Christie (19 page)

She looked up at him, then, eyes still brimful with
tears, having heard his words come to her with the first semblance of sanity and something real that she had been able to hold onto all day, ever since last night. And the enormous relief she found, there in the circle of his arms, broke over her with a feeling of Tightness such as she had never felt before; she smiled at him, the wide, bright smile he had come to delight in, even wait for, and Garrett's breath caught in his throat.

Reaching slowly up with both hands, he cupped her face in them and looked at her, hard and long. Then he bent his head and placed his lips over hers, unhurriedly, tenderly, in a long, lingering kiss that tasted of the salt of her tears. Finally*, he raised his head, still holding her face so tenderly and again looked deep into her eyes with steady gaze.

"She looks so vulnerable," he thought, "and, oh, so lovely, this fragile creature I somehow cannot think of being without. God, let me not play the rutting bridegroom now. Let me take her slowly, with gentle words to our wedding bed. . . ." Then he spoke to her again, his voice hoarse and low.

"I'll send you in to Lula now. We'll dine when you're ready."

Mutely, she nodded, but then, throwing both arms tightly about his neck, she hugged him as though afraid he would disappear if she didn't hold tight enough.

"Oh, Garrett! I pray you are right. But this I promise you. I'm going to be the best wife to you I know how to be. A promise, and I've never made one lightly."

He chuckled, holding her tightly, too. "I'll bet you
haven't. You Trevellyans are an honorable lot! Very well, wife! Off with you to your chambers. Your bath awaits!"

And giving her a pat on the backside, he sent her off to the rooms Lula had readied for her use.

Lula was humming softly as Christie entered the bedchamber; the mellow sounds traveled through the open door of a dressing room beyond. Christie started to undress herself, but found her hands shaking so, she had to call for help.

"Now, honey, don' you know you ain' s'pos' t' be doin' nuthin' cep' lie back n' relax? Heah, ah kin do ten o' dese buttons fo' you gits one undone! Chile, dis is yo' weddin' naht! We gotta concentrate on gittin' you irresissible, heah? Now, set yo'se'f in dat tub, baby!"

She was glad for Lula's direction and capable hands, for her thoughts were filled with what lay ahead. He was being so kind lately! Almost as if he'd become a new person, and yet this seemed a part of him, too. "Oh, God," she thought, "he mustn't turn back into that mocking, hard-as-iron tormentor of before! Oh, pray he means all he said!"

Then she was being bathed and scented, massaged and cooed over by Lula, who intermittently hummed to her in that same sonorous sound, the melody beginning to find its way into her head.

"What tune is it you hum, Lu?"

"Oh, don' rahtly know, zackly, Christie. But it come wif me fo' ah wuz growd. Figger it coulda been somethin' mah mamma lef' me. Soun's a li'l bit lahk a lullaby, don' it?"

"Mmm," came the reply. Christie was leaning her
head back as Lula brushed out her long, pale hair, the candlelight accenting the highlights the summer sun had given it as it hung heavily down her back.

She stood to inspect herself in a nearby mirror then, and her first reaction was to blush.

"Lula, I've never worn anything so—so revealing!"

"Chile, dis yo' weddin' naht—ain' no aftahnoon tea parity, you's goin' to!"

The negligee Lula had selected for her was only slightly less sheer than the matching gown beneath. Both were of a deep forest green. The gown was tied beneath her breasts with a narrow satin ribbon of pale blue and there was a delicate blue-threaded embroidery that caught and gathered it at the shoulders in the Grecian mode. The negligee, completely open at the bodice like a weskit, curved under her breasts and was fastened beneath in an embroidered clasp of the same pale blue. It had long, billowing sleeves caught tightly at the wrists, and was composed of material so sheer her creamy arms were visible through the folds. The skirt dropped down from beneath her breasts in multiple folds of clinging softness which almost hid the pale blue satin mules she wore on her feet.

Now she was ready to join him. Before she left her room, she turned and hugged Lula fiercely.

"Oh, Lu! I'm so nervous. What if it all turns out wrong? Do all brides feel this way on their wedding
night?"

"Ah spec' mos' do, honey. But you—you'll be alraht. Know sumpin', chile? Dere's a lot mo' neath yo' pretty outsahd dan show t' de eye. You got strong
stuff undah all dat sof'ness, Christie. You'll do alraht."

Christie gave her one more squeeze and went to join her husband.

