A magnificent barge was delivered to Thames View the following morning. Sabre viewed it from the upstairs windows of the house in all its luxurious splendor and could not resist rushing down to the river to inspect it firsthand. It was not overly large, but so well appointed, with brass rails and lamps, polished oaken deck, and even a dragon masthead upon its prow. It was fashioned with gold, white, and purple canopy and heavy curtains to draw against inclement weather. Piles of cushions were provided for comfort in either sitting or reclining, each embroidered with two S’s intertwined, for Shane and Sabre.
When she ran back upstairs to thank him, her joy turned to dismay.
“Shane, please get back into bed, you’re not yet strong enough—”
He cut her off midsentence. “That statement was designed to goad me to prove otherwise, madam.”
“The baron said—”
He did it again. “The baron does not speak.” He warned her with his eyes that he would brook no contradiction. Then when he saw her resolve to keep him abed waver, his face softened. “Sabre, darling, October is upon us. Any day now a nor’wester will sweep in from the Atlantic and autumn’s beauty will be snuffed out for another year. Today the sun is having one last excessive fling and so are we. Smell the air! The breeze from the river is carrying on a flirtation with the house, wafting up the scent of the last roses. Tomorrow could bring icy fog or pouring rain. Therefore we shall seize the moment and abandon ourselves upon the river.”
At his urging she wore only a light lawn smock with nothing beneath and he donned only an open-necked shirt to cover his bandages. They had food and drink aplenty and lay back in the sunshine sharing ripe pears and a loving cup of sharp Devon cider. She watched him crack walnuts with the hilt of his dagger, and she picked up the shells and sailed them like little boats upon the rippling water.
He pointed out the history of the river to her. As they passed the Palace of Richmond he said, “It houses one of England’s most magnificent libraries, crammed with books and manuscripts. Some are forbidden, but I have read them.”
“Why forbidden?” she said, puzzled.
“They deal with magic and the black arts, collected by the queen’s grandfather. I’ll show them to you one day … you will delight in the cunning secret passages he had built into Richmond.”
They sailed past Hampton Court and he pointed out its cockpits, bowling alleys, tennis courts, and tiltyards. “The grounds are filled with mazes and meanders … it is a dream garden for secret lovers.” He tried to draw her into his arms to kiss her, but she was reluctant with the two liveried oarsmen aboard. He laughed at her and contented himself for the moment with lying beside her. They lay with fingers intertwined upon the cushions as they drifted past the villages of Walton, Chertsey, and Staines. He pointed a long brown finger to the island of Runnymede. “That is where King John changed the chronicles of England forever.”
She sat up as the barge neared Windsor Castle, built on its hill of chalk. “You are very daring to boldly sail past where the court is in residence. What if we are seen?” She anxiously scanned the great open-timbered gallery built for timid ladies to watch the hunting.
He put his lips to her ear. “If you will lie back with me, we can draw the curtains and enjoy our privacy.” His hands began to seek her silken flesh beneath the lawn smock, and she was thankful for the curtains. Her reluctance and shyness only served to spice his passion. He whispered, “You enthrall me like an enchantress, Sabre Wilde.” He stroked her body, kissing her breasts, and tantalizing her almost beyond endurance. She knew where this would lead and was only fearful for his wound. “No, no, you must not!”
His teeth gleamed. “If you forbid a man wine, you plant in him an unquenchable thirst. …”
The barge wandered slowly past half-timbered houses and the farms of the Chiltern Hills and on past Walling-ford.
He lifted off her gauzy gown over her head. “I want to see you all over, head to toe. Your skin is the color of fresh cream.” He murmured, “Irish beauty has something different and pleasing beyond all others. There is something wild as a witch about you.” His lips traveled all the way from her throat down to her belly. “You have sparks of hell in your green eyes, as if you’d let me tumble you in a featherbed or behind a hedge for the pure joy of it!” His mouth found the rosebud of her center. “So lovely, so exciting, so womanly.”
She moaned with pleasure. “Your wound … you must not exert yourself further.”
