Authors: Diana J. Cosby
His Captive (4 page)
What reason prompted his concern toward her? She couldn’t matter to him beyond the ransom she would bring. She had enough experience with men to know they thought little of her beyond her wealth.
Or was he indeed honorable?
In fairness, Alexander had risked his life below to save her. But had his actions to save her life arisen from chivalry? Or greed?
Nichola’s body trembled as she reached the bed. She desperately wanted to sleep, to find sanctuary from this horrific night. Two nights ago she’d slept within her own bed, her biggest worry being what heirloom to sell to pay another debt. Now, she was being held hostage by a Scottish rebel, who inspired awareness for him as no other man.
She willed Alexander from her mind, but memories of his kiss, his taste, and the thorough mastery of his mouth lingered. Nichola wanted to owe her ready response to her exhaustion. That tiredness weakened her defenses.
However much she wanted to cling to that excuse, she refused to hide behind a lie. When his lips had covered hers, sensations she’d never experienced before had swamped her. Overwhelmed with emotion, she’d forgotten time, place, and the danger surrounding them.
And that the man embracing her was her enemy.
The soft pad of steps echoed behind her.
She tensed. Had Alexander changed his mind and was coming to share her bed? Praying she was wrong, she turned.
In the dim setting she saw Alexander walking toward the bowl set on a sturdy corner table.
She sighed with relief.
When he reached down to pick it up, she noticed the dark red stain on his tunic beneath his left arm.
“You are wounded,” she gasped.
“It is nothing.”
Her guilt mounted. “An injury gained in my defense.”
A swath of black hair slid forward, casting the hard planes of his face in dangerous shadows. “You are under my protection.”
“Is that what you term abduction?” she asked, unable to stop the question.
Cobalt eyes locked with hers. “The reason matters not.”
It shouldn’t. But against all logic it did. She should find her bed and ignore his suffering. “As I caused your wound, I will be tending to it,” she said, matter-of-fact.
He straightened to his full height, his look as unwelcoming as dangerous, as though he too recognized they were playing with fire.
Nichola wondered at her sanity in offering assistance to a man who’d proven he could break through her emotional defenses with a single kiss.
“You will need to remove your tunic.” Her quiet words echoed between them.
The muted shouts and laughter from below broke the silence as he stared at her. Cool. Decisive.
Her throat grew dry beneath his hard stare, that of a man who didn’t ask, but took.
As if in response to a silent dare, Alexander slowly removed his tunic. His arms and chest rippled in an amazing display of sleek control. His gaze leveled on hers in an unspoken challenge as he dropped the garb to the floor with an unceremonious thump.
Beneath his blatant stare, she shuddered, but fear had nothing to do with the warmth that pulsed through her. Drawn to the sinewy muscles carving through his magnificent body, she studied him with appreciation. Scars crisscrossed a massive chest that tapered down to a rippled abdomen. Numerous cuts, healed over time, topped by a ferocious scar extending from the top of his left chest down to his hip.
A line of red along his side caught her attention. Blood seeped from an angry gash.
“If you are to tend me,” he drawled, his burr thick, “be on with it.”
On an unsteady breath, Nichola stepped closer to examine his wound. Within a pace, she made the mistake of looking up.
His mouth was but a hand away. The softness of his breath feathered against her cheek. The air grew thick, potent with awareness. She longed to reach up and touch the hard curve of his jaw, to run her fingers down the corded muscles of his neck, then lay her palm flat upon his chest. To feel the steady pulse of his heart within.
Her breathing grew ragged as her mind conjured forbidden images. If he lowered his mouth but a whisper, he could cover hers with his own.
Dragging her gaze downward, she took in the injury. “The wound is not deep.” Her words spilled out in a raspy whisper, betraying desires best left hidden. Unnerved by her reaction to a man she would be a fool to trust, Nichola retrieved a cloth that had been provided with the room and dipped it into the basin of water.
“This will hurt.”
He gave a curt nod. “So be it.”
She remained silent as she worked.
“You have a gentle hand.”
Ignoring the heat that swept through her at his unexpected praise, she wiped away the last of the blood from the wound. “The cut should heal quickly.” She folded the cloth, intending to step away.
He caught her hand.
