Jobe nodded. “At first. O’Rourke captured him and would have killed him on the spot, but Mark challenged him to a game of cards.”
“Surely you jest!” Belle gasped.
Jobe shook his head. “My dagger lay across his throat.”
Belle sank into the chair. “So O’Rourke accepted the challenge?”
The African’s dark eyes twinkled. “He could not resist a final insult. They played far into the night. O’Rourke lost everything he owned to Mark—including me. In his anger, the Irishman ordered me to kill Mark.” He shrugged. “But how could I since I now belonged to him?”
Belle hugged herself. “How did you escape?”
He lifted a brow. “We ran. It took the Irish by surprise for they had drunk too much of their poteen and were befuddled in their wits. We outdistanced them but were stopped by a river. I cannot swim.”
“Marcus can. When I was very young, he taught me in some of the coldest cow ponds in Northumberland.” She shivered at the memory. “Methinks he chose only cold windy days for my lessons on purpose. But go on with your tale.”
“We did not swim but waded into the water. Mark found some hollow reeds along the shoreline. He cut them to make breathing pipes. Just as O’Rourke and his men crashed through the underbrush after us, we slipped under the water and pretended we were merely reeds.”
Belle wrinkled her nose. “Just like Mark to think of trickery!”
Jobe regarded her with a serious expression on his broad face. “It saved our lives. Since then I have been his man.”
Confused, she asked, “But not as his slave?”
“Nay. I climbed out of that river free once more. Mark had saved my life. In my country, a life deserves a life. I gave him my vow to remain at his side until I can save his.”
“Then you will return to your homeland?”
“Exactly so.” He folded his arms across his chest.
Belle mulled over his story. “Mark says that you can foretell the future.”
He inclined his head. “I see things in the land of shadows.”
Belle didn’t understand what he meant by that but she decided not to inquire. Instead she asked, “Can you see my future, Jobe?”
He stared at her—no, through her—for several heart-stopping moments. “You will find yourself when you stop running away from yourself,” he intoned. “And that day will bring you much happiness and sadness at the same time.”
“How so?” she breathed.
He shrugged. “I know not how or when or why—only that my words are true.”
Jobe’s prediction gave Belle much food for thought during the remainder of the afternoon. As she sewed on the cheesecloth gown she intended to wear the following night, his words re-echoed in her mind. She agreed that she had spent her life running, but she had always thought she was in pursuit of something—affection, approval, acceptance. Never did she think she was being pursued, especially by herself.
Yet once she pondered the idea, she found it to be uncomfortably true. How could Jobe have guessed something that she herself didn’t know? He had met her less than a fortnight ago. Belle threaded her needle but paused before she returned to her costume.
A flood of childhood memories tumbled over one another in her mind. How she had teased, tormented and hoodwinked the patient, loving members of her family. How she had always insisted on having her own way—even when she was wrong. How she had never cried in the face of her transgressions no matter how hurtful they had been to others, nor had she ever apologized for anything she had done. Apologies and tears were signs of weakness, and Belle knew that she could never be weak. After all, she sprang from a family that was known for its strength especially against the encroaching Scots.
Above all else, the one person whose affection, approval and acceptance she had most wanted—and had never got—was Mark.
The other night’s piece of tomfoolery effectively dashed that hope once and for all. He wanted nothing more to do with her. Or did he?
Belle put down her needle, drew up her knees under her chin and stared into her fire. Mark’s anguished expression when he had told her that he had vowed to protect and cherish her spoke directly to her heart—especially that word cherish.
She chewed on her lower lip. If tomorrow night’s haunting effectively frightened Mortimer to abandon Bodiam, she would once again get what she wanted—her home back in her hands. Mark would wave a jaunty good-bye to her as he, Kitt and Jobe rode out of her gates and returned to her father to claim the reward that Mark had so justly earned. Belle would have her castle and the Cavendish jewel, but that victory already tasted hollow in her mouth. How quiet life would be then! She would miss the excitement Mark generated wherever he went.
