The Rogue

by Emma V. Leech

  With a grin he moved, insinuating himself in the space between her legs and dipping his head to steal a kiss. “Well, I find that suits my plans after all,” he said, his voice low, and his eyes intent on hers. “As I intend to change your name to Sinclair with all due haste.” And then he silenced any words of triumph or joy that she might of uttered by claiming her mouth with his own.

  Chapter 31

  “Wherein many things are taken.”

  Well he had made his bed, he thought, looking down at the lovely creature beneath him with awe; and what an enchanting place it was. How it could ever have entered his head that he had the will or the resolve to walk away from Henri was something he couldn't quite comprehend. He simply wasn't that honourable, and he thanked God for that fact. For if he had left her he knew that the idea of her about in the world without him, with his brother in her bed instead of him, would have driven him to madness or an early grave. But as it was she was here, and so was he, and the delight to be derived from that fact already far exceeded all his expectations.

  She was at turns eager and shy, wanton and curious and so earnestly committed to giving and receiving his pleasure that he was quite undone. He loved her, and could think of nothing beyond the need to make her his own, in all ways.

  He could even bear the idea of Alex's self-righteous expression when he discovered their victory, and the ragging he was bound to endure from his elder sibling for years to come with equanimity. He didn't care for anything but teaching his soon to be wife everything she could possibly need to know in answer to the question in her eyes.

  She moved beneath him and he slid between the slick heat of her thighs, only too eager to show her what came next. The way she had shattered under his touch moments earlier, the way she had said his name, the sound of her pleasure, all of it still lingered in his mind, and he found himself needing to hear it again and again. He moved, finding the entry to the the fierce heat of her and readying her with gentle fingers, caressing and opening as he had before. She sighed and then gasped, her breathing uneven and her heart clearly racing.

  “Do you trust me?” he asked, kissing her as sweetly as she deserved to be kissed.

  She opened her eyes, dark and hazy with desire and filling him with such need that it took everything he had not to just give in and sink into her.

  “Swear you'll never leave me,” she whispered, her hands gripping his shoulders, her legs wound about his hips.

  “If I had any honour, I would leave,” he replied, on a groan as she tilted her hips towards him, rubbing against him until his sanity was stretched to breaking. “But I cannot. I couldn't leave you tonight and now ... I never will, I swear it.” And with that he gave in, sheathing himself inside her and only pausing when she cried out, clinging to him as he took everything she offered. He hushed her with gentle words, murmuring promises that it was only for a moment, kissing her until her tension fell away. She looked up at him then and smiled, hand reaching out to touch his cheek, those soft brown eyes so trusting in him that he felt overwhelmed by it.

  “I love you,” he said. For the briefest of seconds old instincts kicked in and he wondered what the hell he was about, giving her such power over his heart. But then he saw the answer to any doubt in her eyes, and knew that, for once, he had said and done the right thing. “I love you,” he repeated, with more surety this time as he showed her how to move with him and how to seek and find their pleasure together. Lust and a primitive desire to lay claim battled against the need to please her, to school her gently. His own needs raged, threatening to overwhelm him but something within him, something that cared for more than his own desire stayed his hunger and he found the will to hold back. He found the strength to savour rather than devour, and his prize was the spell she cast as she clung to him. Her slim fingers grasped at his flesh, her head flung back, dark hair all undone and cascading over the pillows as her climax took her and drew him with her, soaring and tumbling into the heavens where nothing but the most exquisite pleasure could exist.

  ***

  The early fingers of daylight teased their way around the bedroom curtains and Lawrence sighed, a sigh of deep, boneless contentment. He turned his head a little and smiled at the sight of the woman beside him. Asleep he could look his fill, without those all too seeing eyes delving into his soul. She saw far too much of him, he thought, and then chuckled to himself. Whatever there was to be seen she had been given a thorough viewing of last night. He had opened his heart and his soul to this woman, and all the regrets and anxieties he had expected to be plagued with on waking, simply weren't there. He could not find it in himself to regret it. None of it. Not for a moment.

