Across Captive Seas Read online

  Deliberately they delayed their final merging, playing out all the pent-up passion of a year. The very peaks of Angela’s breasts moved lingeringly, drawing intricate patterns of fire on his heaving chest until Scott writhed beneath the heat. But still she didn’t stop, trailing their softness down in featherlike strokes against his hips and loins, her long hair a tickling web against his thighs. And then the swollen, pink-tipped buds moved lasciviously against him, stroking and teasing, then pressing voluptuously—softness against throbbing hardness.

  That was too much for Scott and in a frenzy he tumbled Angela beneath him, laughing with triumph as she met the searing force of his flesh with eager reciprocation. She shuddered at his wild mastery of her, paroxysms of rapture threatening to tear her apart. Then she was lost in a blinding flash—beyond words and thoughts—just the white-hot joining of two bodies, two souls into one.

  Afterwards they lay torpidly twined in each other’s arms. Scott brushed the damp curls from Angela’s face, his eyes glowing golden in the dark and he kissed her as if he could never get enough of the sweet nectar of her lips.

  “You are made for love,” he whispered running one hand possessively over the indented curve of her waist to rest against her hip. “I think that’s what really drove me wild all these months, having you belong to me yet never able to touch or possess you.”

  “And do you think I wanted you any less?” asked Angela contentedly stroking her fingers through his thick hair. “Every night was a torment.”

  “Don’t I know,” Scott laughed kissing her soundly.

  “But no more. We have forever to love and get to know each other. I will never tire of you, my Angel, my sweet, wild little love!”

  His fingers brushed the deep cleft between her rounded buttocks and lingered for a moment on the tiny scar marring the smooth perfection. Then he pulled her hips tightly against his, the embers of desire stirring once more.

  “I’m afraid, Duchess, that you will get no sleep this night!”

  “I would be disappointed if I did,” Angela murmured, her lips warm against the beating pulse at his throat. “But the summer nights are much too short. Just think of those endless, dark winter nights, with the wind howling outside.”

  The summer days came to a close, as warm and turbulent as the new love that had been born in the ready atmosphere of the Scottish Highlands. Now there was a chill in the air and the bloom of heather swept from loch to mountain softening the harsh lines to a gentle purple blur. The mornings misted over with a smoky-blue haze smelling of peat smoke, pine, and the ever-present ocean. The golden orb of the sun lingered a little longer at its rest and the black velvet of the night stayed on in sweet forgetfulness.

  A riot of color erupted in the forests, punctuated by the silver-green spires of the firs and pines, and falling eaves cushioned the ground where small animals gathered the bounty for the coming winter. Blackberries hung huge and heavy from the thorny bushes, and Angela couldn’t help thinking of the time Jack had rescued her from the quicksand—and what had gone afterwards.

  She shivered at the memory and Scott looked at her inquiringly but she just lowered her eyes in a most disconcerting manner. They were still discovering new things about each other every day, but there were certain things Angela wouldn’t talk about and one of them was Jack. She realized that she hadn’t loved him with the intense, all-consuming passion that marked her relationship with Scott. But still there had been something special between them and now that he was dead that spot in her heart had healed over, but was still tender when touched.

  “You’re in a pensive mood this morning, love,” stated Scott with a crooked smile that made her go weak inside.

  Angela clutched the reins tightly in her gloved hands and replied, “It’s only the blackberries—they remind me of sad times, so long ago.”

  Scott laughed and slid from his horse looping the reins over a branch. He lifted his arms up for her and Angela fell eagerly into his strong embrace.

  “You talk like an old woman, Angel.” He nuzzled the slim column of her neck. “You are only twenty.”

  “I started young!”

  “Ummm. . .” Scott’s hands slid beneath Angela’s coat caressing her back through the thin silk of her blouse. “Let me make you happy. Forget the damned blackberries!”

  His mouth covered hers, fiercely driving the breath from her and striving to set the memories at bay. There was an urgency in the way Angela kissed him back and her small hands tore at the buttons on his coat and shirt.

