The Hawk and the Dove (19 page)

The carriage jolted to a stop outside Thames View. They were home! Sabre caught her lower lip between her teeth. He was going to take her upstairs and beat her— she could already feel the violence in him. Her eyes closed. Could this possibly be the same man who had worshiped her flesh with his mouth less than a week before? Her legs were so weak that if he hadn’t dragged her from the carriage into the house, she wouldn’t have made it.

In the front hall she took off the black lace mask and appealed to him with her eyes. Anger flared in him again. Those pale green pools of innocence in which he’d wanted to drown himself would work their magic on him again if he let down his guard for one moment.

“Upstairs!” he commanded.

Meg appeared on the landing, surprised that the master was home and in one of his black Irish moods. “Get to bed,” he ordered, and she fled, grateful to God that his anger was not to be vented upon her.

Sabre’s legs buckled twice as she mounted the spiral staircase. She heard herself sobbing, “Please … Shane … listen to me … I swear I only watched….”

He was totally indifferent to her pleas and ignored her words, which fanned her anger. She would have this out with him. She would not allow him to beat her. She jumped as he crashed the oaken door closed behind them and locked it.

His gaze swept the room, seeing the expensive gowns tumbled in disordered splendor. When he advanced toward her she stood her ground with chin high, back straight, and breasts thrust forward. He put two strong
brown hands into the neck of her gown and tore it viciously to the hem. “I believe I bought this whore’s outfit you strut in?” Clad in her daring black undergarments, she would have tempted a saint. Suddenly he couldn’t bear the thought that any rutting male with coin in his pocket had coupled with her. She was a lying, deceiving bitch with a luscious, ripe body. He wanted to make love to her till she died of it!

Savagely he tore off her black petticoat and busk, and her heavy breasts sprang free. Her copper hair fell down her body to meet and mingle with the curls between her legs and she stood trembling before him clad only in black lace stockings. She saw his anger mix with uncontrollable lust, a deadly combination, and suddenly she knew he was going to commit the ultimate male punishment. He was going to rape her!

Quickly he removed his cloak and his full array of weapons, carefully locking away his sword, his daggers, and the wicked-looking blade from his boot. He stripped off his doublet, shirt, and breeches. “Get into bed,” he growled.

She turned to flee, but he caught hold of her magnificent hair and yanked her back to him. His hands were brutal, and she felt such panic she again broke free. He lunged after her and caught her by her black lace ankle. She realized they were going through the same gyrations as the couple she had witnessed in the Dance of Love. “Shane … please … no!” she begged.

Fury raged within him. How often he had longed to hear her call him Shane! How he had wanted to taste his name upon her lips.

He threw her powerfully to the bed and positioned her
facedown across his knees. He lifted his hand in uncontrolled rage and slapped her bottom hard.

“You bloody bastard!” she spat.

“I’ll teach you a lesson you’ll never forget…. I’ll show you who is master here,” he ground out. He continued to spank her curvaceous bottom, but her spirited protests and the sight of her luscious body wiggling before him only served to inflame his desire further into a maelstrom of passion he could not control.

Quickly he flipped her onto her back and pressed her into the feather mattress. Despite her struggles and her exclamations of outrage, he managed to mount her and then plunged into her virginal passage until his shaft was seated to the hilt. As Sabre screamed, he felt the barrier, felt it tear, but it was too late. He withdrew immediately, shocked beyond belief at what he had just done. It was not that he had deflowered her, but that he had done it brutally, defiling them both, and he felt hot shame. With aching tenderness he gathered her to him and cradled her against his heart. Very gently he wiped the blood from her thighs, and she could hear him murmuring against her hair, “God forgive me, God forgive me.”

It tore at her heart that things had turned out so badly. She could not stop the tears that filled her eyes slowly and spilled over her cheeks like tiny silver rivers of pain.

He felt her pain like a dagger in his heart. When the racking sobs began, he gently rocked her and allowed her to cry until she was empty. Then with great feminine dignity she pulled away from him and said softly, “Please don’t touch me.”

“Sabre, my love, I must touch you. … I must make it better.”

