Emerald Embrace (30 page)

His eyes rose above hers and he watched her face in the moonlight, the color of her eyes, the hurried, desperate catch of her breath. He moaned raggedly and took her lips with his own again, and even as he did so, the stroke of his touch moved suddenly hard and deep, deep within her. He caressed her with a rhythm, building upon the sweetness of the rhythm, then brushed and stroked the tiny bud nestled between her thighs.

Her moans were no longer soft, but something sweet and wild that rose against the green magic of the night. Her head tossed, sending the copper beauty of her hair in a cascade of bronze rain to pour down upon them and between them.

He rose above her, fumbling with his breeches. Her eyes closed then, but he hesitated, hesitated with the burning in his loins so strong he could scarce maintain it, and yet, when he lowered himself over her, he forced the pulsing tip of the rod to hold still at the soft and wet and welcoming portals. And her eyes opened at last, and a soft blush filled her features and he smiled. “Tell me, lady, do you welcome me as a lover?”

She groaned, and her arms wound around him and she murmured, “Must we speak … oh, please …”

“Aye, and we must,” he whispered tenderly, and nuzzled her throat, yet moved a sweet and fiery thrust against her. “I’d not be some beast of Creeghan, or of the night, or of the forest. I’d be welcomed love, aye, even here, and I’d have your eyes upon me as I make us as one.”

Indeed her eyes were upon him, very wide, as blue as heaven and the surefire promise of eternal delight. And she managed something of a smile and murmured, “Beast, dragon, lover, demon of the darkness, aye, laird of Creeghan, I welcome you!”

His lip curled slowly, and then he thrust, full and strong against her, moving the full erotic length and hardness of himself deep within her, so deep with that single stroke that she cried out, stunned and sweetly shattered, reaching a little crest with the simple movement.

And his eyes burned down on her, glowing golden with pleasure and a certain wickedness, and he began to move again and again, and she did not think that she could take it all, that she would tear and shatter and die, and still the sensation was delight in the extreme, anguish and beauty, and she felt that he reached within her to touch her to the heart.

She locked her limbs about him, and her nails raked down his shirt, and he swept her so high that she beat against his chest, nearly sobbing. But he pressed her back to the ground and promised that they had just begun. The thunder of his body seemed to fill the earth beneath her, and the rhythm of his love collided and cascaded with the night and all its magic. And she soared again, this time reaching for a peak that spiraled and curled deliciously within her, and she cried with both the agony and the splendor as the sweet, sating climax burst upon her, raining down in a shower of nectar, so volatile that the darkness closed around her for endless moments as she shuddered with the startling aftermath. Consciousness was gone; perhaps she had died with the pleasure. But then she could feel. Feel the earth, and inhale the verdance of the green ground, and the rich masculine scent that was the man. Her lover.

Dimly she heard his cry and felt the great rocking spasms as he reached his own climax. Hoarse and breathless, he murmured against her ear, great body thrusting against hers again and once again, and the sweetness of his seed warming her as it spilled heavy and hot within her. His fingers curled in her hair, and as she opened her eyes against the darkness that had claimed her, met the golden probing force of his own, and cried out once more, looping her arms around him and pressing her cheek tightly against the fabric of his shirt.

He shifted his weight from her, but brought her curled against his form. He stroked her hair as their heartbeats slowed, as the frantic pace of their breathing ebbed.

And the sounds of the night came alive again. From somewhere nearby, an owl hooted out his ancient wisdom. The ever-bubbling brook seemed closer and louder. And the wind, the ever-present wind of Creeghan, rose whistling through the trees.

“You are,” he murmured, fingertips stroking back the hair at her crown, “the most beautiful creature I have ever seen.”

Her eyes opened, crystal and blue, upon him. “But I am not a creature, Laird Creeghan. I am nothing more than a woman while you, sir, are the dragon, the beast, the creature of night and day, of the sun, and more, the moon.”

He smiled. “Alas, none of the above. A man very simply myself, and it is something that you must know.”

She shivered suddenly and he wrapped his arm more tightly about her.