He was waiting for her near the small table which had been set up near the fire, and her heart gave a small thump when she saw him. He was wearing a robe of deep green velvet, the color accentuating the green of his eyes. His hair, still damp from the bath, was curling casually around his face and at his neck, giving him almost a boyish appearance which was strangely at odds with the mature strength of his features. As he came forward to greet her and help her to her chair, she could detect again the woodsy scent of the soap he used. All of this she remembered later—would always remember—as she drank in the sight and smell of him, taking care to commit it to memory and make it a part of her.

They dined then, continuing the pleasant mode of conversation they had shared the evening before, but tonight, she knew, they both were aware that while it seemed the same, it was also completely different. Each word spoken, each thing shared, was done with the knowledge it was passing between them as the beginning of a lifetime they would be trying to make together, building blocks for future hopes.

At one point, as Garrett was refilling her glass with wine, Christie brought up those words she had heard Barnaby mention the night before, regarding his father.

"Did Uncle Barnaby really know your father years ago, Garrett?"

"Yes. It was one thing I was able to confirm when
we spoke this afternoon. But as to the details, I'll have to wait until tomorrow when he pays us his visit. I
must
find out more."

Hearing the sudden note of urgency in his voice, she pressed further. "What is it you need to know about? Is there something beyond the casual information a son would care to hear about parents long gone brought close again by the renewal of past portions of their lives?" She knew what it was like to beg stories of a parent she wished she had been able to know.

He took a deep breath and bent his gaze intently on her. "You notice much, little one. . . . Yes, there is more than the casual in this."

And he told her, then, without embellishment, the story of his parents' deaths and the subsequent search for his sworn revenge. She sat, wide-eyed at the telling of it, at once aware of how little she really knew of this man who was now her husband and also that, somehow, by his sharing it with her, he was taking a very important step in bringing them closer, making her a part of him as he had allowed no other

to be.

"So now you know," he finished, "of the task that has given me no rest these past twenty years. I have bent my life's energies toward it, and will not stop until it is accomplished."

Suddenly Christie was filled with remorse. "Oh, Garrett! I'm sorry! How it must have rankled when we were on the
Marianne
and I said those things to you, about how I hoped you'd fail in your venture! No wonder you—"

Garrett was at her side before she could finish.
Pulling her up from her chair, he wrapped his arms about her and held her very close.

"You couldn't know," he said hoarsely. ". . . And now I think it's time to talk of other things, Madam Randall ... or perhaps not to talk at all. . . ."

He began to kiss her ear as his words trailed off, moving his lips lightly onto her hair and then her temple. Next, he brushed them across her forehead and, stopping briefly at her eyes, he began to murmur soft, tender words to her, interspersed with fond little endearments and whisperings of her name.

"Christielove, how beautiful you are." His lips moved to her mouth. "Little one, how I want you," he murmured against her lips.

Now his hands began to move, lightly stroking her shoulders, her back, her buttocks. Christie's head was swimming, and she moved her own arms about his neck, whispering, "Yes, oh, yes."

Then he swept her up into his arms with ease and carried her swiftly to his bedchamber, his lips never leaving her face and throat. He undressed her quickly, the light garments she had worn falling like feathers to the floor, and his own robe following suit.

On the bed, his strong body joined hers as he pressed its lean length along her soft curves, joining them in a warm, languid embrace.

Stopping a moment, with one hand lightly cupping her breast, he looked deeply into her eyes and smiled.

Christie's huge eyes returned the look and she spoke his name in a whisper while her arms again moved around his neck. "Garrett—oh, Garrett!"

Then his lips were moving over hers, softly at first,
but soon with greater urgency, insistent and demanding, and as he demanded, Christie gave forth with a response of her own.

She could feel the hardness of his desire against her belly, and without thinking, she reached down and touched him, causing him to growl low in his throat with pleasure. Then as she began to recoil at the surprising heat of his passion, he stopped her and encouraged her to do it again.

Guiding her untutored hand with his own, he
whispered hoarsely, "No, little one. Don't pull away.
Touch me. Here—so." And he began to teach her
how a woman can please a man, murmuring
encouragements in her ear.

At first shyly, but then with growing confidence at his soft urgings, she began to caress him.

"Ah! Yes—yes," he whispered, huskily. "Now slower, slower, angel. Or this will be done too soon, when we want it to last."

Then his own hands began to do their skillful work on her body. He caressed the silken flesh expertly, knowing just what to do to bring her little gasps of excited pleasure. As his fingers moved downward, across her taut belly and beyond, her breathing began to increase. He worked slowly, taking his time with her, until Christie thought she could cry aloud from the peaks of pleasure he aroused. Softly, he stroked the silken triangle below her belly and her senses began to reel, but as he was parting her thighs to seek the damp warmth between, he momentarily felt her stiffen and her thighs closed

to him.

