"You can't do that," Johnnie said on a suffocated breath.

"Do what?"

He saw the sly, secret enticement in her eyes and it took enormous self-restraint to resist in the warm heated room with their journey almost over, with the wife he adored posing for him like a courtesan. "You better wash yourself," he gruffly said, holding out the soap.

Her arms drifted downward and sank under the water. "I'm too tired...."

"This is going to be very fast then," he muttered, moving toward her with a glowering look. And he soaped her b.r.e.a.s.t.s while silently reciting the constellations in the southern sky in alphabetical order, but even then his erection grew. It didn't help that Elizabeth's nipples hardened as if by magic the second he touched them or that she felt so soft and inviting when he washed her bottom.

He abruptly pulled her to her feet after that, bringing her bath to an end. His control fast eroding, he quickly and with a deliberate neutrality rinsed her off. Wordlessly he lifted her from the tub, placed a towel around her shoulders, and stalked away.

Unfamiliar with abstinence in the presence of his nude, amorously disposed wife, pressed to almost unbearable limits, Johnnie stood at the far side of the small room, gazing out into the night, his hands clenched at his sides.

He heard her come up behind him a few moments later but he wasn't in command yet of his body and he didn't stir.

When she touched him lightly on his hip, he shuddered faintly, steeling himself against the hunger twisting in the pit of his stomach, forcing his attention instead on the darkness outside.

"Could we make an exchange?" she inquired softly.

"If it's as tempestuous and charged as the one that brought us together," he said, his voice grating and sharp, "no."

"It's easier."

"Nothing's very easy right now," he brusquely replied. He'd never kept himself from a woman before. But he wouldn't make love to her and risk harming the baby, no matter what she said.

"You don't have to make love to me."

He digested the words, warily a.s.sessing them if he were circling a trap, then slowly turned around. "I'm listening," he said with caution.

"I could do something with this," she said, touching the swollen crest of his rigid arousal, the veins on the velvety skin visibly pulsing.

"So could I," he said, removing her hand.

"I'd like to, though."

"As you can tell, I'm resisting. I worry about you."

"When I fell up in the hills, that was different, Johnnie. I fell really hard and the wood tumbled on top of me and ..." Her words came to a whispery end. She took a deep breath to steady her trembling body. "That was different than this. I'm burning for you, I need you to touch me."

He hesitated; he had the strength to resist. Within him was a hard, nerveless core. But he wished to please her too. "It's not that I don't want to. You understand that, don't you?"

She nodded, a small barely perceptible movement.

He expelled a deep tormented sigh. "Maybe I could ... help you some other way," he softly suggested.

Her smile reminded him of the artless woman he'd made love to that first night at Goldiehouse-unsure but ardent.

"I'd be very grateful." Her whisper held the temptation of the ages in its innocence.

"I'm being very careful," he warned, standing apart from her, his urges held tautly in check.

"I know," she said, standing perfectly still before him, only her fingers trembling slightly.

And when he took her hand in his to lead her to the bed he seriously wondered if he was capable of this benevolence. He lifted her onto the curtained bed in the heated room, their young bodies clean and smelling of soap, their hair cool and damp, their l.u.s.t a palpable spirit between them.

And he piled pillows behind her so she reclined on the stark white linen, lush and fertile, her skin flushed from the warm bath and from the desire burning inside her, her eyes half-shut against the urgency of her need.

He began very gently, not quite sure himself how far he could proceed, how fully he could respond to her eagerness. Sitting beside her, he lightly touched her nipple with a brushing fingertip. Suddenly a drop of fluid appeared on the pink crest. Intrigued, he bent his head to taste it.

Elizabeth sighed as the light contact trembled through her swollen b.r.e.a.s.t.s, coiled in heated rivers down between her legs.

And two more drops of pearly liquid appeared.

Johnnie lifted her large b.r.e.a.s.t.s in his hands and watched the little droplets form, kissing away the wetness as it emerged. Elizabeth would whimper at each delicate suckling contact of his lips on her tingling nipples, at the intoxicating river of sensation that flowed downward.

"Look ..." Johnnie murmured, gently squeezing her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "You have milk ..."

