Island of the Swans (58 page)

F
EBRUARY
1781

J
ANE PULLED HER SHAWL MORE TIGHTLY AROUND HER SHOULDERS
, attempting to ward off the frigid February drafts that no architect at Gordon Castle seemed able to remedy. She peered out the front sitting room window at the wide expanse of parkland, mantled in a snowy crust, which had fallen the previous day and frozen overnight.

The winter weather in the Highlands had been appalling during the weeks following New Year’s Eve when she and Alex had rung in 1781 with a quiet celebration at Gordon Castle in honor of her thirty-first birthday. Both of them had been glad to quit London to escape the uproar caused by Lord George’s impending trial. Then word arrived on Twelfth Night that Alex’s brother finally had to face his Royal accusers. By mid-January, Alex had returned to London to endure the indignity of watching his younger brother tried for treason. The trial finally had begun in London’s Court of King’s Bench the next Monday, the sixth of February. Jane despised having to endure the uncertainty regarding its outcome, especially from such a distance.

Jane glanced down at her waistline beneath her light woolen gown. Once again, her belly had that provocative curve of a woman four months gone. Any hint of nausea had faded from memory. She felt fine… wonderful, in fact, with energy to spare for her boisterous brood.

Jane cupped her hands lovingly around her abdomen.

“You’ll see the light of this world in July, my little one,” she whispered aloud. She had said nothing to Alex when her courses stopped before Christmas, afraid to believe that the interruption of this bodily function meant she was breeding. When the second month came and went, she feared she might miscarry, after nearly five years of no childbearing.

This bairn is our chance to start again
, Jane thought,
a chance to make up for the sadness and the hurt we have caused one another.

As she gazed at the castle’s frozen parkland for a sign that Alex was finally returning from London, Jane vowed she would never again jeopardize the fragile happiness that was blossoming between them. As soon as Alex arrived, she would tell him the joyous news that he was to be a father again. Regardless of the outcome of Lord George’s trial, she would have her own tidings to share, which would either increase his joy or salve his wounds.

An hour later, she was startled by the sound of jingling harnesses and the thud of the heavy front door slamming downstairs.

“Jane! Jane!” Alex was shouting. “Wonderful news!”

In an instant, she ran into the foyer and was in his arms. She pressed her warm cheek against his frigid one.

“George was
acquitted
!” he shouted, dancing her around in a circle with uncharacteristic abandon. “Erskine was positively
brilliant
and Lord Mansfield’s instructions to the jury, scrupulously fair. It took them less than
half an hour
to find him not guilty of
intending
to incite the riot!”

“Oh, Alex,” she cried, unconcerned that the entire castle staff might see her throw her arms around his neck, “I’m
so pleased
!”

William Marshall and the hawk-faced housekeeper, Mrs. Christie, appeared in the front hall simultaneously. Mrs. Christie’s daughter Jean stood shyly in the shadow of the stairs, dressed in her new housemaid’s uniform. The pretty girl unabashedly stared at her employers with her enormous gray eyes.

“May I offer my heartiest congratulations, sir,” Marshall said, pumping the duke’s arm vigorously.

“And I, Your Grace,” Mrs. Christie said, bobbing. “The staff ’ll be so happy to hear the news… eh, Jeannie, lass?”

“Aye, Mama,” the young girl agreed, clapping her dainty hands, which would soon grow red and raw from scrubbing stone stairs. The comely lass continued to gaze admiringly at Alex, who, Jane noted pleasurably, looked dashingly handsome in his black traveling cloak.

“Why don’t you tell the staff the duke has returned, then?” Jane interjected quickly, casting an annoyed glance in the direction of the housekeeper’s daughter, who continued to ogle Alex like the moonstruck maid she undoubtedly was. “Tonight his lordship and I will dine by the fire in my bedchamber, Mrs. Christie. And instruct your daughter
Nancy
to bring up hot water for the duke’s bath immediately,” she added pointedly. She turned to face Alex and said, proprietarily, “Come, my good sir.”

Alex suppressed a smile.

“Happy to oblige, my dear,” he said, following her up the curving staircase and giving her derriere a caress when Marshall and the Christies were out of view.

The copper bathtub had been long removed and their dinner plates whisked downstairs when Jane sat playfully in Alex’s lap. He held a brandy in his free hand and draped his other arm loosely around her waist. They both stared silently into the fireplace, mesmerized by the glow of the chunky logs crackling cheerfully on the grate.

Carefully, Alex set down his snifter on the small table next to his chair. He kissed her long and lingeringly. One hand grazed her breast beneath her thin wool bodice, while his other massaged her spine.

Jane sighed contentedly.

“That feels so wonderful…” she breathed.

“Does it?” Alex chuckled. “Don’t get too relaxed and sleepy…”

“Why not?” she teased, her eyes drooping lazily, her body sinking into his.

“You know why,” he said, nuzzling her neck, his voice low and intimate.

She felt him becoming rigid against her thigh. With a knowing smile, she rubbed her leg against his.

“Aye, I know why…” she whispered, pressing her lips softly against his ear. “But I’m
very
sleepy…”

In a swift movement, he pushed her firmly to her feet and stood up himself. Scooping her into his arms, he carried her to the massive canopied bed, its forest green velvet hangings reminiscent of the furnishings in Edinburgh when he’d bedded her for the first time the week before their wedding.

“Wake up, you little baggage!” He laughed, unceremoniously laying her on the bed.

She watched while he slowly and deliberately removed all his clothing.

“What a fine specimen you are, even if you
are
a ripe old thirty-seven!” she said, boldly surveying him from shoulder to toes, her eyes lingering on the proof of his obvious desire.

“I’m just about to hit my stride, wench,” he mocked, sitting naked beside her, unfastening the hooks that marched down the front of her bodice.

