Maryssa shivered. From the first moment she had squirmed from Tade's arms upon the lakeshore, seen his achingly handsome features and his reckless grin, she had known he was a man who courted Dame Death with the same bold abandon with which he had wooed scores of other mistresses. But this evil . . . Dallywoulde . . . was spawn of another world, dark and stygian as the face of Satan, yet far more dangerous because he cloaked himself in the guise of righteousness.
And nothing would give him more pleasure than to slash his hatred into the lives of the only people Maryssa had ever loved.
"Nay! I won't let him," Maryssa cried fiercely, panic licking tiny flames through her veins. "Ascot and my father will not take this from me, too. I have to warn Devin and Tade while there is still time.”
Time for what? A voice jeered within her. For them to run? Hide?
"Aye!" Maryssa dashed the thought aside, defiant. "I'll make them hide! Make them understand that they have to."
She spun back toward the hulking stone shadow of Marlow Hall, its windows, topaz with candle shine, glaring at her like great disapproving eyes. Silks and satins of every hue wafted past the open casements and she could hear the quartet Christabel had hired striking up the strains of a minuet. It would be but a few moments before Christabel or Reeve or—Maryssa shuddered at the thought—Rath came in search of her. Did she dare?
Maryssa's gaze darted toward the place where she knew Reeve's stable stood with its back to the brooding mountains—mountains teeming with cutthroats, brigands, long dead spirits from a hundred haunting tales stalking the night. Yet in spite of Maryssa’s fear, the toes of her satin slippers dug deep into the pebbled path, hurling her through the darkened maze toward the stable.
The hedges caught at her petticoats and sleeves; the crimson ribbon woven through her dark curls pulled free, sending the heavy mass of her hair cascading down her back. Yet still she ran as if the very night pursued her, as if somewhere in the mists Ascot Dallywoulde lurked beneath the shroud of darkness, his pale eyes watching, his thin lips twisted in unholy glee.
A sob choked her as she rounded yet another bend in the intricate maze, her slipper snagging on something veiled by the night. She stumbled, thrusting out both arms as she sprawled on the ground. Her palms struck the path, the tender flesh tearing on sharp-edged bits of stone. But despite the stinging pain, she didn’t pause. She shoved herself to her feet, pushing herself the last steps toward the opening of the maze, where an ancient oak split the garden pathway, its branches as black and twisted as Dallywoulde's soul.
Suddenly Maryssa froze in terror as the branches of the oak seemed to reach out for her. Fingers swept out to clutch her arms and yank her against a hard wall of muscle. She screamed and kicked, her fingernails gouging flesh as she raked their sharpness against a beard-stubbled jaw and the soft, fragile skin below an eye. A callused palm clamped over her mouth, stilling her cries. The sound of a curse hissed in her ear as she sank her teeth deep into the fleshy mound beneath her attacker's thumb.
"God's wounds, Maura!" A voice battled its way through the haze of fear enveloping her. "At least let me explain before you make me faint of blood loss."
A sob of relief snagged in her breast as light from a delicate lantern limned the achingly familiar curve of a lean bronzed cheek, marred now by thin tracks of blood.
"T-Tade!" She sobbed, collapsing against his chest. Strong, comforting arms crushed her tight into his muscled frame, the hard heat of him searing warmth into her fear-chilled skin.
"Easy, love, easy. Of course it is me. I swear to God, I didn't mean to frighten you." Soothing, incredibly gentle, the words wisped through the curls at her temple. "I was going to wait until the soiree was over, then come to you and explain, but when I saw you—" The tender rumble of his voice stopped, and she felt him suck in his breath. "Damn, you're shaking like a reed in a gale. What the hell—"
"Tade, I-I had to find you. Warn you. Devin's in danger, and you—"
"Devin?" Moonlight touched a menacing hardness in Tade's jaw.
"Aye. C-Colonel Rath—he's bringing in a priest hunter. A man from England."
"That doesn't make any sense. I know Rath wants Dev, but for the bastard to go to the expense and trouble of dragging in a master huntsman . . ."
"Rath isn't hiring him especially to find Devin. The hunter is to stalk the Black Falcon, then clean out any . . . any other priests hiding in the hills."
