Laughter slid from him, free and easy, the likes of which she hadn’t heard in a long time. He strode across the last few paces between them, climbed onto the bed, lifted her by the waist, and scooted her back onto the blankets. His knees settled between hers, his erection pressing at her opening in a line of delicious heat. Copper eyes bore into her very soul, a quirky grin teasing beneath them.
“Angel, you can ravish me anytime you’d like,” he said in a husky voice that drove away the last chill in the air she could feel.
Arms wrapping around him, she grinned all the wider. “Watch what you say. I will take you up on that.”
Legs spreading and lifting, she wrapped them around his waist. She slid her hand down between the two of them, grasped his erection, and guided it inside her. They both gasped at the same time. His copper eyes slammed shut as his hips moved, slowly pushing his erection deeper into her until he filled her. After only a pinch of pain, the sensation of him inside her, filling her, was exquisite. Never had she felt anything so amazing, until he began to move in and out in a tantalizing slow rhythm and her world exploded with pleasure like the New York sky on the Fourth of July.
Chapter 29
The faint light of dawn mixed with the glow of firelight pouring from the stove allowed Sean to see the tiny branches of boxwood he worked into a braid. Every now and then he checked on Ashlinn but she remained fast asleep, blankets pulled up to her chin. She hadn’t even awoken when he’d rose to start the fire or opened the door to let Cliste out for nature’s call. But then, after their enthusiastic lovemaking, it didn’t surprise him. Finally, he finished braiding the branches into a small ring, one that would precisely fit her left finger. He held it up in the flickering light to inspect it.
To make it easier to work with, he had stripped the bright green leaves from the tiny branches, leaving it unadorned. While it wasn’t made from a precious metal and didn’t possess a beautiful gem, it held a significance that he hoped she would cherish. No soldier of the 69th would go into battle without a sprig of boxwood tucked into their cap or uniform. Not only did they need a bit of green to represent their mother country, the boxwood meant luck and good fortune to each of them. Which was precisely why Sean chose it for this purpose.
Two deep breaths brought him the confidence to turn on the bed and gently shake her awake. Long lashes fluttered over her blue eyes a few times before her eyelids fully opened. The adoration that filled those lovely eyes brought a foolishly large grin to his lips, but he didn’t care if he looked the fool. So long as he could look upon her, that was all that mattered. With blond hair tousled about an impishly lovely face, she looked like a creature from the legends he had heard as a lad. Only he had never pictured fairies quite so sexy.
“’Twasn’t a dream,” she said in a pleased tone.
He brushed a lock of hair from her face, allowing his fingers to trail along her cheek and down to her jaw. Warmth like that of a hearth fire—full of promise and sustainability—gushed through him when she leaned into his hand and closed her eyes.
“No, not a dream.”
She made a sound like a purr. It touched him on a deep level, both physical and emotionally.
While her eyes were still closed, he slid from the bed, knelt beside it, and held up the ring of boxwood branches. A moment later her eyes opened, fixed upon the ring, and grew so wide more white than blue showed. The smallest twinge of regret pinched his heart at having such a meager ring to offer, but her slowly growing smile helped him ignore it. He had guessed right. The emotion shining in her eyes proved she was more sentimental than materialistic.
Before he could lose his nerve, he asked, “Miss Ashlinn O’Brian, my angel, will you do me the honor of marryin’ me?”
The blankets fell from her as she sat bolt upright and scooted to the edge of the bed. Not even the swell of her wonderful breasts could draw his gaze from her face right now, not until she answered.
“Now, Sean, you had better not be askin’ me this merely out of a sense of honor, ’cause I merely meant that honor lies in not sneakin’ away while a lady is sleepin’, nor ignorin’ her after you’ve had your way with her. You do not have to marry me simply because we had sex,” she said.
He shook his head. “’Tis not about honor, I swear. You make me happier than anyone ever has, or ever will. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I love you with all my soul.” And it was true. For the first time in his life, he was doing something because he wanted to, not because he felt like he had to make up for his parents’ lack of honor.
