The Reckless One

by Connie Brockway

  “I must go at once and show this to those left of the clan.”

  “Don’t leave,” Favor whispered, and knew she had finally reached the end of her strength, for she was asking for Muira’s aid. She should have known she wouldn’t receive any.

  Muira grasped her chin between her thumb and forefinger and shook it with horrible playfulness. “Don’t be ridiculous. The village where the last McClairens live is less than a five-hour drive. There’s no reason for you to become all over vaporish, m’girl.” She leaned close, whispering in Favor’s ear, “Carr is too ill to perform his husbandly duties.” She smiled thinly. “If you’re very lucky, he’ll die and never will.”

  Favor stared at the old woman as she swept from the room. The priest followed her, his face taut with worry.

  “Lady Carr.” Rankle bowed and he, too, left.

  She was alone.

  She stood until her gaze slowly focused on a dark, oily lock snaking across her bodice. She lifted the tress as one would a dead thing. It filled her with revulsion.

  She’d dyed her hair black to ensnare Carr. She’d achieved that goal. Now she wanted only to rid herself of the noxious stain. Rafe had hated it.

  She must clean it off now. She had to get it off.

  She returned to her room and undressed, dropping the foul garments about her feet and peeling stays, chemise, and petticoats from her body. Then, naked, she scooped water from the hipbath Muira had ordered into a smaller basin. She dunked her head.

  She began slowly, using the bar of harsh soap Muira had used to clean off her own makeup. With numb fingers, she worked the soap deep into her hair. But as the water grew dark, so grew her eagerness to be rid of the dye. Harder and faster she scrubbed, digging her fingers into the sodden mass, working up a thick lather of gray foam.

  Desire became obsession. She dumped the dirty water on the floor and stood in the spreading pool, refilling the basin with clear water. Again and again she washed and rinsed her hair, until finally the lather remained white and the water held no tint of color. Only then did she fall exhausted and trembling to her knees, wrapping her arms around her middle and rocking back and forth. Because though she’d removed the blight from her hair, she still felt unclean.

  Warmth flowed over her. Slowly, Favor opened her eyes. A hazy glow filled her room. Dawn had finally come.

  “Favor, beloved, wake up.”

  She turned her head, certain she was dreaming. She was not.

  Rafe stood over her, the gentle sunlight revealing each harsh and beloved feature. No anger remained in his expression, all the rage was gone; he knew he’d lost. They’d lost.

  “Your hair,” he murmured, tenderness filling his voice. He reached down and fingered a tress. “’Tis as bright as I recall. Brighter.”

  “You’re too late,” she whispered.

  “Aye,” he answered sadly. “Years too late ’twould seem.”

  Reality sliced through the languor binding her. She struggled to rise, heedless of her nakedness beneath the bedsheets. “You must go! If you’re found—”

  “Gently, sweet falcon.” He grasped her shoulders, sitting down on the bed beside her and pushing her against the pillows. “There’s no cause for alarm. Your dragon doyenne is gone, the servants are otherwise occupied, and Carr is sick in his den.”

  Relief flowed through her and hard on its heels, gratitude. She’d never expected to see him again, yet here he was, filled with such poignance, such loss. She turned her head and kissed the back of his hand where it still lightly cupped her shoulder.

  Without hesitation he wrapped his long fingers around the back of her head and brought her mouth to his. Surprise briefly touched her; he’d taken this kiss, not courted it, and he was a man not given to taking. But then his lips moved over hers and she couldn’t think beyond the moment. ’Twas her beloved who embraced her, kissed her, caressed her. ’Twas Rafe.

  With a sob, she wrapped her arms about his throat, deepening the kiss. His hands moved up and tilted her face, gently urging her mouth to open. She complied and his tongue plundered deep within, finding hers and mating with it. Her head spun, her body burned bright as the sun outside and was just as ignorant of morality.

  “You’re mine, Favor,” he whispered against her mouth.

  Her body was ignorant, but she was not. “I’m married, Rafe.”