"Odd," Tade said with grim amusement. "In all the tales I've heard of this Falcon, I never guessed he was a priest."
"Tade, this is no jest! Ascot Dallywoulde—"
"Dallywoulde?" Tade rolled the name off his tongue as if it were a bawdy riddle. "Ascot Dallywoulde is the name of this savage huntsman?" Tade threw back his head and laughed. “The name alone is enough to send me hieing into the hills. Perhaps Dev had best fear Rath's huntsman after all. No doubt the second the Black Falcon hears that a man with such a fearsome name is stalking him, he'll cast aside his hood forever."
Panic filled Maryssa at the heedless twinkle in Tade's eyes. "This man is no buffoon," she cried. "He—"
"He's a priggish spider-shanks with a bulbous nose and a case of gout, I wager," Tade teased. "And most likely he's so cross-eyed he can scarce hit the side of a ship with a musket ball. No doubt the Falcon will be well pleased to sink his talons into such a vicious adversary. I vow, I'm almost tempted myself.”
She clutched at his chest, tremors shaking her. "Nay, you can't! He can’t. Tade . . ." Sobs of near-hysteria racked her, and her quaking knees suddenly refused to bear her weight.
"Maura!" His voice rasped with concern. Tade caught her as she sagged against him, sweeping one muscled arm beneath her legs and scooping her up into his arms. She felt him tense as if in pain; then the tautness in his muscles eased slightly as he carried her to a curved marble bench hidden in the maze's thick shadows. He lowered himself onto the seat, cradling her against his hard body, his hands stroking the tangled hair back from her moist brow. "Damn, you're cold. Shaking."
"Tade, oh, God, you have to listen to me!"
"I will, love. I will. Hush, now." He pressed the firm warmth of his lips into her hair, skimming kisses against her cheeks and lashes.
"If Dallywoulde finds Devin—"
"I won't let anything happen to Dev, Maura."
"But you, Tade, if anything were to befall you—" The horror of the scenes she’d imagined minutes before crashed in about her. Tade's lean body broken, bleeding. She closed her eyes against the images, a tiny cry breaching her lips as she arched her head back, reaching, seeking, needing the hot sweep of Tade's tongue upon hers. His mouth descended, hard, moist, and pulsing with life, upon her lips. A groan rumbled low in his chest.
"The bullet's not been molded that could steal my life away. Not now, love . . . now that I—" He dragged his mouth from hers, catching her face between his palms. "Maryssa, look at me." Her eyes fluttered open, his heart thundering beneath her hand for long seconds that seemed to stretch into forever. "Maura, I love you."
Maryssa gaped at him, the words splashing over her like a molten rainbow, searing, blinding, far too bright for her to touch. An overwhelming sensation of disbelief, elation, and anger rioted inside her, dashing away the tight-strung coils of fear that had bound her, replacing them with bands that cut more deeply.
"You love me?" Maryssa's eyes locked on his face, expecting to see mockery, jest, some tinge of the bored, accomplished rake who must have murmured the same words to countless others. Bitter tears threatened to spill over her lashes. "And just when, pray tell, did you make this great discovery? When you and Sheena O'Toole were out riding? Did she fail to thank you thoroughly enough for the gift you brought her?" Maryssa tried to pull away from his grasp, but his arms tightened around her.
"Gift?"
"The sugar swan. Sheena was most generous. Deirdre was munching on a piece of the confection when she came to tell me where you were." Maryssa turned her face away from him, unable to keep
the hurt from her voice.
"I'm going to flay Deirdre alive!" Tade growled. Then his fingers caught Maryssa's chin in a determined grasp, tipped her face up toward his. "I brought that swan back from Derry for you, Maura. Deirdre knew it."
"It seems she knew a lot of things. That we—" Maryssa stopped, her cheeks burning with anger and humiliation at the words that had almost slipped from her tongue.
"That we what?"
Maryssa spun away again, her mouth set in a defiant line. “It is of no consequence."
"No consequence? I tell you that I love you and you fly in my face, clawing like a half-crazed kitten. And then you won't even deign to tell me why you're in such a temper? Deirdre lied!"
