"Don't let me keep you now," Munro generously offered, gesturing toward the door. "Elizabeth will be pleased you're home."

"I'd travel across the wastelands of the world to come back to her," Johnnie murmured.

"You'll have to tell her that," Munro said. "She's been crying a lot."

"It's the baby ... her moods are skittish now."

"Or perhaps psychic. You could have been killed."

"Then I'd have had to come back from the netherworld to be with her."

Munro gazed at Johnnie for a brief moment, reflecting on the profound changes he'd witnessed in his cousin's capacity for love. "And if anyone could cross that black pa.s.sage," he quietly said, "it would be you."

"d.a.m.n right," Johnnie said with a grin. "Now let's not be morbid. I'm back more or less undamaged, and the most beautiful woman in the world is upstairs waiting for me. I have to change quickly, so adieu." One brow lifted roguishly. "I'll see you about noon tomorrow."

Elizabeth was seated by the fire when he entered the room, wrapped in the folds of a midnight-blue cut-velvet robe, her hair gold in the firelight. She rose with a cry of delight when he stepped through the door and ran to him, the heavy velvet flaring out in wings behind her.

And he moved forward in great long strides, so gladdened at the sight of her, he wondered how he'd ever lived before he'd met her. She flung herself into his open arms, and he caught her, swinging her around in a transport of joy. She squealed with pleasure, and he laughed, lighthearted as a young boy.

"You were gone too long in Jedburgh," she complained as he gently placed her on her feet, but her smile was dazzling.

"I'll make it up to you," he promised, his own smile impudent, his arms lacing around her waist.

"Do you think I can be so easily appeased?" she teasingly inquired.

"I know you can be so easily appeased," he seductively replied, drawing her closer so their thighs brushed and then their lower bodies. So she could feel him.

"I've turned wanton since I've met you," she whispered, her body's response intense, immediate.

"A charming quality in a wife," Johnnie murmured, his hands drifting downward over the luxurious velvet of her robe. "Show me...."

Reaching up, Elizabeth placed her small hands on his face and, pulling him downward, kissed him with slow, lingering intensity. Then she whispered against the warmth of his mouth, "I haven't had s.e.x in two days...."

The implication of her deprivation added length to his arousal. "Could I be of some help?" he asked, his fingers tangled in the pale silk of her hair.

"Let me see," she quietly replied, as if some vetting might be necessary, drawing back a small distance, her hands drifting down his chest, past his belt buckle, then lower to the obvious bulge under the soft chamois of his breeches. "Ummm ... this is marvelous...."

"I'm glad you approve," he said with a grin. "Will you require some ... measurement?"

"It seems quite acceptable," she said with an arch look, her fingers tracing its length, exerting pressure so it swelled against her touch.

"I stand relieved," he dryly murmured, his smile sunshine bright. And then he sucked in his breath as she squeezed the very tip with knowing subtlety.

Several tremulous moments later, when his respiration was restored, when his eyes opened again, and reality intruded into his consciousness, he swept her up into his arms, carried her over to the bed in swift strides, and lowered her gently onto the silk coverlet. "I didn't give you leave," she softly said, her green eyes like emerald fires, her white nightgown and dark blue velvet robe swathed around her in a flourish of ripples and heaps.

"Really," he replied, unbuckling his belt. "Do you think that should stop me?"

"I thought it might...." Her words were coquettish.

"But then I don't have manners," he blundy declared, pulling his belt loose, dropping it on the floor, beginning to untie his neckcloth.

"So you expect only compliance in a wife?" Her eyes followed his hands as he opened the neckline of his shirt.

"I expect a hot, wet welcome," he said with a lazy smile, pulling his shirt over his head. "Can you accommodate me?"

Her hips moved slightly as if in response to his words, and her fingers closed on handfuls of velvet and silk, crushing the luxurious materials, sliding her robe and nightgown upward so her calves came into view, then the white satin of her thighs. As Johnnie Carre sat down on the bed to tug off his boots, he viewed the slow unveiling of the golden down between her legs.

Leaning over, he placed his large hand over her silken curls, a proprietary gesture as natural to him as breathing. "Don't go away," he softly said, "I'll be right with you."