  “I know.” His tone was serrated with anguish. He pulled back and stared into her eyes, ferocity flickering to life in the amber depths of his own. “It doesn’t matter. You are mine, Favor. You always will be no matter what name you take or where you flee. I love you.”

  Yes, she thought hopelessly. Yes. His words speared her with their essential truth. She could not deny them any more than she could deny her own heart. But she could not acknowledge them either.

  Rafe’s she might be, and he her own love, but still she did have another name and she would soon flee to France….

  But not now. Not yet. She’d been granted a few hours’ reprieve, a few hours to make enough memories to last a lifetime. Her embrace tightened.

  It was enough of an answer. He eased her onto her back, following her down. His body had been her anchor before, a rock she’d clung to as he’d held her upright, buffeted by a tempest of sensations as he’d pleasured her. Now she learned the weight and breadth of him covering her and gloried in it.

  His fingers skated lightly over her collarbone and found the pulse at the base of her throat. He measured the rapid beat with his lips, trailing lower, just above the line of the blanket. She arched upward, wanting more, wanting what he’d given her just a few nights before, wanting what she thought she would never know again. He brushed the linen away, exposing her breasts to his hungry gaze.

  He inhaled sharply. “Let me take my shirt off, Favor. Let me feel your skin naked against mine. Please.”

  She nodded. She could do nothing else; her voice was lost. He stripped his shirt off over his head, the movement feline and graceful, the muscles cloaking his laddered ribs sliding smoothly beneath velvety skin. His chest and belly were as hard and muscular as her caresses had described them, his arms long and powerful-looking, capped by thick dense muscle.

  Dark hair covered his chest and thickened into a dark line that traveled beneath the waist of his breeches. Her gaze traveled lower. She caught her breath. His breeches were tight, too small and old, and the faded cloth hugged the big bulge of his sex closely, clearly revealing his arousal.

  Her eyes fluttered shut remembering the feel of him pressed inside her. It had ached. Now that ache had returned but this time it seemed only the instrument that had then caused the ache could now ease it.

  “Favor?”

  She opened her eyes, swallowed hard. He was watching her intently, his expression taut.

  “Is it … can I …” He trailed off and speared a hand through his hair, further rumpling the glossy sable locks. “Favor, I would not frighten you. I swear—”

  She reached for him. He dropped to one knee, sliding his arms beneath her and lifting her clear off the linens, crushing her to his naked flesh. He inhaled sharply. “Dear God, you feel good.”

  She twisted in his embrace, dragging her nipples across his chest. The sensation was carnal, the sweet abrasion causing the peaks of her breasts to throb. She rubbed them again in the soft hair on his chest, assuaging the ache.

  He clenched his teeth, his eyes narrowing with pleasure. She threaded her fingers through his hair and pulled his head close, drinking in the scent of him, the crisp, silky texture of the loose curls between her fingers.

  “You are beautiful, too beautiful, and I want you too much,” he whispered, and she realized that he worried he would hurt her.

  She didn’t. He’d shown her the most exquisite care, given her profound pleasure, and taught her passion. She’d taken all he’d had to give and offered nothing in return. Except her love, and that she gave in abundance. Now she wanted to please him, to show him her love in the most intimate way possibl
e.

  She gripped his upper arms, reveling in the feel of his muscles bunching beneath the clear, smooth skin. She pushed. He was heavy. She would never have been able to dislodge him by her strength alone and yet he shifted at once, his gaze quiet and askance, allowing her whatever she would have of him. Or not have.

  She pushed again, harder, and he acquiesced to the unspoken command by rolling on his back, catching her to keep her from falling on top of him. But that’s where she wanted to be. She snuggled down, lying fully on him, her breasts flattened against his chest, her hair a shimmering curtain flowing on either side of his rib cage.

  She lowered her head and kissed his flat belly. It jerked into taut delineation. His hands, barely clasping her shoulders, tightened painfully. She opened her mouth and flicked the heated skin with the tip of her tongue.

  “Favor!” The choked word came out a warning.