He leered up at her. “No … be kind and help me to undress.” She obeyed him and he immediately rolled on top of her. His weight was delicious as it crushed her breasts, and he used all his strength to plunge into her. Then he lay still, filling her without moving. She could feel the pounding of his blood, the throbbing of his shaft, and he in turn felt the heart of her inner trembling. His tongue plundered the sweet depths of her mouth until she lay in a wanton sprawl, in a rosy haze of pleasure. Finally she reached such a peak of wanting, she cried out, “Shane! Shane!”
With his strong arm he rolled with her until she was on top of him, then lifted his mouth from hers and said huskily, “You make love to me, Sabre.”
Suddenly she was kissing him, using her thighs and fingers like the mistress she was. She aroused them both to such a pitch, she felt she could never absorb enough of him and he felt her sheath contract over him as if to seal him there forever. They both ached to postpone what they knew must end, but in these long minutes her body thrilled to this man she had found to ravish and love her and fill her.
They died or slept, she knew not which, then he drew back the curtains and they rejoined the world. He drew her to the side of the watercraft. “I want you to see where the River Isis joins the River Thame to become one. You are Isis and I am Thame. Joined we become invincible like the River Thames.”
She marveled at his strength. She leaned against his strong, tall frame, spent from their lovemaking. Yet he looked all-powerful, he who had stood at death’s door a few short days ago.
Chapter 14
In the middle of the night she awoke to find him gone from the bed. He leaned against the long window frame staring into the blackness.
“Are you ill?” she cried, rising.
“Nay, only troubled.” He came to the bed and sat upon its edge. “Sabre, when I lay ill, did I tell you anything?”
There was a long, protracted silence while she weighed her words. Then she said softly, “You told me everything.”
He blanched. “Everything?”
She nodded slowly. “Two fathers … two countries … two loyalties. Your friend Fitz—” He put his fingers to her lips to silence her, then caressed her neck with his long, strong fingers. “If I followed the dictates of my brain, I would have to kill you now,” he breathed.
She looked at him steadily, unafraid.
“But I will follow the dictates of my heart and love you.” His hands left her throat and cupped her face in a caress. “I wonder, Sabre, will you betray me?” It was musing rather than a direct question, but she gave him a direct answer and wondered wildly if she spoke the truth or if she spoke lies. “Any revenge I seek from you for ills you do me, either real or imagined, will be a personal revenge. I would never betray you to the crown or the queen, for it would not be the crown’s revenge or the queen’s revenge that would give me satisfaction. It would be Sabre’s revenge,” she warned him plainly.
He kissed the little black beauty spot high on her cheekbone, his mind reeling with the nearness of her. “You have all my heart. Thank God I am not torn between two women, at least.”
“Are you not, Shane Hawkhurst O’Neill,” she accused. “What about your wife?”
“She means nothing to me,” he swore. As he vowed his love for her, denouncing his wife in the process, she became so angered at his words that a fine, rare row erupted, and all, incredibly, because she was jealous of her own self!
Before dawn they had been clinging to each other in a frenzy. He had a deep need to
assert his mastery over her, and she had a deep need to fill up the emptiness inside her that their row had caused. They were driven to fuse their bodies into one to make up for all the days and nights they’d lived without each other. Their lovemaking always felt as if it were the first time.
He slept so soundly, he didn’t even feel her rise from the bed. She donned a chamber robe and went to get them the last breakfast they would share for a while. She knew she must leave for court now that he was recovered. Any day the queen and court would be moving to Whitehall for the opening of parliament and for the whole glittering, festive winter season.
She was taking a tray from Mason when they heard a carriage arrive. He went to the front hall and Sabre hovered behind him, wondering who could have arrived at such an early hour. An elegant woman swept into the hall. “Mason, how are you? Do get a couple of servants to help with my baggage, I’m afraid I have a scandalous amount as usual.” Suddenly the beautiful face registered surprise as she spied Sabre standing in her dishabille. Her face lit up. “Darling, you must be Shane’s new bride. Let me think … ah, yes, it’s Sara, isn’t it? He’s so secretive, that’s all I know about you.” She inspected her from head to foot with one sweeping glance that took in the thoroughly disheveled hair and her state of undress. “Matthew told me how lovely you were. Let me say that you make a ravishing Lady Devonport,” she said generously. “I’m Georgiana, Shane’s mother.”