She would miss the excitement he kindled in her heart.
I love him, she realized with sudden fearful clarity. All these years I have loved that pernicious rascal, and in a few more days he will be out of my life—this time forever. She clenched her jaw to stifle the sob in her throat.
Belle girded herself with a new resolve. Nothing before had ever stopped her once she put her mind to a problem. Nothing would now. All she had to do was to convince Mark that she loved him.
How difficult could that be?
The rain returned that night, plunging Mark into gloom. How could his precious fireworks ignite if it poured like this tomorrow evening? Yawning, he counted the minutes until he could give himself up to a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow promised to be an extremely long day.
Kitt and Jobe shimmered with pent-up excitement that overflowed the minute Mark joined them in Belle’s room. Dexter lay curled on Belle’s pillow. Mark’s nose itched. Another reason why I should only linger here a few minutes. He gazed at Belle who sat demurely by the fire—too demurely. She looked feverish.
Mark adopted a lighthearted tone to cover his fears for her health. “How now, Belle? Has that fat cat of yours caught your tongue?”
She gave him a tight little smile that held none of the fire he expected. “Dexter has supped well enough tonight. Griselda has already laid out saucers of cream on the hearths in the east wing,” she replied.
In the dancing firelight, her eyes glowed with some indefinable emotion. His mind floundered as he tried to fathom what ailed her when she should be dancing a jig.
Mark deposited the oilskin package of pyrotechnics in the privy alcove furthermost from the fire, then knelt by her chair. “What ails you, Belle?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. Nerves mayhap.”
“You?” He laughed at the absurd idea. “You’ve never had a nerve in your body.”
Jobe paused in his conversation with Kitt. “There is a first time for everything, meu amigo,” he said to Mark, though he gave Belle a meaningful glance.
Mark felt a sneeze coming on. He pinched his nose and prayed the ticklish feeling would pass. Drat that furry beast! Mark hurried through his final instructions before his eyes watered.
“Tomorrow, Belle and Jobe should keep well out of sight. Griselda expects her extra help to arrive at eight in the morning. Montjoy is sending a number of your former servants, Belle, and we must not run the risk of disclosure now. Remember, they still believe you are dead.”
She nodded but said nothing. Mark frowned, then continued in a rush. “Kitt, after supper has been cleared from the tables in the hall, make sure that none of the wall sconces are lit. Keep the sides of the hall in deep shadow.”
Anticipation sparkled in his eyes. “And that is when I set the jack-o’-lanterns in their niches?”
Belle looked up with mild surprise. “What are they?” she asked.
Kitt puffed out his chest. “Wait and see, Belle. I promise twill give you a fright.”
Another sneeze threatened. Mark held his nose. “Jobe, as soon as darkness sets in, tie your rowboat under the hall’s great window. I will make sure the window latch is unlocked. Then retrieve the fireworks and distribute them as we have discussed. Belle, don’t be gadding abou
t the gallery. You must be here to let Jobe inside.”
She tossed her head with a spark of her usual defiance. “I know my part, Mark. I am more anxious than all of you for this putrid slime to be gone from my house.”
Mark sneezed. After wiping his nose with his handkerchief, he continued. “I will make myself conspicuous all day so that neither one of the Fletchers will suspect that mischief is afoot. And, everyone, remember the most important thing.” He looked at each one of the conspirators in turn. “No one must begin their part before my signal.”
Kitt chortled. “When the fire in the hearth explodes! I long to see that.”
“So do I,” Mark said under his breath. He hoped that Andrew’s wonderful concoctions would perform on cue.
Jobe stood and stretched his huge frame. “Is that all, meu amigo?”
Mark also rose. “Aye, there’s nothing left to do now but pray.”
The African strode to the door. “Then I am for my bed in the garret. Come, Kitt.” He motioned to the boy.
Kitt kissed Belle on her cheek. “May the angels protect you,” he said, then added. “All will go well tomorrow. You shall see anon.”