“I should take you home,” he said, and there was a tone of regret in his words. He didn’t want to face the light himself. There was wonder here, kelly-green, forest-green, night-green wonder and magic, and they were bound to lose it by the garish light of lamps or candles, or that blinding, truthful light of day.

“I’m all right,” she whispered, and rolled up to sit upon her haunches, plucking at the strands of grass and leaves that were tangled in her hair and clothing.

Bryan rose and came down on his knee beside her. “Let me help,” he said.

She met his eyes, smiling. “I’m afraid there are leaves in my shoe.” He untied her boot and pulled it from her foot. He meant to empty it and return it, but he did not. He reached for her other leg and caught hold of her ankle and freed her from the second boot. She watched him, but did not protest.

She had thought that she could feel no more—not that night. He had touched her inside and out, and surely she could feel no more. But her breath caught as he slid his hands along her thighs, finding her garters, stripping down her stockings. “Leaves,” he told her solemnly. His fingers feathered over her naked flesh.

She could feel. Beyond a doubt, she could feel. Silvery tremors snaked along her spine, and warmth was reborn within her.

The breeze stirred as she met his eyes. They were silent and still, and then she rose, and found the hook to her skirt and undid it, and the velvet riding garment fell to the earth. She tossed aside her bodice and chemise and stays and then stepped demurely from her disarrayed pantalettes.

The wind struck her naked body. She leaned her head back and felt it. Felt the moon kiss her and the whispers of the air as they plucked at her hair and played it around her.

He watched her, naked and straight, and proud against the night and the wind. And he thought that she was a match, indeed.

For himself.

For Creeghan.

She moved beside him and came to her knees at the brook, scooping up the cool water and delighting in the feel as she let it fall on her, creating succulent, shimmering pearl drops upon her breasts in the moonlight. She turned around and smiled at him. “There’s little I can still claim to be,” she said softly, “and yet it amazes me that we have … done what we have done, and done so almost fully clad. Milord …”

She looked back to the water, and yet…

The invitation was there. Not to be denied. He rose and cast off his shirt and his boots in a flurry, and stripped down his breeches and discarded his hose in seconds.

When she looked back, he was naked and magnificent in the moonlight. And as her eyes fell from his to his dark furred chest and below, she felt her heart begin to thump again. Aye, it was possible to arouse anew. Even after what they had just shared.

He strode to her, confident, a great forest beast with his glittering fire eyes and hard-muscled form. He pulled her up, naked, in his arms, and where their flesh met, it burned. “What we have done,” he murmured, “is make love. And what we’re going to do,” he added softly, “is make love again.”

He started to wrap his arms around her, and yet she eluded him, slipping beneath his hold and coming around to his back. There was so much she longed to do. And only now, tonight, in this green darkness, did she dare. She slipped her arms around his waist and moved her lips over his shoulders, and as she did so, the peaks of her breasts moved over his bare flesh.

He was still, allowing her to explore. She slipped lower against him, stroking her fingertips upward against the hardness of his buttocks while the seduction of her kiss traveled down the length of his spine. She heard his jagged breath, and then he cried out, catching her arms, pulling her around before him again and into the heady demand of his kiss. Yet even then, when their lips broke, she would have her way. Her eyes met his.

Dear God, she knew exactly what she was doing, what she wanted to do. She could be so wanton …

She met his eyes, and she moved slowly downward against him, brushing his flesh with her hair, with her breasts, with the softest caress of her lips and teeth. Downward, downward, until she was on her knees. She longed to take that pulsing shaft of life into her mouth.

And she did. Savoring it, savoring the wicked shudder and spasms and hoarse cries that claimed him. And she relished the sweet victory of her own power, and loved him uninhibitedly, stroking, touching, tasting.

He wrenched her up and into his arms, and his eyes were wildly ablaze. She cried out as he nearly dragged her to the ground and thrust into her, hard, careless, magnificent, and wild. And he moved with the wind again, bringing her to a startling precipice that brought tears to her eyes.

