“Everything is just as Lord Shannon and I agreed upon. I was a fool to hope things could be different.”
Molly rushed to her side. “Nay, m’lady, ’tis never foolish to hope.”
She sighed. “I think Braiton is having second thoughts about saving a foolish girl who got herself lost.”
“Nay, m’lady, what you think is far from the truth.”
She tossed a bonnet she was holding on the bunk. “Then tell me what is the truth, Molly.”
“Sometimes we need to get lost in order to be found, m’lady.” She pushed aside a wisp of hair from Raven’s forehead in a motherly fashion. “You’re a beautiful and lovin’ young woman, to be sure. All o’ us marvel over your spirit and quick wit, and your husband is the first one among us to sing your praises.”
She raised a questionable brow. “Blarney.”
“Not a stitch o’ the blarney, lass, ’tis all true what I say. There’s not a day that passes your name doesn’t come from his lips. The man lives for your presence, and I’m sure if you declined to come along on this trip, he would have canceled his plans as well.”
She sighed. “If only I could be sure of what you say, Molly. I want so much for him to be proud of me.”
Molly chuckled. “By all that’s holy, lass, he is proud o’ you. I’ve looked deep into his eyes and have listened closely to his words when he speaks o’ you. He’s your greatest admirer, and if you would just be a wee bit patient, wait this all out, you’ll be happy one day you did.”
She studied the concern in Molly’s pale blue eyes. “You are a wise woman, Molly. Are you sure you are not part Apache?”
Molly chuckled. “Nay, m’lady. ’Tis a pure Irish lass that I be.” She gave her a little nudge. “Now go, join your husband on deck.”
The Shannon River was calm and the sun hung low in the sky. She found Braiton rechecking their course with Captain Kirby. “’Tis an easy sail we have, Captain.”
“Aye, m’lord. We should be dockin’ upon Bunratty’s shores sometime after the break of dawn,” Kirby said. He tipped his hat to her. “Good eve, m’lady.”
She smiled. “To you as well, Captain.”
Braiton remained at the rail, gazing out over the water, searching the vast river far and wide while puffing on his pipe. She came to stand beside him, pulling her shawl tighter about her shoulders against the evening chill, and reaching out to grip the rail.
“I do not think I will ever be able to stand on deck without holding on to something.”
He chuckled. “’Twill come to you in time, lass. I believe ’twas not until my fourth voyage I acquired my sea legs.” He turned to look at her. “You’re still way ahead of the game, though.”
“How so?”
“It also took me as long to control my stomach.”
She giggled, the tension between them fading. “My stomach has churned many times,” she confessed. “But I have conquered the problem with the help of mind power.”
He frowned. “That truly helps?”
She nodded. “My people conquer pain and weakness using the strength of their minds. The braves of the tribe must learn this skill before they can become nagonlkadis, warriors.”
“Then how is it you’ve learned the skill?” His eyes scanned the length of her. “’Tis obvious you’re not a warrior.”
“Ah, but you are wrong, my shikaa. A nagonlkadi is not only a brave off to war, but one who can survive life, carry on during hard times, and be the master of their mind and spirit.”
His mouth curved into a lopsided grin. “You never cease to amaze me, lass.” He shook his head. “I truly regret not having the chance to meet your family. You’re young, lass; yet the wisdom of the elders fills your thoughts and grace your words. Your mentors must truly be the wisest of all.”
She smiled. “My people also believe it takes wisdom to know wisdom.” With that said, she made her way across the deck, to her cabin.
“Raven,” he called after her, his voice mellow.
She turned to face him. His lips curled into a slow smile, the cleft in his chin growing deeper. She waited for him to speak, but he remained silent. His eyes said it all, surveying her with longing, then returning his gaze to lock with hers once again.
She raised a brow and moistened her lips with a smooth glide of her tongue. “Sleep well, Braiton.” With a slight flick of her head, she tossed her dark mane from her shoulders and continued to her quarters.
