Untamed (5 page)

She led Trystan around the back of the goat paddock, past the large vegetable plot where new shoots had begun to rise up in neat rows, through the far corner of the orchard and into a large cider press shed. Her stomach lurched and roiled in fear. The captain’s presence was the only thing that kept her from going out of her mind with worry. So many years of anxious waiting. So many countless hours of preparation. For mere seconds the worry had been lifted from her and she longed to feel that lightness of spirit for good. Desarae beckoned him to follow her behind the press. There she stopped and shoved a section of the plank wall aside with her elbow. The hidden door swiveled up to one side.

“You go first while I hold the door open. Stop just inside and wait for me. Once the door is shut we can light the lantern that awaits us on a shelf above the door. Be careful not to fall down the steps.”

She watched him duck through the door into the dark space beyond. Cautiously, he stepped to one side and bumped into a wooden wall. Desarae followed him into the passageway and let the door fall into place behind her. She lit the oil lamp and its glow filled the space. Desarae reached down and secured the door before beginning the climb down the wood plank steps. After about twenty steps, carved stone replaced the planks. The walls changed from wood to packed earth to rough stone. The passage began to twist this way and that. Occasionally water trickled down the walls and pooled on the steps, making them slick underfoot.

When they arrived at a plank door they were now about eighty feet below the surface. Desarae took a large key off of a stone ledge and unlocked the door. As soon as it opened lapping water could be heard throughout the cave.

“There has been much unrest during Nova Scotia’s history,” Desarae explained. “Uncle and Jim found these caves and the fissure through which the passage runs. They built the stairs and the cider press shed to hide the access so that we would always have a place to hide and a way off of the isle if needs be.”

She lifted the lamp so that he could see the dorey sitting on a wide ledge high above the pool below. A pulley system had been set up to enable the lowering of the boat into the water.

“This way,” she said, leading him along the ledge to where another hidden door had been fitted into the wall behind a large dark rock outcropping.

“Even during a storm this cave remains above the high tide line,” Desarae explained, reaching into a crack for another key. She opened the new door and led him into a dry chamber large enough to fit three cots, a chest, a dresser, and a table with three chairs. She placed the pile of blankets upon one of the beds and then took the heavy basket from him and put it on the table. “These are the only keys. As long as we keep them with us, none can lock us in.”

“How long do you plan on hiding here?”

“As long as necessary,” she replied, disposing of the food within the dresser.

Trystan leaned against the rock wall for support. He needed to rest some more but he would not leave her to cope on her own. She moved like quicksilver about the small space, making up two cots, pushing the table to the wall so there was more room. In no time she had completed her tasks and turned to lead him out of the room once more. He caught her arm as she passed and gently pulled her against him.

“There is no time, Captain,” she argued, though she belied her words and readily laid her head against his shoulder. “You are so warm. I love the feel of you.” Desarae snuggled even closer to him while embracing him within her strong arms. “I am so pleased that you are here with me,” she murmured softly.

“As am I,” he replied, pressing a kiss against her temple. His loins stirred but he ignored his rising need. “Desarae, you cannot stay on Angel Isle forever. Surely, you understand this? Do you not want to see the world? Do you not want more?”

“I shan’t go with my grandfather,” was her stubborn reply. She clung to him. “Do not try to force me.”

“Should he live still, I will not force you.” Trystan pulled her away so that he could cup her cheeks in his hands. He stared into her warm, liquid brown eyes and felt himself drowning. With a groan of anticipation, he captured her soft lips in his and clinched his promise with a searing kiss. Her eager response to his questing tongue drove him feverishly onward. He swept into her hot sweet mouth and claimed her. She was his. Always. No one was going to take her from him and he refused to allow his possessiveness to startle him. Desarae fit into his arms as though his body had been sculpted by the master sculptor to receive hers.

Desarae forgot everything as she succumbed to his touch. Her head swam and her body clung to this amazing man who made her feel like a grown woman at last. Yesterday, when she had touched his bare skin, she had felt the first stirrings of passion. But that experience seemed like the flight of the first autumn leaf compared to this symphony of swirling leaves being driven about by an Atlantic storm.

