Christine Dorsey - [MacQuaid 02] (36 page)

There was but the flame from one hanging lantern to light the stairs, but Logan could swear he noticed a flicker of recognition in those hard flint eyes. But if it was there at all, within a blink it was gone, to be replaced by steely contempt.

“Be gone with you, woman, and bother your betters no more.”

“’Tis Lady Rachel Elliott to whom you speak with your knavish tongue. And ’tis the king himself who will hear my tale before all is done.” She took another step till she stood at the foot of the stairs. “You will not escape me.”

“Out of my way, wench.” The duke lifted his arm, but the force of the blow he intended for Rachel never came as Logan blocked the thrust.

After that everything seemed to happen at once.

Logan, whose only thought was to protect Rachel, suddenly found himself the target of three hefty fellows bent on making stew meat of his face. His arms were pulled roughly behind his back, keeping him from defending himself. He yelled once for Rachel to get away just before a hamlike fist flattened into the side of his jaw.

“Logan! Oh, my God, Logan!” Rachel tried to reach him but someone had grasped her around the waist and was dragging her screaming and kicking toward the door. She saw a giant of a man slam an elbow into Logan’s stomach and winced.

He was being killed!

This was it, she was certain. This was the moment she was supposed to save his life and she could do nothing. She had been wrong to come here, wrong to risk Logan’s life. With the brave determination of a mother bear protecting her cub, Rachel lashed out. She clawed. She bit. She tried everything she could think of, but her captor seemed not to notice. He simply continued backing toward the door, her in tow.

Water splashed up like the fountains at Vauxeax as she landed unceremoniously on her backside in the middle of a giant mud puddle. Her mouth opened in outrage. She, Lady Rachel Elliot, had been tossed in the mud...
the mud
!

But her indignation lasted a mere moment as she scurried to find footing, her sodden, mud-clogged gown seemingly sucking her down. Logan was more important than her dignity.

She’d managed to stand before the inn door opened again. This time three of the duke’s guards surged through, shoving Logan before them. Rachel reached out to him as he came toward her, the momentum of his weight sending them both sprawling in the muck.

Instinctively her arms wrapped around him as the duke and his entourage stepped from the inn. Lord Bingham kept his head high, his gaze forward as he left the courtyard. He paused briefly when she called out Elizabeth’s name.

“For God’s sake, Rachel.”

She looked down at Logan, who, despite her earlier fears, was not dead. He was however bloody... and muddy... and sporting a cut beneath his left eye. She could also see several scrapes on his chest where his linen shirt was hanging in shreds.

Her fingers reached out, gingerly touching his cheek, wincing when he did. “I’m so sorry. It was never my intention to...” She bit her bottom lip. “Does it hurt much?”

“Only when I breathe,” he answered, pushing to his feet. To his surprise his legs only wobbled a little as he reached down to help her up.

“You needn’t sound so sarcastic. It’s hardly my fault the duke is a bully... and a murderer.”

He turned, holding up a finger, his stance only slightly less intimidating for the slime dripping off of it. “That is exactly the kind of talk that landed us...” His eyes swept toward the ground. “Here,” he finally ground out.

The innkeeper rather indignantly suggested they find lodging elsewhere. But Logan refused to budge. For one thing there was no “elsewhere.” For another, he’d paid in advance. Ignoring the man’s bluster Logan tossed down a few more coins, requesting a tub and hot water be sent to their room.

“I can’t believe he denied even knowing me,” Rachel said the moment the bedroom door closed behind them.

Logan said nothing, merely leaned against the mantel, hooking the heel of one boot with the other. The boot came loose with a sucking sound.

“He is so arrogant and cruel.” Rapidly drying mud rained down as Rachel paced the length of the room, thankfully skirting the bed. “Bingham may think he has quieted me, but I assure you he has not.”

“Is your goal, Your Highness, to give him only one alternative?”

She stopped making muddy tracks. “What do you mean? And don’t call me Your Highness.” She had liked it so much better when he used her name.

The other boot flew off. “I mean,
Rachel
that if you continue accusing the duke of murdering his wife, he’ll only have one way of silencing you.”