Braiton was mesmerized by the easy sway of her hips. He wiped his sweaty palms on his breeches; only moments ago they were dry. Turning to look out over the water, he puffed on his pipe, his thoughts a vibrant mass of excited flurry. The way she looked, spoke, sauntered away, stirred him to the very core of his being. What was the power she possessed?
No other woman moved him like she did, drove him wild inside with desire. Passion mounted within just talking to her, his senses coming alive with her mere presence. The smell of her perfume, the rustle of her skirt, all of it left him with an overwhelming yearning to taste her charms, feel the warmth of her body beneath his. His loins distended with the slightest thought of her. His heart raced, his mouth went dry with the things he imagined her doing…to him…with him.
Even now he envisioned her opening her cabin portal and returning to him wearing only a sheer robe. Her long, slender legs would take easy strides toward him, shapely hips outlined beneath the translucent material. She would open the negligee, revealing all her womanly allure, and slip it off her shoulders. Down her back it would glide, spilling in a heap around her delicate ankles. The moon would cast a glow to her bronzed flesh, the wind playing with the dark curls, like the enchantress in the mythical legends he read as a lad. She’d be his goddess of the sea, standing naked on his deck. His throat tightened.
“All is well, m’lord,” a deep voice boomed, dragging him from his fantasy.
He snapped from his thoughts, his flesh burning and spun around to find Captain Kirby standing behind him. He shook his head to clear it and straightened his collar.
“I’m sorry, Captain, come again.”
“I said, all is well,” Kirby repeated, then searched Braiton’s face. “And is all well with you, m’lord?”
He nodded, pinching the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger. “I’m just a wee bit tired.” He straightened his shoulders and his waistcoat. “So, if all is as well as you say, then I will retire to my cabin.”
Kirby tipped his hat. “Very good, m’lord. Sleep well.”
He chuckled sardonically. “Aye, Captain, I will try.”
****
The dawn faithfully lit the sky, leaving the morning dew to cling like a veil of moisture on the portholes of the tiny vessel. Braiton rapped upon his lady’s portal.
“May I enter, my lady?”
“Yes,” Raven called out.
He found her sitting on the bunk, a breakfast tray upon her lap, and eating a bowl of porridge. His eyes rested for a moment on the cleavage fully erupting from the neckline of her nightwear. Again strong emotions assailed his control. He pulled his eyes away and cleared his throat.
“We’ll be docking in Bunratty within the hour, lass. And unless you take pleasure in watching me defend your honor, I suggest you clothe yourself a wee bit more modestly,” he teased.
She smiled up at him. “I better not waste a moment then.” She put aside the tray, swept off the quilt, and stood with her back to him. “Would you undo the buttons for me, please?”
He cleared his throat again. “Perhaps I should send for Molly.”
She lifted her hair from her neck. “You will do.”
His hands shook as he unfastened each button. With each slip of a tiny pearl through the hole, her smooth, naked spine came into view.
She spun around to face him, the nightgown slipping off her shoulders. “Ashoge.”
He turned and made his way to the portal. “Remember, within the hour.”
“I will be ready. You have my word.”
> From the corner of his eye he saw the nightgown fly through the air and land on the bunk. He swallowed hard knowing she stood unclothed.
“Now, where are those bloomers,” he heard her say before he rushed out the door and slammed it behind him.
****
Raven stood beside Braiton as The Wee Lassie approached the shores of Bunratty, wearing an elegant aqua dress trimmed with deep blue lace. Molly did her hair up, curls cascading down her neck.
Braiton looked at her and frowned. “The neckline of that frock doesn’t hide much more than your nightwear.”
“According to Tilly, it is the latest fashion from Paris.”
He grunted. “And the cause, no doubt, for the men in France to challenge each other to constant duels.”
“I could change.”
He shook his head. “There’s not the time, lass.” He pointed to the carriage parked at the end of the dock they now neared. “There be Rory, himself, waiting for us.”
She sighed. “I am sorry you are not pleased with the way I am dressed, my shikaa.”