  As if aware of his train of thought, Henri murmured in her sleep and snuggled closer. Well this is a first, he thought, quite unable to keep the smile from his lips. Usually if he found himself beside a female form in the early hours, he was up and out of the bed with as much haste as he could manage. But today, he found no such desire. Today the rest of the world could go to hell. At some point he needed to make arrangements for their betrothal but ... well another hour or so really wouldn't make the slightest difference. The staff may be scandalised but all would be forgotten once she was safely wed.

  With such pleasant thoughts murmuring through his increasingly drowsy brain, it was perhaps only years of life as an outlaw that drew him forcefully back to consciousness. He stilled, ears straining, every muscle taut. Nothing but the soft huff of Henri's breath against his shoulder, the chatter of birds beyond the window and the occasional sound of servants moving about their daily chores could be heard. And yet ...

  With the practised ease of one used to creeping in shadows he slid from the bed and pulled on breeches and boots. He reached for the pistol he always kept within reach of where he slept and walked to the window. With a fingertip he pulled the curtain back and watched the garden through a crack in the shutters.

  All was still. A crisp white frost covered the grass, the trees and buildings, everything coated in a sparkling rime of white ice. But nothing moved. He held his place, anxiety gnawing at his guts. Something was wrong. He had only ever once not trusted his instincts that something was not as it should be, and he'd paid the price with three bullets. It was a mistake he would never make again. Better to live long and be considered a paranoid fool than die by ignoring that little prickle of alarm that rose the hairs on the back of his neck.

  And there it was. Behind the wall that separated the garden from the orchard beyond, a cloud of breath on the freezing morning air.

  “Damnation!” With as much speed as he could manage he ran to the bed, waking Henri with regret by covering her mouth with his hand. “Hush, love,” he murmured. “I think there are men outside for me, whether they are militia or pirates I know not, but they are not friendly.”

  He withdrew his hand as her eyes widened with alarm and understanding.

  “What shall we do?”

  “Get dressed and find Annie, and stay away from the windows. Gather all the women and children and take them to the hidden tower room. You remember how it opens?”

  He sighed with relief as she nodded and smiled at her, proud of her calm manner in the face of such an event. “I'm going to rouse Alex and find what men we have about the place. Keep everyone calm if you can, Henri. The longer they think we are unaware the more chance we have.” He didn't add that their chances were slim to none. For no matter if it were militia or pirates, they would have come in numbers. To his knowledge there was him, Alex and possibly three other men in the house. Their only hope was that they could keep them at bay long enough for someone to sound the alarm and help to arrive. He kissed her, pulling her to him and holding her close, filling the moment with everything he felt for her.

  He let her go but she reached up, grasping his arm.

  “I love you, Lawrence,” she said, fear glittering in her eyes. “Please be careful.”

  He nodded and turned away, racing to find his brother. Rage at the men o
utside filled his heart. Just once in his life he'd had a chance for something real and good. A life where he could be the kind of man he now realised he wanted to be. A husband and father, instead of some desperately romantic and roguish figure that in reality hid the truth, that his life was hollow and lonely and doomed to meet a violent and ignominious end. It had all been within his grasp, and he was damned if he would let anyone take it from him. Guilt fell about his shoulders in the wake of his anger, a heavy, cold weight that settled around him, smothering his heart. He had done this by trying to have something that was never his due. Something he'd lost the right to claim. He had brought this trouble to them, just as he'd known he would. He should have forced Alex's hand, made his brother hand him over to the authorities. But there was no time for regret or recrimination now. Now all he could do was try and protect everything he loved.

  Chapter 32

  “Wherein many things are broken and much blood spilt.”

  “There.” Lawrence felt his brother stiffen beside him, as he too saw the movement of someone closing in on the house.

