Heart of Darkness (3 page)

Unfortunately, her only thought had been for
that--escape.

Not the injuries that would occur when she
followed through with her mad plan, nor how she would manage to do
so without causing a ruckus and garnering all their attention. Nor
did she contemplate how she would manage to run from them when she
made her getaway.

She had been willfully blind in not seeing
the many problems with her plan, as a desperation to break free
from this man's imprisoning hold had taken her by the throat and
caused her to act idiotically.

In the end, she had been left with an
even sorer bottom, an aching spine and a severely jerked
neck
and
all for
naught.

Isabeau had simply noticed a sudden decrease
in speed and had stupidly taken her chance. Releasing her arms from
his waist, she had pressed her hands against the saddle and used
that to give her momentum to jump off the back of it.

She groaned to think of how painful a
maneuver that had actually been and all of it pointless. As soon as
her buttocks had connected with the hard, packed earth, Wolfe's
horse and the rest of his troop had come to a halt. They had
instantly known she was attempting to escape and the worst part of
the entire indignity, was the fact that had they not noticed, she
would have had to rest upon the loamy floor for an unknown period
of time, so painful had it been.

The hellish man had laughed at her
predicament from his seat in the saddle, then had dropped his heavy
weight the six feet to the ground and tossed her back atop the
horse.

The moment her posterior had clashed with the
hardened and worked leather was one she would never forget. If
sitting perched on the bouncing cantle was distressing, it was
nothing in comparison to the pain that bolted through her bones
after her failed escape plan. Agony had rippled through her as
almost every single part of her had jolted and shuddered with the
strain.

When he had hoisted himself back on to the
horse, this time, he had settled behind her. And so they had been
seated for the last few hours.

She was not entirely sure which position was
worse. The last had been difficult, simply because it had inspired
sensations in her breast that she had no right or desire to feel.
Those rebellious and treacherous emotions had pushed her into her
foolhardy plot.

And even worse was the fact that she could
not deny that the clasp of her soft, inner thighs to the hardened
and muscled flesh of his outer thighs and hips, had stirred
something inside her. Something that she had never before
experienced and it had only worsened, as she leaned forwards for
more support and her breasts rubbed against the lean yet sinewy
breadth of his back. The peaks of her nipples had hardened and even
as she had schemed to escape him, her cheeks had been tinted with
the heavy rouge of embarrassment at the inappropriate emotions that
had coursed through her.

The man could have been behind the murder of
her parents, for Goddess' sake.

Although the thought had shocked her, rather
than diminishing the insidious sensations, she had merely pushed
herself to switch focus and her resolve to escape the man, who was
intent on holding her captive, had trebled in intensity.

Now, she found herself surrounded by him on
three sides and Isabeau, despite repeated attempts to combat those
perfidious and creeping emotions, found that her body was reacting
to his proximity in ways that made her feel flushed and entirely
outside of the parameters of her personal comfort.

Throughout the long and tedious ride, she had
had little choice but to take company with her own thoughts and the
more she pondered Wolfe's reaction to her accusation, the more she
believed that he wasn't behind her parents' murder.

But then, that could simply be her
subconscious trying to smooth over the fact that she found
something about the beast attractive.

Or it could be the truth.

He had shown bitterness at her words. No
signs of deception or guilt. Just a bitterness that he had been
accused of something that he had not done. Surely, that would not
be the case, had he indeed killed her parents. She bit her lip and
wished that she was certain of the truth behind her parents'
murder.

When she realized that she was starting to
revel in his fierce hold, her stomach began to churn anxiously. It
was not normal to react this way, of that she was most definitely
certain. A captor should be treated with disdain and distrust and
hatred. Not a longing to taste his lips, or...She closed her eyes
at the thought.

Perhaps, she was far more disturbed than she
had ever imagined. Mayhap, she belonged in Bedlam. Her reaction to
this man surely proclaimed her as a bedlamite!

To react to the arm that was clamped
about her waist, the pressure of her spine against the
uncompromising hardness of his torso, with anything but disgust was
abnormal. Yet she did not feel disgusted. She felt surrounded by
his scent and powerless to resist. As the horse jolted, the
firmness of his manhood suddenly rubbed against her buttocks, yet
she did not feel anxious or any repulsion. No, indeed. Her cheeks
blossomed with color but for no
negative
reason. Exhaling roughly, she tried to
fight the sway his body had over hers, but it seemed like an
impossible battle.

He was not aroused.

No, that was her cross to bear.

But he was not entirely unaffected, thank the
Goddess. What was happening between them, the emotions developing
between them, were shared, but rather frightening all the same.
Isabeau realized that she was entirely unaware of how to cope with
them. Of one thing she was certain, it would lead to bed and then
to misery. More than likely on her part. Regardless of that, she
found that she enjoyed hearing his reactions to her novice
touch.

Even in her innocent state, she recognized
the changes in his body, when he inadvertently touched her or she
him.

His breathing became harsh and whistled past
her ear, if she accidentally rubbed or clutched at his leg with her
hand for support. It would become shallow if he brushed her breast
with an arm, as he lifted it to point to one of his men. If her
back and buttocks, aching from her fall, relaxed momentarily and
she fell against him, he would tense and stiffen up.

Even as unknowledgeable as she was, Isabeau
recognized the signs and realized that perhaps, it was some
atavistic instinct that all women possessed.