He bent his face over hers, and looking into her
eyes as he smoothed the soft curls away from her face, he questioned softly, "Christie?"

Then he kissed her and instantly she melted and opened fully to him as his fingers probed the sweet secret recesses of her very core. She moaned softly with pleasure, desire building in her like a candent fire that threatened to consume her very being.

But still he continued, as if, in prolonging the building ecstasy, he could make it last forever. His mouth nibbled at the hard peaks of her breasts and she began to writhe and twist under the multiple sensations that were assaulting her consciousness. Again she reached for him, hoping to tell him with what he had taught her, of her readiness.

With a groan, he moved then, covering her body with his own, as the throbbing strength of his manhood slipped carefully into her warmth.

She felt him enter with a sense of relief, followed by growing tension as she took him deeply into her being.

Then he began his ride, slowly at first, as if savoring each delicious movement, then faster, as his building passion began to soar. She saw his face, dark and grand, above her own in the dim light of the chamber, and then as she felt as if she would die from the growing intensity of her desire, she found again the sweet fulfillment of herself as a woman.

His own release fiercely met her own, in one great, consuming wave, and they were one in the heat of each other's arms.

Again and again, he made love to her, throughout the long night, never really able to stop. He slept not at all. While Christie dozed he would hold her
gently in his arms, taking in the soft features of her face as it lay, flushed from love-making, sweetly in repose. Then, after a little time had passed, he would awaken her with kisses that spoke of a renewed passion, causing her to make sleepy little noises deep in her throat as she became sensitive to his desires once again. It was as if he couldn't have enough of her, and when she was fully awake, she would respond to him again, too, with a passion matching his.

Finally, the dawn was breaking, and with the first early gray light, he moved to gather her up to return her to her own room.

"If I don't bring you to your own bed, we'll never sleep," he whispered. "I'll make love to you, day and night, without stopping. It's as if I cannot have enough of you. You're a passion . . . something in my soul I don't want to end."

But as he bent to pick her up, Christie, her lips bruised and swollen with the passion of his love-making, buried her face in his neck and murmured, "Please, no, Garrett. I don't want to go from you. . . . I want you . . . again."

And with a groan, he returned her to the bed and they were in each other's arms again, sharing the fire neither wanted to see put out.

It was late morning when Christie awoke in her own bedchamber. She remembered, then, how he had finally carried her there, but that, when she had begged him to stay and not leave her alone, he had climbed under the warm quilt with her, promising to stay and hold her thus until she fell asleep.
Now, blushing at the memory of her own wanton behavior, she wondered if she were even the same person she had been all her life. She had, last night, given herself wholly to him, without reserve, and in doing so, had changed for all time the way she conceived of herself, inside. By giving him all access to her body as she had, she had really given him her soul and heart as well. She loved him, she realized, slowly now, and the dawning of that realization caused her at once such joy and pain commingled that she felt she could not contain the outpouring of emotion flooding her being.

She loved him! But, what did he feel toward her? He had made love to her body and spoken sweet words, the recurring phrase being the one she had first heard him use the night before—Christie-love—but not once had he actually spoken the words, "I love you." Not once had he told her what she now realized she had to hear, for it was with a painful clarity that she suddenly knew if she loved him so completely—as she knew she did—and he did not return that love, she did not want to live.

Quickly, with the urgency of one who seeks for something desperately, half-expecting to know it is not to be found if sought, she got up. Her gown was lying at the foot of her bed, where he had left it for her, but the negligee, she guessed, must still be in his room. Should she go there on the pretext of retrieving it, in reality to meet him now to look for the truth in his eyes? Dare she face him just yet?

Donning the gown, she stole quietly out of her chamber and across the central sitting room to the door that led to his chamber beyond. The fire that
had burned in the fireplace so warmly on their wedding eve was out now, and she shivered as she regarded the cold-looking ashes in the grate.

Putting her ear to his door, she heard no sound, and, taking a deep breath, she pushed it open and looked in.

At a tall shaving stand, Garrett was standing naked to the waist with his back to her, taking his final stroke with the razor. But he saw her in the mirror, and laying the instrument down, turned to face her.

Her heart beat wildly in her chest as she looked at him, half-expecting to see the mockery of yore in that fierce visage, half-expecting—what?

But, as his eyes met hers, he held out his arms and smiled a little half-smile at her, completely tender and warm.