Fear crept up around his heart like tendrils of ice as her mouth worked but no words came out. Then moisture filled her eyes. “Yes! Yes, Mr. Sean MacBranain, I will most certainly marry you!” she exclaimed as she flew into his arms.
He held her close, burying his nose in her hair, not caring a bit that she smelled of musty blankets. The swell of her breasts against his bare chest, the tickle of her pubic hair against his stomach, wonderful as it all felt, it paled in comparison to the euphoria her words caused. She knew about his family, and still she wanted to be his. That knowledge set him free in a way he hadn’t even realized he’d been chained.
Giggling, she pulled back and held out her ring finger. He slid the makeshift ring onto it, having to push a bit to get it over the knuckle. She flew into his arms, lips seeking his. They kissed until he had to come up for breath. To his delight, she giggled again, held the ring up into the light to admire it, and draped her other arm around his shoulders.
Slowly, her smile faded and her eyes shifted from the ring to the stove. “You built a fire.” Her voice was heavy with worry.
Concern began to gnaw at him when her eyes scanned the room. “’Tis all right. With the rain comin’ down so hard and the army marchin’ this direction, we’re safe. There are no Rebels out this way to worry about.” The thought had crossed his mind before building the fire. Enemy soldiers seeing the smoke of a fire was always a concern during war. But there truly were no Rebels in these parts, at least not in any force large enough to worry about. The army had cleared them out.
Head turning from side to side so slowly he wouldn’t quite call it shaking, she rose from the bed and grabbed her breeches. “Where is Cliste?”
Rising, he followed her to the door and pointed out the small window. “Nature called so I let her out for just a moment. No worries, though. I’ve kept her in sight the whole time. See, there she is.”
The big gray hound loped toward the shack, nose down in the low fog that covered the half-frozen ground. Without a word, Ashlinn stepped into her breeches, went back to the bed, and picked up the rest of her clothing. Puzzled by her level of concern, Sean slid his belt into the loops of his breeches, stepped into his boots, and opened the door. The hound’s head perked up at the sound of the creaking hinges, but she didn’t approach. He called softly to her, patting his leg. Her head dropped a bit, along with her ears. Afraid she was going to dash off again, Sean descended the step and called to her with a bit more enthusiasm, still keeping his voice low. At last, she began to slink his direction, slow and deliberate, as if she were afraid she were in trouble.
“’Tis all right, girl, no worries,” he encouraged.
She began to move faster, but her head did not rise, and her ears did not lift. Only a few steps from him, Sean realized her lips were pulled up to reveal wickedly curved canines. Were Cliste’s teeth really that long? He wasn’t sure. She had never bared them at him before.
“Whoa, girl. What’s the matter?”
A deep growl rumbled from the hound. It picked up its pace, coming straight for him.
“Get back, Sean. ’Tis not Cliste!” Ashlinn snapped as she dashed out.
In a flash of blond hair she was suddenly between him and the hound, hand held out toward it, palm out. “Scáth, stad!” she hollered in Gaelic. Back straight as a rod, face set in a scowl, he had never seen her look so fierce nor imagined she could.
; The hound stopped in midleap. Ashlinn snapped her fingers and pointed to the ground. “Suigh.” It sat, head hanging low as if ashamed. Red lips still quivered over sharp teeth and the warning in its eyes remained. Now that the hound sat so close, Sean realized it was bigger than Cliste and a few shades darker, with different markings surrounding its eyes. Irish wolfhounds were quite rare in America, but he did recall Ashlinn mentioning Cliste had a mate once.
“Could that be your brother’s dog?” he asked, voice quiet so as not to launch the thing into action.
“Yes.” The cold, angry tone of her voice struck him as odd.
He put a hand on her back, preparing to grab her and pull her back if need be. “’Tis been wanderin’ around all this time alone. Careful, it could be feral by now.”
Moisture shown in her eyes when she looked at him. “He hasn’t been wanderin’. Sean, there is somethin’ I have to tell you.”