“My thanks.” For a long moment he studied her, not with the fury of a warrior, but with the needs of a man. Everywhere his gaze touched, her body responded as if his fingers lingered against her skin. As if he’d won an inner battle, he released her. “Go to sleep.”
At his curt order, she set the cloth on the table and hurried to the bed, never having felt so at odds in her life. Worse, for the next few hours she would be locked within the same room with a man who made her body feel anything but imprisoned.
All too aware of his presence, she lay down and faced the wall. She dragged the blanket over her as if a shield, but it couldn’t protect her from the truth.
She didn’t despise him. She wanted to, but his valiant rescue showed her that he had honor and courage. And although he’d abducted her, he’d given his word to keep her safe as well. A promise he’d risked his life to keep.
Not that safety lay within his hands. Once he learned no ransom would be forthcoming, only God could help her then.
Nichola wished this was but a horrid dream. But with the straw poking into her back and the woolen blanket scratching against her flesh, her situation was anything but an illusion.
Chapter Four
At Nichola’s cry, Alexander sat up from his pallet on the floor. Flickering candlelight caught her agitated movements in sleep. He frowned. She was having a nightmare.
Aye, her near-rape by the men below would invite terrors in her mind and account for her unrest.
On a whimper, she shifted onto her back, driving his guilt deeper. He rose to his feet, then stopped. What would his comforting her do but heighten her awareness of how alone they were and cause her further distress?
’Twas best if he left her alone.
This night, the feelings she’d aroused when he’d held her had proved to be a personal mistake. Kissing her more so. Intimacy between them had no place in this abduction.
After they’d returned to the chamber, the fact that she’d noticed his wound didn’t surprise him.
Her insistence to tend it had.
Alexander’s body tightened as he remembered her tender touch. Her genuine concern. And how after, she’d looked up at him with such innocence.
He’d wanted her.
The awareness smoldering in her gaze had assured him that she’d wanted him as well. But he’d not touched her. Not seduced her to release the craving for her that stormed him like a well-organized charge.
Straw crunched as Nichola rolled onto her side to face the wall. The blanket puddled on the floor with a quiet plop.
So he’d stay away from her to prove that he could? And allow her to suffer her nightmares alone? A sad knight he’d be the day he lost his compassion for the innocent.
Disgusted with himself, Alexander walked over and knelt beside the bed.
With her eyes closed in sleep, she began to shake her head. “No!”
He gently stroked her hair. His fingers glided greedily through the smooth, silken strands. “There now. It is but a dream.”
Soft gold flickers of candlelight illuminated her face as she winced, then, slowly, the troubled lines on her face smoothed.
“Go to sleep. Let naught but dreams of fairies frolicking fill your thoughts,” he whispered, remembering his mother’s words, given to ease his night terrors.
Her eyes blinked open. With a gasp, she clutched the tunic he’d given her against herself and scooted back against the wall.
“Steady now.”
“Yo—You said you were sleeping by the door,” she accused.
“Aye, and that I am.”
She hesitated. “I thought . . .”
He clenched his jaw, understanding all too well her misinterpretation to his nearness. “You thought I would break my word and take you.” He stood and glared down at her. “Do not worry, you will be sleeping alone. Unlike the men you have known, I keep my word.” Alexander strode across the worn planks to his pallet. He lay on his back and stared up at the ceiling.
“Why—”
“Go to sleep,” he ordered.
“Why were you at my side?”
He remained silent. He refused to entertain questions of his honor.
“Will you not answer me?”
“So you can again doubt my reply?”
Her soft exhale whispered through the room. “I am sorry.”
Appeased, he nodded. “You were having a night terror.” Straw rustled. He awaited her next comment, she’d have one no doubt, that he’d learned from their brief association. Unless he gagged her. An appealing thought.
A corner of his mouth lifted in a grim smile.
“I want to apologize.”
The regret in her voice tugged at his conscience. “It is done.”
The cold plank pressed against his back as he laid there and listened as she settled into the bed. The chirp of crickets from outside rode in with the cool, nocturnal breeze. A boisterous laugh echoed from the rowdy men below.