Sabre stammered, “No, no, I’m not—that is I am, but —I’m not—oh, damn!”
“I know how you feel … your wretched mother-in-law turning up to spoil your honeymoon! If I’d known he’d brought you to Thames View I would have kept my distance, but I swear, chérie, I’m here to shop in London for one day and then I’ll be gone.”
Sabre was in a dilemma. Taken completely by surprise and thrown further off guard by her mother-in-law’s warm charm, she somehow could not let the woman think her a whore. “Georgiana,” she said, “I have a secret I wish to share with you. Come and have breakfast with me and hear my confession.”
Intrigued, Georgiana took off her gloves and hat and followed Sabre into an intimate morning room where a cheery fire had been lit to offset the sharp chill of the October morning. Georgiana helped herself to an enormous slice of ham seasoned with juniper berries as Sabre began her tale. “Your son married me for a piece of land I own in Ireland. He didn’t even bother to show up for the wedding. He sent Matthew to Cheltenham to marry me by proxy.”
Georgiana’s face registered her dismay.
“He ordered me to Blackmoor and went off without a second thought on progress with the queen.”
“That man-eating harridan!” cried Georgiana.
Sabre laughed. “I see we share an enemy.”
“You have been treated outrageously!” protested Georgiana.
“Oh, I was outraged, but I’m taking a sweet revenge. I came to my aunt at court, Lady Kate Ashford, so that I could become Shane’s mistress. He has no idea that he is married to me.”
“Oh ’tis like a play by Will Shakespeare! How very daring you are, Sara, to deceive a dangerous man like Shane.”
“Please don’t call me Sara. I go by the name Sabre Wilde. You and Matthew are the only two people who know.”
“Of course, you’re Irish. We will dare anything! You remind me too much of myself, darling. Oh, it is a rare jest on him, but one he truly deserves. I shan’t spoil it for you. You will tell him in your own sweet time.”
“Sabre,” a deep voice called, “what the devil are all these boxes of clothes? When the hell did you find time to go shopping? I’ve kept you abed for five days.” Shane’s tall figure loomed in the doorway of the morning room in time to see his mother flush at his words. “Georgiana, you are looking well recovered,” he said calmly.
“Shane, darling, the last thing on earth I intended was to intrude.”
“You don’t intrude.” He placed a protective arm about Sabre and smiled down at her. “My love, I know you will find it difficult to believe so elegant a lady could produce such a reprobate, but this really is Georgiana, my mother.” His deep blue eyes sought those of his mother. “This is Sabre Wilde, mistress of this house.”
Sabre blushed and slipped from his arm. “I must dress,” she murmured, and fled the room.
Alone with his mother he said, “I realize it’s bad manners to have my mother and my mistress under the same roof, but I make no apologies, Georgiana.”
“Good heavens, Shane, I hope I’m not so gauche as to be shocked.” She laughed. “I’m delighted you have such exquisite taste.”
Back upstairs he said, “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” He frowned. “For God’s sake, don’t let on I was wounded.” He swore under his breath, and she saw clearly that he was worried.
“I’m going back to court today, so you can stop looking so displeased.”
“God’s blood, Sabre, I hope you don’t think I’m such a hypocrite.” He waved aside her words. “It’s O’Neill I wanted to keep away from Georgiana.”
“There’s not much chance he’ll come,” she assured him.
“He’ll come,” he said grimly. “Tonight I take him back to Ireland.”
“Damn you, Hawkhurst! I never know when you’re about to leave the country. You never think to tell me your plans. When will I see you again?” she demanded.
“I’m not in the habit of consulting a woman about my plans. Don’t begin to think I need your permission to come and go, mistress,” he said in a deadly voice.
