Island of the Swans (32 page)

“The duke and she met again about six months ago,” Jamie continued, anxious to be done with his painful duty. “Alexander pursued her like the fury, from the start.” Ferguson was anxious to alleviate some of the lieutenant’s distress by a logical explanation of events. “At first, when she finally agreed to accompany him to a ridotto, she seemed merely to enjoy his company and insisted to me they were mere friends. Speculation, too, was that because of his rank, he would seek a wife of higher social standing than the daughter of a mere baronet. But soon it became plain that he wouldn’t hear of any objections to the match, not even his mother’s distress over their different religions.”

Ferguson had settled into a recitation of the facts that had helped ease his own painful rejection by Jane.

“They had an Anglican ceremony here in Edinburgh to placate the Dowager Duchess, and an enormous fete last month at the Fordyces’ country home, presided over by the Presbyterian minister of Ayton parish. After the weddings, they set out for the Court of St. James with both families in tow, to present the bride to the king. She was an astounding success, I hear, and befriended the queen,” Jamie continued, awestruck. “Sink me, if the
king
, who loves his wife, didn’t offer to stand godfather to their first son! Now Jane and the duke are making a grand tour of all the family estates before returning to Gordon Castle after the holidays.”

The pain from Thomas’s wound had become excruciating. For a moment, he feared he would humiliate himself by fainting right at the table.

“So you can see, old man,” Ferguson continued kindly, “events went forward at a rather rapid pace. I, myself, retired quite quickly from the field, in view of such competition.”

Thomas remained silent, rubbing his upper arm in a fruitless attempt to assuage the pain. Ferguson pushed a second brandy toward the young lieutenant and leaned forward sympathetically.

“Look, lad, I think I have some idea what you’re feeling right now. Tis a damnable blow to receive so quickly upon your return. I’m sorry, laddie…”

“
You!
” Thomas snarled. “What do
you
know of this matter?” he shouted, jumping to his feet and toppling his chair with a crash. Jamie stared, speechless, at his enraged companion. “Jane and I were
promised
to each other, you bastard!” he cried, taking no notice of the startled glances of on-lookers. “The banns were all but official. She was to be my
wife
! What do you think sustained me through this nightmare?”

An unnatural hush settled over the noisy tavern. Thomas strode to a peg on the wall and angrily retrieved his cloak. He glared at Jamie Ferguson as he furiously rubbed the throbbing pain in his upper arm.

“What would you know of Jane Maxwell? She thought you a pleasant enough fool whose teeth occupy most of
your face
!
Jane Maxwell is mine!
Not the duke’s and certainly not
yours
! She’s
always
been mine, and I’ll make her my wife if I have to drag her out of the Duke o’ Gordon’s bed to do it!”

He turned on his heel and marched out of Fortune’s Tavern, neglecting to shut the door against the howling storm that had descended on Edinburgh his first night home.

Fourteen

D
ECEMBER
1767

A
LIGHT
D
ECEMBER SNOW DUSTED THE ROLLING HILLS THAT
arched down to the River Tweed. Three coaches, their horses pawing and snorting opaque puffs of vapor, pulled away from the Queen’s Head Inn, Kelso’s finest hostelry. The vehicles lumbered in a line down the town’s wide, cobbled square, past the ruins of what was once the largest and finest of the great border abbeys in the territory separating England from Scotland. Jane craned her neck to catch sight of the crumbling twelfth-century Norman tower that stood like a sentinel, guarding the center of the ancient village.

“Warm enough?” asked Alexander, who sat opposite his wife in the swaying coach as it crossed the stone bridge and headed north toward the tiny town of Gordon, their midday destination. Without waiting for her reply, he tucked a thick plaid more snugly around her hips. “We shall pause at the village long enough to let the tenants catch a brief glimpse of their new duchess. Then, I promise you, my dear, we shall speed on to Ayton House in time for the seven-course meal I’m certain your sister Catherine has prepared.”