Maryssa gave a bark of bitter laughter. She leaped to her feet and wheeled on him, shocked at the depth of fury racing through her, stunned still more as it burst free. “It would have been difficult for her to have concocted this particular lie, her words were so close to what I know as truth."
Tade rose and clamped his hands about her arms, holding her captive.
"Maryssa, I'm not letting you go until you explain.”
"You told her!" Maryssa accused. "Told her what happened between us on the lakeshore."
"What?" Tade's fingers tightened, his eyes searching her face as if she'd gone mad.
"She said you told her about all of your—how did she say it?—affaires de coeur.''
"Maura, do you really believe that I would tell my fifteen-year-old sister about my dalliances with women?"
"She described this dalliance in great detail."
"How the hell could—" His face paled. "That night I talked to Devin. She must've overheard."
"Overheard what? Your recounting of your latest conquest? She knew everything, Tade. Where we were, what we did. How you stopped before we—" Maryssa hated herself for the tears that flooded her lashes.
"Before I came into you?" Rough-edged, ragged, the words seemed embedded deep in Tade's chest.
Maryssa's gaze flew to his face. He peered down at her—solemn, oddly vulnerable, the planes of his face taut with a look of exquisite torment. One thumb skimmed over her cheek, its callused tip gathering her tears. "Leaving you without making you mine on that lakeshore was the hardest thing I've ever done," he said.
"I—I don't believe you." Maryssa forced the words from between stiff lips, the icy wall of anger she had built around herself weakening.
"I scarce believed it myself at first. Love was just another game I played at, slipping about like a lad at a banquet, stealing nips of pleasure until I had nearly made myself sick with it. But you . . ." He ran his fingertips across the soft petal of her lip, and Maryssa felt the reverent touch in every nerve of her body. "From the moment I saw you staring up at me with those eyes, love stopped being just another frolic. There was something about you that buried itself in my heart."
"T-Tade," Maryssa choked out his name, feeling the tearing pain within him as though it were her own. But his fingers gently stilled her words, his eyes locking on hers with a fierce intensity that rocked her very soul.
"I wish—” Tade's voice caught in his throat. “—that I could come to you untouched, as you come to me, but I can't. All I can do is swear to you that never have I spoken these words to another: I love you."
Maryssa felt the earth vanish from beneath her feet, the rainbow that had burned her mere moments before, made only the brighter by the tiny black rim of doubt that still bordered it’s edges. Tears rolled down her cheeks unchecked as she hurled herself against Tade. She delved her hands in the thickness of his hair as he crushed her in his arms, every muscle, every sinew of his lean, hard body melding with the fevered heat of hers.
"I was so afraid when you didn't come to the lake. I wanted to . . ." The anguished words died on her lips as she sought Tade's mouth, opening to him, drinking in the heady feel and taste that was Tade's alone. "I love you," she sobbed into his mouth again and again. "I love you."
She felt an answering groan low in his throat as his tongue thrust deep, mating with hers in a wildly erotic kiss that left them both quivering, clinging. One hand slid up to cup her breast beneath its layer of cloth, his other palm riding down to her derriere, its gentle curve obscured by the layers of petticoat. His fingers clenched in the fabric, pressing her tighter against the muscled length of his thighs, the hard heat of his loins.
Maryssa whimpered in frustration, wanting to tear away the thicknesses of cloth that held them apart, wanting to touch the warm satin of his naked skin as his mouth again covered hers. Her hand tunneled inside his open shirtfront, hungry for the strong arch of bone, the rippling muscles padding his wide shoulders. She felt his flesh jump beneath her hand, the mat of hair on his chest delighting her, the small, beaded point of his nipple spinning heady sensations through her fingers as Tade's own hands wove their magic about her breasts. Of their own volition, her fingertips moved lower.
"Maryssa." Tade's head arched back, his face twisting in what was almost a grimace of pain as her soft fingertips swept down the line of hair that divided the taut muscles of his belly. Her hand brushed the waistband of his breeches. Tade's fingers closed in a bruising grip about her wrist, dragging her hand from beneath his shirt, forcing her back slightly away from him. He leaned there, against her, his breath ripping from his chest in short gasps, his fingers shaking as he buried his face in the curve of her neck.