“You mean killing me as he did his wife and lover?” Rachel folded her arms staring at him down her mud-streaked nose.

“You seem convinced he’s capable of such actions.” Logan flexed his shoulders. “And I can attest to the fact that he’s not against using violence.”

Rachel’s haughty expression melted as she rushed toward Logan. “How could I have forgotten how those men beat you? Are you badly hurt? Let me help you with your shirt.”

“I’m not after your sympathy.” Though he had to admit a purely erotic pleasure shot through him as she stripped off his shirt. “I only wish you would think before speaking.”

“He can’t hurt me,” she tossed over her shoulder before answering the pounding at the door.

“Rachel.” Logan leaped forward only to step back as two maids tugged a cut-off barrel into the room. Several others followed, carrying pails of steaming water.

“We requested a tub.”

One of the women, a buxom wench with a pockmarked face and sweating upper lip stared at Rachel like she’d been dragged in by the barn cat. “We ain’t got but one and his High and mighty Lordship needs that ’un.” She herded the other women from the room, mumbling something about a dunking in the river being what was needed.

Rachel took a deep breath, then looked back at the barrel with its measly supply of water. “You may go first.”

“Not fancy enough for you, Your Highness?”

“Would you stop it? My offer had nothing to do with... with...” Rachel’s bottom lip trembled. For a moment she tried to blink back the tears welling in her eyes, finally giving in and letting them plump down her cheeks, streaking the dried dirt.

Before Logan could say anything she was across the room, her arms wrapped tightly about his middle, mumbling something into the hair that arrowed down his chest.

“Your Highness?” He gently pried her loose, tipping her chin up with his thumb. “Tears?”

“Of course tears, you big dolt. I thought they were going to kill you. I thought...” Again her words were unintelligible as she pressed kisses across his flesh.

When her lips skimmed across the hard nub of his male nipple Logan sucked in his breath.

“Oh, did I hurt you? I never wanted for you to be hurt.”

“Nay, if truth be known what you’re about is making me forget there’s any pain at all.”

“Truly?” Rachel peeked up, a quivering smile teasing her lips.

In reply Logan’s mouth closed in on hers, catching her sigh. His tongue filled her mouth, weakening her knees so that she had to hold on to him tighter.

“Oh, God, Your Highness.” His hands tangled in her hair, pulling her nearer. His lips skimmed across her jaw after she said something against his mouth he couldn’t understand. “What?”

“I’m not a Highness you know.” Her words were breathless as she sought again the mindless ecstasy of his kiss.

“You seem like one to me. A sweet, sweet princess from a faraway fairy land.”

Logan tugged at her skirts. She tugged at his breeches. Neither knew where the giant splat of mud came from. But it had them pulling away and looking at each other in laughter.

Logan’s eyes skittered to the barrel and back. “You know, I think the tub is big enough for two.”

Rachel blushed. “I think you’re right.” She reached up to unfasten her stomacher. “Then there’d be no question of who should bathe first.”

“Aye, but you’re a smart one, Princess.” Logan’s fingers closed over hers, the heel of his palm rubbing her nipple as he worked at the tabs.

Rachel moaned, reaching for the placket at the front of his breeches. The hard pressure of his staff and the anxious fumbling of her fingers made the buttons difficult to loosen.

“Perhaps,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper, “we should each undress ourselves.”

So for a moment they did, tossing aside mud-laden stockings and petticoats, stopping at regular intervals to view the other’s progress. When she was down to her shift, he to his breeches, Logan grabbed her toward him, unable to resist any longer the feel of her skin.

He skimmed the ruffled yoke off her shoulders, his breath catching as the soft cotton fabric held tenuously on pearled nipples before drifting to the floor. Logan traced a smudge of dirt along the curve of her collarbone.

“I never knew mud to be so erotic.”

Her own fingers followed a streak to where his breeches yawned open to reveal a thatch of dark, curly hair. “Nor did I.”

Logan swung her up into his arms, then stepped into the barrel. The water, though hot enough to send billowy steam into the cooler air, felt chilly against his fevered skin. Slowly he lowered her till her feet barely skimmed the water’s surface. His hips ground against hers, his sex against the soft cushion of hers.

