champion, her husband.

  “I’m your bride, Griffon,” she whispered between fire-laced kisses. “Now make me your wife.”

  Griffon plucked the bouquet of lilies from the vase and scattered the flowers over the sheet-draped feather bed. He lifted her and settled her in the center of the bed of flowers, releasing their sweet fragrance. After removing the rest of his clothes, he joined her. His muscled, rangy body was a welcome blanket upon hers.

  “Oh, how I love you,” she whispered, framing his face in her hands and bringing his lips to hers. She drank in his passion until she was overflowing. “I never dreamed I could love so deeply, so completely. I want your baby inside of me, Griffon.”

  He raised his head to reveal his surprise, then he laughed and landed a stunning kiss on her smiling lips. “Your skills are improving. You just read my mind.”

  Griffon’s hands and mouth were as soft as petals on Lily’s skin. Soon, her budding desire blossomed into passion.

  And she burned. Oh, how she burned.

  Deborah Camp is a freelance writer and editor. She specializes in writing for small business magazines.

  The author of more than 40 titles, she has received the Janet Dailey Award (given to a romance novel that best addressed a social problem and was inducted into the Oklahoma Professional Writers Hall of Fame. She also received the Nightwriter of the Year Award, Tepee Award from OWFI for published fiction, and the Golden Certificate from Affaire de Couer.

  Her personal motto is: “Don’t wait for your ship to come in – swim for it!” And she has lived by that all of her life.