She couldn’t breathe, she was throbbing, burning. She wanted him within her. What were they doing on this stupid horse when they could be wrapped in each other’s arms as they had been only a few hours before? “Shouldn’t we be getting back?”

“You didn’t answer me.” His thumb pressed harder.

“Yes, but we’re on-”

“I don’t like you to hurt, love. I feel it my husbandly duty to rid you of the pain.” He shifted back on the saddle, rolled the tartan from her body, then grasped her beneath the arms, lifted her high into the air, and swung her around to face him.

She was wide-eyed with astonishment, and couldn’t have spoken if her life depended on it.

His hands cupped her buttocks, lifted her, and he slowly slid into her, filling her. She forgot where they were, she forgot everything but the feel of him. She closed her eyes, her head thrown back, her breath coming in little pants.

“Wrap your legs around me,” he muttered. “Hold me.”

She promptly did so and could feel Dominic’s heart pounding against her breasts; his chest, rising and falling with every breath, brushed hard against her aroused nipples.

He brought her closer still and she could feel the prickle of the pelt surrounding his manhood brush that most sensitive part of her. She moaned, clutching helplessly at his shoulders. “Dominic.”

“Hold on, love.” He kicked the horse into a gallop.

The pounding.

The supple leather of the saddle beat against their flesh, driving her deeper onto the warm sword of his manhood. Elspeth felt a wild scream building within her, wanting to be let out.

Dominic arched her against him, bending his mouth to envelope her breast, suckling, biting. She sobbed. The arousal was too intense, the brand within her too hot, too hard. The pressure on her bottom too rhythmic, too pounding. Her head felt as if it were exploding, each single hair on her head burning, streaming out behind her in lightning flames of sensation.

It went on forever. Timeless. The hunger built, the pounding built, the fever built. The horse ran faster. Her hair was going to be torn from her head by the wind. Dominic’s breath was a half sob in her ear.

“Now!” The word was spoken between Dominic’s clenched teeth. “Now!”

Yes, now, Elspeth thought wildly. It had to be now or she would be lost forever in this maelstrom of heat and hunger.

She screamed, a sound harsh with primeval satisfaction as now came into pagan, magnificent being.

She collapsed against Dominic, her head cradled on his chest, struggling to get her breath. He cupped the back of her head with one hand as he reined the stallion to a walk with the other. As soon as she thought she could speak without gasping, she lifted her head to look up at him. He was as breathless as she, but he was smiling down at her with tenderness and that same touch of boyish mischief she had noticed before. “Shouldn’t I move?”

He looked down at their joining and flexed lazily within her. He turned the stallion. “Why? Don’t you like where you are now?”

The color flooded her cheeks. “Yes, but I thought… isn’t it finished now?”

He laughed softly. “Oh, no, it’s only beginning. Blanco has a hell of a lot of paces for us to try. Now we have to ride back to camp. I think you may enjoy that every bit as much, my love.” He kicked the stallion into a lope. She gasped as the jarring rhythm rocked through her. “Yes, every bit as much.”

The fire beneath the lean-to was reduced to glowing embers when Dominic laid Elspeth down on the blanket. “I’ll be right back.”

She watched him dreamily as he knelt and put fresh wood on the fire. Then he was beside her, gathering her close, his hand tangling in her hair as he pulled her head back to kiss her gently. “Are you tired?”

She shook her head. “It was very…” She searched for the correct word. “Stimulating.”

He chuckled. “I’m in complete agreement. You’re a constant astonishment to me, my lovely hetaera.”

The smile faded from her lips and she glanced away from him into the depths of the fire. “You don’t have to say that.”

“Say what?”

“I mean, you don’t have to pay me compliments. I think it’s better if we’re honest with each other. I’m well aware that I’m a plain woman.”

He stared at her with blank amazement. It seemed a century since those first days when he had actually believed Elspeth plain. He couldn’t even remember why he had thought it to begin with. Even masked by her spectacles and shrouded in those hideous gowns, he should have been able to see the beauty that was Elspeth. He had a vague recollection of her making some such comment before and he realized now that she could not see her own beauty. Her father had been such a bastard that he’d stolen her pride in the person she was inside and out. “Did your father say you were plain?”

“Of course.” She didn’t look at him. “But I always knew it anyway. I have a mirror.”