She got up off the bed and let the dress and her petticoats fall to the floor. Alex unlaced her stays, flinging them across the room into a chair. Keeping her back to him, she slowly removed the rest of her undergarments and turned to face him.

“God, you’re so beautiful, Jane…” he murmured, staring at her full breasts.

In a swift movement, he was on his knees, his arms around her waist, scattering kisses all over her torso, finally taking one breast gently between his lips. An amazing liquid fire flowed through all her limbs. Soon, his lips trailed down to her waist, his tongue darting like a small dagger into her navel.

He sank back on his heels and with feathery strokes, strafed his fingers along the inside of each thigh in turn.

“Alex… Alex…” Jane moaned, feeling as if she could not bear it if he halted his exquisite ministrations. He raised his head and she held him tightly to her, his stubbled cheek pressed against her breasts.

“Yes, Jane,” he whispered hoarsely. “Tell me…
tell
me what you’d have me do…”

He was goading her into complete wantonness… to confess her most secret physical longings. It was their old contest of wills, his familiar demand to extract from her complete capitulation. A throbbing warmth blotted out everything but the sheer presence of him tracing the contours of her body with his lips. If it satisfied something in him to hear her say she longed to be pleasured like this, so be it! She ached for him to continue his odyssey, and it didn’t seem to matter if part of his satisfaction came from hearing her say the words.

“Yes, Alex,” she cried out, pushing his head lower. “Please, love me there… oh God…
please…
yes!”

She started to tremble and was forced to regain her balance by digging her fingers into Alex’s shoulders. A cry ripped from her throat and her entire body quivered uncontrollably. Heat centered deep inside her spread in luminous waves from her abdomen. Her breasts and scalp tingled; a hot flush fanned down her legs. Even her toes curled. Suddenly, she was sobbing—whether with sadness or joy, she couldn’t discern in her trembling state. As her cries subsided, Alex, still kneeling before her, placed his cheek against her belly and held her gently. The only sounds in the room were the crackling of the fire and the ticking of the ornate clock on the mantel.

When she began to breathe evenly again, he carefully placed her on the silk coverlet and stretched out next to her. He held her close to him with infinite gentleness. Finally, his hand came to rest on her abdomen.

“Alex?” she whispered.

“What, Jane?”

“You know, don’t you?”

“I knew when I first caught sight of you as I walked in the door.”

“You
did
?”

“Yes, my sweet. You had that look.”

Jane remained silent, thinking back to the time Alex had known instinctively she was pregnant with Louisa. But, of course, everything had changed after the baby was born. Now, his loving glances scanned her face and body and the faint protrusion of her belly.

Suddenly, Jane had an overpowering urge to make a clean slate of it all. She longed to blurt out to Alex that she knew
he
had concluded from the first that he was not Louisa’s father. That there must be total honesty between them for them to build anew upon the strong foundation of their last months together.

He leaned forward to kiss her with infinite tenderness, and she felt herself drowning in the unexpected sweetness of his gaze. Phrases formed in her brain, but, somehow, the words wouldn’t rise to her lips. They had so many secrets between them, she thought helplessly. So many doors they had kept closed. And now, to prevent dealing a blow to Alex she knew he might not be able to sustain, she would forever keep from Thomas Fraser the truth of Louisa’s parentage.

A wave of abject loneliness engulfed her, and Jane turned her head away from Alex’s tender embrace to stare into the inky darkness outside their bedchamber window. Her bond with Thomas had been forged in youth and preserved in adulthood because they’d always told each other the truth. Now, this
unspoken
truth about Louisa separated her from both Alex and Thomas, creating a chasm between each man and herself, a separation that left her feeling totally bereft and frighteningly alone.

“Are you happy about it, Alex?” she asked finally, turning her head on the pillow to stare once more into his eyes. “The new bairn, I mean?”

“Very much, my love.” He kissed her gently on the tip of her nose, then pulled up a soft tartan blanket from the foot of the bed to cover their nakedness. “I’m very, very happy.”

She reached under the bed clothes and boldly lay claim to him, willing herself, by this wanton act of deliberately arousing him, to bind herself to him once and for all time.

Please, dear God…
she prayed,
let Thomas stay in America when this dreadful conflict ceases… let us all, finally, find some peace…

“If ’tis a boy, we’ll name him Alexander,” she whispered fiercely as she tantalized him with strong, sensuous strokes.

Alex gazed at his wife who hovered above him, a dark-haired temptress who would fulfill any man’s wildest fantasies. He searched for words to thank her for the gift of this baby growing inside her and to bless her for the extraordinary
loyalty
she had exhibited toward him throughout this year’s dreadful challenge to the House of Gordon. Her wide, expressive eyes searched his face, seeking some answer from him, some sign that he accepted the precious nature of the gifts she had bestowed on him at such emotional sacrifice to herself. He felt his eyes welling with tears. He couldn’t allow himself to speak.

Instead, he responded to the steady rhythm of Jane’s erotic touch with a low, involuntary moan. Slowly, he gave himself up to the overwhelming sensations rippling through his groin. Despite the voluptuous chaos gathering within him, he commanded his arms to remain at his sides, granting Jane, as he had no women before her, absolute power over him.

“Tell me what you’d have me do, Alex,” he heard her say gently, mocking his earlier demands of her. “Tell me, husband!” she demanded.

The hypnotic rhythms of her hand soon began to swallow up the night.

“Love me,” he whispered. “Please love me, my dearest wife.”

Captain Thomas Fraser squatted in the mud collecting at the bottom of the small fortification dubbed Redoubt Number 9. He pressed his back against the slanted dirt wall that had been hastily constructed by Lord Cornwallis’s earthworks experts. It was honeycombed with rivulets carved by the steady downpour that had been falling for more than an hour.