Authors: Diana J. Cosby
His Captive (11 page)
Alexander nodded, well familiar with the archers’ lethal skill. “I feel the same, but with them accepting English gold for services rendered, we have no choice.”
“The bugger,” Patrik grumbled. “After Berwick, the English bastard expected us to crumble and submit to him like a dog with its tail between his legs.” He spat on the hewn stone. “He can rot in Hades.”
“Aye,” Duncan agreed. “That is where he will bloody end up once we are through with him. However small our rebel force, only a fool would believe we will surrender.”
“And King Edward is not a fool,” Seathan added.
“Far from it,” Alexander agreed. Memories of King Edward having proclaimed himself as their feudal lord came to mind. When met with resistance and in a self-justified move to bring Scotland to heel, he had ordered Berwick razed.
English troops had greedily complied; they slaughtered the men, raped the women, and disposed of their children with the swing of a blade. While the dying screamed their agony, the merciless bastard had ordered the town torched.
As the king’s soldiers marched away, fire had consumed what English hands hadn’t destroyed. Naught remained but smoldering heaps. The blackened rot that had once held laughter and love now embraced the stench of charred flesh.
Convinced that he’d squelched the Scots’ resistance, Edward had returned to England, confident after his brutal show of force he’d subdued the Scots. But in his strong handed approach, he’d made a grave error. From his lust for supreme power over Scotland was born a vengeance within the Scots. While blood pounded in their hearts, they’d not forget Longshank’s slaughter of Berwick.
Alexander flexed his hand. Aye, the Scots had taken a step back. Not to concede, but to regroup. With William Wallace uniting both peasant and noble of a torn Scotland, Edward’s savagery wouldn’t go unheeded.
Or unpunished.
“Fool or not,” Seathan continued, pulling Alexander from his musing, “we will need to take care in our upcoming assault upon the English.”
Grim, Alexander nodded. A battle they would win. For to lose could sacrifice their freedom.
Chapter Nine
Hours later in the great room, Seathan refilled his goblet with wine. After, he passed the wine around to Duncan.
“Alexander. Alexander?” Duncan said, louder this time as he nudged the bottle against Alexander’s hand.
Alexander grimaced at his younger brother, whose dimples winked with notorious delight.
“Is it a fog dimming your brain?” Duncan laughed. “Or are potent thoughts of a lass shrouding your thoughts?”
Alexander snatched the wine, embarrassed to be caught thinking of Nichola. And so easily read. “I have a bloody headache from looking at your horse’s arse of a face.”
“Ouch, it is the lass then,” Duncan said.
“She is of no concern to you or any of us,” Alexander stated, wishing it were that simple. Had she stopped crying? Was he wrong to have left her so upset? Or would he ever forgive himself for locking her in the chamber?
He met each of his brothers’ gazes, then refilled his goblet. He passed the bottle to Patrik. “What matters is Nichola’s ransom will allow us to purchase arms.”
Duncan winked. “Nichola is it?”
“Enough,” Seathan ordered.
Patrik slid a curious glance toward Alexander before turning to Seathan. “Will we demand the same amount as we’d decided on for Lord Monceaux?”
“More.” Seathan’s jaw tightened. “Our informant assures us Lord Monceaux will be desperate to have his sister back.”
The brothers nodded in unison, but the camaraderie Alexander should feel in the achievement of their goal never came. All because of a stubborn, auburn-haired woman secured within the tower room.
An English lass who, by rights, should be locked away from his thoughts as well.
“With new arms in our hands,” Seathan said, “we will rout the English bastards from our soil.”
All heads nodded, cups clunked in a toast, and the brothers drank in unison.
Alexander lowered his goblet, knowing his brother was no longer angry about Nichola’s capture. Subdued, he walked to the open window.
The fresh scent of summer and the cool taste of the loch filled each breath. The full moon overhead illuminated the courtyard below, void of people, except for the guards who made their rounds along the wall walk.
A night like so many in his past. He traced the bottom of his goblet along the stone sill. Except since Nichola had entered his life, nothing was the same.
At the scrape of parchment behind him, Alexander turned toward his brothers.
Seathan rolled up the map he’d brought back from his trip.
Alexander tipped his goblet and finished the last of the wine, appreciating the warm slide down his throat. “Once the ransom is paid and a place to meet decided, I will escort the lass back. Then I will ride to our meeting place to buy arms.”
