“Sloan…”
His kisses muffled her words as he touched her, and his mouth followed his expert and reverent fingers, knowing the swell of her hip, the dip of her belly, the slender length of her thigh, and the flowering of her deepest desires. His name was not a whisper when it gasped from her throat, but an ardent cry. And she could no longer he prone, but twisted to rise and meet his embrace. He buried her face against his neck. “Now, my love,” he murmured.
He lifted her chin and their lips melded, fiery and sweet. When he at last brought his body to hers, their joining was as smooth as a silken embrace, and velvet strokes became a tempest of nature, a maelstrom of wild, shuddering ecstasy. Rapture soared to sun-drenched peaks, and soared onward yet again, his rhythmic, pulsing strength demanding the ultimate triumph while ever seeking the ultimate intimacy, as if he could touch her soul and truly make them one.
Their rapture at last reached its shuddering pinnacle and burst with volatile brilliance. A thousand golden snowflakes littered the warm air about them as they lovingly, tenderly clung together and allowed the satiation of love to still the mad beating of their hearts.
He buried his face in the damp web of her luxurious hair. “Glorious witch,” he murmured. “Beautiful, beautiful witch. Ever more you entice me, ensnare me, until I feel I am not whole unless I can experience your touch and see the love in your eyes. Ah, Brianna, never have I known anything so sweet as your love.”
Brianna smiled, wondering if her happiness could ever be greater. It was as great as the rapture he created in her. For a moment, a chill passed over her heart. She became afraid, for the rapture of their lovemaking flew so high and crested so intensely, swathing her with pleasure so great it was almost unbearable.
And then it ebbed. Gone, until it should be nurtured again.
Could happiness, could love, follow that same sweet route? Growing ecstasy, a moment’s wonderful glory—and then a fading as irrevocable as the yearning for release.
No! She stopped her silly, fearful thoughts. No! For the rapture between them did not end with that release; the moments after, when he held her, were just as dear, just as awesomely sweet. Her happiness, her love, would also soar and peak and crest. It would find calm and it would find storm, but always it would be nurtured.
She curled into his arms, forcing the chill of fear to leave her and savoring the repletion of her body and soul. “I love you so much, Sloan,” she murmured, limbs entangling naturally with his. “You are a part of me, milord, the part that is my heart.”
He loved her. He loved her. He would make her his wife, and she would happily follow him anywhere until the end of her days.
Chapter 12
For Brianna, the early morning was as full of wonder as the night. The sun rose gently, creeping through the starboard window like a silken pink mist. Bathed and shrouded in that tender glow, she curled against Sloan, her fingers against his chest. She did not seek to wake him; she was happy just to lie there, basking again in the knowledge that he loved her. And at his side she could learn to live again—forgive herself for all that had occurred, and learn to forget the horror of Matthews’s touch, the feel of a rope about her throat, the scent of death in the roar of a fire.
He was not sleeping. He stroked her hair until she tilted her head and looked upward, smiling a little shyly into his eyes.
“I love you,” she whispered.
“And I you.” He returned her smile, and his arms held her tightly but tenderly. Then he drew away slightly, for he longed to look at her, to bask not only in her beauty but in the warmth of her smile.
She nuzzled closer to him, pressing her cheek against his chest once more. She sighed softly, a contented and yet sorrowful little sound that shook her.
“Oh, Sloan! If only Matthews had not somehow chased us to Port Quinby. If only Robin and your other fine men had not died.”
“Hush,” he told her, frowning as he stroked a lock of her hair over the healing wound on her shoulder where Matthews had stabbed her with his pick. “He wanted my blood as much as yours.”
“But it was my fault he wanted it to begin with,” she said mournfully. “Had I not stumbled upon you in Glasgow, you would now be peacefully on your way to your prince. And Robin and the others would still be alive.”
“You can’t punish yourself for what happened, Brianna. We are a crew of men trained to fight—be it pirates, madmen, or even the king’s forces, should they not accept William.”
She twisted her head upward once again and saw that he was staring out the window, watching as the pink light of the sun suddenly flared with a stroke of gold and crimson. There was something tense about his face, which was not unusual, except that last night…last night he had seemed to lose the hardness of his countenance; he had seemed younger, lighter of heart and spirit than she could remember. He was not a solemn man, but he was stubborn and determined, and ever sure of his course of action. Last night she had seen the lines ease, and laughter come to him again.
“You truly hate King James with all your heart, don’t you?” she asked now.
His gaze came quickly from the window to her. “I don’t know anymore,” he said, watching her with a small smile. “He executed a man who was committing treason in his eyes; what I cannot bear is that Jemmie was his own blood, and that he pleaded for his life and lost it anyway.” He paused, noticing how she watched him, aware that in the blue depths of her eyes there was a longing to understand everything about him. He stroked her cheek. “I cannot tell you what it was to have grown up with Jemmie Scott, Brianna. When I was a lad, he was everything. At times, my only friend. So like Charles. Willful—but generous of himself in every way. He knew he was his father’s son, and he knew the English people did not want a Catholic succession. He was young and very brave and, with the right guidance, would have made a very fine king. The only thing that stood between him and the crown was his bastardy. When I heard of the execution, I despised James. I longed to kill him with my bare hands. Yet now—I think I pity him. I’ve searched my soul over this, and I can now say that I join William and Mary because I believe they will be best for England.”
Brianna raised herself up, planting a light kiss softly against his lips. “You are truly,” she told him, “a knight in the most shining armor!”
He burst out laughing, rolling over to pin her beneath him. “A knight, eh? Nay, love, a salt-ridden man born to a title, nothing more. But I am deeply gratified to hear you call me so, for it is far kinder than anything you had to say when first we met!”
She laughed, too, delighted that life could remain ever more sweetly beautiful with the coming of day. And then she was laughing no more, for the tenderness in his eyes did take flame and she felt her flesh heat with his desire. He brought his lips to hers, kissing her slowly, and soon their arms and limbs were entwined with the eager passion of their love.
Later, feeling wholly languorous and as satisfied as a sleek black cat, Sloan sighed and dragged his legs over the bed, stretching before he stood. Brianna watched the muscle play of his back and quivered a bit, wondering that she should be loved by such a man. But she did not doubt that she was, and that, too, touched her with wonder.
He pulled on his breeches and reached for his shirt, wishing fervently that the ship did not need repairs so he could order Paddy to take command for a day of leisure. “’Tis very hard to leave you,” he told her.
“Is it?” she asked him.
