Chapter 71
“You shouldn’t have had to,” Phoebe said.
“I have replayed it in my head so many times over the years. What I might have said differently, what I might have done differently. I should have been more patient with her, she was innocent, and she felt everything deeply. I should have been more understanding of the difficult position her father was putting her in. I should have been more supportive, and less forceful with having my own way. I regret that the most,” Slade said, pulling back a fraction, his brows creased, his expression haunted.
Phoebe’s heart went out to Slade for taking on such a monumental burden that wasn’t his.
It was no one’s fault Sylvia took her life.
Unfortunately, tragedies existed without it having to be anyone’s fault; they just, are.
She recalled what Breena had said that Egan thought of Slade.
Slade MacLean is an honorable and courageous man.
He would never cause harm to the woman he loved.
His sense of what is right and wrong is too nauseatingly overinflated.
Then Phoebe recalled a detail about the conversation she’d had with Mistress Willoughby.
Phoebe pulled Slade closer, looking up at him. “Mistress Willoughby said something else to me which I think you should know.”
“Oh?” he asked.
“She said that her Sylvia would be pleased you were married and had someone. She said that Sylvia would have wanted you to have a good life, a happy life,” Phoebe said.
Slade blinked at her, and she saw the moment his beautiful lips went slack as he considered her words, or rather, the words Mistress Willoughby had spoken.
“She said that?” Slade asked with raised brows, looking equal parts shocked and dazed.
Phoebe smiled. “She did, indeed.”
“Well …” Slade cut off, seeming at a loss for words.
“Despite what happened back then, I think you are taking on a burden that is not yours. It’s no one’s. It was just a terrible tragedy, mo ghaol.”
Phoebe pulled him closer still, desperately wanting more of him after being away from him for so long, resting her cheek on his chest, feeling his chin coming to rest lightly on her crown.
They held each other for a few minutes as she let him consider her words.
Slowly the tension seeped out of his body, and she felt the moment his body relaxed.
She had to make sure Sylvia wouldn’t haunt them for the rest of their lives. “Do you miss her? Do you miss Sylvia?”
“I am grateful for having known her, grateful for what she has taught me about myself. It has allowed me to be a better person, to be a better husband for you. But I wouldn’t say I miss her.
Part of me will always remember her, and I hope with more fondness in the future and with less gut-wrenching guilt.
But you, Phoebe, without you my life would be dark, desolate, and pitiable.
It would kill me not to have you by my side.
Saying I love you, seems so inadequate to convey the depth of my adoration, love, and my shear awe of you,” he said.
Phoebe’s heart swelled with so much warmth and love; she could barely speak. “Oh, my love …”
“You are my redemption. I believe it’s time for me to move beyond my past,” he whispered.
Then he was crushing her in his arms again, so tightly Phoebe could hardly breathe, but she welcomed the deprivation, for it was heaven to be held so closely against his hard body.
“I need you, and I’ll die if I have to wait a second longer,” he whispered, his voice gruff.
He proceeded to shower kisses on her crown, her forehead, her temple, her cheeks and then his lips found their way to her mouth. An involuntary low moan of pleasure erupted from Phoebe’s chest and the kiss turned greedy and carnal.
It was neither smooth nor sweet. It was hard and hungry.
A stark welcomed invasion of her senses ticking up her heartbeat and laboring her breath.
They clawed at each other, her hands going for his neck then pulling him in closer, and closer.
His arms were like a vise around her waist, then kneading her derriere and sliding up in strong strokes to her shoulders.
A gratifying sound escaped his mouth as she savagely kissed him back.
It was too much, but not enough. It sparked a fiery tumult in every cell of her body.
The kiss shifted her world with its voraciousness.
And nothing but Slade existed, his steely embrace, his hot mouth plundering hers and her need for more, and more.
His hand cupped the back of her head, bringing her yet closer and more flush against him.
He increased the pressure of the kiss, tilting his head to press more into her lips, his teeth grazing her mouth. It was wildly intoxicating.
She was desperate for more. Her desperation was mirrored in the wild volcano burning in his eyes as he scooped her up.
He deposited her on the soft bed, sliding in above her, one knee on either side of her thighs.