  Her longing preempted his caution. She curled her fingers beneath the waist of his breeches, tugging the cloth down over his narrow hips. His sex sprang free. Touch alone had not prepared her for the sight of him, big, swollen, and rigid. She raised her eyes in apprehension and found Rafe watching her, his smile rueful. Instantly, her fears disappeared.

  “I swear I won’t hurt you,” he said hoarsely, trying to pull her up.

  She would have none of it. She twisted out of his grip and scooted farther down. Lightly, she clasped him between her palms. His hips bucked slightly in response.

  She lowered her head, placing a fleeting kiss on the thick tip. He made a throaty sound, half anguish, half pleasure. It was all the impetus she needed. She opened her lips over his sex and took him into her mouth. He pulsed, silky and smooth against her tongue—

  His hands swooped down to bracket her face. “No, Favor. You don’t—” Whatever else he’d been about to say was lost in a shuddering groan.

  Carnal satisfaction flooded her. This strong, broad man, this huge male, trembled with the pleasure she gave him. She reveled in the power. Her ability to inspire his desire was intoxicating.

  She glazed the head of his sex with her tongue. His fists twisted in her hair, his knuckles shivering against her temples in his efforts to control the building lust she drew forth with each long, sultry pull of her mouth. She did not want his restraint; she wanted his passion. She tasted the salty essence, drawing him deeper—

  With a low, guttural roar, he grabbed her upper arms and hauled her up and over him, holding her upper body suspended above him. His biceps trembled, veins roping thickly under the tanned skin.

  “My turn.” He lifted his head to her breast and opened his mouth wide over her nipple, sucking the velvety peak deep into his mouth.

  She gasped, her hips undulated instinctively against his thick staff. Liquid warmth seeped from between her legs.

  He released her nipple and clamped his big hands on either hip, repositioning her higher on his body. She bowed backward, her hands seeking purchase and finding it on his own hips, her swinging curtain of hair lightly teasing his thighs.

  He pressed his mouth to the soft flesh of her inner thigh and nibbled higher, closer to the jointure—Her eyes flew open. He’d covered her mound with his mouth, and was sucking softly.

  Dear God! His tongue swept deep within the folds, grazing the nubbin buried within, robbing her of cohesive thought. Lightning raced along her nerves, spun behind the black shield of her eyelids, taunting her with the promise of more.

  She moaned, no longer able to tell what he did or how. Her whole body was caught in a vortex of driving need, the pitch to the crescendo building within her with painful intensity …

  The crisis broke. Her cry rose to a soundless keen as the climax engulfed her, narrowing all sensation down to one essential point. She tensed, impaled on die very apex of pleasure, rocking slightly until the feel of his tongue, flickering lightly over her sex, became too acute. She shivered, drew back. Gently he shifted and lowered her to the mattress, covering her with his body.

  He came into her on a long, smooth thrust, breaking through the thin barrier of her maidenhead without hesitation. The pain was sharp and brief, supplanted by a quickening need. He stopped deep within her.

  Her eyes fluttered open. He was watching her, his breathing harsh, his bronze skin dusky. He reached down and lifted first one then the other of her hands, and set them on his shoulders.

  “Hold on to me, Favor. Please. Cling to me. Want me. For the love of God, hold on to me this one time.” And then he moved.

  The pace he set was hard and brutal, his thrusts deep. He stretched and filled her, yet still she wanted, needed. Her recalcitrant hands strayed from his shoulders and swept down the muscular straining back to his taut buttocks. She dug her fingers into the hard round muscle, wrapped her thighs about his hips and tilted her pelvis in ancient welcome, greedily absorbing the agressiveness of his possession.

  Just this one time. Just once to last the rest of her life.

  Climax after climax seized her and carried her like a scrap on a tidal wave, peaking and crashing, wild and tumultuous and exquisite. Suddenly Rafe tensed. He rose like Vulcan, hard and burnished beneath the sheen of sweat, masterful and potent. He braced himself on his arms, and with a deep cry, pushed deep within her. He held himself still, his body shuddering with his release.

  When it was over he sank down on her, heavy with repletion. He slid his arms beneath her, cradling her tenderly.

  She started to rise.