“I am very pleased, my lady, just not so happy you’ll be pleasing Rory as well.” He tugged at his collar and straightened his jacket. “That man leers at you like a hungry wolf.”
“He is your friend, and I am sure he means no harm.”
“And you are very generous to defend him after he cornered you in the library as he did, during his last visit to Shannonbrook.”
She bit the inside of her lip. “About that night, how much of the conversation did you hear?”
He arched a brow. “How much I heard is irrelevant. That it never happens again is imperative.”
Rory met them ashore and took her arm. She glanced at her husband, his clenched jaw a clear indicator he was displeased. Her father did something similar whenever another man paid too much attention to her mother. For a moment her heart soared at the thought he was jealous of another male’s attention toward her. She freed herself from Rory’s arm and moved beside Braiton. He smiled and put a possessive arm around her waist, pulling her closer.
Rory chuckled. “Good idea, old man. Keep a close watch on her, for every man will want to dance with her at the ball tonight.” He cast a devilish grin her way. “I, myself, fully intend to keep you dancing until the wee hours of the morning.”
“Don’t you ever tire of throwing the blarney, Rory,” Braiton quipped, assisting her into the carriage.
“Why you pierce me to the quick, old friend, implying I’d throw a line at your lady.” Rory arched a brow. “Or is it you’re too blind to see her beauty.”
“I am neither old nor blind,” Braiton said, climbing into the carriage beside her. “Just tired of your disrespect.” Rory opened his mouth to protest, and Braiton raised a hand to silence him. “Save your breath to cool your porridge.”
Rory nodded and took a seat opposite Braiton, but sent her a playful wink.
Raven gazed out the window, wanting to appear absorbed in the sights of the city. Rory, however, would not let it rest.
“My sister, Joleena is very interested to meet you, my lady.”
She turned to look his way, wishing she could wipe the mischievous grin off his face.
Rory leaned back in his seat. “Though I must warn you, she had high hopes in snagging Braiton for herself.”
Her heart sank to her toes. Meeting Joleena O’Neill now became the last thing she wished to do. With dampened spirits, she glanced again out the window and chewed on her bottom lip. No doubt Joleena was sophisticated and beautiful, a true Irish lady, well suited to be a lord’s wife. Her temples throbbed, and she closed her eyes with the pain.
“What is it, Raven,” Braiton whispered, his hand coming to rest on hers. “Are you ill?”
She glanced at Rory first, to see if he heard Braiton’s words. His head rested back against the carriage seat, and his eyes were closed. Relieved he slept, she answered her husband.
“My head hurts.”
“Rest on my shoulder, then,” Braiton offered, moving closer.
Their thighs touched and a bolt of heat coursed through her body. She felt the muscles through his breeches and inhaled the clean scent of his cologne, a mixture of musk and spice.
“What’s bothering you, lass?” he whispered against her temple.
“I just want…just want…” she choked on the words.
“Want what, my lady? All I have is already at your disposal.”
“I want you to be proud of me,” she managed without breaking into tears.
He squeezed her shoulder. “I am, Raven.”
She swallowed hard the lump growing in her throat. “You have been so kind to me, so caring. I would never want to bring shame upon you, especially in front of your friends,” she said, neglecting to admit her concerns were mainly about Joleena O’Neill.
“You won’t, Raven.”
“You sound so sure.”
“That’s because I am.” He planted a kiss upon her forehead. “You’re a clever, resourceful, warrior, my lady, with much determination and spirit.” He chuckled. “God knows you’ve set me back upon my heels more than once.” He pushed a wayward curl from her forehead.
“I have every confidence in you, lass. Lord and Lady O’Neill will find you charming. And you needn’t worry about matching wits with Joleena, because there’s no problem there.” He lowered his mouth to her ear. “She’s one of the featherheads I spoke of.”
She giggled. “Like her brother,” she whispered.