Nichola’s suspicion of a man’s word weighed heavily on Alexander’s mind. What had instilled her belief that a man’s word meant naught? Who had lied to her? Hurt her enough to cause such distrust? Whoever the man was, he was a fool.
With a covert glance, Alexander studied the lass who seemed a contradiction at every turn.
Candlelight caught the sadness lingering in her eyes as she watched him, a quiet desperation within her that beckoned to him to offer her comfort.
As if she’d offer him such a token of her trust?
Against logic, he found himself wishing she would believe in him enough to share her heartache. He had experienced first hand the tragedies of life. Of hurt.
And the loss.
Familiar grief washed over him. He’d stood with his brothers as they’d buried their father—a father who’d sacrificed his life for Alexander’s. And as the last stone was placed on his grave, Alexander had sunk to his knees and sworn to avenge his father’s death.
“By God’s eyes,” he muttered. Alexander shifted to face the door, welcoming the cold, hard wood beneath him and the throbbing pain of his wound. His life was dedicated to war, against any who dared threaten Scotland’s freedom.
Not a troubled Englishwoman who held no faith in men.
He tried to rest, but the sorrow within her gray eyes, too close to his own turbulent emotions, lingered on his mind. So he focused on the muted voices of the men below, his duty, and the many reasons it would be foolish to care about her.
But as the thick veil of sleep fell over Alexander, the barriers he’d erected to keep thoughts of her from his mind fell away. Steeped in tender thoughts of her, he drifted off into a contented slumber.
The next day, with hours of travel behind them, Alexander guided his mount out of a glen. He took in the new gown he’d stolen after they’d rode from the inn. The new dress, though worn, dipped daringly low on Nichola’s chest. The ill fit couldn’t be helped. Out in the wilds, the luxury of choice eluded him.
He scanned the sun-ripened grass sweeping across the secluded valley with a scowl; the scant sleep of last night had done little to ease his exhaustion. All because of a gray-eyed, outspoken lass who’d haunted his dreams.
If he’d bedded her in his dreams, that he could have accepted. With her siren’s body and her seductive eyes, a man would have to be daft not to want her. Instead, in the realm of his sleep, she’d come to him needing a friend. Someone she could turn to. Trust.
He tightened his hold on the reins as he glanced down at Nichola. She leaned against him, but with her shoulders sagging and her face pale with fatigue; exhaustion, not desire, guided her action.
He reined his steed around a clump of weathered rocks jutting from the soil. What did her opinion of him matter? Within a fortnight, with her ransom paid, she would be reinstalled within her home. He will have rejoined the rebels; his mind steeped in planning their next assault on English troops.
A sudden gust of wind, cool and thick with the scent of rain, blustered past. The field of grass, which was scattered with heather, bowed beneath its force.
Alexander searched the horizon. A dark bank of clouds rolling in from the west promised a storm. With the night approaching, they would have to find cover. He’d have to reconsider his original intent. The only dwelling he dared stay in was another day’s travel north.
However disreputable, he’d not risk returning to the tavern or any other village. “A storm is brewing. We will need to be finding shelter soon.”
She tensed against his chest. Caution blanketed her eyes as she tilted her face toward him. “Where will we stay?”
“If the weather holds, a hideout about an hour north.”
“In Scotland?” Though whispered, nerves rattled her voice.
“Aye.”
“Please, if you release me, I swear I will not tell them your name.”
“No.” As the land began to smooth out, he urged his mount into a canter, wanting to reach shelter before the rain began. “My decision is long made.”
At Alexander’s sharp reply, Nichola turned and stared straight ahead; the rugged land before them as untamed as the man who claimed her hostage. Her enemy. A man she should fear with her every breath.
And didn’t.
How could she? Last eve he’d saved her from a brutal attack. After, he’d proved true to his word and had left her untouched. Neither could she forget his tenderness when he’d checked on her during her nightmare.
Was he indeed a noble man of honor?
Against the thrum of hoofbeats, the land raced past. Flowers misted the field in a rainbow of colors. But not even the spellbinding scenery eased her worries. What of this night? Or the days ahead?
With her response to his previous kiss, would Alexander keep his word and leave her untouched? Alexander? She caught the horse’s withers as the wind whipped at her face. That she thought of him by his first name disturbed her further.
