Authors: Fireheart
Candace McCarthy (11 page)
Joanna stared at the man before her, and felt a deep ache in the region of her heart.
“So, it is set,” she mumbled, pulling away.
“I have cared for you since you were a child,” he said stiffly, hurt.
She looked at him. “I know,” she whispered. “And I didn’t see you. How was it that I didn’t see you?”
One corner of his mouth curved in a crooked smile. “You saw me,” he said. “But I was not big enough or strong enough then.”
“I am sorry.”
He stroked a strand of wet hair back from her face. “Perhaps you want Fireheart because you cannot have him?”
She tensed, jerked away. “Is that what you think?”
Dropping his hand, he shrugged. “It is not true?”
Was it true? Joanna wondered, studying the man she loved. She wanted him to give up Moon Dove, yet she had no intention of staying. Was that fair to him?
No.
Would she have still wanted him if he declared that he would not marry Moon Dove? He had said that their marriage was not set, yet he didn’t say that it wouldn’t be soon.
Yes, she would still want him if he chose her over Moon Dove. But the matrons would never permit it. She had been too long away from the Lenni Lenape people. What kind of wife would she make their chief?
Not as good a Lenape wife as Moon Dove.
“Please,” she begged, “let us go back.”
He stared at her hard. “You have given me your answer,” he said without feeling.
No,
she thought.
No, I haven’t, but I can’t make promises to you. If I could stay, I might try, but I have to go back to my uncle’s estate. Who would run it if I didn’t? It was the reason I spent all those terrible years with him, wasn’t it?
she thought.
No, I haven’t, but I can’t make promises to you. If I could stay, I might try, but I have to go back to my uncle’s estate. Who would run it if I didn’t? It was the reason I spent all those terrible years with him, wasn’t it?
They left the water and dressed silently. Joanna avoided looking at Fireheart while he dressed for she was sure she’d give in and plead with him to make love to her right there and then if she looked.
If only she hadn’t had a taste of what it was like to kiss him, hold him . . . hear his labored breath and his soft groans of pleasure. But she already had that one night . . . a beginning, she’d thought.
But it hadn’t been a beginning, she realized with sadness. It had been the end.
Chapter 10
Neville Manor
England
June 1727
“You know I would marry you if I could,” John whispered as he fondled his lover’s bare breast. “But you know the condition of Burton Estates. I must marry Joanna.”
Despite his touching her, arousing her, Gillian pouted. “But what of us? What will happen to us when you wed her? I’ll die if I can’t be with you!”
He smiled before he bent to lick her nipple. He laved the tiny bud with his tongue until he heard her gasp, then lifted his head to meet her gaze.
“We’ll continue to see each other,” he promised.
“I’ll set you up in a place of your own, a lovely cottage. And I’ll slip away to you every opportunity that is afforded me.”
The whole idea sounded sordid to Gillian. She didn’t want to be his mistress. She wanted to be his wife.
And Joanna was her best friend. If Joanna did marry John, how could she betray her like that?
He belongs to me!
she thought with conviction.
Me!
she thought with conviction.
Me!
Still she had her doubts as to the feasibility of his plan. “I don’t know, John,” she said. “Isn’t there some other way to acquire the funds that you need? Perhaps I could ask Father—”
“No!” John, who had bent his head to kiss her throat, lifted his head and narrowed his gaze. “I’ll not take a single copper from that man.”
Gillian’s eyes filled with tears. Why couldn’t John and her father be friends? There had been a time when she held on to the hope that she and John would marry with her father’s blessing. For some reason, though, her father had taken an instant disliking to the man of her heart. She’d been trying ever since to change her father’s mind about him.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, reaching up to weave her fingers in his hair. “I know he wasn’t polite to you.”
His expression softened as she rubbed his scalp and ran her fingers over his face to his lips. His.eyes glowing, he kissed the hand at his mouth, then grabbed it and her other hand, tugged her farther down in bed, then clamped her arms above her head, leaving her arched and open to him.
“John, no,” she gasped when she saw the look in his gaze. She wasn’t finished discussing his marriage to Joanna, and he was trying to make her forget.
“Yes.” He laughed softly before, using his mouth, he began a journey from her face to her breasts, where he paused to suckle her, drawing deeply, hard, from each swollen twin.
Soon, Gillian was writhing on the bed, arching up and into his mouth, begging him to take her, as he released her hands to kiss lower. Her stomach quivered as he dipped his tongue in her navel. The area between her legs filled with liquid warmth as he slowly ventured a path past her hips.
“Now, John!” she begged, gasping.
He rose up to eye her with a vision that was clear, calculating almost, but Gillian was too aroused to see. “Say you will continue to be my lover,” he demanded.
