Squire's Quest (44 page)

"I never heard you cuss before."

"And I hope you never will again. I was raised to watch my mouth around women."

Their eyes caught, held. Neither spoke for many ticks of the fancy pendulum clock on
the wall.

"How did you get away from your father? Did he know you were...were
expecting?"

"No, and I was afraid of what he'd do when he found out. I was starting to show when he
and one of his men got into a fight. They killed each other. Lily and I--"

"Lily?"

"One of Pa's girls-- No, don't keep asking questions. Let me tell this and then I'll fill in
what you want to know."

She told of their flight to Denver, where Lily was sure Tilly would take her back. Of
how Tilly had given her a job as cook, had taken care of her, had been the only grandmother
Guinevere had ever known. He was appalled that she'd lived in a whorehouse, that his daughter
had been raised in a whorehouse. He didn't care if Tilly was a friend of the family. It had been a
whorehouse.

When she stopped speaking, he asked the question that had been at the forefront of his
mind ever since he woke up with the missing parts of his life in place. "Why didn't you come
looking for me, once you knew you were safe? How could Tilly not have recognized my
name?"

"I never told her. Pa knew your name. So did Deed. I was afraid Deed would come after
me, and so was Tilly. I told her my married name was Murphy, but not to tell anyone. I went by
her name in Denver. Evans.

"A good thing I did, too. Deed came looking, a year or so later. He showed up at Tilly's
one night. I was in the other house, taking care of a sick baby. He had four armed men with him.
They searched the house. Goodness, what a scandal that was. Some of the customers never came
back."

Again she reached for the ring, touched it with one finger. "I'm glad you got this back,
but I don't reckon it's worth much with the stone broken."

"The stone's not important." He was still trying to get his mind around all she'd told him.
"Great God, what a tangled web."

"Yes, a real mess."

Again they sat silent, staring at each other.

There was still a look about her of the waif he'd picked up in Eagle Rock. A shadow of
fear in her eyes, one he'd all but chased away when he'd asked her to marry him. In time he
would have banished it completely, he was certain.

"Do you want to try again?"

He wasn't aware he'd spoken aloud until her chin came up and her eyes opened
wide.

"What?"

"Shall we try again? We've had eight years stolen from us, Cal. Eight years we could
have spent building a strong marriage like my folks have, making a family. It seems a shame to
let your father win."

Her chin quivered as she moved her lips. When she started gnawing on the bottom one,
he had to smile. One thing, at least, hadn't changed.

"You didn't love me," she finally said. "You were mighty fond of me. Oh, you said
you'd love me, along with honor and cherish, but you never said you
loved
me. I settled
for that then."

His heart seemed to stop beating as he waited for her to finish.

"I'm not sure I'd be so willing to settle now, all things being equal. But we've a daughter
to think about, Merlin. She needs a father along with a mother. I can't think of a man who'd be a
better one than you, because I remember how you took care of me when I wasn't all that much
bigger than she is.

"I can't believe you've changed so much from the man I married. Your uncle says you're
a good man, and I believe him, because I've seen what a good man
he
is. So yes, if
you're willing to give us a second chance, so am I."

The hand he held across the small table shook. The hand she put into it trembled.

He squeezed, and released. "Sit right there."

"Where are you going?"

"After champagne. And some glasses. There's only one way to seal our vows."

* * * *

Callie looked at him over the rim of her glass. Tiny bubbles tickled her nose as she
waited for him to speak.

"Calista, a long time ago I made a promise to love and honor you, to live with you and
cherish you, to be faithful to you, for all the days of my life. I pledged to protect you from
danger, too. I failed to keep any of those promises. I'm making the same ones again, and I'll keep
it them this time, God willing."

He touched his glass to hers, but before he could drink, she said, "The words I spoke
then came from my heart, Merlin, and they are still there. I am your wife and I want to stay your
wife for as long as we both live, whether it's for one day, or until we're both old and gray."

"Amen." His mouth widened in a smile, the one she'd fallen in love with when she was
just a child. The one she had not seen since he'd ridden away from her more than eight years
ago.