“Go to hell … and take the bloody O’Neill with you!” she spat.
Inside she was afraid because she knew that O’Neill could well be the death of Shane.
He advanced menacingly toward her, but the moment his cruel hands grabbed her, he groaned and pulled her into his arms. “O’Neill is deadly for Georgiana. I must get him away tonight.”
She wanted to scream no, yet she knew she could not forbid him. She pulled away from him and said, “Why don’t you fight fire with fire. If you don’t wish her to fall into his arms, find her another.”
“Who?” he asked flatly. “Who in God’s name could compete with that fatal Irish charm?” He swore and booted a stool across the room.
“Another Irishman,” she said softly. “There is one under this roof who is twice the man O’Neill is, has three times the charm, and he is a friend.”
“The baron?” he asked incredulously.
She nodded. “Dress him up and invite him to dine; just the four of us.”
“He wouldn’t,” said Shane.
“He would do anything for you. Ask him.”
The crystal chandelier in the dining salon at Thames View held a hundred candles. The table, set for four, gleamed with heavy silver and Venetian crystal upon the starched white linen. A mass of late white roses stood at its center, and the formally attired gentlemen drew back the tall chairs for their ladies.
“It’s such a surprise to see you back in England, Fitz. I thought your permanent home was France,” improvised Shane.
“I’m so delighted to meet a friend of Shane’s. He keeps his life so private,” purred Georgiana. She could not hide the admiration shining from her eyes as she took in the measure of the man who was dining with them. His dress and manner were perfection, his beautiful cultured voice so pleasing to the ear, but above all he was warm and so at ease, you would have thought he had known her for years. “Surely you must have a last name, sir. I cannot call you Fitz,” Georgiana probed lightly.
“’Tis Fitzclare,” Shane lied.
The baron smiled affectionately at Georgiana. “Please call me Fitz. It pleases me to hear it from your lips.”
She lowered her lashes, then raised them again. “Fitzclare is Irish, sir, yet I detect no brogue in your speech.”
“Fitz was educated in Europe. He spent his youth traveling about … Paris, Brussels, Venice,” offered Shane. He was not lying this time. The earl of Desmond had sent his son to be educated in Europe, perhaps fearing co
ntamination from Ireland’s thickheaded, bogtrotting savages.
Sabre sat bemused, trying not to stare at the transformation of the baron. Without his cowl his hair was an attractive silver and his eyes, though dark, flashed silver once in a while. His monk’s robe had hidden a hard, well-made body, and Sabre could imagine the muscles he would reveal when he stripped. She blushed at the picture and Shane, catching sight of her pretty coloring, raised an amused eyebrow at her. Splendor of God, he thought, how like his mother she was. Though their coloring was different, their spirits were kindred. Their eyes flashed a challenge to every man they met, and what mere mortal male could resist? He would have to be very careful that she did not gain too much power over him.
The baron entertained Georgiana with tales of his travels in Europe. He was amusing and could converse easily about fashions, food, native customs, politics, or sailing the seven seas. She could not help but be attracted to this warm man who gave her his complete, undivided attention. It was the most flattering thing a gentleman had ever done for her.
When Shane saw they were totally absorbed in each other, he turned his attention to Sabre. They were saying good-bye for a few days, each fearful for the other’s safety. He could tell by the quality of her silence that she was angry at him for leaving. She had erected a barrier between them which he thought to penetrate with loving words. “The barge is waiting to take you back to Windsor tonight,” he said in a low voice as he covered her hand with his. “Be careful, my darling, and remember if you ever need help and cannot reach me, I always have men posted in the stables.”
She pulled her hand from his and said, “I’ll take care of myself! Since I’m never to know where you are off to, I have no choice. I think I’ll go upstairs before that wretched man arrives. I don’t want to see him.”
“Did he offend you, sweet?”
“He said the queen set the pace for independence in Englishwomen. That in Ireland they make good women by beating and bedding them regularly.” Her eyes flashed. “I said, ‘I assure you I am bedded regularly and Shane applies his great weapon to my nether regions whenever I am in need of it!”