Desarae’s whimper caused Trystan to rein back his delicious assault. He discovered that his hands, seemingly of their own accord, had abandoned her soft cheeks and were kneading her even softer breasts.

“Ah, luv,” he gasped, forcing himself to move his hands. “You drive me mad, I think.”

“Do I?” Boldly she stared into his stormy blue eyes “I will be mad along with you.”

“You are so innocent. You do not know the danger,” he murmured, rubbing his cheek across hers and drinking in her heady scent. “You feel so wonderful,” he confessed, his hands moving up and down her arms which were twined about his neck. Her long fingers threaded through his blond curls and forcibly brought his head back down to where she could reach his lips.

“Kiss me. Once more,” she enticed. “Just once more.”

Trystan kissed her like he’d never kissed another woman. His lips devoured her. His tongue danced with hers. Just when he thought he would drown with want of her, she pulled out of his arms and backed up so that she could sink onto a chair.

Desarae looked like she had been well and truly kissed. Her brown eyes gleamed like glass. Her full chest heaved with each gulping breath. Escaped curling tendrils bounced excitedly around her flushed countenance. Her hands clasped her knees which she squeezed tightly together.

Except for the stone wall behind him, Trystan would have fallen to the floor. He staggered a few steps to the nearest cot and collapsed onto it.

“That was . . .” Desarae panted, pausing as though searching for the right word.

Trystan nodded. “Yes, it was.”

“. . . magnificent!” she cried, a laugh of pure delight in her dusky voice. “Wonderful! Stupendous! And when you touched my breasts,” she said, placing her own hands over her chest and kneading them herself. “I wanted you to touch them even more!”

Trystan could not help himself. Her joy infected him and he laughed out loud. “Luv, you have not felt stupendous yet.” He squirmed and adjusted himself.

Desarae’s dancing eyes lit on his swollen member tantalizingly hidden by his trousers.

“Are you…?” she demanded, scooting to the edge of her chair. “I want to see. May I?”

“Hell,” Trystan choked out. He blushed and shook his head at her. “No. No, you may not.”

“Pray, why not?” Desarae rose and rushed over to his bedside. “Please? I have seen ever so many pictures of the male figure and then there are Uncle’s statues, of course. But, except for yesterday when I bathed you I have never seen a live one. And, I must say, Captain, you are
admirably
built. I would really like to see it fully erect.”

For a stunned moment Trystan stared into the dark eyes fixed so eagerly on his face and when those same eyes strayed down to his crotch he self-consciously twitched the blanket so it lay across his lap. She pouted but gave him a smouldering look that caused him to swallow thickly. “Perhaps later,” he promised weakly.

“You know, Captain Trystan, I like you very, very much.” Desarae’s wanton smile would have done Delilah proud.

Blood roared in Trystan’s ears. Her declaration fired his senses and re-energized him. He reached for her but she grinned and skipped away. “Desarae,” he moaned.

“If you will not permit me a look, then there is nothing for it but to return to the house and watch out for Jim.”

Trystan rose to his feet with a deep regretful sigh. She reached for his hand and led him out of the cave, the lamp in her other hand. After he pulled the door shut, she gave him the key. He locked the door and returned the key to its hiding place. The cool of the outer cave brought on a shiver. They locked the door to the passageway, too, before climbing up the stairs in silence.

Having earned the rank of captain in the merchant marines by the age of twenty-five, and after purchasing his ship, Trystan had catapulted up the social ranks. Though certainly significantly below the Earl’s level, Trystan still knew that Desarae’s natural behavior would be viewed with disdain by individuals in her own class. Some allowances would possibly be made because of her colonial upbringing. Even more allowances would be granted because of her fortune and rank. But predators lurked in society, both male and female, who would unhesitatingly prey on the innocent sensuality Desarae exuded.

Lord Ashburne had brought one such predator with him. The Earl meant to have Desarae safely married before they returned to England. Though reasonably confident that his ship had weathered the storm, Trystan still hoped the Earl and his guest were now at the bottom of the sea.

They stopped at the secret door at the top of the stairs and listened carefully for any sound. Desarae lifted a leather flap that covered a knothole. She carefully looked out at the cider shed.