It neither helped nor hindered her own
dampened horror at reacting to her capturer in this primitive
way.

She jolted as his horse bucked slightly and
her buttocks started to ache fiercely at this further bruising act.
Relaxing as Wolfe calmed the horse and continued the indecent haste
in which they cantered, Isabeau rubbed the onyx stone of her ring
with her left index finger. As she did so, her mind focused on the
pain in her hips and rear and slowly, a heat absorbed some of the
ache.

It was indeed a relief to be free from some
of the pounding pain, but she wished for the morning to cure
herself completely. Her powers had never been overly strong during
the night hours. They were limited at best. As soon as the dawn
broke, she would be able to entirely heal her ankle and the
bruising to her behind. Had she taken her disguise of the old crone
during the hours of light, then it would have been impenetrable.
The clasp of another's hand to her ring would merely have
strengthened the illusion of her disguise, not destroyed it as had
occurred when Wolfe had touched the onyx stone.

That still troubled her.

She could explain it away with the truthful
fact that her powers were diminished in strength during the night,
but there was something else, something that eluded her at this
moment in time.

"Is there a reason I can feel your buttocks
heating up as though you have taken a seat in a pile of glowing
embers?"

His gravelly and textured voice sounded loud
in her ear and she felt the small hairs there and at the back of
her neck stand on edge. She had to fight the urge to shiver and
only managed to do so, because he would either believe it to be her
body's natural and unstudied reaction to him. Or, he would believe
her to be cold and perhaps would wrap her even tighter in his arms
and she would be surrounded all the more with his scent!

And it was not something she needed at this
exact moment in time.

Isabeau firmed her jaw and tried to ignore
him, but the arm about her waist merely tightened until he released
her entirely in response to her continued silence. His free hand
then came up to cup her throat and he forcibly tilted her face
towards him. "Do not ignore me, fair maid," he ordered, his tone
mild belying the command of his words.

"My name is Isabeau! Not fair maid. Not sweet
Venus! Isabeau!" she retorted fiercely, her words almost spat at
him.

Even though it caused a slight strain in her
neck, she pulled away from his hold, refusing to be cowed by his
physical strength. She had dealt with men as big and as mean as he
many times in the past, she was not afraid. Perhaps at this moment
in time she was his hostage, but there would be countless
opportunities in the future to rid herself of him.

She was certain and nodded her head
resolutely at her thoughts.

"All right...Isabeau, it is," he compromised
quietly. "What is this heat? If you're trying to kill me, then at
least explain how...Are you perchance attempting to shrivel my
manhood?"

She heard the teasing behind his words and
glared her anger into the darkness. "I am attempting to ease the
aches in my body that are the result of your frenzied pursuit!"

"Nay, ‘twas not I who insisted you run from
us. Had you stayed, quietly, in that inn, we would merely have
collected you."

She interrupted him furiously. "I am not a
packet or a letter to be delivered and collected!"

He ignored her and continued, "You would have
been free from injury and strain. But, no, you had to be difficult.
Why that surprises me, I do not know!" He sighed. "And you are, you
know."

"What? What am I?" she retorted imperiously,
shaking her head to abate some of the tension that was steadily
increasing in her body.

"A packet to be collected and delivered,
however, you have disrupted the process and have done for the last
four years!"

"I beg your pardon! I
am not
a piece of post!" she asked,
confused and slightly startled by his reply.

"Hush!" he ordered abruptly and she jumped at
the sudden and unanticipated harshness of his tone, when it had
been distinctly lacking in acerbity for the entirety of the night.
Regardless of her ill temper.

She felt his head snap upwards and she
followed the movement. It was still dark, the moon still shone
radiantly in the night sky and the stars still twinkled, but a
change seemed to come over him.

Had he been determined before, now he was
persistently and insistently so. Isabeau realized that the speed in
which they had been traveling could be considered slow in
comparison to the miles they were now eating.

In a shocking amount of time, a looming
shadow came out of nowhere, and Isabeau found herself peering into
the darkness and finding a gatehouse. The gate was open and the
horses were led through the entrance to some secured manor
land.

Within moments, they had traversed the lane
that led to the property and she felt herself being moved away from
Wolfe's lap and being plopped hurriedly on to the graveled drive
way.

She did not even have time to huff her
disapproval of being so mishandled, before she was being lifted
from the ground and carried up a set of stairs and through an open
doorway.

Almost like the packet he had accused her of
being, she thought with pursed lips.

All of the men seemed to stampede in and in
the faint light of a solitary candle, she saw that a butler stood
before them. The delicate light eerily traced his features, giving
him the appearance of an eccentric owl, with his somewhat inset and
close eyes, a strange beak of a mouth and a portly figure merely
adding to the image.

"There are rooms ready for us, Saiville?"
Wolfe asked gruffly.

"Aye, sir. I'll lead the way."

In slow and torturous movements,
Saiville walked up another set of stairs. These were considerably
grander than those of the outside entrance and she imagined, that
in the light of day, the sheer height of the ceiling would be
awe-inspiring. As it was, in the semi-gloom, she could only guess
as to its proportions, but the constant
and
loud echo of their footsteps against the
staircase told her that she was right to believe the hallway was
impressive.

Once they had reached a landing, Saiville led
them down the length of the floor and one by one, the thirteen
horsemen were shown to their chambers, until only she and Wolfe
were remaining.