Bold Surrender

by Judith E. French

  "I shaved it. Do you see any need to cover such a handsome face as my own?"

  She stared at him and ran a finger down his bare cheek. "I'm not sure I like it," she teased.

  "Well ye'd best learn to like it."

  "But why? Why did you shave it off?"

  His mouth covered hers as he knelt on the grass, pulling her down beside him. "'Twas a Scotsman's face, nae that o' a Maryland planter," he said huskily.

  Trusting, she lay back in his arms, caressing his craggy features with her eyes, leaving her heart free to welcome the flood of joy that brought tears to her eyes.

  "Are you so sad to ha' me here that ye must weep?" he teased, stroking her throat and hair, and pressing his lips to the opening at the neck of her shirt. "I would ha' thought ye would be glad to see me after so long apart."

  "I am," she whispered, running her hands over his shoulders, squeezing and touching the sinewy hardness to be certain he was real and not some dream. "Oh, Kelt, I am. I don't care about the beard. You can shave your head like a Turkish pirate for all I care! But those damned women lied to me. They said—"

  "Like a dog wi' a bone ye are," he teased. "Taking on Richard Chadwick's suspicious ways. No one lied to you. I was gone—to Chestertown on business." He kissed her again and she parted her moist lips, letting their tongues touch and caress.

  "You said you were leaving Morgan's Fancy," she breathed softly. "At the end of spring planting."

  "Did no one e'er tell you nae to remind a mon o' what he ha' said?" Kelt's hand slipped under her shirt to cup a love-swollen breast.

  "I told you to go," she dared, "but I want you to stay. Please stay with me, Kelt. I want to be your wife."

  "Aye, that may be," he said after a long silence. "But what o' the problems between us? Ye are still a lass o' great land and property." He propped himself on one elbow and leaned over her. "What will the Chestertown folk say if Mistress Morgan marries her hired overseer, a mon who was once a bond servant?"

  "To hell with what they say, Kelt," she whispered. "I love you and I want you for my husband."

  "And I suppose if I agree t' this, I'll be asked to sign a marriage contract?"

  Ashley shook her head as a lump rose in her throat. "No. No contract... unless"—mischief gleamed in her moonlit eyes—"unless you want one. With the Witch, you are a man of substance now."

  "Aye, so I am." He curled a lock of her hair around his finger. "But as a mon o' substance, should I not take care in arranging a hasty marriage?"

  "Hasty?" Ashley balled her hand into an angry fist and slammed it into his shoulder. "This wedding was your idea in the first place, not mine!"

  Kelt captured her hand in his and chuckled deep in his throat. "Why would any sane mon wish to gift his sons and daughters wi' such a shrew's disposition?" He pursed his lips. "And how do I know ye are not barren? Ye have not quickened wi' my seed and I have given ye every opportunity."

  "Am I a brood mare that I must produce a child before we wed to prove my worth?"

  "Aye," he agreed. "It may not be a bad idea."

  "Beast! Let me up!" Ashley insisted. "I'd not have you to husband if you were the royal governor himself!"

  "Hist, lassie," he soothed. "Bide awhile here and smooth your pretty feathers. I didna say I wouldna wed. I only said we shouldna be hasty."

  A curse rose to her lips to be smothered with his kiss. Her struggles weakened and then became an embrace as she pulled him down to her. "Don't tease me," she begged. "I don't want to fight with you. I—Where are your things? Your paints, your canvases, your clothes—everything was gone. If you didn't leave, where are they?"

  He chuckled again. "In the master's room, where else? We've met and loved there so often, I didna wish ye to lose the way in the dark."

  "In the master's room?" Ashley caught her breath. "Then you knew I would—"

  "I was certain enough o' it that I stopped in Chestertown on the way home and had your solicitor draw up a marriage agreement. Nay! Dinna fuss. It's better this way. Morgan's Fancy is yours, lass, and we shall pass it to our children and they to theirs. But all we make together, that belongs to us both."

  Ashley knotted her fingers in his hair and pulled his head down to brush her lips with his. "I love you," she whispered. "More than life itself. And I don't want to fight with you. I want to make love to you."

  "A sensible woman," he murmured, letting his hand run provocatively down her hip and thigh. "But if I agree to this match, when will ye say the words?"

  "As soon as the banns are cried," she answered softly, molding her body to his.

  "Then our wait will be short," he replied. "I had the banns cried in Chestertown before I sailed in search o' ye. You'll find I am a mon who always gets what he sets his heart on."

  "Kelt Saxon!"

  He pushed her full length in the soft new grass, cradling her against his pulsing body. "There is but one thing that still bothers me," he said in a deep burr.

  "Aye, laddie?" she answered huskily.

  "Do ye think I'll e'er teach ye to wear skirts like a proper lass? These breeches are the devil's own curse to contend wi'."

  The End

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  BY LOVE ALONE

  The Triumphant Hearts Series

  Book Four

  ~

  Two guards took her arms and pulled her roughly forward. Kate's breathing became more shallow. She bit the inner flesh of her lip until she tasted the warm salt of her own blood. She'd not faint and be dragged like a sack to the rope! Dimly she was aware of the roar of the crowd in the background. The sheriff unrolled a scroll and began to read her sentence.

  Just behind him stood a tall figure in black. Only his eyes showed, large and unblinking like those of some hooded bird of prey. Kate stared into them boldly, until the gray inhumanness flickered to pity. He's just a man, she thought, a man like any other. Man or demon from hell, he had no power to frighten her. She... What was the sheriff saying?

  "...the mercy of the King. That the prisoner, Lady Kathryn Storm, sentenced to death, shall be spared the finality of the rope. It is the decision of this court that the prisoner be transported to the colony of Maryland and there be sold as a bond servant for a period of not less than twenty years."

  Kate's eyes widened. "What? What did you say?" Not to die? To be sold like an animal? A slave? "No!" she protested. "No." But the guards were already hustling her from the platform and down the steps.

  Pride Ashton waited at the bottom. "Ah, Katy. You'd have saved yourself a lot of grief if you'd only read my note. I persuaded my uncle to have your sentence commuted to transportation. I've known since yesterday." He took her in his arms and kissed her soundly to the delight of the onlookers. "God, darling, but you've got nerve. A man would think you were going to a ball, not a hanging."

  Kate stared at him, speechless. Again he'd interfered with her life. Her lips stung from his kiss; her legs felt unsteady. His strong arm supported her as blackness invaded her brain.

  "None of that now! We'll have no fainting!" Pride brought his hand sharply down on her backside. "Keep your wits about you, girl."

  "You bastard," she uttered between clenched lips.

  "That's my girl." He laughed. "You'll like Maryland, I promise."

  "I'd have rather gone to hell!"

  "Wait a bit, Kate," Pride cautioned. "In time we may make that trip together."

  ~

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  By Love Alone

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  Judith E French is the bestselling and award-winning author of nearly sixty novels, including historical romance, contemporary, mystery, and suspense. Her books are translated into a dozen languages and sold worldwide. She has written for Avon Books, Dorchester, Kensington, Harlequin, and Ballantine Publishers. Judith is the mother of bestselling novelist Colleen French, and the recipient of Romantic Times Magazine's Career Achievement Award for American Historicals.