Lovestorm (16 page)

When they had safely disembarked at Whitehall Stairs, Elizabeth was surprised to see that Lady Maxwell was adorned with beauty patches and a great deal of facepaint. She also wore a vermillion damask gown that revealed much more of her person than Elizabeth thought seemly for a lady of advanced years and plain countenance.

Nevertheless, Lady Maxwell was a favorite of Queen Catherine, and she and Elizabeth were soon formally presented to their majesties. Her majesty was kind enough to ask after Elizabeth's health and to inquire about the climate in the New World. The King had murmured only a few gracious words, but the expression in his eyes let Elizabeth know that the hours spent in fittings for her mulberry watered-silk gown had been well spent.

Left to her own devices, Elizabeth was soon surrounded by soft-spoken, dazzling young courtiers paying her extravagantly false compliments. Although she laughed and made the correct responses, she was shocked to discover that the pageantry of the opulent Stuart court no longer held the same fascination for her that it had before she left for Virginia. The glittering gentlemen with their gilt swords, false curls, and beribboned, high-heeled shoes seemed oddly effeminate, and she found herself giving acid replies to their overtures.

The King disliked sit-down suppers. Instead of being served in the normal manner, the guests wandered about and selected tidbits from small gilt tables set at intervals around the magnificent banquet hall. Forwarned, Elizabeth had eaten before she left Sommersett House. She had no intention of spilling a sauce of hummingbird tongues down the front of her new gown. It was enough to seem to sample the dozens of highly spiced meats and dainty pastries without soiling one's fingers or lips.

All eyes this evening were on his majesty's former mistress, Lady Castlemaine. Rumor was that she had quarreled bitterly with the King. He had danced two contrantos with the Queen, and one with the beautiful Louise de Keroualle. “She is surely the cause of Barbara's pique,” Lord Darcey whispered into Elizabeth's ear. “No amount of paint can cover the fact that Lady Castlemaine is showing her age.”

Elizabeth gave a noncommittal answer. Barbara had been in and out of favor with King Charles so many times that a wise person took no satisfaction in her adverse fortune. Lady Castlemaine never forgave an enemy, and she had a long memory.

Bored by her companion's court gossip, Elizabeth glanced around the room for her husband. Edward had promised to meet her here, and so far she had seen or heard nothing of him or his promised surprise.

Her father caught her eye and smiled. She nodded, and he resumed his conversation with the lord steward of the household, James Butler. Sommersett had come directly to the palace from an earlier appointment, which was why Elizabeth had come with Lord and Lady Maxwell. He beckoned to her, and she excused herself to Lord Darcey and moved to join her father across the crowded room.

There was a stir near the door that led to the privy gallery, and Elizabeth turned to see her husband enter the room. She caught a glimpse of two liveried footmen behind Edward before the astonished crowd surged around him.

“What is it?” a woman near her demanded.

Lady Godwin-Wills stood on tiptoe and strained her neck to see. “Someone said Dunmore has an islander.”

An old man's voice boomed above the clamor. “God's bowels! The man's mother-naked!”

Lady Dixon gave a startled yip and pressed forward, trodding on the toes of her partner. A lady-in-waiting fainted, and Elizabeth was jostled aside by Lady Castlemaine. Caught up in the rush of the curious, Elizabeth was pushed toward the doorway. Then her father appeared at her side and took her arm firmly in his.

“Come, my dear. Edward won't want you to miss his moment of glory.” Sommersett's massive bulk plowed a path through the onlookers.

“How dare he?” an angry gentleman cried.

“With her majesty present!”

“Disgusting.”

“Lady Castlemaine doesn't seem to mind the exhibition. She's—”

The crowd grew suddenly silent.

The towering black-haired man in front of Elizabeth could only be King Charles. Even seen from the back, his majesty's unusual height and regal stance proclaimed his identity as clearly as the deep plum coat and gold-headed cane. Sommersett stopped short as both he and Elizabeth realized at the same time who was ahead of them.

“Did you bring him back with you from America, Dunmore?” a man beside the King asked. Elizabeth knew that the voice belonged to the Duke of York.

“Yes, your grace.”

The duke whispered something to his brother, and the King began to laugh. Immediately, the others in the excited crowd began to speak again, but this time the comments were favorable. King Charles turned away to say something to the lady next to him, and Elizabeth got a clear view of the man behind her husband.

Her eyes widened in shock. She swayed and would have fallen without her father's strong arm to support her. Elizabeth clenched her eyes shut and tried to hold back the blackness that threatened to overwhelm her. “Cain,” she whispered, almost inaudibly.