The desperation behind her tears sent prickles of warning across his skin. Those prickles exploded into a scream for action when he heard footsteps crunching in the leaves both to the left and right of them. In only his breeches and boots, he suddenly felt quite naked. His hands itched for his rifle, but he had left it back at camp. To their right, a mountain of a man with ebony skin stepped out from around the edge of the shack. The worn dark breeches and threadbare coat he wore suggested he wasn’t a soldier, but the rifle in his hands belied that. Sean’s eyes flicked to the left, where he had heard the other steps. Another dark man, this one only slightly smaller, stood with another rifle.
Even if he could get past the rifles, chances were slim that he could take these men down with his limited boxing capabilities. He held his hands up, palms out to show he was unarmed. “Easy there, friends, we’re fightin’ on the same side. I’m Sergeant MacBranain with the 69th regiment of the Union army.”
To his dismay, Scáth rose and trotted over to stand beside the biggest man, who gave Sean a sad look. “Afraid we’s not fightin’ on de same side, Sarge. Ya need to come wit’ us.”
Sean shook his head, not understanding. “But, sir, if you join the Union you will be a free man, fightin’ for the freedom of all your people.”
Something flashed in the man’s eyes, hope maybe, but it was quickly shadowed by fear. “Free men hang in dese parts. We’ve no desire to hang.”
He knew there were those that still lived in fear of their masters, or worse, the Rebels that found and hanged freed slaves. But that didn’t make meeting one any easier. He wanted to convince the man that he’d have the protection of the Union army, but after yesterday’s defeat, Sean wasn’t sure what that protection was worth.
“All right, I’ll go with you. Just let me get my coat.”
The man to the left lifted his rifle, leveling it at Sean, which put Ashlinn right in the line of it. Sean gently tugged her back behind him.
“No. Ya will get ya rifle and try to kill us,” the second man said.
Sean shook his head. “’Course I won’t. I’m fightin’ to free your people. I wouldn’t kill you.” He would if they posed a threat to Ashlinn, but he hoped the man couldn’t see that in his guarded expression.
“No. Sampson’s right. Ya come now, both of ya,” the biggest man said.
His grip on Ashlinn tightened. “Surely you only need me.”
The man shook his bald head. “De master would want us to bring ya both. Come now.” He motioned with his rifle. To Sean’s relief the man’s finger was outside of the trigger guard, but by the way it lay alongside it, poised and ready, he had a bad feeling the man knew how to use the weapon. The knowledge made his hope sink for more reasons than one. A master that allowed their slaves to become adept with firearms was one who had complete control over them.
Gripping Ashlinn’s hand tight, he stepped down from the shack and they started toward the biggest man. Keeping his eyes on them, the man motioned toward the shack with a lift of his chin.
“Get der gear,” he said.
A groan of protest sounded from Sampson. “Shouldn’t leave ya alone wit’ ’em.”
“Do it.”
Sampson stomped toward the shack, leaves and frosty ground crunching beneath his big boots. “Fine, Ezekiel, but if dey kill ya, I ain’t takin’ ’em back.”
The bigger man shot him a scowl before turning a serious look upon Sean. “We be fine. De Sarge won’t try nothin’.”
Sean fought the temptation to ask the man to be careful with his violin. Better not to show that he had any emotional attachment to it.
Ezekiel motioned with his rifle again, indicating the direction he wanted them to walk. Glad for his boots, even if they weren’t tied, Sean went where he was directed. The crisp morning air, so near to freezing, tiptoed over his skin like a fairy wearing King Henry’s football cleats. Sean pulled Ashlinn close and wrapped an arm around her, partially to offer her whatever warmth he could and partially to keep her close just in case. A few paces behind them and to the left, Ezekiel walked, quiet as only a man who has worked all his life to be invisible can walk.
Sean leaned close to whisper in Ashlinn’s ear. “Will Scáth obey you?”
Ashlinn’s eyes narrowed as her gaze shot to the huge beast trotting beside Ezekiel. “Barely,” she whispered, eyes flicking to where the two hounds followed on their right.
In his peripheral vision, Sean saw the muzzle of Ezekiel’s rifle swing in their direction. “No plottin’. Don’t wanna have to hurt ya.”