  “Stay, Favor,” he said softly. “Rest with me. It isn’t only sex I would have but its sweet aftermath, too. Stay.”

  “I can’t. He’ll send a servant. We’ll be found.”

  She tried once again to free herself but her attempt was a pitiful parody. His sadness bound her to him. She allowed him to draw her back down to his side and wrap his long arms around her. She laid her head on his chest and listened to the low, deep beat of his heart. And there, against all chance, she fell asleep.

  “Raine! Rouse yerself! Carr is up!” Gunna stood in the bedchamber doorway, the light from the hall making a black silhouette of her misshapen figure.

  Raine surged upright, carrying Favor with him. Instinctively, he shielded her.

  “Rafe?” He heard her voice, soft and groggy, yet a sliver of fear sliced through it.

  “It’s all right, Favor.” He mouthed the words knowing them for a lie. It was not all right. How could it be? She would hate him and he would have to live with that hatred the rest of his life.

  “But who is that? What does she say?”

  “Raine,” Gunna repeated. “There’s no time for this. He’s up and he’s looking for her. ’Tis only a matter of time before he comes here.”

  “Why does she call you Raine?” Favor whispered. “Why…. Dear God.”

  He closed his eyes. He’d hoped … for what? Another hour before he was destroyed?

  “Because that is my name. Raine. Raine Merrick.”

  Chapter 29

  Raine felt her scuttle away from him, dragging the bed linen with her. He turned. She was staring at him with wide, uncomprehending eyes, her golden hair streaming about her bare shoulders.

  “No.” She shook her head. “It cannot be.”

  “Yes. I’m … I’m so damn sorry.”

  “Sorry? Dear God, that’s how you knew about the Trust and the castle and all about Carr and what he … why?” The last word was a heart-wrenching whisper. “Why?”

  “I didn’t want Carr to know I was here. Then I found you and later I discovered who you were. I owed you my life, Favor. I thought that if you knew my name you wouldn’t allow me to help you—”

  “Help me?” she echoed, lifting the pitiful sheet as though that could somehow hide her from him. “And making me an adulteress is how you helped me? By cuckolding your father?”

  She scooted off the far side of the bed, backing away from him. Her eyes revealed her horror.

  “Raine!” Gunna shut the door and hobbled forward.

  “You said
you’d kept him sick with some drug!” Raine said desperately, keeping his gaze on Favor who trembled before him. “That he’d be abed. You’re probably misinformed. He’s probably still sick.”

  “Nay!” Gunna said. “I saw him myself. He must not have drunk the drugged water this morning. If Carr finds ye in here with her he’ll kill ye!”

  A sob broke from Favor, dispelling all other considerations. “What sort of hellish family is this? Did you see bedding me after my marriage to him as a chance to pay him back for the years you spent in prison?”

  “No, Favor, I swear it’s not so.” He stretched out his hand; only on seeing her expression did he realize he was still naked. With a snarl he rose, snatching up his breeches and pulling them on. Gunna grabbed his forearm. “Raine!”

  Angrily he shook her off and went to Favor. She backed away from him, panic suffusing her lovely features. “No. No. Oh God, how could you?”

  He’d no choice but to tell her now, with Gunna hovering. “You’re not an adulteress, Favor.”

  “What?” Favor whispered.

  “You married me last night, Favor. Not Carr.”

  “No,” she breathed. “Impossible.”

  “’Tis true. Gunna kept Carr drugged while I rode to an abbey south of here. The Abbess there owed me a good deed. She sent her priest here.”

  “But the valet …” She was trembling, her skin blanched white as cream. He longed to enfold her in his arms, took a step forward, and saw her gaze dart wildly about, seeking escape. He had to keep talking, trying to explain.

  “Rankle stood proxy for me, knowing that while he played the part of Carr’s stand-in he was in truth acting for me.”

  “Why?”

  “You’ve seen how Carr treats his servants. Rankle was only too happy to repay him in kind.”

  “But the certificate! Muira said it was all in order!”

  “Muira believed what she wanted to see. The certificate named R. Merrick as your husband. It gave no peer’s tide.”