  “Easy, love,” Scott said, suddenly picking her up and striding deep into the forest. “We have all the time in the world.”

  “Do we? Sometimes I get so scared. I think I would die without you!”

  “Well you will never find out, sweet, because I will never leave you!” Scott set her down in a small clearing, awash with orange, gold, and red, the mist curling through the leaves like a man’s fingers through a woman’s hair. “I want to see you naked against the leaves,” whispered Scott beginning to unfasten her clothes.

  “But someone might—”

  “No one will find us here. We are safe, hidden away, and I mean to strip every stitch off you!”

  With trembling fingers Angela helped him undress her, then him, and they stood proudly, unashamedly naked like magnificent wild creatures in a primal wilderness. Scott’s hands caught in her hair, pulling the pins out and sending the dark, heavy mass cascading over her shoulders and bosom, down her back like a cataract. He laughed, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners and scooped up a handful of colorful leaves, twining them in her hair.

  “You are autumn,” Scott told her, “you are sunshine and laughter and daffodils—and you are mine!”

  He caught Angela to him and they tumbled onto the ground, thick and springy with leaves, rolling joyfully like puppies at play. There was never any monotony or boredom to their lovemaking; each act was fresh and new, like the exploration of uncharted territory. Scott never knew what to expect. Sometimes Angela was a temptress, teasing him beyond endurance; at other times she was as shy as a virgin making him woo her all over again; and then there were the times when she was as lusty as any whore, plying every trick on him.

  Today she was none of those, just open and loving but vaguely abstracted; yet with a hint of mysterious sadness just beneath the surface.

  Scott worshipped her body adeptly with his fingers and lips, her responses intoxicating him. Angela’s head arched back into the crackling pillow of leaves, fingers digging into his shoulders as Scott’s mouth moved hot and wet on her breasts.

  The hunger that was always just beneath the surface, the insatiable craving for Scott to dominate her, flared deep within Angela churning all her thoughts into a turmoil. But still at the very back of her mind was a persistent uneasiness; an instinctive feeling that something was wrong, or about to be.

  The melee between intuition and passion continued, and Scott intensified his efforts to bring her out of her moodiness. Gone were the gentle caresses and kisses as Scott bit with hard teeth into her shoulders and the side of her neck, holding Angela’s defiant, squirming body still with a leg thrown across her.

  Angela slapped his cheek, a glancing ineffectual blow as his hand closed over a quivering breast and long brown fingers roughly chafed the tender skin. His thumb and forefinger teased her nipple until it throbbed achingly.

  “Stop it!” she gasped, fighting in earnest the intolerable assault. “You’re hurting me, Scott!”

  “But you like it, don’t you, Angel?” His face was close and unreadable, his brown eyes glowing wickedly. “When I make love to you I want all of you—your thoughts as well as your body. I don’t want you a thousand miles away dreaming of other things.” He smiled mockingly. “I got your attention, didn’t I, love?”

  Angela twisted her face away from him sulkily, and he contented himself for a minute with kissing the satin smoothness of her temple and cheek. Then Scott bit the lobe of her ear, plunging his se
aring tongue into its shell-pink interior, exploring and pillaging. Agitation rippled through Angela’s rebellious mind and a tumultuous, panting excitement took hold of her.

  Yes, everything Scott was doing to her was thrilling, even the demanding barrage and the way he held her pinioned as if he would force the fury of his passion on her.

  Sensation built upon fiery sensation and Scott’s lean, brown body jolted hers with gusto. Angela willingly clasped him closer, feeling the play of muscles beneath his smooth bronzed skin, accepting the strength of his full potency with a cry of welcoming delight.

  They coalesced with delirious abandon, the rhythm of their movements increasing with each gasping breath.

  Angela was radiant and Scott’s eyes devoured the rapt look of love and desire that she couldn’t conceal; her slightly parted lips the color of crushed cherries, the delicate nostrils flared with the intensity of the moment, her aqua eyes, half closed, glittering, passion-narrowed slits.