“We’re not plottin’, sir. Me lass here is just cold. How far have we got to go?” Sean asked, trying to redirect the man’s focus.
The barrel remained pointed in their direction, encouraging Sean to pick up his pace. Beneath his arm, Ashlinn began to shiver. He would have thought it for show if it weren’t for how cold to the touch her skin was.
“Not far” was all Ezekiel would say.
They marched on through the forest, their breath marking the air in plumes of white. Moments turned into minutes. Tremors so powerful they rattled her teeth resonated from Ashlinn and into him. Perhaps they both shook; he could no longer tell. Watching Cliste rub along Scáth as she walked made him wonder how much help the hound would be if they needed her. Soft, large footsteps soon sounded behind them, the distance between each suggesting the person was running. Ezekiel made some kind of motion with his head. What it was exactly, Sean couldn’t tell out of the corner of his eye. A moment later Sampson strolled up alongside him and handed him both his and Ashlinn’s coats.
Accepting them, Sean gave the man a smile. “Thank you, sir. We’re much obliged.”
Dark brows furrowing together, Sampson shook his head and dropped back behind them. That he wasn’t used to such kindness did not bode well for the character of his master. While that came as no surprise to Sean, it concerned him. Again, he considered the two rifles, and the muscle-bound men behind them. Were it just him, he would take them on in a heartbeat, but with Ashlinn to worry about, he couldn’t chance a bullet going astray. The gray beast of a hound trotting alongside Ezekiel, glaring a hole through Sean, didn’t help matters, either. No, he would have to wait for a better opportunity.
He helped Ashlinn into her coat before putting his own on. Though the wool was scratchy against his bare chest, he more than welcomed it for the way it blocked the morning chill. While Ashlinn readily returned to his side and clung tightly to his arm, the hesitant look in her eyes and the way she avoided his gaze struck worry into his heart. Something more was going on here than a lost dog who had found his way to a group of slaves, he could feel it. He just didn’t know what it could be.
In the few minutes it took to reach the cluster of bare-limbed alder and oak trees, through which he could see a sprawling Victorian mansion, the opportunity to escape didn’t come. Approaching the backside of the property as they were, Sean got a good look at any possible routes of escape. Wooden fences, many of which were down in several places and housed no livestock of any kind that he could s
ee, offered no obstacle. A backdoor crouched within the shadows of a wraparound porch badly in need of painting. Brush and briars choked what once could have been flower beds and landscaped areas. Leafless, they wouldn’t offer much in the way of concealment should the need arise.
Far off to the right of the house the roofs of several tiny shacks poked through the trees here and there. Slave quarters. Just in case they were all as fearful as these two of their master, Sean made a mental note not to run that direction.
“Go get Miss Collins, Sampson, I keep dem here,” Ezekiel said as they stopped just before the back porch.
Boot heals clicking on the loose boards, Sampson trotted up the porch steps and entered the back door.
“Don’t do this, Ezekiel, please. At least let the lady go.” Sean made one last attempt.
The man’s brows pulled together and he looked as though he were considering it, but then he shook his head. “I’s sorry, Sarge, but if she gets away, Miss Collins will take it out on Sampson’s little ’uns.”
Shaking her head, Ashlinn gripped Sean’s arm with both hands. “Then I will not go.”
Those furrowed brows lifted as Sampson’s eyes filled with surprise, then flicked quickly to the house. “Thank ya.” The words were choked, forced, but they sealed her fate, and his.
Kind or not, Sean would take Ezekiel out if he had to so they could get away. He truly hoped he didn’t have to.
Footsteps pounded within the house. A moment later the back door burst open and a man flew out of it at a run. He caught one of the beams that held the roof up and yanked himself to a stop, wide eyes drinking them in. Tingles like the brush of stinging nettles worked their way across Sean’s skin. Softness to the man’s features suggested he was around twenty. Blond hair framed a face with familiar blue eyes and high cheekbones. Gray tail wagging, Scáth jogged to the man’s side.
Honor Before Heart Page 24