“I fell asleep to the memory of your naked body each night I was away from you. It was torture of the acutest kind,” he said, kissing her jaws, clavicles, and the slope of her neck.
It wasn’t tender, soft, or sweet. He bit down on the pulse point at her neck, that must have been beating like a frantic fluttering bird.
It wasn’t enough to hurt her, but the shock from his teeth made her gasp.
The rawness of pleasure rippled down her.
Then he licked and gently sucked the spot he’d bitten, his hot, fast, uneven breath burning her skin.
It unleashed Phoebe’s recklessness. She wanted even more of his mouth.
She tugged at his shirt, yearning for his skin against her skin, for the weight of him directly on top of her, for the friction of him inside her.
“Mo ghaol … your clothes,” she said, her breathing dangerously ragged.
He raised his head. His beautiful eyes were desperate and wild, his lips damp and his hair mussed. It hit her that she’d been tangling and tugging at his thick dark locks with her fingers.
Slade urgently tugged at the opening of his breeches.
And, out of desperation for him, she hiked up the hem of her gown, fabric bunching at her midriff, exposing herself to him.
There was no decency in the gesture. Nothing but unbridled desire drove her to part her legs, like a feline in heat.
Her core throbbed with need and emptiness.
He growled as he stared down at her core. “Sweet Saints, I have never seen anything more beautiful.”
The raw heat in his voice would have knocked her off her feet had she not already been lying on the bed.
He tugged down his breeches. Fabric bunched at his knees. And he was on top of her, kissing her and moving between her legs.
His knees parted her thighs further, his body’s weight supported by his limbs, then as his eyes bored into hers, his shaft sank deep into her core with a single steely thrust.
Phoebe gasped with unbridled pleasure at his thick rigidity filling her to the brim.
“You are heaven, and I’ve been in hell without you,” he said, in a low growl.
Her body screamed in pleasure as he started to move. She arched upwards to meet him as her fingers dug into the flesh of his back, her inner muscles contracting around his girth.
They moved together, her arching desperate thrusts meeting his deep frantic plunges.
The raw hunger in his expression, the frantic, delicious friction of their accelerated movements, and the fact that she was starved for him pushed her over the edge.
Her body erupted in cascading spasms. Wave after wave hit her as Slade drove into her deeper and harder.
Their combined release was brutal and ragged, their labored breaths a disjointed symphony, culminating with her in weightless bliss.
Slade slumped on her, and she welcomed his delicious weight. But then he slid to lie next to her. He pulled her closer into the crook of his arms. And they lay there for some time, Phoebe more content than she’d ever been.
Slade shifted and Phoebe opened her eyes. He’d propped himself up on an elbow to gaze down at her, his eyes dark with renewed passion, and his smile lazy and seductive.
“I’ve never been that desperate. I promise the next time will be slower and sweeter,” he murmured, gently fingering a lock of her hair.
“We have all the night, and the rest of our lives,” she said, rising to kiss the tip of his nose.
He was utterly unconcerned by the way his breeches bunched at his knees, his middle exposed.
His handsomely disheveled appearance tugged a warm smile from her as she detangled herself from him and slid off the bed, her own garments bunched ridiculously at her waist, her thigh-high hose clad legs visible and her middle similarly exposed.
But the one thing that bothered her was her boots.
Rather than being a necessity, they felt clunky on her feet.
She bent down, unlaced each and left them by the side of the bed, with her hose.
Her bare feet enjoyed the coolness of the stone floor.
When she straightened again, it dawned on her that she didn’t have the need to run.
She didn’t have the need to be ready anymore.
She could finally stop running. She marveled at the fact that she was finally safe and at home with Slade. Slade was her home.
Phoebe went to get a drink of sherry from the sideboard, utterly parched. Slade declined whisky. Then she smiled coquettishly as she removed her rumpled garments and pulled on a plush red velvet dressing gown, tying its belt at her waist.
Slade leisurely rubbed his thumb against his bottom lip, eying her like an eagle sizing up his next meal, a deceptively lazy smile stretching his mouth, but then his eye took in her state of dress.
“I don’t recall seeing you in red before, but I certainly recalled your disinclination to take off your boots in the bedchamber,” he murmured.
Phoebe laughed, twirling around. “Don’t you like my new dressing gown?”
His eyes hungrily raked the length of her, then his brows hiked up.