When her eyes lazily opened in response to the fascination in his voice, he smiled at her, then bent his head and took her moist nipple in his mouth. As he sucked, she felt the bewitching tremors and the flash and heat and sparking conflagration clear down to her toes. Her eyes drifted shut again, her hands came up to hold his head to her breast, the new, startling rapture captive under her palms. "Do it again ..." she whispered.

Johnnie smiled around the nipple in his mouth. And his voice when he spoke was m.u.f.fled by her soft breast. "Like this?"

"Ummm ..." Her sigh was low, throaty, her fingers tangled in his hair, her mind slipping away.

He accommodated her wish for more until she began to need him frantically ... and then he lay between her legs, softly opened her with exquisite care, and captured the swollen bud of her c.l.i.toris with his fingertips. He rubbed it gently, sliding the pad of his finger in slow circles around the pliant nub.

She was glowing hot against his hand, impatient after a few moments, arching up to tempt him. And he was as eager as she to be drawn in.

But his fingers slipped inside instead, cautiously, gauging the distance, a steely determination keeping temptation at bay. He swept his fingers gently over all her lush surfaces, stroked, ma.s.saged, brought her teetering to the feverish brink.

She wanted him, though, not the alternative, no matter how lush the seduction. With ravenous desire stoking her nerves and brain and pulsing senses she tried to touch his erection but he held her firmly against the pillows, pushing her hands aside, calling on every shred of will he possessed to say, "No, don't, or I'll stop."

She fell back with a smothered sob, and he kissed the silky skin of her thigh as sweet recompense, his tongue tracing a slow luscious path upward until his mouth grazed her heated pouty flesh. Parting the sleek folds of her l.a.b.i.a with his fingers, he licked the melting wet tissue. His tongue slid inside her, plunged, submerged, penetrated her throbbing sweetness.

As Elizabeth writhed under his mouth and hands he bit her gently, tasted her scented flesh, felt the answering spasm with his tongue as it rippled up her slick interior, heard her heated whimper. Nibbling on her succulent sweetness again, he slid in three fingers past his mouth and her high wild cry began....

"Are you feeling better now?" he asked long moments later when she'd returned to a cooler reality.

"I think I'll keep you," Elizabeth purred with the sultry half-smile of a sated woman. "You've pa.s.sed all the tests."

"Thank you, my lady," Johnnie murmured as he lay beside her, his grin brazen impudence. "I try."

"And with sublime results," she murmured. "I can't move, I'm too weak."

"Weak with love. Languid, shaken, drowsy with love ..." He traced a lingering path from her shoulder over the curve of her breast and pregnant belly, ending in the blonde curls between her legs. "I'm available," he promised, stroking her pale crisp hair, "whenever the mood strikes you."

"You look available now," she said with a grin, her gaze on his arousal.

Johnnie glanced down briefly. "We're on holiday until after the baby's born."

"You're a compa.s.sionate man," she whispered.

His eyebrows rose in surprise. "Maybe I am for you," he softly said, this border lord who'd lived most of his young life by the sword, "and for our baby ..."

She opened her arms to him, the tears always so close to the surface now springing to her eyes. "I love you, Johnnie Carre, so much it makes me cry."

He gathered her in his arms, tucking the blankets around her, cradling her body against his, kissing her nose and eyebrows, nibbling at her earlobes, telling her how much he loved her too in a dozen different languages. They giggled when she tried the strange languages he'd learned at school and in all his travels and then they kissed some more because bliss enveloped them, dissolved around them, filled their noses and tickled their toes.

They existed in a delicious, isolated contentment, the sound of the sea that would take them away lashing against the sh.o.r.e outside their windows.

They finished eating much later when they finally left the comfort of the bed. They ate fresh salmon, hotch-potch soup, and potatoes, taking inordinate pleasure in the simple meal and in each other's company.

And when Johnnie left shortly before eight, neither spoke of the uncertainty of his return. He hugged her and said, "I'll be back by morning. You know where the money is."

"Don't say that," she whispered, refusing to consider the possibility he might not come home to her.

"Then I'll just say au revoir...." He kissed her, a tender, warm kiss. Then he unwrapped her arms from around his waist. "Go to sleep," he whispered. "It won't seem so long. Lock the door behind me."