With their eyes seeing deep into each other's souls, they drank. And flung the glasses
into the elegant marble fireplace.

With a laugh, he picked her up and spun about. "It's all coming back. I remember what
we did next. Do you?"

She did. "Yes, please," she whispered as she buried her flaming face against his
neck.

Holding himself in tight rein, Merlin laid her gently on the wide bed. What he wanted to
do was rip every stitch from her body and bury himself in her heat. He forced himself to lie
beside her and kiss her gently.

When her tongue timidly touched his, he opened his mouth over hers and explored
boldly. Fists clenched, he touched her nowhere but her mouth, until he felt her hands creep
around his neck. She'd been an eager partner in their love-making once, but after what she'd been
through, he wondered if she would ever again be able to enjoy it again.

Hating himself for the need to know, he said, "Cal, how long were you... How long
before you got away from your father?"

"Hmm? Two months? We got to Denver the end of March, I think." As if to silence him.
she took his bottom lip between her teeth and bit lightly.

Heat lightning flashed, making him shudder with need. "Wait. I need to know. Did
they...any of the men...did they hurt you?" Her fingers were busy undoing his tie, tugging his
shirt free of his britches.

"Hurt me? No, of course not. They knew better." She nuzzled his neck, licked her way
along his jawline.

"Your father would...have had them...thrown out?"

"Merlin, you know nobody bothers the cook. Not if they don't want salt in their coffee
and vinegar on their steak."

"The cook?" He caught her busy hands. "Wait a minute. You said your father put you to
work."

"He did. In the kitchen." She pulled back then, stared at him. "Oh! You thought..."

"Well what was I to think, when you said he ran a whorehouse in Sidney? Right after
you told me he was planning to sell you to the highest bidder."

Her arms tightened around him and she tucked her face into the angle between his head
and shoulder. "He would have, if someone came along and offered him enough for me. That's
why I made darned sure I stayed in the kitchen. Not many of his customers ever saw me, and
those who did saw a plain woman who never did more than frown at them."

"Then you--" He knew his meaning was clear when she smiled.

"No one ever touched me, not there and of course never at Tilly's. I was the cook. That's
all."

"Thank God!"

"I did, often." Another nip, this one on his neck. "Can you say the same?"

Now why in tarnation did I ever start this conversation?

"That I never touched a woman? No, but never with love, and not very often."

"Thank you for not lying. Mrs. Dewitt explained how men are different from women.
She told me I'd be crazy to have expected you to be faithful to a dead wife."

"Soomey talks too much." He went to work on the tiny pearl buttons closing her bodice.
"So do you. I can't concentrate with you chattering."

"Then I guess I'll have to find something better to do with my mouth." She tossed his
collar aside and reached for the top button of his shirt.

He finally pulled the last button free and bent his head to nuzzle between her breasts,
pushed high by a lace-trimmed corset. Over the corset clung another garment, made of a fine,
transparent fabric. It seemed to be closed at the center with a pale green ribbon, but when he
untied it, nothing happened. "Cal?"

"Um-hmm?" She'd somehow gotten his shirt half off one shoulder and was nibbling her
way across it.

"I need some help here."

"Oh?"

"I've never undressed a woman. Not since you, and back then you didn't wear all these
layers."

"Oh, dear, that could be a problem. Should I let you figure it out for yourself?"

"Depends on how long you want to wait. Myself, I'm not feeling very patient." He
slipped the fingers of one hand into the top of the corset. Her skin was as soft as he remembered.
A faint, almost forgotten scent of spice came to him. He breathed deeply.

"It's a lot easier to undress if I have a maid. We used to help each other on Sundays,
back in Denver. That was the only time we wore all this folderol."

Sundays? Did whores go to church? He could see where Cal would, her being a
respectable woman, but he'd understood the women she'd lived with were Tilly's girls. He
decided it was a question for later. Much later. She'd sounded right fond of them.

"I've always had a hankering to be a lady's maid. But you'll have to tell me what to
do."