Belle rose and hugged him. Brother and sister were almost equal in height. “And may the angels ride on your shoulder, Kitt.”
Jobe ducked out through her door followed by the boy. Mark stifled another sneeze before he said, “Well, this is it, Belle. God willing, the next time I see you, Mortimer Fletcher will be running halfway to Hawkhurst and you will once again be the mistress of Bodiam Castle.”
Belle took his hand between hers. She lifted her face to him. The firelight enhanced the glow of her natural beauty. Her eyes turned to a deeper blue and her gaze bathed him with warmth. She moistened her lips with the tip of her pink tongue.
“Stay with me tonight, Marcus.”
Chapter Sixteen
Mark drew in a deep breath. Belle held hers, afraid he would turn her down and walk away. It would serve her right if he did after all the years of abuse she had heaped on him. She tightened her grip on his hand as she stared up at him.
Mark returned her gaze; his dark eyes filled with bewilderment and something else that Belle could not identify, but it gave her encouragement to press her advantage.
“Lie with me tonight, Marcus,” she begged.
His jaw muscles twitched before he replied, “I am not in the mood for another one of your artful jests, Belle. I must go.”
He remained rooted to the spot.
She drew closer to him. How handsome he had grown! The firelight softened the chiseled planes of his face and turned his brown eyes into pools of liquid richness. His male presence stirred her deepest yearnings. She longed to slip her arms around his neck and lay her head on his broad shoulder.
“Tis no jest tonight. Take me to bed and be my love,” she whispered. In all her years of daring, this moment was her boldest venture yet.
He covered her cold hands with his warm one. “You know why I cannot,” he murmured.
Belle’s heart skipped a beat. She placed his hand over her breast covered only by the thin muslin of her shift. “Twas a vow you made when we were children,” she replied with a tremor in her voice. “Now we are past our majority. I have been wed and widowed. You are a man of much experience. We both know the ways of the world.”
Mark’s expression changed, softening into the one she recalled from times gone by. It was the same look he had had when he’d found her after she had wandered away from a family picnic and gotten lost on the moor. The same one he’d worn when he had rescued her from an unfriendly dog she had encountered at a village fair. The same one he had had when he’d read her stories of heroic knights while she lay fretful with a sprained ankle after another one of her misadventures. Why hadn’t she recognized his affection then?
Mark stroked her cheek with a touch infinite in its tenderness. “Your father sent me to rescue you, not debauch you.”
She leaned into his caress. “You promised to cherish me, Mark. Cherish me now.”
He groaned under his breath. “Oh, sweet Belle, you have always been my downfall.”
Remembering the apple tree, she smiled. “Twill be a softer landing this time, I promise. Please, Mark?”
She stood on tiptoe, closed her eyes and offered her lips to him. I have set my life upon this one throw of love’s dice. I will accept the hazard of my toss.
The moment seemed to hang in time, then with a low growl, Mark sweep her into the circle of his embrace. “God forgive my weakness, Belle. I cherish you with all my heart.”
His mouth sought hers with fearful urgency. When their lips met and parted for each other, Belle felt she had found a safe harbor at long last. She wound her arms around his neck. As their kiss deepened, Mark crushed her to his chest. They kissed until they ran out of breath.
She clung to him, tears of joy welling up in her eyes. Mark whispered her name and many silly endearments in between the soft kisses that he rained on her cheeks, her moist eyelids, her nose, her earlobes and in the hollow of her throat.
“You are shivering, ma petite chou-chou,” he murmured; his breath fanned her neck.
“Aye,” she whispered in his hair, “but tis not with cold.” She clung to him since all strength had left her legs. Her skin sang with his touch while her mind spun like a rainbow-hued whirligig.
“Then to bed,” he replied, lifting her in his arms.
“Warm me,” she answered.
Mark chuckled low in his throat. “Tis my heartfelt intention, my sweet, and tomorrow take the hindmost.”