Sommersett's fingers dug into her arm cruelly. “Remember where you are,” he hissed.

Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes and stared full into the dark eyes she'd believed she would never see again. It was Cain. Cain, naked but for a scant breechcloth, his copper-hued skin oiled until it shone, his only ornaments feathered earrings and a collar of gold around his neck.

“Father? What have you done?” she whispered.

“Dunmore,” he called out, ignoring her agony. “Well done. Are you certain he's tame enough to ensure the ladies' safety?” He stepped forward, pulling Elizabeth after him. “A prize, wouldn't you say, daughter?” He smiled at his son-in-law.

“He's gentle as a lamb,” Edward assured them proudly. “I've had him in training for months. What do you think?” He looked pointedly at Elizabeth.

She stared past him, her eyes still locked with Cain's. Intense rage and hatred shone in that ebony gaze. “I'm sorry,” she said. “I didn't know. Believe me, I . . .”

“I didn't expect you to,” Dunmore continued. “If you knew, it wouldn't have been a surprise-would it?”

“
Ili kleheleche, dah-quel-e-mah,
” Cain said coldly. My love, do you still draw breath?

Elizabeth paled to the color of old marble and lost her battle with the smothering blackness.

E
lizabeth was being carried in a man's arms. She opened her eyes and struggled to free herself, but waves of dizziness assailed her. Dimly, from a distance, she heard her father's gruff voice.

“Doubtless the chit is breeding.”

“The maids will see to her. Don't trouble yourself further, Lord Sommersett.” Edward looked down into Elizabeth's face. “Lie still. You're not an easy bundle to carry, you know.”

The raw odor of whiskey assailed her nostrils. Edward swayed beneath her weight. “Put me down,” she protested weakly. “I'm all right.”

He lowered her to the floor. “Are you certain?”

“Yes, I'm fine.” She wasn't fine. She felt sick. All she could see in her mind was Cain. Staring into her face . . . hating her. And he had every right. How dare Edward exhibit him like a wild animal? “How could you?” she murmured.

“Could I what?” Edward supported her with his shoulder and half lifted, half impelled her down the privy gallery. His breath reeked of liquor, and his hands were sweaty.

“Bring that man here to make a show.”

“He is magnificent, isn't he? My Indian. I've decided to call him Savage. It fits him well, don't you think?”

“He's a man, not an animal.”

Edward scoffed. “He's hardly a man. He doesn't even speak a civilized language. We haven't been able to teach him a word of English in three months. All he does is grunt and gabble in his own tongue—if it is a language at all. I suspect he may be weak-witted. Not that it matters. It's not his tongue that Lady Castlemaine was gaping at. I could make a fortune if I wanted to let him out by the hour.” He checked his rush of words and caught her chin in his hand. “Why are you so concerned with this native?”

She pushed his hand away and stepped back. “He came over on the same ship with me from Virginia.” Edward doesn't know who Cain is, she reasoned. If Edward discovers the truth, he'll kill him. “I. . . I felt sorry for him,” she said quickly. “Didn't my father ask to purchase the Indian from you?”

“He did.” Edward blinked as though trying to clear his head. “But I told him the beast was not for sale.” His high forehead wrinkled. “I hope you are not too enamored of his muscular charms, madame,” he said sarcastically. “I'll tolerate no slut in my household.”

“Don't insult me,” she retorted. “It was Indians who saved me from the shipwreck and cared for me until I could find my way to Jamestown. I merely feel Christian gratitude for—”

“Savage is no Christian. Bishop Wyndmere doubts the creatures have souls. Save your tender feelings for me, wife.” He jerked open the door to an apartment off the hall and dragged her inside.

“What do we do here?” Elizabeth asked. This was some court lady's chambers. The tiny room contained a curtained poster bed, a fireplace, and a few pieces of furniture. Articles of feminine attire were strewn carelessly around, and a multicolored lapdog yapped at them from a basket by the hearth. “Surely we can't—”

Edward closed the door and locked it, threw off his coat, and began to fumble with his velvet doublet. “But we can,” he said, enunciating each word precisely. “The apartments belong to a dear friend. She'll not mind if we borrow them for a short time.”

The dog continued to bark as Elizabeth's mouth went dry, and she backed away from Edward. “What are you doing?”

“I think it is time that you did your wifely duty by me, don't you?” His breathing quickened as he loosened the front of his breeches.