Maryssa tried to nudge his jaw away, to find his lips, but Tade pressed his face more tightly against her, his voice a hoarse whisper. "Don't. Don't move, Maura love. Touch me like that again and I'll tumble you back into the grass and love you here and now."
Confusion and the same horrible hurt that had roiled through her on the lakeshore curled about her. "Tade, I—I want you to.”
"Nay, love." He raised his face from her shoulder, threading his fingers through the silken curls that framed her face. "When I love you, I want our first time to be perfect. More than just a hurried coupling in the shadows with the chance of heaven knows who stumbling upon us. I want candle shine, coverlets soft with swan’s down; I want the scent of wild roses, and strings of golden hours in which to kiss you, stroke you, see you smile. I want so much for you, Maura, mo chroi. "
The glow from a pink paper lantern bobbing on a hedge caught the misty green of his eyes, and the hurt that had washed over her faded. Maryssa felt cherished, loved, the driving need he had stirred in her body dissolving in the promises his words wove within her. She blinked back tears of joy, her fingers stealing up to the muscled column of his throat, feeling the warm pulsing of his life's blood beneath his skin. "Tade, it doesn't matter where or how, she quavered shyly, "as long as it is with you."
She felt a shudder go through him. Then his mouth widened in a dazzling smile.
"I'll come for you on the morrow, then. Don the dress I sent you from Derry, and—"
"Dress?"
"Aye. It is wrapped up among Christabel's things. Ask her, and—Damn, how will I ever wait until dawn?"
His mouth swept down, claiming hers in a kiss—hungry, haunting, flooded with honeyed promise. "I love you, milady," he breathed. "More than life itself. God help me, but I do."
More than life . . . The night wind echoed his words and Maryssa was haunted by the hatred in the faces ringing the Marlows’s table, the rage and warning in Kane Kilcannon and Deirdre. Her hands slid away from the corded sinews of Tade's neck; the throbbing veins therein suddenly seemed terrifyingly fragile. Fear shot through her, her fingertips freezing in their path upon Tade's arm.
Maryssa tore her hand away, not wanting to feel or think. But as Tade vanished into the darkness, the knowledge she had fought to hold at bay pounded relentlessly into her mind as Rath's gloating words broke over her in fresh waves of terror: A ball from my pistol struck his left arm. I saw him jerk . . . and the blood . . .
"God help us both, Tade," Maryssa whispered. But even the slice of her nails in her flesh could not banish the sensation burned into he
r palm—the feel of woven cloth beneath a lawn sleeve. The thick-woven cloth of a bandage.
Chapter 11
The dawn melted over the horizon like rich cream, gilding the weathered walls of the Marlow stables in patterns of mellow gold. Maryssa smoothed her sweat-damp hands over the full skirt of the gown Tade had bought for her, astonished yet again at how perfectly the garment's tight jacket molded itself to her breasts and waist. It was as if some fairy had charmed the seamstress's needle, forming the yards of satin into a gown fashioned for Maryssa alone. Yet whoever had sewn this wonder of silver lace and fine, glistening cloth had never set eyes on Maryssa.
Had the fit been but an accident? A casting of luck? Or had Tade, indeed, marked with his hands and heart every curve and swell of her body? Had he charted them exactly and held them in his memory all the way to Derry? Maryssa felt a warm surge of delight at the thought and could not restrain herself from twirling about like a child in the deserted stable yard.
Yet she had scarce wheeled about once, when the sound of unseen hooves pounding near flung her joy still higher. Maryssa's fingers knotted into a fist, pressing against the bounding pulse-beat at the base of her throat as she strained to see the rider just cresting the sweep of hill to the west of the stable.
The sunlight glinted off massive bay flanks and midnight-black mane as Tade's stallion raced down the slope, its noble head tossed high in the wind in an equine expression of the same pure enjoyment that shone in every line of its master's lean body. Maryssa's breath caught at the picture they made—the magnificent horse and Tade astride it. A scarlet-lined cape streamed behind Tade's broad shoulders, the wind molding his shirt to the muscle and sinews of his chest. And as the stallion gathered his haunches and sailed over the high fence surrounding the yard, the unsullied joy in Tade's face filled Maryssa with such love and longing she thought her heart would burst.
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