  “And there, look, three at least. What's that, twelve now?”

  Lawrence followed Alex's gaze and cursed. That wasn't militia. Which meant they wouldn't give a damn about taking any innocent lives in their pursuit of him.

  “Perhaps ...” he began, the inevitability of it sticking in his throat.

  Alex snarled at him and grabbed him by the shirt, slamming him against the wall. “If you dare mention any fool notion about giving yourself up, I swear I'll kill you myself!”

  Lawrence scowled at him and pushed Alex's hands away. “You know it's the sensible thing to do,” he hissed back.

  “I know no such thing,” Alex raged as loud as was possible, considering they were trying to keep quiet. “I have no idea if they are pirates after you, or a rival smuggling gang after me!”

  Lawrence blinked, momentarily stunned. “What?”

  Alex returned his attention to watching the garden, but not before giving Lawrence a look of sheer exasperation. “I told you what I'd been doing didn't I, do you think the competition takes kindly to my dominance of the field?”

  Frowning, Lawrence tried to piece the earlier conversation back together. “Yes, but ... I understood you'd been funding them. Damn it all, Alex! Do you mean to tell me you've actually been out, running contraband?”

  “Well you needn't take that tone with me,” Alex snapped. “As I doubt you're in any position to throw stones!”

  Lawrence closed his mouth. It was a fair point. “If that's the case, why the devil aren't we better protected?”

  At that moment both men looked up as Albert, one of the gardeners came in carrying a box, which he opened with care to reveal an array of pistols. “You were saying?” Alex remarked as he opened a cupboard to reveal an impressive range of daggers and swords.

  “That's all well and good, but where are the men to wield them?” Lawrence asked, snatching up one of the pistols to add to his own and adding a pouch of powder and a quantity of shot. Checking the pistol was properly loaded he lodged it firmly in his belt and went to select a dagger and sword.

  “Ah, you have me there.” Alex turned to him with regret as he handed him a fine sword which Lawrence hefted in appreciation, admiring the craftsmanship. “As I was engaged in the pursuit of a target known to the militia, i.e. you, I brought The Revenge and the crew who are involved in my more legitimate legal business. Had I known how things would turn out ...” He gave a dignified shrug. “I have, as it happens, sent word to the crew back home, but of course it will be several days before they arrive.” He nodded in reply to the look of astonishment Lawrence knew was on his face. “I figured a run would be an appropriate means by which to keep me from under your feet once ...” He waved his hand to encompass the situation with Henri. “Once you had come to your senses.” He frowned at Lawrence who steeled himself for what was coming next. “You have come to your senses I take it?”

  “Yes dammit! But that's hardly a topic for conversation now is it?” Lawrence hissed, peering back out the window. He half hoped the bloody men would attack, anything to keep his brother from continuing this conversation.

  “Well thank heaven for small mercies,” Alex muttered, pausing a moment before adding. “Though after seeing her last night, it really wouldn't be a hardship if you decided you want me to take her off your hands.”

  It took a moment before Lawrence's brain caught up and he realised he was holding a gun on his own brother. “You will forget what you saw last night,” he said, his voice cool and even. “And you will never think of, speak about or look at her in a manner other than that of a brother, ever again. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Perfectly,” Alex replied, grinning at him, apparently unconcerned for his own well-being. “I'm only sorry it took such a lot of effort on my part to make you realise you were in love with the woman. Oh, and may I offer you my congratulations.” He turned back to the window and scowled. “Now then, let's see what we can do about this lot, for I was rather hoping to attend a wedding, not my own funeral.”

  As if on cue, a voice called out from the gardens.

  “Savage? We know yer in there. Come out quiet like an' there won't be no trouble. We don want the rest o' them. Got no quarrel with 'is lordship.”

  Lawrence looked at his brother. “Still think they're after you?”