Her knees went weak. “Not here,” she protested. “Not like this.” She dodged behind a walnut farthingale chair. “I'm no kitchen slut that you can tumble without so much as a by-your-leave.”

“I am your husband.” His doublet slid to the floor. “I have waited long enough for what should have been mine.” The dog rushed at him, and he gave the animal a sharp kick. Yipping, the animal retreated under the bed.

Elizabeth scanned the room frantically for a way to escape, but the chamber was small, and Edward was between her and the door. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she took another step backward. “Please . . .”

“You liked my Indian, didn't you? Did you see how I controlled him? How he obeys my every command? Unlike you, Elizabeth. You'd do well to emulate his behavior.”

Her heart thudded wildly as she kept backing away. “No,” she whispered. From the corner of her eye she spied a door on the far side of the bed and dashed toward it.

The door was locked from the other side.

Edward seized her by the shoulders and twisted her around to face him. With a groan, he closed his wet mouth over hers. She shut her eyes, trying to keep from gagging as his tongue stabbed into her mouth and she tasted the fiery alcohol. He ran a groping hand down the front of her dress and roughly squeezed her breast. “Elizabeth, I want you!”

Panic drove reason from her brain and she struggled to break away from him. “No! Let me go!” she cried. “I won't let you—”

“Won't let me? Won't let me? We'll see what you won't let me do.” With surprising strength, he shoved her back against the bed, flung himself on top of her, and began to paw at her skirts.

Balling up her fist, Elizabeth drove it with all her might into his face. Edward cried out in pain and rolled off her.

“Bitch!” he accused. “See what you've done to me.” Blood was streaming from his nose onto his white shirt.

Shocked by her own actions, she drew her legs up under her and retreated to the far end of the curtained bed. “If you come near me, I'll hit you again,” she threatened in a quavering voice. “I'll not be raped—not even by my lawful husband.”

“My God,” he whimpered. “What have you done? You've ruined my shirt. How can I show myself? I'll be a laughingstock.” He bent over and started to choke. When she heard him begin to vomit, she climbed out of the bed, unlocked the door, and ran from the room.

“Elizabeth! Elizabeth, come back here!”

Heedless of passing couples, she fled down the privy gallery. A knot of people were gathered just ahead, and she heard her father's laughter. A dark hallway led off to the left. She ducked into it and felt her way along the wall until she came to another door. Beyond that barrier lay the privy garden.

The night air was cold on her bare shoulders, but she didn't care. She stumbled into the holly maze and followed the winding path, taking first one direction and then another. Deeper and deeper into the maze she wandered. She knew she had ruined whatever chance there had been of making a new start with Edward.

“Damn his soul,” Elizabeth cried bitterly as a holly branch snagged her skirt and she heard the sound of silk ripping. “Damn his drunken, demon-ridden soul.”

Across the garden, men's harsh voices were raised. She caught fragments carried on the breeze. “. . . ran this way . . . must find before . . .”

Could they already be searching for her? She picked up her skirts and began to run again. The path split and she hesitated. Both ways were equally dark; either route could lead her to the heart of the maze or back into the open garden and certain discovery. Instinctively, she chose the right passage.

Overhead, the clouds parted, allowing faint rays of moonlight to penetrate the holly tunnels. Elizabeth caught a glimpse of a pale crescent moon, framed against a cold, starless sky.

“So distant,” she murmured, shivering in the penetrating dampness. “So heartless.” Nothing like the shimmering silver disk that had hung over the beach where she had lived with Cain. That moon had seemed close enough to touch. To hang a bowstring on, Cain had said.
“Nibeeshu,”
she whispered.

Without warning, a powerful hand closed over her mouth. Elizabeth struck out at her assailant and tried to scream, but she could make no more than a muffled squeak.

“Hush, Eliz-a-beth,” Cain said softly into her ear. “Promise to be still, and I will let you go.”

Tears of fear and joy spilled down her cheeks as she nodded her agreement. When he released the pressure on her mouth, she didn't shrink back. Instead she flung herself against him, kissing his arms, his shoulders, his chin. Frantically, she pressed herself to his naked body, seeking his mouth with her own.

“Cain, Cain,” she sobbed. His lips were hard and unyielding, but she was beyond reason. Her arms tightened around his neck as she tasted his mouth, smelled the clean, woodsy scent of his skin and hair. “Darling,” she murmured. “Oh, my darling, how I've missed you.”

The feel of his warm body next to her blotted out the shame and repulsion she'd felt at her husband's touch. It didn't matter how Cain had found her. It didn't matter if the world ended in the next minute. Now—this instant—she was in his arms and safe.