  The first spasm convulsed her whole body and catapulted Scott to the zenith of his gratification. Angela heaved violently and transported them both beyond bliss.

  They came back down to earth slowly, floating on invisible air currents, dazed with wonder at the miracle of their love. Scott’s heart beat like thunder against her fevered breasts and Angela didn’t even realize she was crying until he wiped the tears off her cheeks with tender fingers.

  “I’m sorry if I hurt you—I’m a brute! Please, love, don’t cry.”

  “No, no. It’s not that,” she replied hugging him closer. “I don’t know why I’m crying. I feel so strange and apprehensive today, oh, I can’t really explain it.”

  They spent the whole morning purposely lost in the woods and in each other’s arms, loving the hours away. Scott carefully and gently led her back to the shores of Cythera again. Then, regretfully they dressed and started back to Seafield Castle.

  Angela rode slightly ahead of Scott and he could tell that she was still restive in spite of all he had done to make her forget. What was she so skittish about today anyway? Everything was fine between them, the children were healthy and there were no problems to contend with. So why the tears and agitation?

  Pregnant! The thought struck him like a bolt of lightning out of a blue sky, and his heart turned over in his chest. In spite of her reassurances that, according to the doctor, she could have as many children as they wanted, the speculation left him cold and shaky. Tableaus from Robert’s birth danced like Dantesque scenes before his eyes. But there were no signs, that he could see, of Angela’s being with child. His eyes keenly raked her slim figure stopped motionless on the crest of the hill.

  “Scott,” she cried pointing a shaking finger at the sight below her. “Look!”

  He was at her side immediately, aware of the alarm in her voice and then laughed with relief. “It’s only a ship, nothing to get perturbed about.”

  “A ship,” Angela repeated. “A ship in the loch!” And some innate knowledge told her that it was the harbinger of doom.

  Scott squinted against the reflected sunlight glancing off the water at the neat ship riding at anchor. The sails were furled but they were too far away to make out any signs of activity.

  “It’s definitely not the Dark Lady, Scott informed her. “I wonder who—”

  “You can’t go back,” Angela warned, the trepidation she felt spilling over into her voice. “There’s danger, I can feel it in my bones.”

  “But, Angel,” Scott said humoring her, “danger? You have been jumpy all day. This is just adding to your fancies.”

  “No!” she screamed, her eyes wide with terror of the unknown. “Something is wrong—can’t you feel it? It’s in the very air. Call it woman’s intuition, instinct, an impulse—anything—just believe me!”

  Scott had never seen her so upset. Her face was ghost-white and her pale eyes, darkened like a storm-tossed sea; her slender body shook in the saddle buffeted from within by her extreme emotions.

  “All right, I believe you. But if there is something wrong you wait here and I will—”

  “No! You wait, hide in the forest and I will go back home and let you know when it’s safe.”

  “Don’t be foolish, Angela.” Scott’s voice was stern and he was out of patience with her imaginings. “There is nothing going on, and if there was do you think I would let you ride into danger while I cowered in the woods?”

  He started to turn his horse around but Angela grabbed his reins almost unseating herself in the process. Their horses moved uncomfortably close for a moment and she swayed, half on her horse, halfway leaning over his.

  “Damn!” Scott dropped the reins, needing both hands to save Angela from falling between the horses and being trampled. He set her with a jolt on her horse and snatched the reins back from her. “You little idiot! What are you trying to do, kill yourself?” Wheeling around he started down the hill picking up speed as he went and Angela had no choice but to follow.

  The mad chase toward destiny continued on and on, and Angela wondered if they would ever reach the castle. Trees and bushes flew by in a blur and startled birds shot upward in every direction. The thunder of the horses’ hooves pounded in her ears and she gritted her teeth as she soared over a stone wall, landing with a jolt on the other side. Wind whipped the pins from her hair and her hat had long since blown off.

  Scott was lost from sight and she urged her laboring mount on not sparing it or herself. Then they were on the long flat stretch before the castle. Scott was almost over the bridge and Angela gave her horse a touch of her her quirt to speed it on. As she hastened into the courtyard of the castle she was just in time to see Scott dragged from his steed by a dozen red-coated soldiers.