“You’ll never be able to do that. Please … take me back to Greenwich,” she begged.

“No! I cannot let you go like this. I brutalized you,” he said with anguish and self-loathing. “I don’t want you to think that’s the way it is between a man and a woman.”

She tried to leave the bed, but her movements were slow, as if he had rendered her so delicate she could be broken with a touch. Unable to bear it, he picked her up and cradled her against his heart, all the while murmuring soft love words against her ear. Sabre felt limp with the exhaustion of her ordeal and managed only a weak resistance against his towering strength.

He laid her gently facedown upon the bed and whispered, “I will kiss away all the hurt, my darling.” His kisses trailed all the way up her legs and across her buttocks, then his sensuous lips traced her backbone. A warmth was spreading through her body that washed away the violence and hurt of the previous hour. He pushed her silken mass of hair aside and nuzzled the back of her neck. When she was limp with longing, he gently turned her over and his mouth began its slow, tantalizing journey down her body. Incredibly, he was taking away her hurts in a way she hadn’t dreamed would be possible. His tongue bathed her breasts and belly and wound its inexorable way to her core.

“You loved this last time,” he murmured as he spread her legs and gently ran his tongue down the rose-pink flesh, then flicked the sensitive jewel of her womanhood. He was flooded with tender relief when he heard her moans of rapture. He spent the next two hours making her feel safe and loved and cherished. “My darling Sabre, I’ll never hurt you again,” he pledged. “Now that I have made you mine, I will do as you ask and take you back to Greenwich,”

Luckily, Sabre was given no time to dwell upon her hurts or to allow her hatred of Shane to fester deep, for before the light of dawn crept up the sky, Kate Ashford entered her small chamber to announce the move to Windsor.

“The queen simply leaves her apartment in Greenwich, walks into her apartment at Windsor, and finds all in readiness. She hasn’t the faintest notion of the overwhelming effort it all takes. You must pack your things instantly and then you’ll have to finish my packing for me. Thank God I stored all her clothes with lavender and camphor to keep the moths and must at bay, but they’ll still need a good airing before they touch her precious person. She gave me a list two yards long of things she couldn’t possibly exist without, and I’ve been up all night packing them.” She paused for a short breath and added pointedly, “While you’ve been off enjoying yourself.”

Sabre gasped at her choice of words, hovered on the brink of tears, then inexplicably she began to laugh. “Oh, Kate, you have a way of turning tragedy into farce.” She could see the bedroom at Thames View strewn with her extravagant gowns. She saw herself standing defiantly, clad only in black lace stockings, before Shane, and she realized for the first time his terrible black anger masked the deep pain and hurt he was feeling. Just the suspicion that she had lain with another had wounded him to the point of madness. He had clearly revealed the depth of his feelings for her. It would be a simple matter to make him love her. Once she had accomplished that, she would bind him to her until she became a craving in his blood.
The corners of her mouth went up as she anticipated their next encounter.

When Shane had taken Sabre back to Greenwich in the predawn, he was in a savage mood. Because of the urgent mission to Ireland he hadn’t slept in days. At that moment he was disgusted with the world in general and himself in particular. A sixth sense alerted him to the fact that he was being followed. Too bad for the poor bastard who had picked this night when his temper made him so dangerous. The reflexes of years of training never leave a man. He sauntered toward the water steps, then flattened himself against the wall’s wet, dripping stones to await his prey. He had him by the throat in an instant, pressing his thumb into the man’s windpipe to separate him from his breath. He bent the other arm up his back and held him immobile without even the help of a weapon. His voice was deadly calm as he murmured, “You are making a habit of this. I’m afraid I shall have to give you a short, sharp lesson. To whom do you report?”

The man remained silent, but when Shane jabbed his thumb in farther he could smell the fear upon him. He repeated, “To whom do you report?” then eased out his thumb to allow the man to speak.

“W-Walsingham,” he croaked.

Shane bent back the fingers on the hand he had twisted up the man’s back until the bones snapped and the man screamed in pain and fled up the water stairs into the blackness.