As the ground angled up, the Scot slowed his horse. His hand moved to gently clasp her shoulder. “What is wrong?”
His protective touch melted her resistance further. “Naught.”
“You are trembling.”
Nichola leaned away from his touch. “I . . .” How did she explain her reaction was from needs he inspired, not fear? She couldn’t. An ache built in her heart. Was she so lonely, so desperate that she’d find comfort with a Scottish rogue?
“Lie against me.” It was an order. At her noncompliance, a deep sigh rumbled in his throat. “Leaning forward will achieve naught but cause your muscles to ache.”
Nichola yielded, stiffening when her back rested against solid muscle. He wrapped his hand around the flat of her stomach. She tried to ignore the steady beat of his heart; the reassurance his nearness gave her.
The assurance was an illusion.
Over the years, since her parents’ horrible death, trying to save her brother from his self-destructive ways had shattered her beliefs of love and happiness she’d once held as a child. The betrayal of her fiancé severed any remaining belief.
Duty had kept her sane. Given her purpose. However much she dreaded returning home, to learn if her brother had indeed committed murder, or to face the army of creditors they were unable to pay, she must.
Neither could she dismiss the thought of Alexander’s anger when he learned their coffers were bare. Somehow, before then, she must escape.
And use caution. As Alexander had shown her when he’d appeared in the solar dressed as an Englishman, the man could appear to be anyone he chose. From the wanton state of her new dress, anyone she met would believe her a whore, not a lady. As if she could trust anyone this close to the border.
Alexander guided the horse toward what she recognized as battered ruins of a church. A broken cross lay near the entry like a forgotten promise. How ironic. They would seek shelter in a holy place that now lay in shambles. A sanctuary as battered as her heart.
The churning gray clouds overhead erased any hint of sunshine and cast the warm and sunny late afternoon into a dismal mire. A cool breeze rushed past. Fat drops of cold rain began to splatter the earth.
He drew his steed to a halt before the weathered rock and dismounted, keeping the reins tight in his hand. “Come now,” he said, wrapping his free arm around her waist.
She tried to push his hand away, but it didn’t budge. “I can dismount by myself.”
“Aye, I am sure you can.” As if pushing aside an empty trencher, he removed her hand, then lifted her from the saddle and set her before him.
Nichola fought against her awareness of him as a man, ashamed his mere proximity made her shiver. “Must you find every excuse to touch me?”
He stared at her a long moment, then his gaze flicked to her mouth.
She held her breath, unsure if it was because he would kiss her, or that he wouldn’t.
Alexander lifted her chin with his forefinger, the chilled air encircling them in a dizzying rush. The fresh taste of rain tingling on her lips. He slid his thumb over her lower lip; sensations strummed through her to her very core.
Saint’s breath. The last thing she needed was his attraction to her. Or for him to see she was drawn to him as well. He was a knight. A man driven to war. His decisions quick. Unforgiving.
A muscle worked in his jaw, then he released her. “Stay here.” He removed a taper and several other items and strode toward the tumble of timber and rock. At the weathered, but partially standing entry, he turned back as though unable to help himself. His cobalt eyes darkened with a dangerous edge, that of a predator.
Her heart stilled. Had he felt her pulse race? Sensed her body tighten at his touch? Or did his ire arise from his touching her in a manner far outside that of his captive?
In the way a man caresses a woman he desires?
Gripping the hilt of his dagger, he turned, ducked under the timber, and disappeared inside the darkened cavity.
Nichola sagged back. To allow him to believe that a bond could grow between them was a mistake.
But when he’d touched her face, the rough pads of his fingertips gentle against her skin; however wrong, she’d been unable to stop herself from wishing for more.
Other books
Warning Order (A Spider Shepherd short story) by Stephen Leather
Out of the Ashes by William W. Johnstone
Mistress Of The Ages (In Her Name, Book 9) by Michael R. Hicks
The Wizard's Coming by Juliet E. McKenna
Her Second Billionaire by Julia Kent
Mad Worlds by Bill Douglas
Atomic Beauty by Barb Han
The Hornet's Sting by Mark Ryan
Shattered Girls (Broken Dolls Book 2) by Tyrolin Puxty
Deadline by Sandra Brown