Staying off the main road to Berwick-on-Tweed, he arrived on the outskirts of the city before ten and went directly to a tavern by the sea where Carres had sold French wine and brandy to Charlie Fox for years, where his father before him had considered Charlie a friend.

Dressed plainly in a blue coat and dark breeches with no jack, no obvious weapons other than his sword, he entered the low doorway and sat down on a bench against the wall, surveying the smoky, low-ceilinged room, alert for the presence of British soldiers on this side of the border, or possibly for some of Harley's men, who wouldn't have been as easy to distinguish. No soldiers, at least, met his gaze. He relaxed his grip on the pistol in his coat pocket. When the young serving girl Meg came up to him in her circuit of the tables some minutes later, he distinguished from her startled glance that official inquiries had already been made concerning him.

"Surprised to see me?" he queried with a wicked smile.

"They're lookin' for ye, Johnnie, from Wick to London," she fearfully murmured, leaning close to his ear so her words wouldn't travel. "Get yerself to Holland."

"I'm trying to. Have you heard where Robbie might be?"

"Aye, the sweet boy was in here three days ago, askin' for you. He's waitin', but the cruisers are making the coast right hot. He talked to Charlie. I'll tell the old man ye're waitin' outside. Now git where it's darker."

And moments later, when Charlie Fox walked outside, Johnnie moved out of the shadows and greeted him with a tap on the shoulder.

"Christ's blood," the stout man exclaimed, startled. Spinning around, his eyes lighted on Johnnie, and his expression became stern. "Get the h.e.l.l back in the dark," he warned, pushing Johnnie around the corner of the building into a small alleyway. "They've emptied Harbottle Castle looking for you," he growled. "The price on your head is enough to tempt even an honest man."

"G.o.dfrey's anxious for my property."

"Ye should have killed him after your pa died."

"A youthful indiscretion," Johnnie drawled. "Which I plan to resolve one day, but now I have to get a message to Robbie or else hire a vessel to take me to Holland."

"The government agents talked to all the captains hereabouts; I wouldna trust any of 'em. Robbie's movin' along the coast, stayin' out o' the way of the cruisers, waitin' for you. He couldna anchor in the cove with the blockade so tight."

"When next he comes, tell him I'll be at the cove we spoke of every night. When he can, he should come for us."

"Aye. Now go, for the agents are everywhere, and one canna always tell their ilk. Come back for a drink," he added with a smile, taking Johnnie's hand in his, "in safer times."

"When G.o.dfrey's gone," Johnnie said to the man he'd known since childhood.

"Aye. When the world's a better place, my Lord."

CHAPTER 22.

The days of waiting began, and the nights as well spent at Margarth Cove until each new morning brought fresh frustration. They moved lodgings often so they might appear as travelers and attract less notice, but with each change the risk of recognition increased. They lived with the fear that one day on entering a village in the confined environs of the cove, someone might identify them from their description being circulated up and down the coast. The price on Johnnie's head inspired treachery.

Several days later their lodgings for the night were near enough to Margarth Cove that Johnnie suggested Elizabeth stay in their room while he waited on the sh.o.r.e. If Robbie appeared, he could be back within minutes to fetch her. If the ship didn't arrive, she wouldn't have to spend another night out in the bitter cold.

"I'd rather be with you," she replied, more frightened alone. She'd begun having nightmares of Johnnie being torn from her arms; the delay in their rescue was wearing on her.

"You're losing sleep every night," he softly said, solicitude in his voice. Her health was more fragile than his. "You could rest and be warm here inside; it might be several days yet before Robbie can get through the blockade. I can be back here in five minutes."

Logically, she understood the reasonableness of his suggestion, and she struggled with her emotions. Reacting to dreams and uneasy feelings was not her normal, sensible way, so she agreed, although reluctantly. "I'll wait here. But," she added with a sudden smile, "I'm sleeping in my cloak."

But when Johnnie began preparing to leave, taking up his weapons, putting on his heavy cape, she found it impossible to present a brave front. The strain of the past fortnight defeated her resolute attempt at fort.i.tude, and she cried.

Her unhappiness tore at his heart, but he was equally concerned with her declining energies. "Just stay inside tonight, sweetheart," he whispered, holding her in his arms, "and if Robbie doesn't come, you can spend tomorrow night with me outside. Compromise?" It would at least give her one night's respite from the cold, bone-chilling winds off the ocean.