“Yes,” she cried. “Yes! How could I give this up?” He groaned harshly then, and gave into the spiraling ecstasy that so easily ignited between them.
As they lay, breathing heavily in the aftermath, their minds were already contemplating the next round of lovemaking.
Days went by, and Joanna kept her distance from Fireheart. How could she not, when to be with him was a reminder of what she could never have?
With the improvement of Wild Squirrel’s health, she began to visit the
sachem
daily, spending an hour or more with him each time. His coloring was much better, and the sparkle had returned to his dark eyes. He smiled more and spent a lot of time outside his wigwam, sitting in the yard, watching the children, speaking with the villagers.
sachem
daily, spending an hour or more with him each time. His coloring was much better, and the sparkle had returned to his dark eyes. He smiled more and spent a lot of time outside his wigwam, sitting in the yard, watching the children, speaking with the villagers.
One morning, Joanna was in the yard with him. She sat on a rush mat beside him, helping the chief’s wife shell corn. Stormy Wind smiled as she watched Joanna efficiently strip the cob of its kernels into a bowl from which they’d later be spread out and left in the sun to dry.
“I remember you as a little girl,” the woman told her.
Wild Squirrel nodded. “She was always about, asking questions, offering to help with the work of the women.”
“You were a beautiful child, and now you are a beautiful woman.”
Joanna flushed.
“Wa-neé-shih.”
“Wa-neé-shih.”
“We wish you to remain in our village,” said Wild Squirrel. “This is your home. You should never have gone to England across the great sea.”
“I can’t stay,” Joanna said. “I have obligations in England. Now that you are better, Grandfather, I must think of returning.”
The chief opened his mouth, but his wife’s gentle hand on his arm stopped him from speaking his thoughts. “We must not force her, my husband,” she said softly.
“But Fire—”
She silenced him with a finger over his lips. “She might want to leave before Fireheart’s wedding,” she said, glancing at him with meaning.
The old man blustered. “Why shouldn’t she stay?”
So they are getting married,
Joanna thought, feeling a terrible ache. Stormy Wind was right. The last thing she wanted was to watch as Fireheart and Moon Dove wed.
Joanna thought, feeling a terrible ache. Stormy Wind was right. The last thing she wanted was to watch as Fireheart and Moon Dove wed.
“It is true, Grandfather,” she said. “I must go home. I cannot stay to see the wedding.”
“It is a time for celebration,” Wild Squirrel said.
“I know,” Joanna murmured. But she couldn’t bear to see the man she loved marrying another.
“When must you go?” he asked her.
“Soon,” she said noncommittally. “Soon.”
She searched for another topic of conversation. She didn’t want to discuss Fireheart. Every time she heard his name she experienced a sharp pain.
She glanced up from her work, saw Fireheart and Moon Dove on the opposite side of the village yard, talking, touching.
Joanna gasped and abruptly stood. “Forgive me, Grandmother, Grandfather, but I have something I must do.”
She fled, out of the village, away from the sight of the pair.
Wild Squirrel looked at his wife with a sly smile. “You are right, my Wind. She loves Fireheart.”
The matron nodded. “I see the way she watches him. She is hurting, but will do nothing to stop it.”
“But what of Moon Dove? What are her wishes in the marriage?”
Stormy Wind frowned. “I do not know, but I think there is someone more important to Moon Dove than Fireheart.”
“Hmmm.” Wild Squirrel was thoughtful.
“I will see what I can learn from her mother and the women of our village,” said Stormy Wind.
“Yes,” replied Wild Squirrel, pleased with his wife’s suggestion. “See what you can find out.” He gazed wistfully off in the direction that Joanna had taken. “She is white, but she is more Lenape.”
“She was away from us a long time. She clings to her English ways as if she will be punished should she leave them.”
“Yes,” he said. “I saw the tunic that Mary Wife made her. I thought she would wear it instead of the white woman’s gown.”
“She will wear it,” his wife promised him. “She will wear it because she is Lenape and will know this soon.” She set a corn cob aside to reach for another fresh ear. “Have you thought why she has not said when she will leave us?”
Wild Squirrel looked at her expectantly.
Stormy Wind’s smile was soft. “Because she does not want to go.”
“I hope you are right, wife,” he said.
She gave him a sly look. “I am always right, my husband.”
“Moon Dove,” Fireheart said, “you have heard our grandmothers talking. They want us to marry. What do you think of this?”
The Indian maiden glanced up to regard him shyly. She had lovely dark eyes with long lashes. Her skin was smooth, and she had all of her teeth. His gaze fell to her mouth, which was perfectly formed. But he felt no heat when he looked at her . . . none of. the heat he’d experienced when he was with Autumn Wind.
“It is an honor to marry our future chief,” she replied quietly.
He narrowed his gaze, searching her expression for some hidden meaning. “So you would marry me?”