He set her down in the center of the coverlet. Then he narrowed his eyes. His voice suddenly changed its tune. “Hang off, ramping cat,” he snarled.
Belle shook the love languor from her eyes in time to see Mark turn away from her and head for the door. What puling trick was this to lull her into bed with sweet words only to abandon her? Was this Mark’s revenge for his broken arm? A hot retort formed on her tongue, but she quelled it when she heard Dexter’s mew of protest as Mark shut the door in the cat’s face.
He blew his nose and gave her a rueful smile that made him look even more handsome than before. “Cats should be forever banned from bedchambers,” he observed. He sat down beside her and undid the first silver button on his doublet. “Now, chou-chou, where were we?”
With an inward sigh of relief, Belle laid her head on the pillow recently vacated by Dexter. “Methinks you were about to demonstrate how to keep me warm on a cold wet night.”
Leaning over her, he smoothed away the wisps of golden hair that fell across her eyes. “Just so,” he replied before he kissed her again.
Hot fire rippled through her veins at his touch. Belle pulled him down on top of her. He slipped his hands around her waist and pressed her hips against his. Through the material of his breeches she felt his hard shaft. She moaned under her breath as his tongue delved deeper into her mouth, foretelling how their bodies would soon entwine each other.
Belle could not get enough of him. She gave her tongue to him and he took it eagerly. Her mouth burned for him, her skin tingled. She arched her back, offering herself to him.
Mark ripped off his doublet, casting it and a few loosened buttons to the floor. His linen shirt followed afterward. His chuckle turned to a gasp when Belle tentatively touched his chest muscles, well-developed after two decades of wielding swords and lances. She traced her fingers along his forearm until she encountered a small hard bump.
“There?” she breathed. “Is that where you fell?”
“Aye,” he replied, watching her through half-closed eyes that smoldered with his passion.
She kissed the spot, massaged it, and then kissed it again. “I have wanted to do that for a long time,” she told him. She swallowed a lump in her throat, “And to beg for your forgiveness.” He combed through her loose hair with his fingers. “Your apology is a long time in coming,” he observed lightly.
She touched his lips with her finger. “T
oo long,” she agreed. “I was banished to my chamber.”
He massaged the back of her neck; his fingers worked magic on the knotted muscles there. “Did you forget how to pen a letter?”
She traced his cheekbone, memorizing his face with her fingers. “There were not enough words at my command to express the remorse I felt. Methought I would never see you again.”
Mark took her hand and kissed her palm, “Nor I to see you. The circle of fortune has given us both a second chance.”
She held out her arms to him. “Then let us not waste a minute more for the night hours flee past us like hares across a field.”
“Give me your sweet lips again for I am a starving man,” he whispered as he descended once more.
They came together with a whirlwind of emotions too deep to be spoken aloud. Belle did not know when or how Mark removed her shift nor when he shed his boots and hose. Their bodies, gleaming in the low firelight, melded together; hip to hip, knee to knee, breast to chest, lips to lips. He explored every bare inch of her with tender kisses and tantalizing caresses.
When his tongue flicked the hard tip of her nipple, she writhed under him. Fire licked her; pleasure radiated through her. His hands, roughened by weapons, cradled the soft flesh of her breasts with infinite gentleness. She arched her back again, pressing herself hard against him. Her breath came in short gasps of delight at the wondrous pleasure he gave her.
Mark kissed her deeply again and, as he did so, he slid his free hand down past her flat stomach and into the curly thicket that concealed her most secret place. When he stroked her, she bucked under him. His finger circled around her feminine core as she arched and writhed. His torture was exquisite, agonizing and sweet.
Sparks of golden fire flashed behind her closed eyelids. Her body throbbed with the rhythm of his lovemaking. She moaned how wicked he was even as she opened her thighs to receive more of his tantalizing punishment. Taking one of her nipples in his mouth, he suckled her even as he continued to play her as a musician upon a lute.
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