"You're hurt," she softly cried, half-rising, the wound on his upper arm visible when he turned.

"A scratch from a tavern brawl, that's all. You can sew it up later." And he exerted pressure on her mons to keep her down.

"You're sure?..." The heel of his hand moved in slow circles, pressing downward, and puzzling questions slipped away, muted by irrepressible pa.s.sion. "Will I ever have enough of you?" Elizabeth whispered, intemperate desire coursing through her body, her gaze traveling over his muscled torso, down his powerful arm to his strong, long-fingered hand holding her captive.

"No," he said, plain, unhesitating. "Never."

And a moment later his boots were tossed aside, his chamois breeches disposed of, and he was lifting her into a sitting position on the bed so he could undress her.

"Kiss me," she said like a jeune fille, all lush, coaxing innocence, her face lifted.

And he kissed her gently as he reached for the closures on her robe.

"More," she murmured, hushed and low, seated in a tumble of dark velvet.

"Soon ..." he whispered.

Swiftly unclasping the braided frogs on her robe while she tried to kiss him, he pushed the heavy fabric from her shoulders, slid it down her arms, gracefully dodged her hands as she attempted to pull him close. Her nightgown came off as rapidly, and then he stopped eluding her, his mouth available once again, yielding to her feverish pressure, letting her taste him, letting her lean into his hard body, her wafting sigh of pleasure sliding down his throat.

Selfishly, she wanted to possess his raw strength, the memories of his absence still crowding her thoughts. She wanted to absorb him, engulf him; she wanted to concentrate on sheer physical sensation to drive away two days of apprehension and fear. "Touch me everywhere," she whispered as she came up for breath.

"So you'll know I'm back...." he murmured against the sweetness of her parted lips.

"So I can keep you with me...." Allure as old as Eve resonated in her breathy voice.

And he gave her what she wanted, understanding himself how urgent his own need to ground himself in her. His hands drifted over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, heavy and swollen with pregnancy, glided around their rounded abundance, paused to delicately stroke the distended nipples, moved upward between her cleavage, spread the weighted globes apart so she felt their heaviness in her brain and in her throbbing core, in the tips of her fingers and toes.

Then he released his hold, and they sprang back like ripe fruit on a trembling limb. He let them vibrate and quiver as his warm palms slipped over her rounded belly, traced the curve of her hips, moved downward to rest for a moment on her soft thighs before his fingers slipped over her p.u.b.escent curls and disappeared inside her throbbing l.a.b.i.a.

"Can you feel me now?" he whispered, his gaze on her face, knowing the answer to his question from the expression in her eyes.

"I'm glad you're home." Her voice held a rich undertone of pa.s.sion.

"I can tell." His fingers were drenched. "Now lie down and spread your legs," he said with a lush smile, "and I'll show you know how pleased I am to be home."

He kissed her for a lazy interval, and she basked in the flagrant glow of undisguised sensation.

"I can smell the scent of paradise ... it's so close ... like sweet coconut...." she whispered.

"Ummm," he murmured, tracing a warm path with his tongue over the lush, pouty fullness of her bottom lip. "My paradise tastes more like"-his hand slipped downward, his finger dipped inside her honeyed warmth as if testing its readiness, and a moment later, he touched his finger to his mouth and then briefly to hers-"shrimp...."

"Make love to me," she whispered, her piquant flavor on her lips.

"I am," he said, placing his hands gently on her face and kissing her.

"It's not enough." She touched his erection lying hard against his stomach. "Give me that."

And he did then, turning her on her side, his chest warm against her back, easing himself slowly inside her until she was filled with him. She moved back into the solid wall of his body to feel him penetrate inches more, and sighed then in blissful ecstasy. And he moved away a moment later until she whimpered ... and he glided back in. Filling his hands with her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, he pulled her closer so she felt every nerve attuned to the extravagant feeling. Reaching down between her legs, she touched him as he slowly glided in and out, her fingertips sliding over the swollen veins and velvety skin sheathing his rock-hard erection. He could feel himself lengthen under her ma.s.sage, and he held himself motionless inside her for a moment as his arousal swelled.