“I will ride along with you,” Patrik said.
Alexander shook his head. “My riding onto English soil will be dangerous enough. Meet me where the arms are to be delivered.” And he could share the last few days with Nichola—alone. However lacking in judgment on his part, he would savor their remaining time together.
Patrik shook his head. “I will take the lass home. You have already risked your life once, and your familiarity with her might breed other unneeded problems.”
He gave Patrik a hard glare. “I said I will be escorting her back.”
At his sharp tone, Patrik’s face darkened. “To her home or to her bed?”
Alexander forced his temper to calm. “I am off to bed.” He refused to discuss his relationship with Nichola further.
Duncan refilled his cup to the brim. “It is early. The moon has not set.”
Alexander shrugged, his mind surprisingly unclouded by the quantity of wine he’d drunk. For once in his life, a night of drinking held little lure. Not even the thought of finding a wench to pleasure him kindled a scrap of interest.
Without further explanation, he turned away and started up the turret steps toward his chamber. Though exhausted and having drunk several goblets of wine, he doubted he would find the ability to sleep.
When he reached the third floor, he halted. Alexander stared up toward where the tower chamber lay. Had Nichola fallen asleep? How long had she beaten upon the door? Was she still clawing at the sturdy wooden frame in desperation? Or had she crumbled into exhaustion, with only whimpers falling from her lips and her spirit shattered?
At thoughts of the latter, he sprinted up the tower steps, echoes of his footsteps feeding his fear. Outside her chamber he halted, thankful to be greeted by silence. As quickly, the reasons for the quiet had him tearing out the bar.
Alexander tossed the honed wood aside. He jerked the door open and entered, anticipating finding her lying in wait to attack him as he entered.
Or worse, her body crumpled on the floor from utter exhaustion.
He hadn’t prepared himself to find Nichola curled in a ball beneath the covers of the bed, with moonbeams in her hair, and her face a portrait of complete peace.
She should look out of place, especially in a room that’d once belonged to his grandmother; a woman he’d loved, a woman for whom magic existed.
Except, surrounded by the tumble of crystals piled in a bowl, numerous pillows scattered about, and enveloped by the lingering scents of lavender, rosemary, and chamomile, Nichola appeared as if she belonged.
Completely.
He closed his eyes as relief gave way to stirrings of desire. Alexander fought back the urge to claim her as his own, to peel away the coverlet along with her clothes and make love with her.
He opened his eyes. His blood pounded hot. It must be the wine. Or perhaps it was his desperate need of sleep.
She is English and has no right to fit in so well
.
She is English and has no right to fit in so well
.
Instead, as he continued to stare at her, it seemed as if she’d been conceived by fairies and set within his life.
A place she could never remain.
He closed the door behind him, crossed the room to her bed and knelt by her side. As if by its own will, his finger stroked the satin curve of her cheek, his words below to his brothers of escorting her to England already haunting him.
He exhaled an unsteady breath, the softness of her skin against his own making him ache. As difficult as his journey was to abduct her and bring her to his home, the task to return her and leave her behind forever would be doubly so.
The fullness of her lips tempted him to taste them, to again savor her sweetness. He started to rise. No, he must leave her be.
The breath of the night swirled around them, warm with the dew of the heather, restless in the moonbeams. On a groan, he gave in and leaned forward.
“Nichola.”
Alexander’s whisper wove through her sleepy haze. A tender touch upon her cheek lured her to respond, but the need in his voice had her angling her head toward his caress. His fingers slid through her hair, and she sighed. Then his mouth, as gentle as a butterfly, covered hers.
She sank into the kiss, soft as silk, slow as a lazy summer breeze. His warm growl of appreciation rolled through her, and he deepened the kiss.
As if of their own will, her arms reached out to wrap around his neck and pull him closer. The mattress firmly stuffed with feathers sank beneath his weight, and she stretched out against his muscled length.
His hands cupped her face and he pressed feather-light kisses over her brow. “You are so beautiful.” He kissed her cheek and moved slowly downward until he reached her lips. “I love how you respond to me, how your body arches toward mine.” His lips hungrily consumed hers, his teeth nipping at her mouth.
She moaned from the glory of it, and he took advantage and slipped his tongue into her mouth. Then he worked his magic with his tongue, fierce and hot.