“The color suits you very well, but despite that fact, I’m going to take pleasure in disrobing you shortly, especially since it appears you’ve decided to take off your boots and stop running,” his voice was slow, and silken, with a hint of intrigue.
A silly grin lifted the corners of her lips as her insides warmed.
He understood her like no one else ever had, understood the significance of her bare feet.
Phoebe looked down at the robe, briefly fingering its softness, then her eyes travelled to her feet.
Her old fears had started to fade. “I’ve decided to stop running, and to embrace freedom and colors again.
To take control of my wardrobe, so to speak. ”
Since Faye Ross’s death, Phoebe had reconsidered her hate of red. It was just a color after all.
He considered for a breath. “I like this new look for you, it has an air of grand victory about it,” Slade said, with an overdone flourish of his hand.
“It does, doesn’t it.” Phoebe chuckled, warmth cascading down her body.
Slade sat up in bed, detangling himself from his own garments.
His expression sobered. “I had to see wily old Bullfinch on my way back and received news which he wanted me to share since it is relevant to your mission. Prince Charles Edward Stuart was arrested in France by the French authorities while attending the opera at the Théatre du Palais-Royal. Under the new rules of the Aix-la-Chapelle Treaty, France and Britain are now allies. A rebel of Britain is now an outlaw in France.”
Phoebe gasped, shocked. Her right palm made a move to cover her mouth, as she dropped down on the nearest divan. “Oh no. We must get him out.”
“The Movement is doing so as we speak. Bulfinch said also that the elusive and dangerous Ossifrage is on his way to the Highlands. Bulfinch plans to stay out of his way. Ossifrage tends to be a harbinger of bad news,” Slade said.
Blue Jay had described Ossifrage as elegant, exceptionally intelligent but also devious and deadly.
As the spymaster of the west region, he is known for being ruthless and taking on missions no one else could accomplish, not above utilizing bribery and fraud amongst the highest echelons of society to get what he wanted, even extending to the King himself.
Thankfully Phoebe had never had the displeasure of meeting him. He sounded like a veritable villain.
“With Prince Charles Edward Stuart being an outlaw, is the future of the Movement in jeopardy? Is that why Ossifrage is coming to the Highlands?” Phoebe said.
Was Scotland’s rebellion over? Had King George II, the English government, and the Whig party won? Blast it all to hell
Slade came to kneel in front of the divan where she sat, taking both her hands in his and kissing her knuckles. His nearness completely rid her body of worry and her head of rational political thoughts.
“Uncertain times indeed, especially for those of us who wanted things the way they were before the signing of the Union,” he said, his eyes hungrily resting on her lips for a moment before he leaned in and took her mouth with his.
This kiss was slow and seductive. His tongue gently plundered her mouth, deliciously spinning her head and sending whirls of sensations down her body all the way to her toes.
He cupped her breasts over the soft fabric of the dressing gown and growled.
Phoebe was panting when she broke the kiss, Slade’s eyes were dark but questioning.
It took tremendous strength of will to focus her mind back to the Movement.
“Will funding from France for the Movement stop?” she asked breathlessly.
His brows wrinkled, as he stood up and went to the sideboard. It seemed he needed a drink after all. “I doubt it. Outwardly they will make a show of support for Britain, but inwardly still harbor hopes of weakening the British Empire,” Slade said.
She would have guessed the same. Phoebe tried to focus her thoughts on the future of the Movement, but her eyes strayed to the delicious sight of Slade’s exposed skin.
“I’ll have to get new orders from Falcon, but I fully intend on continuing my fight against the redcoats,” she murmured, distracted by his lips on the tumbler as he downed the liquid in one gulp. She licked her own lips as her body’s temperature notched up and her core contracted, in emptiness.
She stood up and closed the distance between her and Slade. Heat enveloped her body as she slid her arms around her husband’s narrow waist, raising her eyes to meet his dark ones. She’d worry about Falcon’s orders later.
“Make love to me,” she said.
“With pleasure, my Warrior Goddess,” he said.
His smile was slow and wicked as his mouth came down on hers. Their next bout of lovemaking wasn’t slow or sweet, it was rough and delicious. Slade did however manage to keep his promise of slow and sweet loving, the third time around.