His hands shook as he followed her instructions, unbuttoning, untying, unlacing. Her
scent, spice mixed with the natural musk of her arousal, was like intoxicating incense in his
nostrils. Her taste, whenever he managed to get a lick in, was salty-sweet, the most delicious
nectar he could imagine. When the last petticoat fell to the floor with a silken whisper, leaving
her clad only in a transparent something--a chemise, he supposed--under the hourglass-shaped
corset, and silk stockings tied above her knees with green satin garters, his body went even
harder, his mouth even drier. "Oh, Cal, I'd forgotten how you-- You're beautiful."

"And you've fallen behind." She stepped back from his encircling arms. "Those britches
have got to go. And the waistcoat. It's in the way." She pushed his vest off and let it fall behind
him, before reaching for the buttons on his britches.

"Wait. My boots." Merlin sat on the edge of the bed and hiked up a pantleg to show her
the low boot underneath. "This works better with a bootjack, but since I don't have one here, I
guess you'll have to help me."

"No laces?"

"Not for dress-up. Sit astraddle my leg. No, with your back to me."

When she complied, he took a moment to enjoy the sigh of her pink bottom, not really
concealed by the transparent fabric of her chemise. "Take hold of the boot by the heel and
pull."

The boot slid off easily. She tossed it aside.

"Now the other one."

This time when she took hold, he set his stockinged foot on her bottom. "That one's
always tight," he said, as he curled his toes inside the boot. While she tugged and pulled, he let
his toes wander the soft curves of her bottom, poke between the firm, pink cheeks.

She shrieked and dropped his foot. "What are you doing?"

"Just helping you. Did I push too hard?"

She faced him, arms akimbo. "Merlin Lachlan, you know good and well--"

He bent, despite the erection that made every movement torture, and pulled his boot off,
followed it with both socks. "Come here," he said as he sat up straight.

Boldly she stepped into his arms. "The laces are in the back. They're tied in a bow, with
the strings tucked up underneath."

He found them, tugged on one long end. The bow came apart and he started loosening
laces as quickly as his clumsy fingers would allow. As soon as they were loose enough, he slid
the corset down. She stepped out of it and stood before him, clad in the chemise that did little to
conceal her richness.

"Enough torture." He pulled her close. "Oh, God, Cal, I can't wait. I want you now."

She wiggled against him, nearly setting him off.

"Don't touch me." Quickly he stripped, knowing if he let her do it, he'd disgrace
himself.

She matched him in urgency. While he was stepping out of his britches, she was
skinning out of her chemise. She came to him naked, soft, hot, and eager.

They tumbled together onto the bed. He rolled them over once, not wanting to end up on
the floor. Before he could suggest it, her legs were wrapped around his hips. "Now," she gasped,
and lifted herself.

He slipped inside her, so naturally he might have done it every day.

She moved.

He exploded.

When the paroxysms ceased to consume him, he groaned. "I'm sorry." His tongue could
barely shape the sounds.

Her hand was gentle as it stroked along his spine. "Don't be. I expected you'd be on a
hair trigger."

That only made his embarrassment worse. "You did?"

"I may have only been the cook, but it didn't mean I was deaf. The girls liked to talk
about their customers, especially at breakfast. I'm afraid I may shock you with some of the things
I learned."

He rose on his elbows and looked down into her face. "You are? You did? Like
what?"

Her cheeks went rosy. "Like this." She squeezed him where he was still within her,
spent but not quite limp. Again, and again, until he was hard and ready, all over again.

This time, he made it good for her. Her small shriek, as she reached completion, told
him so.

Golden rays of sunlight were spilling almost horizontally through the not-quite-closed
velvet draperies when he lifted her and tucked her close beside him. He lay there in satisfied
exhaustion. "Cal?"

"Hmmm?"

"I never forgot you. Only who you were."

"Oh?"

"Every single day, sometimes many times a day, I saw you. Eyes as green as spring
grass, hair like a storm cloud at night. I didn't know who you were, but I knew you were the only
woman I could ever love. Folks told me I should marry, start a family, but I just couldn't. Not
until I found you."