“That sounds like an excellent plan,” Jane replied, leaning back contentedly against the coach seat. “Tell me, Alex,” she said, looking out the window, “Why are these lands so distant from Gordon Castle and your northern estates in Strathbogie and Badenoch?”

“Someone has been remiss in teaching you your Scottish history, lass,” he smiled. “In the misty past, we Gordons came from Normandy, arriving with William the Conqueror in ten sixty-six. His descendants thought so much of our swordplay and brute strength, they gave us lands in southern Scotland—where we’re headed—around the Eden Water, west of Ayton and south of Edinburgh. Of course, three hundred years later, we supported the Scots against the English in the Battle of Bannockbum in thirteen-fourteen, and when Robert the Bruce won, we were handsomely rewarded with
more
spoils, to the far north, where we built Gordon Castle.”

“Ah, so you Gordons are actually Lowlanders, just like the humble Maxwells!” Jane teased.

“Exactly!” he laughed.

While Jane had been listening, she slipped her feet out of her satin shoes. Now, she placed her toes on the flannel-covered brass box on the coach floor that contained a small pile of glowing coals. When her silk-clad foot encountered her husband’s stockinged feet, she giggled. With a sly smile, she rubbed her arch against his instep in slow, rhythmic circles.

“Sink me, but you have chilly extremities, m’lord,” she said with mock innocence, continuing to stroke his foot with hers.

“One of my extremities is far from cold, dear wife,” Alexander replied, leaning toward her from the opposite bench. He took her chin in his hand and allowed their noses to touch “If you continue your little massage, you may discover that particular part of me burns as feverishly as the coals beneath our feet.”

“I can’t think that possible,” she replied pertly, bringing her other foot to entrap his, “for my toes are ever so toasty… what could be warmer than they?”

“Odds fish, Madam! If you ask such a question, you deserve an answer!” Alexander replied, bringing his lips hard against hers.

“Alex!” she protested, but her cry allowed him to plunge his tongue deep within the soft recesses of her mouth.

With one arm he yanked the coach curtains closed against the passing view of the gentle Cheviot Hills, mantled in pre-Christmas snow. With his other arm, he encircled her shoulders and shifted his weight onto the bench where she sat, gasping at the fierceness of his embrace.

This was not the first time the newlyweds had been able to steal a private moment away from the wedding party during their two-month honeymoon tour. From its inception, Alex let it be known he intended to share his black conveyance with no one but his bride. As a result of this edict, Lady Maxwell and Eglantine rode in one coach, and the dowager duchess and her husband, Staats Morris, rode in still another.

“What a lovely way to keep warm…” Alexander murmured, nuzzling Jane’s neck. His practiced hand cupped her breast beneath her bodice and she felt a familiar, pleasurable sensation invade her body.

“’Tisn’t it?” she mumbled her agreement, helpless to prevent the surge of desire that he could expertly call forth whenever he chose.

Night after night he brought her to this state of yearning, and she now realized he knew her physical self as well as the coachman over their heads knew which path or trail or rutted road to steer the horses toward to reach their ultimate destination.

But what did she know, really, of her husband’s secret self? He had revealed so little, except for the episode concerning Bathia Largue. He seemed always in control, even during their lovemaking. He never cried out, as she did; never implored her for release from the sweet agony wracking their two bodies in moments like these. Would she ever know his true thoughts and feelings the way she had known Thomas’s? Quickly, she shied away from such dangerous speculation.

She recognized, of course, that she greatly pleased her husband in bed—probably far beyond his original expectations—but there were times when she sorely wished she had the power to make him feel as helpless as she did when the tide of physical longing engulfed her.

“What is your pleasure this fine day, m’lady?” he whispered huskily, pulling her into his lap.

“My pleasure today… is to give
you
pleasure” she said boldly, studying his face for his reaction. She almost laughed out loud when his countenance remained impassive, but a pronounced swelling expanded beneath her thighs.