“I believe it is safe,” she said, pushing the hidden door aside. She blew out the lamp and replaced it on its shelf above the door. “Let us reconnoitre. I suggest we check the cove to see if Jim’s dorey has returned before we venture to approach the house.”

“I agree,” Trystan said, moving to leave the passageway first. He held the door open while Desarae exited. “You said `reconnoitre’…did the major speak much of his time in the army?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “It was while he was stationed at Fort Edward, in Windsor, here in Nova Scotia, that he purchased Angel Isle. Jim, a Negroid Loyalist who came north after the American Revolutionary war, became his batman.”

They made their way stealthily toward where the white marble angel sculpture guarded the top of the steps to the cove. Trystan smiled in admiration as he followed Desarae while she silently flitted from cover to cover until they reached the brush growing at the cliff edge. He parted the bushes and looked down at the small wharf forty feet below.

“Thank goodness,” Desarae said when she spied the empty cove. She peered out across the water to the mainland. “I cannot make out if any of those boats is ours. We need the spyglass.”

Trystan helped her to her feet and they turned toward the house. They stopped at the truckle bed. Little time had passed since he woke this morning, yet Trystan felt as if he had been here for days.

“Desarae,” Trystan said, holding out his arms for the large brocade coverlet she was piling upon him.

“Hmm?

He trailed after her while she dragged two heavy dining chairs across the grass to the terrace steps.

“Here, you take this and permit me to carry the chairs,” he ordered. They switched tasks and hastened up the terrace. “In fact, I would be most grateful to you if you would prepare us something to eat while I look after the bed and the other two chairs.”

“Of course. After we check the spyglass.” Desarae told him where the chairs and the bed went and after replacing the coverlet on her uncle’s bed, she hurried down to the parlor.

Trystan left the chairs in the hall and followed her into the front room. It was tastefully decorated but clearly the domain of a bachelor, looking more like a library than a gracious parlor. Trystan felt right at home.

Desarae moved over to the bronze spyglass fitted onto a fixed tripod residing in the bow window. Skilfully she focused the glass and began scanning the sea for Jim’s dorey.

“The sea is choppy today,” she murmured, stepping back to let Trystan look. He set his eye to the piece. “I cannot see any vessel coming our way.”

“I agree.” Trystan swung the glass as far to the right and left as he could, adjusting the lens so that he could see further into the distance. “There is no sign of my ship, either.”

He stepped away from the glass, fisting his hands on his hips. He began to pace restlessly.

“Worrying won’t bring your ship any closer,” Desarae said practicably. She hoped it never came. She wanted him to stay there with her forever. Tears caught in her throat but she shoved them away. He would stay as long as he could and then go away, just like all the other sailors did. “I’ll make us some lunch. You should rest. Thank the Lord we have some time to eat and prepare further.”

Trystan watched her leave the parlor before taking another look through the glass. As he had hoped, the ship rounding the headland could now be seen as his. He could see, for Desarae owned a most superior instrument, that one of the masts was broken. The launches were being lowered into the water to tow the
Lady May
into the harbor. Repairs would have to be made before she could be put to sea again.

“Thank God,” he whispered and then cursed softly. Surely, assuming the Earl had survived, Lord Ashburne would arrive before dark. Trystan thought of the lush innocent in the kitchen and cursed again. He hurried outside to finish bringing the truckle bed and chairs back inside.

When Desarae joined her guest to tell him their meal was ready. She found him dozing in the green leather chair beside the cold fireplace. She smiled and resisted the impulse to smooth back the curls from his forehead. Before she could check the spyglass once more, Trystan stirred. He opened sleepy eyes, saw her hovering over him and tugged her down so that she tumbled onto his lap.

“Luv,” he breathed, then teased her mouth open with gentle kisses. He felt her hands twine in his hair as she instinctively pressed herself closer to him. With tantalizing unhurried ease he tasted the inside of her warm, sweet mouth. Desarae squirmed on his lap and tried to force him to increase the pressure of his lips, to rush the experience. But, Trystan was prepared this time for the swift rise of passion threatening to engulf them. He skilfully rode the tidal wave of desire, revelling in the anticipation, celebrating the heat and ardor building between them.