“If it is your wish,” she said without smiling. She kept her eyes cast downward, a strange thing for one who had known him since they were children. In all other matters, she could face him steadily. Why was the topic of their marriage so different?
Was it the prospective intimacy between them that seemed difficult for her?
“Is there someone else in your heart?”
She didn’t reply, and Fireheart wondered if her affections lay elsewhere.
“Do not answer that,” he said. For he had no right to ask it, not when his own heart was otherwise engaged.
She seemed surprised by his statement. “You do not think I would make you a good wife?” she asked, looking troubled.
He smiled and touched her arm. “I think you would make a good wife.” It was his role as her husband that he doubted.
She grinned then, like the sunshine bursting forth from behind a cloud. “I will give you many sons.”
Fireheart nodded, and hid the anguish he felt that his children would not come from the woman he loved.
Autumn Wind. It had always been Joanna.
Why did she have to come back now when he had forgotten what it was to be hurt by her? Why couldn’t he make himself forget how good she felt in his arms?
Such discussion between a man and woman contemplating marriage were unusual for his people, but Fireheart couldn’t begin the courtship ritual until he was sure that Moon Dove wanted the match as well. It might be a decision for the village matrons, but it was his life, and he had too many responsibilities to worry about an unhappy wife.
But Moon Dove seemed content to marry him. He would marry her and make her happy. And she would make him a good Lenape wife.
Grave Point
England
“I want to go with you.” Gillian sat naked on the bed, while John dressed for the day’s work. They were discussing John’s trip to the New World to fetch Joanna Neville.
“I don’t think that is wise,” he said.
She scowled. “Why not?”
“For ’tis a terribly long journey. People die onboard ship. I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to you.” He stopped in the act of dressing to reach down toward the bed to brush the top of Gillian’s head with his light fingertips.
“And because Joanna will be there,” he added in a low husky voice, “and I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep my hands off you.”
Her expression softened. “Please.” She lay back on the bed, lowering the covers, arching upward, tempting him with the sight of her belly and breasts. He released her and straightened. She was mollified by the hot flash of desire in his gaze. “I’ll not worry about the danger if I’m with you.”
“Gillian—”
“If I promise to behave?” she asked softly, sliding her body up sensually on the sheets.
He swallowed hard. With his trousers on and his shirt unbuttoned, he moved toward the bed. The sex between them had been particularly good during the night. Lately, he had felt a need for her that surpassed his desire for any other woman.
It would be hard to leave her behind, he thought. But he should. And what of Joanna? Could he hide his desire for Gillian in front of the woman he planned to marry?
Gillian moved on the bed, shoving the bedcovers down farther, exposing the dark nest of curly hair between her legs. “Do you really have to work so early?”
They were in Gillian’s bedroom. Her parents were away for the night. Gillian had sneaked him past the servants, but assured him that none of the help would tell if they saw him coming or leaving.
There had been an added thrill to their lovemaking, bolstered by the fact that they were doing something as illicit as having sex beneath her father’s roof.
“Gillian,” John rasped harshly as he reached out to stroke her leg.
“It’s such a long day and I’ll miss you,” she purred, stretching her body languidly. “Come back to bed for a little while.”
“I should go.” She looked so warm, so lush . . . so inviting, he thought. Just another hour. What harm could there be if he stayed another hour? Her parents weren’t expected home any time soon.
She opened her legs slightly, giving him a better view of her hidden secrets. Watching him closely, she touched herself briefly, drawing his attention to her actions, pleased to see the way the expression in his eyes changed.
“Please, John.”
His shaft was rock-hard beneath his breeches. John wanted to take her, thrust deeply inside her warmth, until she cried out with release. She made him feel huge and tall and all man. She didn’t want Michael. It wasn’t the first twin she loved. She desired him, only him—John Burton, the second son to his father, but the one who came first in this incredibly lovely woman’s affections.
She stared at him with beautiful violet eyes, blinked up at him with thick dark eyelashes. “John—”
But he was already pulling off his shirt, tugging down his breeches. He turned, and felt proud when she gasped at the size of his throbbing manhood. He grinned, preening for her.
“John, darling.” She held out her arms to him, and with a laugh, he pounced onto the bed.
Their lovemaking was rough, frenzied. When it was over, and both were reeling from the sensual pleasure, Gillian rolled to her side with her head propped on her hand.
“John,” she said softly, “let me go to the New World with you.”
His breath laboring, he opened his eyes, and tried hard to stifle his impatience for she looked like a fairy queen, a beautiful sensual wood nymph. “Gillian—”
“Please, John.” With her other hand, she traced a path from his chest to his stomach, then lower still. When she took his limp manhood into her fingers, his eyes glistened, and he hardened immediately.
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