"I hate being this way," she sniffled, her tear-stained face lifted to his. "All weepy and clinging." Taking a deep breath, she forced a smile, her lips quivering with the effort. "Just go now, and I'll wait here by the fire."

Their kiss was tender and sweet in the rough room so far from Goldiehouse, so distant from their former privileged lives. And they lingered in the warmth of each other's embrace, his chin resting lightly on her head, their arms holding each other tight, reluctant to be separated, avoiding the last good-bye. Until Johnnie finally whispered, "I have to go...."

He turned back at the door, to blow her a kiss. "And one for baby," he said, sending another kiss across the dimly lit room. For a small moment he paused, his gloved hand on the latch as if he wanted to say more, then he smiled instead and opened the door.

After Johnnie left, Elizabeth paced, debating whether she could follow him, restless and agitated with the awful uncertainty of another night's vigil, not knowing whether she was capable of waiting here alone beset by solitary fears. She walked to the window and rubbed away the moisture on the gla.s.s, peering through the small aperture, seeing only solid darkness. There was no moon tonight, clouds having scudded in from the sea that afternoon, bringing squally weather ash.o.r.e. She shivered, her fingers chilled on the cold pane, acknowledging the merit in Johnnie's suggestion; she was glad she hadn't gone out. The threat of snow hung in the air, errant flakes striking the window at intervals, as if in warning of a storm.

Moving to the fireplace, she sat down on a simple chair pulled up to the small grate, hands clasped in her lap, her feet tapping. Then, restless after a short time, she walked back to the window-as if she could see something in the dense blackness. As if her wishing would bring Johnnie back. She tried reading for a brief period, but the flickering tallow candles offered poor illumination; she abandoned the book in exasperation. And so the evening went in an uneasy fidgeting from chair to window and back again, her legs and back aching after hours on her feet, the baby persistently kicking in reaction to her agitated movement.

When the sudden knock on the door disturbed the silence, she went very still.

It was too late for anyone to be up. And Johnnie wouldn't knock, she thought, feeling a shiver of fear race down her spine-he'd call out so she'd know his ident.i.ty. Fainthearted, shaky, she didn't answer, wishing like a child did with unreasonable simplicity that the sound was an ordinary mistake-a guest who had lost his way, perhaps. Although in these modest lodgings, with only three bedchambers, it would be difficult to get lost.

Standing rigid in the center of the room, she listened. A moment pa.s.sed, and then several more. All was quiet; she began to relax.

And then the sudden clash and clang of metal hammering metal ruptured the quiet, the lock on the door quivering under the impact. A scream rose in her throat, instantly muted, an unconscious self-defense, and she raced for her cape she'd thrown on the bed. Perhaps the attackers didn't know she was inside; she might yet have time to escape through the window if the door held. Darting a glance toward the old wooden portal, she nervously focused on the hinges pulling away from the frame.

If it only lasted a few minutes more, she desperately hoped.

No longer concerned with subterfuge, men raised their voices in exhortations and harangues against the ancient wood and iron. For a stark moment a familiar voice struck her ears, extinguished in the next flashing moment by a burst of invective, the besiegers bickering over the means of entry. Against the shouting, clash, and banging and rending of wood, Elizabeth struggled with the lock on the small paned window, the old rusty mechanism stubbornly resistant to her strength. Her heart beating frantically, she wrenched the handle again with a vigorous effort, and a small piece of rust fell to the floor. Tears of frustration sprang to her eyes at her weakness, and she jerked on the latch again with desperation and fury. A small crack in the corroded metal appeared; she threw her weight into another powerful tug, and the ancient clasp broke free. With a savage thrust of her hand she shoved against the moldy iron frame, and the window moved a few reluctant inches on its rusty hinges. Gritting her teeth against the pain in her hand, she gave the window another violent push ... then another, until the creaky window spread open enough to allow her egress.

Now if the door would just resist a few seconds more, she fervently prayed, dragging a chair up to the opened cas.e.m.e.nt.

Just as she was balancing her ungainly weight to step up on the chair, the door crashed open, swinging away lopsidedly on its single remaining hinge, banging then dangling against the wall. Soldiers burst into the room, the first still armed with the iron bars they'd used to force the door.