  ‘What the hell—” was all he got out before a fist smashed into his jaw; an unprovoked attack.

  Angela stared in frozen consternation as Scott took them all on like an enraged bull, snapped at by feisty dogs. Brutally he downed several of the soldiers, against all odds, before they caught and threw him to his knees before a thin, strutting superior officer.

  Well, Captain Latham,” Scott growled through smashed lips, “we meet again.

  The captain gave the battered, bleeding man at his feet a self-righteous smirk. “But this time you won’t slip through my fingers. I have made sure of that; all my facts are air tight. In the name of his majesty, King George of England, I arrest you for the crimes of murder, smuggling, abduction, and obstructing justice.”

  The duke was completely at his mercy now and Captain Latham reveled in the fact that he was subdued at his feet. What a dangerous looking animal he was, and wily. He would have to be extremely careful that the man didn’t get away and make him out a fool again. A feeling of power enveloped the captain and he lifted his arm to strike the disgraced nobleman, to humiliate him the way Scott had shamed him years ago.

  Angela leaped off her horse and holding her quirt by the braided leather lash swung it at Captain Latham with all her might. The blow from the carved wooden stock caught him in the temple and before the astonished eyes of the soldiers the captain fell unconscious to the ground. Then quickly, before anyone could even breathe she reversed her grip, slashing at the downed man with the fury of a demon, letting out the rage and frustration of the day; and all her hatred of what the man had dared to do to Scott.

  It took three men to catch her and Angela managed to get a few good strikes in at them too. Then one of the men shouted orders to the soldiers to take them into the castle. Her clothes were ripped in a half dozen places and her hair tumbled wildly about her but Angela’s eyes were spitting fire and she was far from subdued.

  What a wildcat, Scott thought, his heart swelling with love for the woman who dared defend him against armed men. She stood straight, majestic, and glanced haughtily at every one of the soldiers until their eyes shrank from her steady gaze. Then Angela’s worried eyes caught Scott’s, overflowing with all the love and concern in her.

  “I told you so,” she said very
quietly, almost calm after the donnybrook. “The Bratach Sith—you should have listened!”

  They were separated, hauled against their wills into the castle, but not before Angela saw the familiar crooked smile on Scott’s swollen face, oddly proud and possessive.

  Angela was locked in their bedroom and she pounded on the door and yelled orders to release her all to no avail. She had no idea what was going to happen, but nought she had better be prepared for any eventuality. So she washed, changed clothes and arranged her hair unto a semblance of order, all the while trying to think of a solution to their problem.

  Murder, smuggling, abduction—Angela could discount the last charge since she was now Scott’s wife. The other charges could possibly be true, but murder! Who had Scott killed? Unless something had happened during one of his altercations with the dragoons. The jailbreak! One of the soldiers had been killed but they couldn’t possibly make the charges stick. Scott was a duke, a peer of the realm, although his life had by no means been examplary. Surely no one would dare testify against him; to say nothing of convicting him.

  Everything will be all right; she repeated it again and again in her mind trying to convince herself. They would have to return to England and there would probably be a nasty trial. The very thought of the word trial made Angela’s blood run cold. It brought back so vividly Jack’s trial; he had been convicted and sentenced to hang. No, they couldn’t ever do that to Scott! But she still felt a foreboding as if the worst was still ahead. Several hours later Angela was released and insisted on seeing Scott only to come up against a stone wall. He had been locked in the old dungeon, which was now a wine cellar, and the two soldiers that were assigned as her escort refused her request. They would do nothing until Captain Latham recovered consciousness.

  Doctor Fletcher had been sent for and clucked disapprovingly over his recumbent patient. It was possible the captain might lose the sight in one eye from the vicious attack. He could hardly believe the story he had been told; that the duchess had attacked the man. Yet when she marched furiously into the patient’s room and looked down at the captain in unconcealed disgust and hatred, the doctor was glad she wasn’t his enemy.