She moaned, a luxurious pleasure sound.

He smiled in contentment, holding her close.

And they explored the rarefied world of sensation, gently at first, and then with unbridled pa.s.sion.

Because he'd been gone from her, and she'd realized in his absence that she wasn't whole without him.

Because he'd found the only woman in the world he could love-and because, too, killing always had a turbulent arousing aftermath only she could satisfy.

CHAPTER 20.

Adam returned in three days. But his unorthodox arrival was a panic-stricken, whipped, and spurred gallop up the long drive. His shouts of alarm carried across the tranquil winter landscape-faintly at first, and as he neared, his yells echoed from the high stone walls, frightening the peac.o.c.ks on the terrace lawn, and bringing several of the staff racing from their duties on the grounds. Dankeil Willie was roused from the main house so he was waiting at the steps of the entrance when Adam hauled his lathered mount to a skidding stop on the gravel.

"Dragoons! At the tavern in Kelso!" he cried, leaping from his horse. "Come to take the Laird away!" Racing toward the bank of steps leading into the house, he shouted, "Where is he?"

Already sprinting back up the stone staircase, Willie shouted, "Follow me." And as the two men rushed through the double doors held open for them by two footmen, Willie snapped orders to the lackeys in the entrance hall. He needed Mrs. Reid, he shouted as he ran, two grooms, Munro, and Kinmont to meet him in the breakfast room immediately. There was no time for finesse or respectful courtesies; Lady Elizabeth would know soon enough anyway.

"How much time?" Willie tersely queried, dashing headlong down the corridor toward the east wing. He didn't ask why; he knew the Laird of Ravensby had enemies enough in the current embroiled state of the nation.

Keeping pace at Willie's side, breathless after his headlong flight from Kelso, Adam said, panting, "I left Nab ... and Dougie to buy them ... some rounds of French ... brandy. Hopefully ... an hour. Maybe longer ..." The men's boots beat a racing tattoo on the parquet flooring, the richly decorated rooms flashing by in colorful progression as they sped toward the breakfast room: a wink of gilt-edged mirror, the sheen of brocaded wall-covering, crimson, cobalt, verdant green, the mellow glow of polished bra.s.s torcheres, Ming vases, Dutch porcelain, painted ancestors stiff in Court costume.

And they burst into the sunny morning room like cannon shot.

One look at their faces and Johnnie was out of his chair. In a flashing moment more he'd gestured them out of the room. "I'll be right back," he murmured to Elizabeth, who'd half risen in surprise. Leaning across the small table, he brushed a kiss across her cheek. "Adam was on an errand for me."

"I'm not a child who needs protection." She knew Willie would never have so impetuously intruded without serious reasons.

"I'll tell you when I get back." He smiled. "Five minutes," he murmured, holding his hand up, fingers splayed. And he spun away, already planning how he was going to garrote Matthew Graham with his bare hands.

"The Edinburgh dragoons are in Kelso. Come to get you," Willie brusquely said when Johnnie shut the door behind him.

"I saw them not twenty minutes ago," Adam said, "at Wat Harden's."

"For me?" It wasn't Elizabeth. "Did you hear why?" Politics was always a dangerous business, but enormous sums of money, men's livelihoods, were at stake in the deteriorating relationship with England; which of his enemies had felt him so dangerous to his aims?

"The major said you ... were being delivered up to Edinburgh ... to answer a rape charge," Adam replied, his chest heaving, his face flushed red from his exertions.

"A lie that is!"" Dankiel Willie's eyes snapped affront.

"But it's the only charge not included in the Indemnity Act," Johnnie thoughtfully noted.

"They'll emit letters of fire and sword against you," Adam said, the dread words etched on every man's liver.

"Outlawed." Johnnie's voice had gone very soft. "So when I'm banished or hanged, my estates are forfeit, with no hope of pardon. And Elizabeth will be obliged to testify, so he'll have her back in his hands. He's thought of everything, apparently." It wasn't as though Johnnie hadn't considered retaliation from Harold G.o.dfrey, yet he'd not antic.i.p.ated such thoroughness. G.o.dfrey was by nature a plunger; the subtle machinations smelled of Queensberry "And what of Matthew Graham?" Johnnie's tone was so normal once again, Adam wondered whether he misunderstood the degree of his peril. He'd been in effect sentenced to death wherever he could be found.