“I want you,” he breathed, whispering kisses along the column of her neck, igniting fires within her until she trembled from the heat of it.
His hand cupped her breast.
Nichola jolted awake. Confused, she stared up into Alexander’s face. The few fragments of her sleep fell away.
The last few moments were far from a dream!
Flustered, she shoved his hand away, remembering how he’d left her in this chamber to rot. “Out of my bed!”
Alexander caught her hand in his and lifted it to his mouth, his gaze relentless on hers. He slowly kissed the tip of each finger.
“Admit you want me.”
The need for his touch clawed through her. She could never admit that or forgive him. “I want you—to leave.”
The shaft of moonlight spilling into the room revealed the dangerous glint of challenge in his eyes, that of a warrior set out to conquer. Without warning or mercy, his tongue swirled around her index finger. Cobalt eyes watched her as he gently sucked on the tip in a long, slow pull. Her body tightened with need, and shamefully, her nipples hardened.
His gaze flicked downward. Satisfaction warmed his eyes as they met hers. Alexander scraped his teeth gently to the palm of her hand and nipped at the center.
“Tell me you do not want me now?” he asked with a mind-destroying whisper.
She swallowed hard. “How dare you think that you can seduce me.” Instead of the scathing demand, her words breathed out in a husky whisper. Mary help her, she did want him.
He rolled on top of her, caging her beneath his body. “Your decisions are your own.”
They were, but with his body framing her own, his hard length pressed gently against her, the mere act of putting thoughts into a sensible order fled.
Like a wolf who’d cornered his prey, he pressed a kiss at the hollow of her throat, when she trembled, he captured her mouth.
She willed herself not to respond. But he used his clever mouth on her, his hands taking, touching, seducing her when she should be refusing his advances; making her want when she should purge him of her mind.
In a slow slide, his hand skimmed downward and again cupped her breast. His fingers teased the sensitized swell; slow, luxurious circles until finally he captured her taut nub.
Passion, hot and thick built within her. Ripples of heat streamed through her until she couldn’t remember the reasons why she should push him away. Drowning in the heady sensations, she arched against him.
“Alexander,” she whispered, unsure of what she asked, but aware he would understand her needs.
Like an unruly god, Alexander pulled back and stared at her, his breath rough, his eyes hot with need. “You want me then,” he accused, passion thickening his rough burr.
Nichola stared at him in stunned disbelief. “A game?” She wiped the back of her hand against her lips as if to remove his taste from her mouth. “You have done this to prove that I wanted you?”
His eyes answered for him.
Hurt. Yes, she hurt. But she wouldn’t show him that. He deserved nothing—in sharp contrast to what she’d almost given him.
She lifted her chin with an indignant tilt. “With your mastery over women, did you find it a challenge to learn you could seduce a virgin?”
On a curse he stood. Her eyes blazed as he glared down at her.
Nichola’s courage wavered. She edged toward the other side of the bed, then slid back another degree, thankful when her feet touched the floor.
In one quick movement she stood, the bed wedged between them, little defense against such a powerful man. Her body trembled with nerves as she watched him, afraid he would finish what he’d begun. And with the needs crashing through her, God help her, if he touched her, she would let him.
The anger churning on his face reminded her of a storm.
She braced herself.
Instead of advancing, Alexander prowled the room like a predator. At the door, he halted. His harsh expression faded. Regret, simple and complete, swept across his face.
“I was wrong to come.” He whispered the words as if torn from his soul, his sincerity making her foolishly want to forgive him.
He spun on his heel and exited the chamber. The door banged shut. Outside, the bar slammed into place. His footsteps, hard and fast, faded down the corridor.
She slumped down to sit on the edge of the bed, shaken by what he’d almost taken. She cradled her head in her hands. No. At what she’d almost given him.
The rattle of chains echoed from outside.
Nichola walked to the window. Torchlight collided with moonlight casting macabre flickers over the courtyard as the drawbridge lowered.
Hooves clattered from the stable.
A man riding a large bay raced out. The rider galloped beneath the gatehouse and across the drawbridge. Then she caught a faint shimmer of man and horse as they disappeared into the night.
Alexander.
Nichola’s breathing hitched as she leaned against the cool stone wall. He’d wanted her; she’d witnessed the battle in his eyes as he’d stared at her, honor against lust, decorum against desire. In the end he’d chosen honor.
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