“I wonder what you see in it. Is it what your father saw? No, it couldn’t be that, because then there would be no reflection.” His thumb and forefinger were beneath her chin, turning her face so he could look into her eyes. “Because he was a blind man, Elspeth. Blinded by cruelty, selfishness, and his own ugliness of spirit. You didn’t believe him when he told you there was no Kantalan, why should you believe him when he told you that you had no beauty?”

Her eyes widened. “I don’t know. I never thought about it.”

“Then think about it now. Do you know what I see when I look at you?” He tugged at a lock of her hair. “This glows and shimmers with light every time you turn your head.” His fingertips brushed her cheekbones. “Your skin is so soft I want to reach out and touch it every time you’re within ten feet of me.” His index finger stroked the curve of her brow. “And your eyes as green as the shamrocks my mother used to tell me about. Lovely eyes.”

“Not… ugly?”

“No. Beautiful.” The words were spoken in a tone only a level above a whisper. “Every bit of you is beautiful. Believe me, Elspeth. Your father lied to you. All I see is strength and beauty.”

Joy cascaded through her, rippling, forming circles of radiance. It was difficult to believe him, but there was nothing but honesty in the eyes looking into her own. “I think you may be a wee bit blind yourself,” she said with a shaky smile. “But I like your mirror better than I do my own.” She could feel the tears burning behind her eyes and she quickly closed her lids to hide them.

Gentleness, kindness, laughter. Every moment he revealed another quality to love, presented her with another gift to enrich her spirit. Oh, and she did love him. She brimmed, flowed, and floated with her love for him. But it was all too much to think about after what had gone before. “I think it’s time we went to sleep. Unless you have any more whims you wish me to indulge.”

She could feel his gaze on her face for a long moment before his lips brushed her closed lids with velvet tenderness. “I think I’ve run out of whims for the moment.” But not out of love, he thought. He knew now he would never run out of love for her. His love for Elspeth was as much a part of him as his yearning for Killara. “Go to sleep, Elspeth.” He settled down beside her and drew her into his arms. “Sweet dreams, love.”

But they would not be dreams of Kantalan, she thought drowsily, they would be dreams of Dominic and the expression in his eyes when he had called her beautiful.

Rising Star threw back her head, and her throaty laughter rang out. “Patrick, you fool, why don’t you come into the water? I may be huge, but I’m not taking quite all of this pond.”

Patrick shook his head, his gaze on the tops of the trees on the opposite bank. “Maybe later,” he muttered. “I’ll go set up camp. Don’t stay in the water too long.” He turned on his heel and strode quickly off into the trees.

A faint frown crossed Rising Star’s face. Patrick was embarrassed. It had not occurred to her that Patrick would act like this when they had discovered this tiny pond in the foothills. After traveling the harsh desert country for the past weeks, the little oasis had been too inviting for her to resist. She had stripped off her clothes and slipped into the cool water as matter-of-factly as if Patrick had been the child she had known when she first came to Killara. She had forgotten he was now eighteen and possessed a white man’s shame of nudity.

Still, it was a reaction she would never have expected in the Patrick who had ridden beside her, joking and filling the hours with laughter for the last two weeks. Without Patrick she might have fallen into a darkness of spirit that would have had no dawn. He had not permitted her to step into that void. Every time he had detected any sign of sadness or weariness, he had been there with a comment or a droll expression, taking away the ache before it could sharpen and become pain. He had been so kind and she really should not have laughed at him when he had refused to come into the water with her.

She waded out of the water, picked up the white cotton cloth she had left on the bank, and dried herself as thoroughly as possible. If Patrick had not displayed that unusual shyness, she would have remained naked and let the breeze and the last rays of the setting sun complete the drying. Instead, she hurriedly put on her blue calico skirt and leather tunic and sat down on the grass to pull on her moccasins.

“Coffee’s on,” Patrick called loudly, making a good deal of noise as he walked through the underbrush. An expression of relief brightened his face as he appeared on the bank and saw her. “You’re almost dressed. That’s good. I was afraid you’d be-cool,” he finished lamely.

Naked was the word he’d intended to use, she thought as she lowered her head to hide her smile of amusement. “Except for my moccasins.” She made a face. “I can’t see over my stomach to put them on.”