“Then you shall,” he murmured, his arms encircling her shoulders under her cloak as he lowered his head to kiss the summit of her breasts through her traveling costume.

His right hand fumbled for the buttons on her tight-fitted jacket. She shivered involuntarily when his cool hands slipped within her bodice.

“You please me when you let me do this,” he whispered, trailing kisses down her neck, seeking to nuzzle the small mole nestled in the hollow of her throat.

Unbidden, the thought of Thomas suddenly cut through the haze of pounding pleasure.

Oh, why does Alex have to kiss me there?
she thought desperately.

As her husband relentlessly pushed his body against hers, she felt her mind suddenly divided. She ached with every fiber to keep pace with Alex’s urgings, but part of her broke away from his sheer physical domination, longing for the knowledge of what these powerful intimacies would have been like with the man she couldn’t forget. Would she have felt bullied as well as desired? Would the physical act of love with Thomas have been so intense—almost antagonistic?

This is Alex!
she cried to herself in silent anguish.
These are his arms, his body! You know nothing else, nor ever shall!

Frantically pulling away from the lips pressing against her throat, she placed her hands along the gaunt planes of his jaw and drew his face toward hers, kissing him fully on the mouth. She was oblivious to the inhospitable confines of the carriage, which swayed along the rutted road leading toward the village of Gordon. In Edinburgh, on their first night together, Alex had ordered her to blot all thoughts of Thomas out of her mind—out of her life. He had been right, and now, as some primal instinct drove her on, she met his almost brutal kisses with quick, sharp bites to his lips. A voice echoed deep within her, urging her to commit her soul as well as her body to the flesh-and-blood man clinging to her so violently. If she did not, whatever chance they had for happiness would be lost. Hurtling herself against Alex’s chest even more fiercely, Jane felt overwhelmed by a searing desperation.

“Alex! Alex!” she cried brokenly, raking her fingernails against his velvet-clad shoulders. “Please… oh, please!” she sobbed incoherently. She couldn’t put the reason for her lament into words. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Despairingly, she leaned her perspiring forehead against the cool nap of his coat. Alex ceased kissing her and held her firmly for a moment. “Don’t stop,” she begged, sobs wracking her body. “You mustn’t stop! But don’t
toy
with me… just want me.
Want
me! Please, Alex!
Please
.”

“I do, my love… shhh… don’t be frightened.”

“But I am,” she moaned. “I’m so frightened… you won’t let me feel as if I’m giving something to
you.
It seems as if you merely tell me what I may
have…
and what I may
not
! Do you understand?” she pleaded, her cheeks wet from tears of frustration. “I want you to
need
me as well as want me… ’tis so difficult to explain…”

“Sweeting…” Alex murmured, stroking her hair. “You’ve been trying so hard, haven’t you? Trying so hard…”

Jane tensed. What disturbed her most of all was that this man seemed able to read her mind regarding her own fears, but he seemed incapable of understanding that the only way to allay those fears was to disclose to her some of his own feelings and needs. Heaving a sigh, she slumped in his arms. She supposed that dukes were not in the habit of showing their vulnerabilities, especially not to women.

Sensing she had calmed down, Alexander pressed his lips gently against her ear.

“You are winning the battle over your ghost,” he whispered against the damp strands of hair clinging to her temple.

“
You
have a battle to win as well, m’lord,” Jane declared softly, the truth of that statement settling over her with soothing effect. She tilted her head back to meet his gaze. “I know something which may surprise you, Alex,” she said quietly. “You keep a part of yourself hidden from everyone… even from me…
even
when we’re as close as two naked bodies can be.” She reached up to nibble gently on his ear. She heard his quick intake of breath, but he remained silent. “I intend to know that secret part of you one day, Alexander Gordon… the part of you that wants looking after, though you trust no soul on this earth with your fate.”