Braiton chuckled. “Aye, it seems to run in the family. Though Lord and Lady O’Neill are warm, generous folks and cannot be responsible for the boorish ways of their children.” He pulled back to look at her. “Feeling better now?”
She smiled. “Much, thank you, my shikaa.”
They rode the rest of the way to Glenview in silence, her head quite comfortable resting on Braiton’s shoulder. The ache at her temples left with his reassurance. It was all she needed to feel confident enough to meet the O’Neills…especially Joleena.
Chapter Fifteen
Raven was nudged awake by her husband’s gentle hand upon her arm. “We’ve arrived at Glenview, lass."
She sat upright and straightened the full skirt, then smoothed the wisps of hair escaping her upsweep.
He gave her an encouraging smile. “You look radiant, my lady.”
The carriage rounded a corner onto a cobblestone path and halted in front of an elegant mansion of white stone. The grounds were perfect, manicured, lush and green. Several different types of rosebushes adorned the long path to the front door.
Braiton, always the gallant man, extended a hand to help her descend from the carriage. Taking each step carefully, not to trip on the hem of her skirt and make a fool of herself in front of his friends, she kept her gaze on her feet.
When she glanced up, she locked eyes with Joleena O’Neill. The woman’s gold-flecked orbs studied her, their strange color piercing and cold. Porcelain skin, high cheekbones, and a head full of copper ringlets completed Joleena’s visage as the classic Irish lass. While introductions were being made, her heart raced. Featherhead or not, Joleena fit right into Braiton’s life, would know how to decorate Shannonbrook and complement the title of Lady of Limerick.
Joleena forced a hospitable smile her way and neared Braiton, flashing him a warmer smile, eyes pools of seduction.
“You, my dear man, have been way too scarce.” She placed a familiar hand upon his arm. “Have you forgotten all the fun we have together?” She leaned into him, moistening her thin red lips with a slow swipe of her tongue. “Let’s go inside where we can talk more private. I have so much to catch you up on.”
The other woman’s bold stance caught her off guard. Though Molly swore no woman shared her husband’s heart, Raven was not so sure. Was Joleena in fact, a serious contender before Braiton was forced to wed? At any rate, Joleena’s behavior mirrored her brother’s disrespect for the bonds of marriage. And since neither of them knew her and Braito
n’s was one of convenience, their actions were disgraceful.
Braiton was polite in the way he disengaged himself from Joleena’s grasp and extended an elbow to her. “Raven and I would be very interested in what’s been going on at Glenview.”
She was sure Joleena did not want to catch up on things with her present, but she admired the way her husband put the other woman in her place. Proud of Braiton and thankful for his keen observation, her shoulders relaxed. She smiled up at him and accepted his arm.
Joleena’s face flushed and to cover her humiliation at being rejected she cackled out a most nervous giggle while reaching for Rory’s arm.
“Aye, we must all get acquainted, and reacquainted.” She looked up at her brother. “’Tisn’t that right, Rory?”
“Aye,” Rory agreed, escorting Joleena toward the path to the mansion. In passing Raven heard him say, “Careful, little sister, your claws are showing.”
****
After tea, Rory showed her and Braiton to the bedchamber they would share while at Glenview. It was a spacious room done in burgundy and gold. The servants had already unpacked their bags, her accessories and toiletries arranged on the dressing table for her ease.
“I didn’t think the chamber Braiton usually occupies on his visits here would be appropriate for a newly wedded couple,” Rory explained, casting Braiton a devilish grin. “This room houses a much bigger bed.”
“It is all so beautiful,” she gasped, admiring the wood carvings along the bed post.
“Then I’ve chosen well,” Rory said.
She fingered the delicate lace trimming the canopy. “Yes, thank you.”
“I only wish to please you while you’re our guest, my lady,” Rory said. “I believe I’ve accomplished that much, at least.”
“Yes, you have,” she said, glancing up. “I will be very comfortable here.” She turned to look at Braiton. “How about you, my shikaa?”
Rory turned to Braiton. “I’m sure your husband is comfortable wherever you are, my lady.”
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