Cain moaned as her willing mouth opened like a flower for his caress. Their tongues touched . . . retreated . . . touched again. She wound her fingers in his unbound hair, pulling his face down to rest against the tops of her breasts.

“Hold me . . . hold me,” she begged. His hands burned like fire where they touched her skin, but she welcomed the burning. Tremors of exquisite pain shook her body. She wanted him . . . wanted him beside her, over her . . . wanted something . . . “Cain,” she repeated.

“Hokkuaa.”
His voice was deep and throaty. Elizabeth could read the pain in that strained whisper and longed to comfort him.

“I didn't betray you,” she murmured between hot, passionate kisses. “I didn't. I didn't.” Her hand rubbed circles on his chest, slid down his waist and across his hip. He groaned again as her fingers brushed the source of his torment.

A horn blew, and the sound of running feet reached Elizabeth's ears. They're coming for me, she thought in a distant part of her mind. Still, she clung to Cain, letting her hand explore his hard, pulsing shaft through the thin breechcloth. “I love you,” she said. “Do you understand? I love you.”

“Nindau saugeau,”
he replied. “This one can love a person.”

“Yes . . . yes.” She was consumed by the fire that raged in her blood . . . by the bittersweet ache that tormented her breasts and loins. “I need you.”

She guided his hand to the hem of her skirts, then trembled like a leaf in a storm when he caressed her bare leg and inner thigh.

“Does this feel good?” he asked her, “and this?” His fingers brushed the quivering lips of her most secret spot, and she cried out with pleasure and sank her teeth into his arm.

“Mishkwe tusca,”
he murmured huskily. “You were made for love.”

“Be careful!” a man called only yards away from where they embraced. “He could be dangerous.” Other voices came from the far side of the garden.

“They may find us, Eliz-a-beth,” Cain whispered.

“I don't care,” she cried. “I don't care about anything but you.” She arched against him as waves of warm desire suffused her body.

He was kissing her again, so possessively that she gasped with delight at the exquisite sensations that demanded total surrender. His hand clasped the back of her neck; his strong fingers tangled in her curls as he slipped to the ground, pulling her on top of him.

She laid her face against his chest, feeling his smooth copper skin. Satin over steel, she thought. Her tongue flicked out teasingly. He tasted of salt and pine forests. “Cain,” she whimpered, then took the nub of his nipple between her teeth and nipped it gently.

“Meshepeshe,”
he crooned, crushing her against him as he struggled with her petticoats. His hand found soft flesh, and she whimpered as shivers of excitement brought an unfamiliar wetness to her maidenhood. His gentle fingers stroked and probed until suddenly her entire body was shattered by tremors of intense joy.

For seconds, or minutes, she was unaware of anything else as her mind seemed to leave her body. Then she was floating back to earth, and she felt Cain stir beneath her. “Oh,” she murmured. “I didn't know it would be like that.”

He chuckled softly. “You be yet a maiden,
weeshob-izzi.”
He raised her chin and kissed her. “You do not share a mat with your English husband.”

“How did you know?”

He laughed again, so low that it could have been the wind through the holly. “I know.”

She was suddenly shy. “Then you didn't . . .”

“Mata.
”

He rose to his feet and drew her up with him, smoothing down her dress. “This one will have you, Eliz-a-beth. This be not the time.”

“I want to be with you,” she protested. “I don't care what they do to us.”

“I have care.”

A new thought filled Elizabeth's mind. “Then you believe me? You know I didn't betray you to the soldiers when you were captured in Jamestown?”

He made a noncommittal sound. “This one does not know what he believe. Come.” He pulled her after him down the path. They'd gone only a few yards when the footway opened to a clearing. In the center was a covered bench. “Stay,” he ordered her. “Wait the time it takes to light a fire—then scream loudly.”

“And you? What will you do?”

Without answering, he turned and left the clearing. Elizabeth stood staring after him until he disappeared in the shadows, then slowly realized her teeth were chattering from the cold. Not knowing what else to do, she did as he bade her.

The minutes passed like hours. What would she say to whoever came in answer to her screams? Her dress was torn and wrinkled, her hair tumbled about her shoulders like a dairymaid's. Even if no one linked her with Cain, her reputation would be ruined. And Edward . . . She bit her lower lip to keep from weeping. Edward would be enraged. It wasn't enough that she had struck him, had prevented him from exercising his marital right. Now she would make him an object of public humiliation. He would kill her. He would kill them both.