“Oh, Rachel.” He lowered her further then bent down, scooping a handful of water and pouring it over her shoulder. He followed the crystal droplets as they rolled down her body, tracing the path with his tongue. “Anne says I love you.” He paused, licking the underside of her breast before straightening to face her. To see her expression.

“Do you?” It seemed strange to be standing here with him, both naked and aroused, yet embarrassed by words.

He played with a strand of mud-encrusted hair, meeting her eyes reluctantly. “I’m not sure I know how to.” He gathered more water, watching her head fall back as he let the warm liquid drip over her breasts. “I know I want you. That every time we’re together ’tis like the skies open and I see a bit of heaven.”

This time he didn’t stop as the droplets flowed downward. He followed them over the plane of her stomach, the warmth of his breath turning her legs to jelly. Then lower till he dropped to his knees, splashing water around her legs.

His tongue played her, dipping and lathing, teasing and sending her senses spiraling. She tried to keep some hold on reality. But the effort seemed beyond her. She wasn’t even sure how she ended up sitting on his legs, hers spread round his hips. But his mouth drank of hers, hungry and carnal and she didn’t care.

Hard and thick, his rod pressed against her spread womanhood. Water surged and swelled, seemed to boil around their hips as they both writhed, doing their best to assuage the desire that enveloped them as surely as the steam.

“I want to be inside you.” His words vibrated against her neck, heated her blood till she was mad with want... with need.

Logan’s hands bracketed her hips, lifting, sliding her up along the pulsing length of him. “Twist your legs around if you can. Aye, like that.”

The last was slurred as his tongue speared into her mouth. The next moment Rachel sank down over the slick rounded tip. Her moan of pleasure mingled with his as slowly, sensually his flesh impaled hers.

She was tight and moist as a mouth and her sheath gripped, massaged. Logan tore his lips from hers. His breathing was harsh, a raw panting, as he fought for control.

“Don’t move,” he rasped as his fingers dug into the soft flesh of her bottom.

“Can’t stop. Oh Logan, please. Please...” She jerked, twisting, begging with each ragged breath she took. Her breasts, hard and so sensitive she could scream, tangled with the moist curls on his chest. Water churned, pumping round where their bodies joined.

Then one hand slid down between her legs, touching her so sensually, so privately. She cried out, unable to stop herself, not caring to. The tremors convulsed through her body, shaking her to the core. She could feel his explosion, savored the feel of his seed spewing into her. The feeling of oneness with him. With him.

It was like this whenever they made love. The barriers crumbled. Their thoughts joined. Their feelings melded.

Rachel collapsed onto his hard chest, relishing the intimacy, wondering if it was as it seemed, that their hearts beat in perfect unison.

How long they remained like that, joined and at peace, Rachel wasn’t sure, but when they finally moved her legs were stiff and the water chilled.

They started quickly washing each other, sharing the small sliver of soap. Logan leaped from the tub, moving the extra pails of water close to the fire before turning back toward the tub. Rachel crouched low in the water, her hair a stiff pile of grayish bubbles, her eyes a smoldering, smoky blue as she watched him.

Logan covered the distance between them in three strides, pulling her to standing and slanting his mouth over hers. She tasted slightly of soap but he didn’t care. “God Rachel, I can’t get enough of you.”

They took turns pouring the warmed water over sudsy slick bodies, rinsing away the rest of the mud. Logan lifted her from the barrel, carrying her to stand before the hearth, kissing her till their desire burned hotter than the flickering flames.

His attempt to dry her with the thin scrap of linen was more caress. But he patiently sat on the braided rug, finger combing her hair till it was merely damp before guiding them both toward the bed.

This time their coupling was slow, exquisite, satiating. Afterward Logan lay on his back, Rachel’s cheek cradled on his shoulder.

“I do, you know.”

Rachel nestled closer. “Do what?” The bond between them vibrated with what he felt... what he was going to say. But Rachel turned from the knowledge. She wanted to hear it from his own lips.

“Love you,” he whispered. “I love you.”