"You don't have much time, Johnnie," he nervously declared.

"Nor do any of us." The two men's eyes held for a moment. "You'll all have to leave Goldiehouse," Johnnie went on, "or at least those of you they might wish to impress for witnesses. The Tolbooth isn't a healthy place to await a court appearance. But tell me first of Matthew Graham, so I know where else to expect attack."

"He's huddled frightened inside Carlisle Castle now, but when he hears of this, he'll come sniffing round like crows at a carca.s.s."

Johnnie nodded, apparently agreeing. Catching sight of Kinmont and Munro, he waited until they reached him before motioning over the staff Willie had summoned.

"Some of you may have heard already the dragoons have come from Edinburgh for me," Johnnie said. "I'm being summoned to Criminal Court."

"They're out to hang ye then," Mrs. Reid interjected. "Ye'd best be gone."

"I'm on my way. I've only time to give instructions once, so everyone listen carefully." And then he issued a rapid-fire round of orders: the valuables that could be carried away in an hour were defined and allocated for safe destinations; arrangements were made for housing his staff at homes of his friends and relatives; his stable had to be dispersed so Queensberry and G.o.dfrey wouldn't profit by his prime bloodstock; when it came to his library, he sighed. Reputed to be the greatest library in Britain, it was impossible to move at such short notice. "I need provisions for Lady Elizabeth and myself for a fortnight, Mrs. Reid. Munro, Robbie must be found immediately. As he's my heir, they'll be out to capture him as well. Tell him I'll need a ship off the coast as soon as possible. You know Robbie's haunts in East Lothian. Kinmont, take what records you feel shouldn't fall into England's hands. Adam, clear out the weapons room and give everything to the men to take away. In the meantime," he briskly went on, "Lady Elizabeth and I will await the outcome of my trial in a more salubrious location than the Tolbooth." The outcome was inevitable and, whether he was present or not, he knew the verdict had already been decided.

He took a few minutes then to answer the rush of questions, a.s.suring his staff that he intended to return, and when he did, they'd once again be welcomed back to Goldiehouse. But he didn't linger over his farewells.

"You don't want a guard?" Munro asked when the staff had dispersed to see to their tasks.

"I don't want to attract attention with too large a party. I antic.i.p.ate a week or so at Dens Cottage to give the hue and cry time to settle, and then we'll make for the coast. That should give Robbie time to bring a ship into Margarth Cove. Stay with the ship; I'll need you with me abroad."

"Will Elizabeth be able to ride that distance?"

"It's my greatest worry," Johnnie replied, his brows drawn together in a mild scowl. "The rest of us could fight our way across Scotland if need be. But I can't with her...."

"We can see that the way is clear into Margarth, at least," Munro a.s.sured him.

Johnnie smiled. "Then we've only twenty miles to manage from the forest's edge to the coast. If there're no patrols on the roads, we'll see you in a fortnight."

The cousins embraced, perhaps for the last time in the home they'd both known from childhood, and then Johnnie returned to the breakfast room.

Elizabeth's face drained of color as he explained what he'd heard, what was required of them. "I'm sorry, Johnnie," she whispered when he'd finished. "It's my father, of course," she added in a small, tortured voice, overwhelmed with self-reproach, horrified at the terrible price he was paying for loving her.

He went to her immediately, kneeling beside her chair, taking her hand in his. "Don't blame yourself," he said very softly, knowing G.o.dfrey's animosity was of long standing, separate from her. "It's Queensberry, too, your father's not acting alone," he added, his dark hair limned by the sunshine pouring in the windows of the gilded breakfast room, an incongruous setting for such appalling events.

They shouldn't be talking about dreadful possibilities, of treachery and persecution, Elizabeth thought, with the day so bright and beautiful. "What if you went to Edinburgh?" she asked in a small, hopeful voice. "I'd testify that you never raped me; I'd tell them how much I love you. How I was more willing than you, more wanton. It wasn't your fault, Johnnie. I could make them believe me...."