  Alex shook his head, frowning. “No, but if you think they'd get this far and leave rich pickings such as could be found in a house like this, then you really are a fool. If you give yourself up they'll just torture you in front of us until we let them in.”

  Grimacing, Lawrence accepted the truth of the argument.

  A crash of noise had them rushing to the other window again.

  “They're trying to break down the back door,” Alex said, his voice grim. The two men looked at each other as an echo of the same noise came from the front of the house.

  “You take the front,” he instructed Lawrence who nodded and ran from the room in the direction of the sound of an axe splintering wood. He ran through to what had been his mother’s room and opened a window as quietly as he could, before flinging back the shutter. He had only a moment to lean out and take aim before his position was seen but the scream that followed told him his shot had struck home. He ducked back, taking a moment to reload while curses flew at him from below.

  “Savage! Ye'r a dead man.”

  Lawrence frowned as the voice became familiar. “Brant?”

  “Aye, it's me,” the voice returned with a a spiteful laugh. “I've been lookin' for ye for nigh on a year, me old friend. There's a reward for ye' that will keep me in rum from now t'il the end o' my days an I mean to claim it.”

  “Bastard,” Lawrence muttered. He'd come across Brant before. He was more smuggler than pirate but he would make money however it could be found and he was well known for blackmail and stabbing men in the back. It wouldn't be the first time he'd profited from the reward money for bringing in one of his own. Lawrence pictured the wretch's face, and the thick black beard that covered the scars he bore. They said it was his best friend who'd done that, when he discovered Brant had betrayed him.

  Swinging out of the window once more, Lawrence fired, throwing himself back into the room as a bullet smashed the window behind him, showering him with broken glass. He reloaded with quick, sure movements that testified to years of practise and grabbed the other pistol. The idea of a sick son of a bitch like Brant setting foot on the property while Henri was in the house ... Lawrence felt his guts turn. He couldn't let that happen.

  The smashing began again and Lawrence took his chance. Leaning forward he aimed true and fired both pistols. Two men fell, one dead, the other screaming from a wound in his thigh, neither one of them Brant. But Lawrence fell back, cursing as the fierce sting of a bullet burned against his flesh and splinters flew around him as bullets hit the window frame. Muttering obscenities, Lawrence tore off a strip of his shirt and b
ound his arm. Thank God, just a flesh wound, though the blood was hot and ran freely down his arm as he tried to tie off the makeshift bandage. He wiped his hands clean of blood and reloaded both pistols. He could hear gunfire from the back of the house and prayed Alex was holding his own. The sound of axes cutting into the doors continued and though he tried to access the window again, they were taking no chances and fired upon him at the first sight of movement. He waited until they'd discharged their weapons, hoping everyone had run out of powder, and leaned out once more, winging the bastard with the axe and throwing himself back into the room as a bullet thwacked into the wall a hair's breadth from his head.

  “Damn me, that was close,” he muttered, reloading. Getting to his feet he ran for the landing. The front door was thick and solid, made of good French oak but it wouldn't hold for much longer from what he could see, and he hurried down the stairs to find a position to hold them off. And not a moment too soon as the great door smashed to the floor, and five men ran into the house.

  Taking his time, Lawrence stood his ground and fired, killing one man outright, the other crashing to the ground as a bullet tore through his upper shoulder. Dropping the pistols he reached for his dagger and threw it, smiling in satisfaction at the dull thwack as it hit home, killing the blood thirsty-looking devil beside Brant as it struck square in his chest. But Brant and a giant of a man with tattoos over his bald head and gold in his ears were still coming, stepping over their fallen comrades without even a glance. Lawrence ducked down behind a dresser as two bullets hit the wood, smashing the glass-fronted windows.

  “Devil take you,” he muttered. With his pistols lost he drew the sword with his right and reached for the dagger he'd stowed in his boot and got to his feet. Brant grinned at him, showing a missing front tooth. He put away his own pistol, drawing a sword and advancing on Lawrence with the bald fellow following suit.