Then he withdrew, and she was lost and confused and aching. She opened her eyes seeking him, but gasped when she felt his hands upon her knees, drawing her to him, lifting her, and making love again with the searing wet heat of his tongue. He teased and licked her until the stars shattered above her head, and she passed out once again.

She awoke in his arms, awoke to the thunder of his fierce lovemaking. Awoke to his kiss, awoke to climb and soar and reach across the heavens again. And when he exploded within her, it brought about her second shattering peak, and even as she drifted down from the ecstasy of it, she felt the racking waves of his body, tight against her own.

This time, she could not look at him, dared not acknowledge all the intimacy that lay between them. She turned to her side, facing the brook. But he was not a man to let her be, not a man to allow denial.

He drew her back around to face him, and in those curious moments, there might have been no Castle Creeghan, no mystery, no death—no world, in fact, other than that which lay between them this night.

“Martise!”

He lifted her chin to his. At last she opened her eyes. And he smiled.

“You must not be ashamed,” he told her.

“I’m not!” she lied.

“Most men wait an entire lifetime, and never know a beauty such as you have shown.”

“I—let me go, please. I cannot talk about it!” she cried in dismay.

His eyes were intense, golden. “Nay, if you choose it so, I’ll not talk. But I beg this of you, Martise, don’t let the night slip away. Don’t hide from the magic. We’ve discovered it here. In shadow, in darkness. I’ll not let you take it from me.”

She shivered violently and moistened her lips to speak. “My dear Laird Creeghan, I am lying naked on your cloak in the woods, so there is little I can deny.”

“But, alas, I cannot keep you naked in the woods,” he said, and grinned. “It’s quite cold, and when the fires of our bodies have diminished, you are going to want your clothing.”

She flushed. “I am cold now.”

“I will warm you—”

“You have warmed me well and enough!” she vowed, and he laughed when she rolled to escape him. She hurried to the water, shivering with greater violence when she tried to rinse herself with it. She didn’t hear his footsteps, but he was quickly at her side, comfortable with his nakedness. He hunched down beside her and touched her chin. “Martise, I cannot be washed away,” he told her gently.

“I know. I did not mean to. I mean—” She broke off, and he laughed, and splashed his face with the water, seemingly oblivious to the cold. It grew with the night. With the shriek of the wind.

He stood and left her, and she splashed her breasts and her arms. When she turned, he was already clad in his hose and breeches and boots again, and awaited with her chemise, ready to slip it over her damp breasts. He did so without saying a word, then turned aside for his shirt as she found her stays and stockings, her pantalettes, skirt, and bodice. When she had gotten that far, she realized that he stood waiting with her riding boots, and he knelt down to slip them upon her feet, tying the laces for her. He stood and swept his cloak from the ground and shook it free of leaves, and then wrapped it around her shoulders.

“You have nothing now,” she told him.

“Ah, but I am still afire, Martise St. James,” he told her. “And I fear that I will burn for all eternity. Come, let’s find Lucian. He’d best not have headed back without us!”

The animal waited behind the trees where Bryan had left him. He munched grass and stared soulfully at Bryan, then ambled in his direction.

“There’s a lad for you now,” he said, proud of the horse. “Come, I’ll boost you up, Martise.”

He mounted behind her, and she realized that she was warm again, and very glad to rest against him. Bryan led the horse into no brisk pace, but allowed him to walk along sedately, by the light of the moon and the stars.

“Bryan, I swear that I saw what I saw,” she told him then. The memory of the night was still with her. It would always be with her.

But so would the memory of the day.

“I believe you, Martise,” he said after a moment. Then he reined in and asked her, “You believe that I was not among them?”

She nodded. He nudged the horse and they moved forward again. “Bryan, once before you told me that you had never murdered.”

“Aye,” he said.

She twisted around, meeting his eyes. “But you have killed,” she said softly.

“In the war, Martise. That is what happens in war—men kill one another.”

The sound of his voice was bitter. “Why did you fight?” she asked him. “It was not your battle.”

She felt his shrug. “I fought because I was there, and because I was among friends, because a man cannot run when the battle comes to the door of a friend and you are staying within that door. And I stayed when it was lost because … because it was necessary to see it through to the end.”