So, thought Shane, he was under suspicion. His teeth gleamed in the darkness, for he was well aware if they had just one piece of evidence against him, he would now be in the Tower.

*   *   *

Sabre directed the two footmen who were loading the baggage cart for Lady Ashford, then hurried to her own chamber to gather things. She saw the exquisitely wrought jewel casket upon her pillow immediately and snatched up the letter sealed with wax and stamped with the device of a hawk. Her eyes lit up as she opened the casket to reveal a jade nacklace, studded with turquoise, almost the twin to the one she had borrowed from the queen.

She folded the almost treasonous note and tucked it safely into the casket.

She was allotted a similar chamber at Windsor close by Lady Ashford’s apartment, and inexplicably there was another message awaiting her arrival. She broke the wax seal with her thumbnail and scanned his letter eagerly.

She had to work for several hours beside Kate in the wardrobe before she could slip down to the vast Windsor stables. When she found Hawkhurst’s groom, he showed her the small, milk-white Arabian mare and displayed for her the specially designed silver-and-black saddle and harness. With Sabbath safely stabled at Thames View she
had forgotten that she would need a mount for the hunting in which the queen indulged almost daily in Windsor’s sixty vast wooded parklands.

She stroked the animal’s soft muzzle with awe as she realized the price of an Arabian was beyond most people’s means. “You are so beautiful,” she crooned. “I will call you Jasmine.” Incredibly, one of the riding habits she’d had made matched the black and white exactly. How had he known? It seemed Lord Devonport knew more about her than she knew about him. She must remedy the situation immediately. Where did he and the mysterious baron go on their midnight excursions? Already she suspected him of criminal activities such as piracy and smuggling, and now that she thought about it, perhaps there was a great deal more he was involved in. The sooner she moved to Thames View, the sooner she would be able to gather a few facts together.

She must steal some time away from Kate to work on her costumes for the queen’s birthday masquerade. She needed one costume for early in the evening when everyone would recognize her, and one shocking costume for later on which none must recognize. The next morning she arrived early at the wardrobe and found there had been a delay in Elizabeth’s robing. Her legs almost turned to water at the queen’s tirade.

Lady Catherine Grey had fainted after holding up five different gowns from which Her Majesty might choose. Elizabeth’s black, beady eyes narrowed dangerously as her mind jumped to the most likely conclusion.

“You sly, malapert strumpet! Dare you stand before me swollen with the fruit of your lust?” the queen shouted.

Lady Blanche Parry, the oldest and most loyal of her
ladies, tried to calm her. “Dearest Majesty, you know how easy it is for these things to happen.”

“Easy?” cried the queen, her hair standing on end from her great agitation. “Easy for harlots! This is supposed to be a lady of virtue!” Elizabeth strode toward the hapless Catherine Grey and began to disrobe her. The girl’s sobbing pleas were ignored. “What do you have to fear if your conduct has been above reproach?”

It was evident to all present that the girl was heavy with child now that her stays had been loosened. Catherine Grey sank to her knees and whispered, “Your Majesty, I am married.”

“You harlot! You dare tell me that? Married? So your crime is even greater. What right did you have to marry without my consent? ’Tis done on purpose to spoil my birthday tomorrow!” The queen’s face was livid with anger and jealousy. “His name, mistress,” demanded the queen in a voice that brooked no evasions.

“Lord Hertford,” whispered Lady Grey, terrified as a trapped doe with the pack at its throat.

Elizabeth stared about the room. “So, you have all conspired to keep this secret from me. Guard! Guard! Escort Lady Catherine Grey to the Tower and arrest Lord Hertford this day!”

The sobbing young woman had to be carried out and the robing ceremony was finished in icy silence. When Kate and Sabre were at last left to restore order from chaos in the wardrobe, Sabre whispered, “Is she demented?”

Kate pursed her lips and said very low, “On the subject of marriage, yes. I fear her mother’s death gave her a neurosis of marriage.”

Sabre’s hand went to her throat. If the queen ever
learned that she was wed to her precious Sea God, what would she not do to her? She vowed to have no contact with him here at court under the queen’s very nose.